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poormeowmeowcollector · 4 years ago

Text

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 4: Bridge and Chorus

Chapter summary: the aftermath

Chapter warnings: Odin, Major Character Death, suicide

Chapter note: this chapter is dedicated to @lucywrites02 because she pretended to be a bad bitch yesterday.

Previous chapter AO3

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

The shackles sing as Loki walks towards the throne, fighting back a grin. Odin, on the other hand, sits on his high quality chair, believing to be intimidating.

"You have committed a grave crime against the-" Odin tries to speak, but Loki chuckles.

"I know what I have done, Odin. No need to repeat yourself," they interrupt, using a voice they've been hiding in their throat since they learned how to speak.

And it has so much to say…

"Has your mother taught you no respect for your king?" They yell, their favourite way of speaking to Loki. In all these years, Loki cowarded away at this voice, scared of a physical expression of the anger. This time, he laughs at it.

"Not my mother, and I have no king but myself," they smile, watching a new wave of anger flashing in the old charlatan's face.

"Silence! You never knew how to shut this mouth of yours!" Odin raises his voice, hoping to see the now natural cowering of Loki. The only answer is another laugh.

"Do you really want me to start speaking, Odin? To see who is truly guilty, with all these good dicks and whores listening?" Loki asks, a glow in his eyes as he gestures around as wide as the shackles allow. The harshness of their tongue makes the nobles who watch the "trial" gasp.

"Who taught you this language?" The old man spits, narrowing one eye.

"Apart from your anger? And that old warrior you ordered to teach Thor and me how to survive in a forest? And there are the guards, I can name a few but stitching is a worse crime than murder…" he mutters, acting if like he's chatting with a cup of tea other than being on a trial for murder.

There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

"Enough with your games! Why did you murder Lord Gæirasson in cold blood?" Odin asks the "big question", as if the right answer will lift the charges from Loki's name.

"Because… one, because he was a racist and offended me, to which the punishment is death. Two, because he started a war-"

"You started a war, Loki," Thor interrupts, taking Odin's side, like every time.

"A war had been started. Let's not blame people, Thor. Now where were I? Oh, yeah, at how Gæirasson started a war. Also, he refused to pay his taxes and you know how seriously I took my responsibility of being in charge of the palace's finances. Did war crimes against my people, father would be proud the son of a bitch is dead. And lastly, but definitely not least, a dreadful sense of fashion. Have you seen what his grooms wear? I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw it…" they finish with the rumbling, not even thinking of answering seriously. Odin will execute him anyways, would some fun be so bad?

"I said, enough with the games!" Odin basically screeches, their face going red.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

"For the murder of a lord, cause of a war and disrespect towards the throne, I Odin Allfather sentence you to a life in the dungeons," he decides.

"Dungeons? Not axe? Did Frigga's ghost or this moron talk you out of killing me?" Loki questions, taking their turn to narrow their eyes.

"If you keep talking, I might change my mind," Odin sighs, rubbing his temple.

"And get rid of this perfect pawn to hold King Laufey from the balls? A shame, really," Loki poutes and shrugs, pretending awfully that he cares.

"I will not stand your disrespect any longer! I had granted you your life, Loki, more than once! You will learn to respect me for it! Take them to the dungeons!" Odin speaks the final order. Four guards grab the chains that lead to Loki's shackles and push him away, forcing him to walk with them

Only then I am human / only then I am free

On the way to the dungeons, Thor stops the guards and demands to speak to Loki.

"Just tell me why, brother. Please. What didn't we give you to make you care so little?" they ask, grabbing Loki's shoulder, just like they always used to do.

"A family. That's what you didn't give me. And that's what I've earned," Loki answers, staring right into his no-brother's eyes, the blue in them and the pale lines that resemble his lightning. They know they won't see Thor from this close ever again, and they deserve a proper last memory.

"Then, I'm sorry. It's late, I know, but remember this, please… I shall visit, whenever I can, Loki. I swear. You shouldn't be in prison all alone," Thor promises. Loki gives only a nod, enough to make Thor dismiss the guards and let them keep walking Loki to his future and last chamber.

The only sign of emotions they allow themselves to show is a sigh, only out of sympathy.

For he knows that his freedom just begins.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

The moment the guards put Loki back into the white vacant cell and take their eyes off them, they cast an illusion of them settling on the floor and staring at nothing. The real Loki is walking up and down the room, waiting for the Tesseract to speak.

"Now?" he asks, feeling it close.

"Now, you need to learn who your family is. Not Odin, not Laufey, your true family, Entropy," they answer.

"What with this name? After all this, can't you call me by my name?" Loki groans.

"I am. You have many names. Entropy, the Chaos Stone, the Death Stone, the Knot… the last one, actually, is the name you're most familiar with, translated to Old Jötunn tongue," they speak, all matter-of-factly.

"You're lying, the Chaos stone is a myth," Loki brushes off the answer.

"It does exist. A black gem, created by billions of ropes, strings and threads tangled together. The hardest one to wield and command and impossible to find. The Jötnar had found it and worshipped it. And when Laufey found out that his son is nothing but a dead baby, he sacrificed the infant for the infant. And Odin found the baby crying in the altar, the gem gone,"

"So I own my life to an imaginary stone, apart from an old piece of shit. What a surprise…" Loki throws their hands in the air.

"No. You are the imaginary stone. In order to give life, the Chaos gem entered your body and never left. You are the flesh of a corpse and the mind of an infinity stone. And it's time to leave the corpse and join us,"

The aimless walking stops, and Loki's heart skips a beat

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

"You made me kill a man, for this?" he asks, glaring at nothing. They don't answer.

"You made me kill a man! Just so I could die!" boiling hot tears streaming down their eyes and slither into their shirt as burning red eyes stare at the empty room for something. "I trusted you! You promised me a family!" he yells between his sobs.

Their feet cannot support them, and they kneel down, turned into a crying sobbing and yelling mess. A hand, created by mist, grabs his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.

"I hate you," they spit, flaring their nose drills as they stare into the blue eyes of the illusion they use to pretend they're close to them.

"I'm sorry, hurting you was… if I could prevent it…" the stone says and gives him a small squeeze. And they mean it. If there was a way to do it without any pain, they would. But it's too late, Loki is already hurt…

Offer me that deathless death

Loki throws themselves into the tightest embrace they ever had, weeping like a baby. "I don't want to die. Please, I don't wanna die. Anything but this, anything, please!" he whispers, diving his head into their shoulder without a thought of holding back the tears.

"Shhhh, you won't die. Not truly. Your mind is the stone, as long as it exists you exist. And the body will stay intact until you need it again. You will be fine, I promise," they whisper, hoping of making them feel better.

"I'm scared, Tessie. I'm so scared, I can't," for a prince, Loki sounds so small, almost like the small child they used to be. Tessie starts playing with his hair, hoping to calm him down, even for a bit.

"It's alright. Everything will be fine, no matter if you do it or not," they shush them.

"If I do it or not?" Loki repeats, sniffing quietly and breaking the hug only to look at the misty blue eyes of Tessie.

"I… you're in so much pain… if you decide that you had enough, you'll be left alone," they explain. Loki nods, still quivering from the crying, but determined.

"No. We got so far. I-I-I'm not giving up," he lets his voice get louder, and then stands up. "What do I do?" they ask, collected once again.

"Get comfortable in a position. And once you're ready, make the ropes appear and let them wash over you," Tessie explains, holding this sympathetic voice. Loki nods and sits back down against the white wall, moving to get comfortable.

Then, with just a thought, the ropes appear and fill him with this calming sensation. Tessie walks closer and cups their cheeks. "See you on the other side, Loki," they smile and kiss their forehead before vanishing.

Loki takes a deep breath, and looks around the cage. He remembers a field day he had when little, a good day. Odin was sleeping on a bench and Frigga was yelling at them and Thor to not get into trouble as Thor dragged Loki, who was just above six, on an expiration of the forest around a castle in Vanaheim. Of course, they returned after the sun was down, with scraped up knees and dirty clothes and Loki had traces of tears in his cheeks because a bug scared him. But it had been, and still is, the best time they ever had with Thor.

He holds tight into the memory as he lets the ropes cover him and closes his eyes.

Good God, let me give you my life

The guards don't know how this happened. One moment, Loki was gazing at nothing and the next…

How does one say this to the Allfather?

The healers walk out of the cage when Thor storms in the dungeons, on the verge of panicking. "Is he alive?" It's all they ask.

The healers won't answer, it's enough to know.

Thor walks in and sits beside what used to be Loki, holding their cold and deformed hand and letting tears run down his face.

Loki doesn't respond, how could he?

He's a statue, as if made from black stone, and his hands covered in stone black ropes, with a faint glow where his heart should be being the only sign that there was once life there.

Loki's face doesn't have the signature smirk, and there's no gleam in their closed eyes. But he does wear a peaceful smile. A smile Thor regrets he had to see this body in order to know that his brother knows finally peace.

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ladyloptr · 4 years ago

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•Merely A Maid•

Request: twt@LOKIBARBZ “idk if ill be able to explain this well enough so apologies for that but what if the reader is a maid/servant of the palace and loki notices her just doing her duties while at a meeting or something and when he stands as shes cleaning up the meeting table he notices how much smaller she is than him physically (cough cough size kink) n requests for her to work on his floor more just to tease her n intimidate her cuz hes mean like that. like maybe...... while shes tidying up his chamber he pulls her onto his lap after having a drink or two n starts praising her for being a good servant.”

Fandom: Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Smut, dub-con, size kink, praise kink, master-servant relationship.

{————}

You’ve worked in the palace nearly your entire life. Your mother came to Asgard with you when you were young, escaping a crumbling marriage. She was lucky enough to be recruited by Queen Frigga, and so, she was hired to work in the Queen’s chambers. You grew up with all the other servant’s children, not allowed to mingle with any of the noble or royal children who resided in the palace.

Your mother eventually passed away, succumbing to the stresses of servantry, leaving you to support yourself. Having no other options, you ended up having to apply for a servants job in the palace, and so here you are, refilling the goblets of court members with ale and Æsir wine.

There is a meeting going on, though you’re not quite sure what is being discussed. Something about someone evading taxes and alliances with Vanaheim, but you aren’t sure. You’ve been too focused on your duties to eavesdrop into matters that have nothing to do with you.

So focused that you’ve neglected to notice the pair of sharp emerald eyes watching you. Apparently, you’re not the only one neglecting to pay attention.

The younger prince’s curiosity is piqued when he realizes has never seen you before. His prides himself in knowing something about everyone, and yet for some reason he’s never seen you before. His eyes drift to your pointy ears, allowing him to come to the conclusion that you’re Ljölsafar (Light Elf).

“Allfather, Lord Fjörnd will be most displeased with your decision. He believes that his region-“

“-Well, Lord Fjörnd is not King of Vanaheim. My alliance is with King Freyr.” The Allfather says. “If he wishes to debate the increase in trade taxes, he may speak to Freyr. This meeting has come to a close, you are all dismissed.”

While all of the court members leave, Loki hangs back, remaining seated while watching you clean up the table. You place the goblets on a tray and use a rag to clean up any drink that may have spilled onto the table. You are confused when you notice that Loki is still there.

“My prince...?”

Loki rises from his seat and it’s then that he becomes overtly aware of how short you are, in comparison to him. Æsir and Vanir women are known for their tall stature, while Ljölsafar women are much shorter.

The fact that he towers over you makes him excited. He is vaguely aware of his dominance kinks, but never truly had the opportunity to explore them. Perhaps, if given the chance...

You avert your eyes to the floor, unable to look anywhere near him while he’s staring so intensely at you. “My prince... is there something wrong...?”

“I am reassigning you.”

Reassigning? You think to yourself. Can he even do that?

“My father placed you in your current position as a general custodial servant, am I correct?”

You nod, keeping your eyes downcast.

“I believe your talents will be useful elsewhere. I am in need of a new chambermaid, as my previous one has retired.” Loki allowing his eyes to shamelessly look over your body.

“I-I don’t have many talents, sir.”

“You are a fast cleaner and you listen to directions very well, from what I’ve seen during that dreadful meeting.” Loki says. “Not many servants in this palace are useful for anything more than scrubbing floors. You will be working as my chambermaid starting tomorrow.”

“How will I know what to do, sir? I haven’t the training.”

“Hildegard will tell you everything you need to know. My requests are very simple and few in number.” Loki drawls. “I doubt you need extensive training for something so uncomplicated.”

“I... understand, sir.” You bow, and gather the tray of goblets and cloth. You keep your eyes to the floor even as you exit the room, and you are quite certain you hear Loki chuckle to himself.

A few months later, and you come to realize why they call Loki the God of Mischief.

You had expected being a chambermaid would be hard work, however, it’s just the opposite.

Most of the work you find yourself doing are the mundane things, such as making sure his bed is neat after he’s gotten up in the morning.

There’s barely any actual work for you to do, as Loki’s chambers are always so spotless, he hardly ever leaves you anything to clean, besides the bathroom of course.

Speaking of the bathroom... he has started asking you to bathe him, and you know that he’s only started doing it just to be mean.

He somehow found out that you’re a virgin.

The mischievous thing, ever since he discovered that information, he’s been terrorizing you. Sometimes he’ll act like a complete fool and ask you undress him, as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to do it himself.

And then there are times he’ll just be downright terrifying. A good example being the one time he asked you a question and opted to stand over you and gaze down at you as if you were his prey and he were the predator. It took a while for you to stutter out an appropriate answer.

A feast is currently going on tonight, in celebration of Thor and his friends coming out victorious in a recent battle, and Loki is surprisingly absent from his chambers. He usually doesn’t attend such things, finding the rowdy crowds of people to be quite distasteful.

You busy yourself with making sure the bathroom is clean, his bed is neat, and his bookshelves are in order. You are so engrossed in your work that you don’t hear Loki enter. He slowly closes the door behind himself and watches you dust around the corners of his chambers.

You yelp in surprise when you turn around to see him standing there staring at you. Your ears turn red as you wonder how long he’s been standing there for.

“I-I’m sorry, my prince... I didn’t... I didn’t hear you come in.”

Loki waves his hand dismissively, then walks by you to sit on the edge of his bed. You notice his movements are somewhat sluggish, so you decide to speak up.

“My prince... are you well?”

“I had a few drinks, I am fine, merely tipsy.” Loki motions for you to come towards him, and so you do, albeit with a bit of hesitation.

“Sir...?”

You let out a startled squeak he takes your waist with both of his hands, spins you around and pulls you onto his lap, your back facing him.

“M-my prince?” You squirm in his strong hold, only exciting him more. “What are you doing?”

“You’re such a good servant.” He drawls. “Such a good girl. I’ve wanted you ever since I laid my eyes on you.” He licks your earlobe causing you to jump. “Ljölsafar are such delicate things. Knowing that I could accidentally break you in half excites me.”

You gasp when Loki starts sucking on the spot behind your ear. He undoes the strings on the front of your dress, and then pulls the fabric down enough for your breasts to pop out. He pinched both of your nipples, rolling them in between his fingers as they harden. You start squirming again, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t do that.” Loki warns in your ear. “Be a good girl for me and stay still.”

Loki slips one of his hands underneath the skirt of your dress, his fingers snaking up your thighs. He stops at your panties and rubs his fingers against the damp material. Without another word he rips the cloth, now leaving you bare for him.

“Such an obedient girl. So well behaved.” He mutters, then pushes two of his fingers into you. “So wet. Is this for me, girl?”

You squeal, bewildered by his actions. “M-my prince, I’m n-not worthy-!”

“To the eyes of the court you may not be, but to me...?” He groans. “I can’t wait to deflower you. To be the first to fill you with my seed.”

He gently pumps his fingers, mindful of the fact that you’re untouched, and you arch your back against him in response.

“You are much too tight, my dear.” He chuckles, darkly. “I am afraid I might rip you in half when I take you.”

Despite the fact that he told you not to do it only moments before, you still can’t help but squirm underneath his attentions. You whine when he pulls his fingers out.

“On your knees, girl.” He orders, pushing you to kneel in front of him. You look away as he undoes the placket of his pants, freeing his erection.

Loki grabs your face, forcing you to look at him. Your ears are red and your face is flushed. “You are so bashful. It only makes me want to break you even more.” He tangles his fingers into your hair and tugs you forward, the swollen head of his cock touching the tip of your nose.

“Suck.”

You look up at him, fearfully. You’ve never given oral to anyone, let alone someone of high authority.

It’s not like you can disobey, though, and the scariest part may be that you sort of want to do this for him.

So, you take his head into your mouth and run your tongue over the slit. A loud groan tells you that you’re doing well so far. Your mouth is small, so you’re only able to fit a small portion of his cock in your mouth. You use your hands to massage the rest of his length.

“Ohhh, your mouth is sin.” He hisses.

After few long minutes of this, he pulls you off of him, and picks you up. He turns and suddenly drops you onto the bed, letting out a mischievous laugh when you yelp in surprise.

With a snap of his fingers, his armor and clothing is gone. He hurriedly pulls your dress down and off of you, absentmindedly throwing it off to the side. Your hands grip his upper arms as he cages you between him and his bed. You can feel the head of his cock nudge your entrance. It feels so big, you’re unsure how that’s going to fit.

“My prince... I don’t think I can...”

“You can.”

You blush heavily as your next words leave your mouth. “I... I don’t think it will fit.”

“I will make it fit.”

He hoists your legs up onto his shoulders and captures your mouth into a kiss. You let his tongue slip past your lips, and you soon come to realize that he has been trying to distract you when you feel a sharp pain followed by a burning sensation. He swallows your cries of pain and proceeds to slowly push in further.

By the time he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you’re shaking and your face is strained with tears. He takes his hand and wipes your tears away.

“I am going to move.” He informs you. “The pain will lessen over time.”

You aren’t sure if he’s telling the truth or if he’s lying out of desperation for some sort of release.

Loki slowly rocks back and forth, slightly shaking from restraining himself. All he truly wants is to fuck you through a wall, but that would have to wait. The last thing he needs is the whole palace thinking that he’s murdering you in his chambers.

“I can’t do this forever.” Loki grits out. He’s slowly losing his patience.

“It’s... it’s okay.” You breathe out. “It’s still there... but it’s starting to go away...”

Loki hums in acknowledgment and starts thrusting harder, speeding up his pace. You moan, the feeling of pleasure finally overcoming the pain you were experiencing earlier. He looks down at you, and the sight of seeing your small cunt being absolutely wrecked by his large cock drives him insane.

“Norns, you’re so tight.” He moans. “I could just sit here inside of you for days.”

You sigh, blissfully. You feel properly filled to the brim, his girth pleasantly stretching you out. A high pitched moan escapes you when he starts thumbing your clit, massaging it in tight circles. Something inside of you starts to knot tightly, and you desperately buck your hips up to meet his.

“My prince-! I-“ He cuts you off with another kiss, his hips now frantically thrusting.

“Cum.” He orders, his voice hoarse. “Cum for me. Cum for your prince.”

Your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The feeling of your muscles squeezing his cock pushes him over the edge right after you. He stills and pulls you as close as possible to his body, ensuring that you take every drop of his cum. He gives one last weak thrust before collapsing on top of you.

“I am keeping you.” Loki mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. “You will not allow anyone else to touch you. You are mine now, understand?”

“I understand.” You say softly.

He rolls off of you, and you’re mildly surprised when he pulls you up against his chest.

“We... didn’t use a contraceptive elixir.” You mutter, somewhat worried about what that might mean for you.

“I know. I did say you are mine, yes?”

“I could be flogged for laying with you, or even killed if I am found pregnant with your child.”

“And you won’t have to worry about that for very long.” Loki says with a mischievous tone. “I am, in fact, next in line to become king.”

You have no idea what he’s planning, but you don’t ask, instead choosing to stay silent.

Before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep.

#loki smut #loki (marvel)#loki odinson #servant #master and slave

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mai-sau · 4 years ago

Note

1. “Does it hurt” with Melkor and Mairon post Dagor Bragollach?

thank u for prompting!! i hope u enjoy, this ended up being a lot of fun to write!!

(Set post-Dagor Bragollach, not too long after the battle between Melkor and Fingolfin)

Prompt: “Does it hurt?”

Overall, it was a resounding victory - Mairon could not have been more pleased. That is, of course, aside from all that needed to be done now: re-establishing outposts, overseeing border reinforcement, managing the flow of resources to go to such projects… ah, but the fruits of victory were always the sweetest to shape.

Yes, he thrived in the chaos, Mairon mused. Out of chaos could only come order, and out of the corpses and scorched earth of Angband could only come new power, greater resources. To move freely, now that the siege was over - how delightful! He rolled new ideas about his head like embers, sparks of plans flitting about with their raw potential. And before he could help it, making his way through Thangorodrim’s darkened halls Mairon felt a little spring in his step. Oh, but didn’t they deserve it! A laugh bubbled out of him, and he all but skipped to his Master’s chambers.

Once at his quarters, Mairon knocked twice. “My Lord?”

He heard a fond huff from within. “Yes, Mairon, you may come in.”

Mairon shoved open the doors with a grin. He ignored the sting in his side.

Inside the cavernous room, Melkor lounged atop his bed. Silky hair, dark as night, pooled on the vast sheets behind him. The air was rich with the spice of smoke - and yet as it always was in his Master’s presence, cooled with an edge of frost. Mairon breathed it deep in his lungs, basking in the comfort of it all. That is, before he noticed what his Master was doing.

“Oh, Master, are you alright?” Mairon asked as he rushed over to his side, suppressing the dull ache in his own. Gently, he placed a hand over Melkor’s, where his Master was dabbing at a steadily oozing wound on his ankle. The thick, inky ichor seeping from the wound - likely from piercing, Mairon noted - had already stained the bandage black.

“I’m perfectly alright, Mairon,” Melkor assured him. He flipped over the hand that held the bandage, switching it out with his right, and entwined their fingers together. Melkor’s calloused palms always felt so cool against Mairon’s skin. “Victory is victory, even with a few cuts and bruises from a bitter elf king.”

“Still, you should have let me know!” Mairon fussed. Now that his hand was otherwise occupied, he too switched over his other hand to lightly press on the bandage. “I would tend to your wounds, Master, or at the very least see one of our healers do so. A Lord of Angband should not have to care for his own battle wounds -”

“Ah, and what would you have our healers do?” Melkor teased. “Shall a Man tend to the simple anatomy of a Vala? Or perhaps we should get an Orc to handle it?”

Mairon suppressed the quirk of his lips. “Still,” he pointed out. “I would have happily seen to your injuries. If you would allow me, I would see to them now.”

Melkor’s eyes softened, and he released his hold on the bandage. “Of course, love.”

Humming at the little victory, Mairon dabbed at his wound a little more. Eventually, he decided it was cleaned enough, and took in a deep breath. And he began to sing, sing of fixing and mending, of reforging and polishing and making brand new. The notes carried clear and sparkling through the air, and Melkor’s flesh began to sew together. Still Mairon sang, love and intent burning bright in his heart, until the skin was made whole again.

Mairon fell silent, and rubbed one hand over where the wound had once been, now supple and soft. He could sense the power within the injury, however, a spectre of furious will that hung over the sinew. Though the body was mended, he could tell what Melkor must have known: he would never walk freely again.

“Was that alright?” he murmured worriedly.

“More than,” Melkor said, and smiled sadly at him. “It is what it is. Come here, dear one.”

Mairon was all too happy to oblige, cuddling into his Lord’s side and ignoring the sharp twist and ache of his own as his body nestled in, even as Melkor rested a heavy hand on it - victory is victory, even with a few cuts and bruises.

“Mm, Master,” Mairon hummed, laying a hand on his chest. He buried his face into Melkor’s hair, inhaling the pristine scent of frost within the softness.

“Yes?” Melkor asked. His eyes were slipped shut, radiating contentment.

“I was thinking…” Mairon began, tracing the muscles of his chest with a lazy finger. “...now that our southern borders are free, we may divert some of the troops in the east to fortify them. Perhaps we could even see about sending food and supplies from the west -”

Melkor laughed, and the force of his mirth shook the very bed. “Mairon, my precious lieutenant! Shall you woo me with talk of taxes and subsidies, next?”

Mairon decided against continuing into his plans for a flat income tax in the eastern kingdoms of Men, and perhaps to also bench the indirect subsidies for their grain farmers. For now, at least. Their southern presence needed resources, after all. “Ah, of course not.”

His Master merely looked at him with a twinkle in his eye as if he could guess exactly what Mairon had meant to say. “Of course, of course,” he grinned. “Already thinking about how to forge new victories, I see.” The look in his eyes shifted then: from a playful tease to something almost reverent.

“Your mind is marvelous,” Melkor whispered, and gingerly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Mairon shivered. “My precious Maia. Devoted and passionate.”

And he squeezed Mairon’s side.

Mairon could feel his affectionate intent, and yet could not help the sharp suck of breath between his teeth, nor the abrupt twist in his face. His side burned.

Melkor’s eyes widened. “Are you alright, Mairon?”

“Ah, I am fine,” Mairon assured him, though he supposed he could be a tad more convincing were it not for the tightness in his voice. Really, though, he was fine. Victory was victory.

“That did not sound fine.”

“I am aware.”

Melkor raised an eyebrow. “So what was that?”

“Nothing!” Mairon tried to grin, but that one affectionate squeeze had brought the pain he had been suppressing to the dreadful forefront of his awareness.

“Mairon,” Melkor said, and this time his tone brooked no room for argument. “What was that?”

Mairon deflated. He would not disobey a direct order, no matter how inconsequential, and in his opinion, entirely unnecessary. “Just a lucky glance from an elven blade. I’ll heal it later.”

Melkor’s eyebrows furrowed. Gently, he pressed down a bit on the wound. “Does it hurt?”

“...yes,” Mairon admitted. But really, what sword wound didn’t? He was fine.

“Hm,” Melkor said, his eyes thoughtful. “I can heal it, though it might be painful.”

“Heal?” Mairon sputtered. After regaining his wits at the sheer shock of such a thing, he pressed on. “You don’t have to do that, Master! I swore to serve you, you need not-”

“Mairon.” Melkor stopped him. Ever so softly, he rubbed circles on his side, careful now to avoid the tender wound. “My precious Maia, you swore yourself in service to me. You give yourself wholly and serve me in all things, unflinchingly loyal. As your Vala, I graciously accept this devotion, but…” Melkor trailed off, and leaned down to press a hungry kiss to his lips. Once again, Mairon shivered in delight.

“As your Vala, I will provide in return. You are in my care, little one,” Melkor murmured against his lips. He pulled back, and gazed upon him adoringly. “I will see you happy and healthy, strong and glorious by my side.”

Mairon stared back at him, taking in the - the devotion his Vala showered him in. He blinked, eyes stinging - odd, wasn’t it his side that stung? - before burrowing his face back into his Master’s silken hair. “Please,” Mairon sighed. “Please take care of me.”

And so Melkor began to sing.

As his low, rumbling baritone filled the room, Mairon could not help but shake in awe from the sound. It was a melody of destruction, of chaos, of crumbling.

His side screamed in pain, but Mairon merely bit down harshly on his lip and clenched his fists where they lay on his Master’s chest. He could feel his flesh tearing itself into nothing, his form unraveling -

Melkor’s song changed.

Where before he had extolled devastation, now he sang of renewal. A promise out of ashes. The hope nestled in the very soil of wasteland. Out of chaos could only come order, and out of ruin could only come birth. Mairon felt the flesh in his side, once marred and broken, grow anew. And once Melkor had ceased his heartachingly beautiful serenade, Mairon felt his body stronger than ever before. More than anything, he felt revitalized, his skin humming with power.

This. This was Melkor’s gift. And once more, Mairon swore in his heart to defend it with body, blood, and bone.

Out of chaos could only come order, out of desolation only rebirth.

And for now, victory was so sweet.

#angbang #melkor #mairon #morgoth #sauron #silmarillion #my writing #writing prompts #nelyolofinwe #im nljgnsjnkgnjgslds im so sowwy my prompts are coming out at the speed of slow!!#i love working on them so much :') feel free to send more if anyone wants!!

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mefd19 · 4 years ago

Text

Failing Forward PT 2

PT1

Two days out from Port Zoon they paused in the route to hunt and fix a broken wheel. It was good timing, according to Caduceus.

“We should probably make a plan.” Caduceus ladled soup into bowls. Caleb tasted his politely before reaching for the salts. “There are children involved, so we should be extra careful.”

“I think Beau is good with kids,” Jester grinned, “Remember how she was with her brother? It was so sweet, Beau.”

Beau shrugged and tilted her head. “I could help with gathering information I guess. And I mean, I am your first mate, so I’m happy to go in there for you.”

“Yeah, something tells me the Matron won’t be as receptive to your brand of charm.” Fjord made an apologetic face. “At least from what I know of her she’s very protective of the children, and who she lets near them.”

“Oh!” Veth popped her head up from her bowl. “What if I pretend to be an orphan! I can change my shape and-”

Everyone shook their heads with varying degrees of intensity.

“The kids aren’t allowed in the business areas,” Fjord explained.

At the same time Caleb said, “It would be incredibly taxing to keep you in character long enough.”

“Listen,” Fjord held up a hand. “I appreciate everyone wanting to help me, but this should be relatively easy. I walk in, I ask about business details as if I’m interested in adopting, find out what Sabien’s interest is. If he’s just trying to pay it forward, so be it and we walk away.”

Caleb set his bowl aside and rubbed his mouth. “You said the Matron is protective?”

“Yes, bless her. One of the good ones, from what I’ve heard. I hope that's true.” There’s a shadow there, under Fjord’s words and behind his eyes. A shadow Caleb recognizes when he looks in the mirror.

Yasha tilted her head. “Wait, what if Sabien is there? Will he try to kill you again?”

Fjord shook his head. “He’s not in Zoon right now. At least as far as Kotho could tell.”

“So the plan is; you walk into the orphanage and ask about adopting.” Caleb asked.

“Yes, that’s about the long and short of it.”

“And the Matron will be amenable to that?”

For a moment Fjord paused. “Well, alright, maybe she will say no, but-”

“Oh,” Caduceus nodded, “I see what Mister Caleb means.”

“What’s wrong with me asking to adopt a child?” Fjord drew his eyebrows down and spread his hands wide, confused. “I was an orphan myself once, it makes sense I would come back to help another.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Caleb held a hand out. “Nothing at all. It’s very in character. I just think it might be better if you had a partner. Two parents are better than one, are better than none.”

“That’s very good Caleb,” Caduceus smiled and nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find any important information too.”

“Wait,” Caleb stilled, eyes going a bit wide. “I didn’t mean-”

“Suddenly I’m marrying Caleb?!” Fjord yelped, looking between Caleb and Caduceus. “Hold on just a-”

“-figured someone else would-”

“Ok ok ok!” Jester held her hands up. “We get it! Jeez. You guys don’t like each other enough to go undercover together, fine.”

Without missing a beat they both instantly started talking again.

“That’s not what I meant Caleb, I didn’t-”

“-wasn’t trying to push myself into the middle of-”

“-obviously you’re the most qualified because-”

Yasha whistled, low and drawn out. “Anyone else think they’re being weird about this?”

“Definitely.” Beau raised an eyebrow. “You two do make the most sense though, so maybe stow the panic for a second. Fjord’s got the know-how, and he talks good. Caleb talks good when he has to and he can find damn near anything that’s written down.”

“Plus he can pass messages with me,” Veth twirled the copper wire between her fingers before vanishing it back into her dress. “And it makes sense they would be at an orphanage. Newlyweds looking to start their family.”

“You can even use some of your real history in your cover!” Jester grinned and clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh how sweet, a teacher falling for his student!”

Beau grinned as she caught on. “That’s great Jess! Caleb was a teacher in, I don’t know, maybe Alfield? And Fjord went to learn magic after he got burned out working the docks.”

“And they’re coming back here to escape the war.” Caduceus nodded. “Nice and simple, I like it.”

“Great,” Fjord snapped. His cheeks were darker green than normal and he was avoiding looking at Caleb. “Now that you have my life re-written to suit your fantasy-”

“I’m sorry, Fjord.”

Caleb’s voice was so quiet, his face turned away, that it was surprising Fjord heard him at all. But he stopped and looked at the ground between his feet.

Caleb is good at something, after all.

Fucking up.

---

Caleb’s spell components were exactly as he left them. He ran his fingers over the strange assortment of things, counting and recounting, looking for any sign that they would not perform. Satisfied, he began tucking them away again, updating his internal list of things he should purchase when the opportunity arose. Each small pouch was filled, patted. The drawstring was drawn tight, bringing the smaller compartments together and cinching the top.

“All set?”

Despite what Fjord liked to claim, Caleb did not spontaneously levitate. He was startled, because he thought his traveling companions were polite, and polite people do not sneak up and startle their friends.

When Fjord stopped cackling to himself he leaned against the back of the cart Caleb was seated in. “Jester said you had some paperwork for us?”

“Yes.” Caleb had to lean to pull his bag out from under himself, muttering under his breath about sneaky green folk making his life harder. “Here, sign this one, make sure it looks alright.”

Fjord took the paper and his hand brushed against Caleb’s for a moment, eyes already flicking over the paper's contents. Caleb clenched his fingers and swallowed.

“This is uncharacteristically brazen of you, Caleb.”

His head whipped up to look at Fjord, eyes wide and throat tight. Did he think- did he know that-

But Fjord’s eyes were soft and teasing, and he tilted the paper at Caleb. “Also wholly unromantic. A marriage proposal by thrusting a certificate for me to sign? My dear we are going to have to work on your acts of love.”

“Oh.” Caleb’s mind was blank. “Er…”

Fjord rolled his eyes and turned back to the paper. “Relax, Caleb, I’m joking.” Then he frowned and tapped near the bottom. “What’s this about?”

Caleb leaned forward and peeked over the edge of the sheaf. “Those are our names, Fjord.”

In response Fjord threw him a look. “Yes, thank you master wizard. Except you took my last name.”

Looking up at Fjord’s face Caleb realized he made a mistake. Or maybe two. But one was definitely thinking it was a good idea to lean into Fjord’s space to look at the paper. He was too close to Fjord, who was looking down at him intensely. It made it hard to focus.

“Is that a problem?” He managed. Fjord’s eyes tightened and he chewed his lip for a moment.

“I mean…” Fjord thought for a moment. “I suppose it isn’t. Not really? But also, I don’t think we should use my real name. I mean, something Sabien would recognize. Or could be traced back to us later.”

Of course. “Of course. I should have thought of that.”

Fjord slid down so he was at Caleb’s eye level, resting on the back step of the cart. “Well, I don’t mind taking the name Widogast, but you’ve been using it for a while now haven’t you? That might be getting recognizable too.”

Caleb suddenly thought Fjord Ermendrud unbidden and inhaled sharply. “Probably,” he got out. “We could pick something new?”

“Hmm.” Fjord squinted out, across the fields. “Likely something Zemnian.”

“Why Zemnian?” Caleb frowned at Fjord. Did he think he needed to conform or something? Fjord had a habit of feeling inadequate, he didn’t even reveal his last name out of shame for months. Caleb had thought taking ‘Stone’ for his name would be appreciated, and now Fjord was turning things around on him. Again.

“Well my dear,” Fjord flourished a hand, cluing Caleb in that he was putting on airs. “We planned on staying in the Empire before this dreadful war started. Of course I would take a proper Zemnian name to help me fit in, so I wouldn’t draw so much attention to my beloved.”

“Hmm,” Caleb scratched his chin idly. “I appreciate that you were willing to give up your love of the ocean to be with me. But I think I was secretly thrilled to leave. We probably fought quite a bit about who got to be the martyr.”

Fjord barked out another laugh and Caduceus paused in walking by to turn and watch them. “Too true. But still- when we married we planned to stay in the Empire. A Zemnian name?”

“Gebirge?” Caleb tried. “Caleb and Fjord Gebirge? Or if you would rather have some alliteration, perhaps Felsen?”

“I like Felsen,” Caduceus said with a smile. He walked over to peer at the paper. “Fjord Felsen. Rolls off the tongue.”

After a moment in thought Fjord nodded. “It does sound rather Zemnian.”

“Here,” Caleb flipped through his papers and pulled out another, unsigned. “Let me just-” as he scribbled his new signature. Caleb Felsen

He blew on the ink for a moment, narrowed his eyes as he scanned the rest of the page, and handed it to Fjord. “Your turn.”

This time Caleb tried to keep their hands from touching, but the quill was small and delicate. Fjord’s hand covered his entirely as he slipped the instrument from his fingers.

Fjord Felsen

“Wonderful,” Caleb pulled the paper away and rolled it up. “Now you are bound to me, my condolences.”

At that Fjord grinned again and rubbed his palm. “Does Felsen mean anything or is it an old Zemnian name?”

“Stone, rock.”

Caduceus’ laugh was loud, startled out of him, and Fjord narrowed his eyes at Caleb. “You sneak.”

Caleb ducked his head, cheeks slightly flushed. Entirely too pleased with himself.

#critical role #widofjord #WIP #man idk if i should bother making this an actual WORK #and put it on AO3 #fake married #pining #im mostly just trying to get better at banter

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cloudshapedpatch · 5 years ago

Text

Misguided Royalty

Chapter 1: The Royal Guard Ain’t Shit

💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚

The wind teased the small buds on the trees. The nearly bare branches swayed in the pleasant breeze. Far off yonder laid the mountains. They appeared blue against the cloudy sky, and the tips of the peaks shone white with glittering snowmelt.

Despite the gloomy weather, a girl crept among the bushes of her mother's garden. She was fourteen years old, and dreading her next birthday. This part is important, so you must listen closely.

A 15 year old girl was deemed a woman. A great party was held in her honor to celebrate her passing into adulthood. She would begin courting the young men of the town, laying her fate down in the hands of her father.

This particular girl, however, was not excited for her 15th birthday.

It was not because she thought her party would be boring. She was sure it would be the talk of the town.

It was not because she did not want to marry. She was quite the romantic, and had been dreaming of this for quite some time.

It was not because she wanted to remain a child, young and free. She was ready to be esteemed as a responsible adult.

Well, maybe she was a little nervous because of those things. But those thoughts gave her the warm flutters of anticipation. The real reason she did not want to turn 15 was because of the role it placed on her shoulders.

For at 15, she was set to become the next ruler of China.

So, what was the princess doing in the garden while the sky was preparing to weep? She was running from her scholar.

Marinette was not fond of most of her studies. She ~

Oh, I apologize. Did I forget to mention her name? Well, it's Marinette. Princess Marinette Cheng. I'll have to ask that you excuse my pardon.

As I was saying, Marinette liked to learn of her kingdom's history, and of it's geography. However, she did not enjoy her etiquette counseling. Poor child was constantly dropping tea cups and tripping over her own two feet. It seemed, for the young girl, that the list of rules to follow was ever-growing.

So Marinette, the esteemed princess, was crouching among the rose bushes and making her way to the stone arches on the other side of the statue of her mother. If she could just get there, then she could use the hidden passage and ~

“Your Highness! This is not very lady-like of you."

Marinette rolled her eyes whilst still hidden, but heaved a sigh and stood. Her hands fiddled with a ribbon from her dress.

"I apologize."

“Princess, you must master your studies. You must be a capable empress by the solstice."

It was true. Her birthday was on the summer equinox, fitting for royalty if I may say so. She would have to not only be ready to become empress, but also to become a wife.

"Oh, you and I both know I'd just be a consort." She said bitterly.

Her scholar, a stocky elder whose surname was Damocles, gasped.

"That is hardly befitting language to be coming from you. You are to be empress."

However, Marinette could only roll her eyes. Damocles gave her a wary look, and she looked to her feet in shame.

“Besides, Your Highness, it is not safe out here. We must go inside at once.”

Even I hate to admit it, but he was right. This was no time for the princess to be dawdling about in the open. Who knows who could be listening?

Well, I would know. But that is because I am the all-knowing narrator. You must find out of your own accord as the story progresses.

Sir Damocles led the upset princess back into the palace, where she was immediately summoned to her room. She was going to have dinner with the emperor tonight, she must look her finest.

Many maids fluttered about Marinette, tugging at her clothes and hair. She did not like this one little bit. She preferred the nightly routine better; it was much more gentle. But alas, soon her makeup was touched to match her fresh hair-do.

This was the dinner attire. The silk weighed heavily on her shoulders. And oh, how she fumed as she made her way to the dining hall.

At one end of the long table sat her mother with her shimmering eyes. Everyone adored Empress Sabine. She was just and kind to the entire kingdom, and was always making trips to far off cities to check on the people.

And at the other end of the table sat the Emperor himself. His large frame almost made the roast boar seem small in front of him.

“Thank you for joining us, Princess. Please, have a seat.”

Warily, Marinette sat at the middle of the long table. Silence filled the room as she was served.

Sabine cleared her throat after many long minutes. “So, honey, how were your studies?”

“They were fine, mother. They were the same as they always are.” She gave her steaming plate more attention than it deserved.

My goodness, I’ve never known how moody a child could be until Marinette came around.

Emperor Dupain looked up from his food to stare at Marinette. “Do we need to hire a new teacher?”

“NO!”

The only sound the could be heard was Empress Sabine’s chopsticks falling on the table.

“I mean... that won’t be needed, Your Majesty. Damocles is a fantastic teacher. Thank you.”

“If there is a problem with your studies, then it must be addressed.”

“No, Your Majesty. There is no issue.”

“I just want what is best for you.”

“I can’t say that I agree, tìdài. You want what’s best for the kingdom.”

“Marinette!” Empress Sabine scolded, but she had already stood from the table.

“If you will excuse me, I must be getting some rest. I have a lot more to learn from Sir Damocles in the morning.” And then, she was gone.

She had stormed up to her room. Very typical of her.

Marinette’s personal maids had followed her into her bedroom to remove her makeup and help her into her nightclothes, but she waved them away glumly. Thankfully for the sanity of everyone in the castle, they knew just what to do when the princess was feeling down. So they sent word for the apprentice messenger.

The sun was setting when Alya Cesaire arrived at the palace gates. A royal guard hurried her through a side entrance and immediately to Marinette’s bedroom.

Upon hearing the knock on her door, Marinette only groaned.

“Oh please, Your Exquisite Royalness, do let me in.”

Alya smirked to the guard as they heard something hard fall to the ground on the other side of the door, followed by a quiet grunt of pain. Then in a flash, Alya was pulled into the room and onto the bed.

“Alya! What are you doing here?” The blue haired girl practically shouted.

“I’m here to see you, of course! Why else would I have rode in at sunset?”

“An important message?”

“Possibly. I do have the latest gossip from the market square. Would you like to hear it?”

“Would I? You know it always cheers me up.”

Marinette settled herself on her bed while Alya dramatically cleared her throat.

“Well, everyone is still quite upset with Emperor Dupain. The raised taxes are causing some women to start selling pottery and jewelry. Although, no one is buying because everyone else is struggling.”

“Awful! What else?”

“Lady Haprele got a new hat and has been parading the streets with it. It’s absolutely heinous.”

The girls giggled quietly as Alya started to brush Marinette’s long hair.

Unbeknownst to them, a stranger lurked in the shadows of the princess’s balcony.

He had been watching her all day. He listened in the garden, he eavesdropped their dinner conversation. He had a plan for exactly how he was going to obtain the bounty over the princess’s head. 5,000 gold pieces was certainly worth the effort to kill her.

I don’t know. He seemed like a bitch when he accepted the job.

Now he was here, sitting behind a tall plant and listening to her and Alya chatting about the latest gossip and occasionally switching back to talk about her father.

Correction; her step-father.

Emperor Dupain was not liked among the people. He taxed them when he wanted to go on a trip and barley kept the kingdom in working order. Anyone who was willing to marry him surely was just as uncaring as him. You can imagine how surprised the citizens felt about meeting their new Empress. But they had never seen the heir to their throne yet. She had yet to make an appearance, and her absence reminded everyone of the Emperor. It was not unexpected for the people to be wary. But oh, how they hated her. Never even met her, and yet they wanted her dead.

Could you blame the bounty hunter for accepting? Perhaps the Emperor would be next, and their kingdom would be saved under the wise hand of Empress Sabine. He made a silent promise that he would never let the corrupt princess into power.

This, however, became a problem. As he spent more and more time listening, he started sympathizing for her. He had yet to lay eyes on her, but when he did he was sure that he would be able to go through with the treason.

His cat-like ears twitched as he heard the Princess’s sweet voice bid her friend goodbye. He readied to jump into action, dagger in hand, as she stepped out into the night.

“Hello, Princess. It seems you’ve run out of time.”

She spun on her heel and gasped. And that was when he saw her.

Beautiful. Was the first thing that came to to his mind. His heart stopped beating for a moment, then pumped double-time as her impossibly blue eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“You’re... you’re... you’re Chat Noir.” It came as a coarse whisper. His heart twinged to hear her so scared, and it confused him.

Hell, I’d be confused too.

Before he could process the situation, she had stepped back, her foot catching on a flower pot. His callused hand grabbed her own before she could fall.

She looked at him in fear and confusion, her eyes flitting to the sharp dagger dangling lazily in his free hand.

Almost hastily, he pulled her up until she got her footing.

“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

Now that he wanted to speak, the words stuck in his throat.

“Um...”

Without thinking, he sheathed his knife. He looked away only to give in and gaze at her once again.

“That was the plan, yes.”

Much to his surprise, she took a deep breath and held her arms out at her sides, eyes shut tight. “Do what you must. I must be worth a lot. That is, assuming you’re getting paid off.”

“Are you sure, Your Highness? Does 5 grand seem enough?”

“Dear goodness, I’d have thought I was worth more than that.”

“Have you no sense of self preservation?”

“At this rate, I’ll be lucky to make it to the solstice.”

Now Chat Noir was heavily confused. On one hand, everything he had heard of the princess was malicious. But the girl standing valiantly before him was anything but.

“What’s happening on the solstice?”

Marinette opened one eye. “You don’t know?”

“I can’t say that I do, Princess.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Her hand dropped dramatically to her hips. “I will be turning fifteen. I will begin courting and soon after I will be married. I suppose to just become a consort.”

Chat Noir stood slack-jaw to hear the princess speak in this way.

“But I guess I won’t get to see that day, hm? Do you make all your victims talk like this?”

“Well, you aren’t a victim.” He said confidently. Truth be told, he felt a little weak. Then and there, he decided he could not kill the princess. Something stirred inside that told him not to. And when your life is spent on the run, you learn to trust your gut.

He still seems shady to me.

“I’m not?”

“Not anymore.”

“I suppose that’s good.” She still looked troubled, but she slowly walked over to her door. “Um, good night?”

“Yeah. I... I mean, good night, Your Highness.”

She certainly had not let him off the hook. Good for her! Marinette looked at him quizzically before softly closing her door and closing the curtains.

As Chat Noir leapt off the dark balcony, he had many thoughts swirling in his mind. But the most prominent one was, ‘What will I tell Papillon?’

#@mikoriin #marichat #secret lovers au #ancient china #princess and a bounty hunter #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #marinette cheng

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whiskynottea · 5 years ago

Text

We’ll rise up

Previously Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13 Chapter 14

AO3

~~~~~~

Chapter 15. Letting Her Go

Jamie pressed his lips to a tight line, his gaze lingering on Claire as she prepared her medicine box -- or what was left of it. The light leather box was now almost empty; Jamie had depleted her stock of salves, gauzes and herbs. She was due to visit Master Raymond’s, and Jamie knew he couldn’t accompany her to protect her. He wouldn’t be anywhere near her from the moment she left the house to go back to St Antoine.

Claire paused for a moment, checking the medicine kit one last time before securing the box closed. The candlelight drew trembling shadows on her face obscuring her characteristics, sucking the golden hues of her eyes and making them shine dark the moment they met his.

He saw that she was ready to leave in the set of her mouth. Full lips slightly pressed, no smile lurking at their corners. He heard the almost silent breath she let loose before wrapping herself in a black cloak to be effectively concealed in the city’s shadows and return to St Antoine safe. He saw, and heard, and sensed her, and he hated every minute of her preparation. He hated that he had agreed to let her go.

His fever had dropped the day before and the pain in his hand was now a silent, constant throb. Claire hadn't left his side for five days, sleeping on the big armchair Murtagh had moved into the room for her, and Jamie wished his recovery was slower, if only to wake up once more and see the way the sunlight turned her unruly curls into twisted beams of brown and gold.

“Will ye give us a moment, man?” he asked his godfather in a strained voice that didn’t sound like his. Murtagh’s gaze travelled from him to Claire before he cleared his throat and walked out of the room to wait for Claire in the corridor.

Once the door was closed, Jamie took Claire’s hand in his as though he could anchor her there, in the middle of his room. It wasn’t enough. The next moment he was pulling her closer, breathing her in. He cupped her face with both hands and planted a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Promise me ye’ll be careful a nighean,” he said, his lips still against her skin.

“Jamie…” Her eyes locked with his and she sighed, resigned. “I promise. You know I’m always careful,” she added with a pointed look. “Don’t worry about me. Murtagh will take us back home and tomorrow I’ll talk to Louise before doing anything else. If my absence has raised questions she’ll let me know. I won’t stay there if it’s not safe. I’ll come back here tomorrow after dusk, just as we planned.”

“You trust her, right?”

Claire narrowed her eyes at him. “For the hundredth time, yes. I do. Stop worrying, Jamie.”

“I’ll try to find more about Randall,” he vowed.

Claire nodded. “I hate that you have to do this.”

“And I hate letting you go.” He took a curl between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear. “The more we know, the safer we can keep you.”

“I know. I still hate it.” Her fingers brushed against his neck and he felt a familiar burn running through his body, enticing him to hold her closer.

His lips found hers and Jamie kissed her until he could think of nothing else but the scent of her curls and the taste of her mouth. When they parted, he whispered against her lips the words that pumped out with every beating of his heart.

“What does that mean? Tha gaol…” she tried to repeat it and his breath hitched in his throat.

“I’ll tell ye next time, Sassenach,” he promised and took a painful step back from her. “If ye need anything, sent a message with Fergus.”

“I will. And Jamie?” She paused, to make sure she held his full attention. “Stay away from St Antoine. After the attack in Maine, they won’t be kind to you. What they did to François...” she trailed off. “Just let Murtagh find the man you used to pass the information on and explain everything to him. Don’t go to him and don’t try anything heroic.”

“Your will is my command, Sassenach.” He gave her a crooked smile and watched her eyes narrow in response.

“I’m serious.”

“Aye, me too. Stay safe. Meet me at Raymond’s in three days if ye can. If not, send the lad and I will come for ye.”

“Murtagh,” she corrected. “Murtagh will come for me.”

“Aye, Murtagh.” Jamie sighed. “I’ll miss ye.”

“I’ll miss you too, Jamie.” Her smile warmed his soul as she leaned closer to kiss him again. She never did though, and Jamie felt her startle in his arms when he heard the door crack open.

“Come on, lovebirds. We really need to go and if I stay with this wee gomerel one more minute I swear I will throttle him.”

“I don’t want to stay with you either! Your room stinks!” the boy complained and rushed into the room to stand next to Jamie and Claire.

“That’s the divine smell of whisky, lad,” Murtagh chuckled. “One day we’ll make a man out of ye.”

“I am a man!” Fergus declared and looked at Jamie, seeking confirmation.

“Aye, ye are. And ye’ll take care of our damsel here in case she founds herself in distress.” His eyes travelled from Fergus to Claire, and he gave her a cheeky grin.

“I’m not a damsel in distress and I never will be.” Claire took a step back, crossing her hands in front of her chest and raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll save you, Milady!” Fergus reassured her with a smile, blatantly ignoring her statement. Jamie bit his lips to stop himself from laughing, but Murtagh was already snickering next to the door.

“You’ll pay for that, Jamie Fraser,” Claire threatened, now pushing a finger against his chest.

Instead of replying, Jamie took her in his arms and kissed her until he felt her body relaxing against his. A strange noise left Fergus’s mouth and a huff was heard from the door.

“We’re leaving,” Murtagh announced a moment later, interrupting their kiss.

“We are,” Claire agreed.

“Come back to me,” Jamie whispered, as though in prayer.

“Always,” she promised, and with a last quick peck on his lips, she took Fergus’s hand and joined Murtagh at the door.

Jamie saw them to the end of the hallway before returning to his now empty room. He would give everything to keep her with him, but the time hadn’t come. Not yet.

***

Annalise’s elbow felt wrong and heavy in his elbow. Jamie kept nodding at her words, listening only to half of them -- half, at best.

“I was worried that something serious had happened to you,” she was saying, her big eyes darting from his face to his hand. “Papa said the attacks increased and the insurgents are brutal and provocative...” she trailed off, gracefully shaking her head as her noble mother taught her to. Her eyes fell on his bandage again. “I am truly happy it was just an accident at the warehouse and nothing worse. You have surely heard what happened to Comte St Germain,” she said, fear and disgust mingling in her face.

Jamie nodded once more, willing the thoughts away from his head. That night, the fire, the boy... He couldn’t let himself tumble down into that rabbit hole again. This wasn’t the time nor the place to think of how he’d failed that day.

“Terrible,” she murmured. “Dreadful. They say they burned him in his own house.”

A wry smile curled up a corner of Jamie’s mouth. The Comte was a smart man, that much he had to admit. He’d vanished and wherever he’d gone, he told no one and let everybody believe he had perished in the flames. A convenient death, that was.

Jamie didn’t need to do much to keep the conversation going; Annalise was capable enough to talk for both of them. Keeping her voice in the background as they walked in the gardens, he focused on the noblemen and noblewomen around him with the hope he’d spot Randall among them.

He identified Jacques Necker instead, standing next to his wife and gazing at the roses. He stood with his back straight, his gaze on the flowers his wife was showing to him. Jamie wondered how the man felt, whether he still had a mind for such trivial things. Within a month Necker had been asked by the King to leave the country and then recalled by both the King and the Assembly. He’d come back as the finance minister after his successor, the 74-years-old Joseph Foullon de Doué, was hanged from a lamppost. But Necker didn’t need to fear such a fate. With his proposals for more fair taxation, he was one of the popular ones. He’d attempted to divide the peasant’s land tax and the capitation tax more equally and to abolish the value-added tax amongst other reforms. He had even succeeded in doubling the representation of the Third Estate to satisfy the nation and advised the King to make the necessary concessions before it was too late. The King, of course, hadn’t taken his advice.

“Madame, Monsieur,” Jamie bowed as Annalise curtsied next to him.

The couple greeted them in response, but before Jamie had time to talk again, a nobleman joined them and invited Monsieur and Madame Necker inside. A moment later they excused themselves and Jamie was left alone with Annalise again.

“Maman told me that Madame Necker had been engaged to an English historian who broke her heart before meeting her husband. And he was in love with a widow! Would you imagine? Quite the scandal!”

“People canna always rule their hearts,” Jamie replied acerbically, having no interest to feed or be a part of her gossip. Annalise smiled warmly at him, happy with his comment. Jamie didn’t care to correct her assumptions.

They continued their stroll in silence. Jamie had lost himself in thoughts of Claire when Annalise mentioned that the uniforms of the British army officers were dazzling.

“What a beautiful red,” she said.

Jamie looked at her puzzled, then followed her gaze to find the subject of her observation.

A man was standing a few feet away from them in a bright red uniform, talking to two ladies. Jamie swallowed his disgust.

English Bastards.

It was only for a second that Jamie’s eyes fell on the officer’s dry and serious face, but it was enough. The similarity was unmistakable. The dark hair, the set of his jaw, the slender build. The man looked exactly like Claire’s pursuer.

Bile rose in Jamie’s throat and he guided Annalise towards a path that would take them away from the man. He did glance back, though. He needed to be sure.

How was that possible? Claire had told him that Frank Randall was a historian, her uncle’s colleague.

“Would you happen to know that man, Annalise?” he inquired as they walked towards the Orangerie.

“Who, dear James? The officer?” she asked, glancing back at the man with a frown so light that didn’t distort her face. Claire always frowned with all her features, ending up to have deep lines between her eyebrows and he loved it. “I think I have seen him before, but I can’t be sure. I can ask maman, though.”

“No, there’s no need to. Merci, Annalise.”

The idea of going back to talk to the man crossed his mind, but Jamie quickly turned it down. He would ask Claire when he would see her again. It was safer this way, curiosity be damned.

In two days, he thought, and a genuine smile lit up his face. Claire had sent word with Fergus. For the time being, she was safe at St Antoine. People had inquired regarding her absence and she said the truth; an invalid needed her to tend to him and she needed to stay at his house for a few days. Fortunately, nobody asked questions about the person in need of her aid.

Louise had welcomed Claire back with a big smile and news. The servant who was looking for her had visited twice, the last time carrying a note. It wasn’t sealed, and Louise handed it to Claire with the confession that she’d read it.

“What is this about, Claire? Are you in trouble?” she inquired when Claire opened the note.

Be careful.

Claire had truthfully replied that she was as confused as Louise had been. Jamie thought of the note again. In her letter, Claire had said that it was carefully scripted but it wasn’t signed. The two words burned a flame in Jamie’s heart.

His first thought was that the message was a threat from Randall. The man had to know something and planned to reveal it the moment he reckoned was detrimental for Claire. But in her letter, Claire had insisted that this was just a warning. For what, she wasn’t sure. Neither she was sure of Frank’s motives, but the servant didn’t visit St Antoine again after that.

That was one of the many reasons Jamie craved for any information concerning Randall. Any clue that would help him understand what the man wanted from Claire. Anything would be helpful, and yet he had nothing.

He felt useless. Annalise didn’t know Frank Randall and neither did his uncle. On top of that, he hadn’t found any information that would help him regain his credibility with the rebels. Murtagh had met with Jamie’s connection and fed him a fake story that would hopefully excuse his behaviour during the attack. Something about losing his older brother in a fire and losing his mind when he saw the child in the manor. Murtagh had said that the man thought about it, nodded, but didn’t seem very convinced.

And now Annalise was telling him that her father was considering leaving the city. She invited him to join them in Provence, but Jamie politely declined, claiming that he couldn’t leave his business in Paris.

“Oh, oui,” Annalise chuckled. “They may try to burn the whole of France, but wine is wine.”

“Wine is wine,” Jamie repeated, not sure of how to respond to this. Had Annalise been sarcastic? Had she realized that wine would never be enough to keep him away if he really wanted to be with her?

At last, he accompanied her to her house and returned to the wineshop. The day was still bright, and he walked along the Seine with his thoughts darting from Claire to Randall and back. A man with a familiar face passed by him. A customer of the shop, maybe. Or someone frequenting the same gardens and balls he did. He was plain, with common features, forgettable for the majority of people but Jamie never forgot a face.

He reached the shop when the sun hung low above the horizon, painting the sky orange and purple. His uncle was alone in the office, surrounded by orders and receipts.

“Will ye need me, uncle?” he asked as he entered. “Murtagh isna here and I can help with the orders if ye want me to.”

“No, lad. I’ll finish them by myself. Murtagh left because I told him what I’ll tell you now. Go back home and rest. We’re expecting a large delivery from Portugal tomorrow, and I will need all the help you can offer then.”

With a last goodbye, Jamie left the wineshop intending to do exactly what his uncle had asked from him.

He was whistling a song his mother used to sing at the end of the day, when they were all in the parlour, sitting close to the fireplace. He hadn’t written to Jenny in a while.

Tonight, after dinner, he thought.

Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice the two men creeping up to him from behind. And when he reached the next crossroad two more joined them. Together, they could knock down any man, even a tall, broad-shouldered, strong lad as Jamie.

Chapter 16

#we'll rise up #french revolution AU #Jamie x Claire #historical fanfiction #18th century #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction

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legolaslovely · 5 years ago

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I Can Fix That

A/N: ^Me to the last season of BBC Robin Hood. This is the fic I posted about! Guy finally gets a happy ending! Whoop whoop! Hope you guys enjoy!

Pairing: Guy of Gisborne x Reader

Word Count: 3,368

Warnings: Spoilers for season 3, violence!!- talk of beatings, burning, blood. It’s not too bad, but if this may trigger/upset you, stay away! If you would still like to read the story, message me and I can send you a revised version. Other warnings: angst for plot, but fluff and happy ending whooo!

Summary: Guy saves (Y/N) from being tortured by the sheriff and confesses his feelings to her. Will they end up together WHO KNOWS? (You know- all I write is fluff)

The clanging of metal spurs against the hard dungeon floors pricked at (Y/N)’s unconscious mind like a million small knives.

“Wakey, wakey, girl,” the dungeon master called to her in a sweet voice.

Though she tried, she just couldn’t pull herself out of the deep, black hole the master’s beatings had thrown her into. Her head rolled and she pulled at the restraints around her wrists above her, but she couldn’t remember how to open her eyes.

He struck her and she was sure her cheekbone had burst through her skin. She squinted and saw the ugly, grinning man standing before her in the low light. He was rubbing the sting from his knuckles. “Someone’s coming to see ya.”

The spur clad feet grew closer and she heard voices echoing softly through the corridors. “I have a surprise for you, Gisborne. Look.” The sheriff and Guy of Gisborne rounded a stone corner and stared at (Y/N) through the jail bars.

Guy’s eyes blew wide and he took a step toward her before the sheriff stuck out a hand to stop him. He took in her bloodied, bruised face and the sweat soaked tunic she was left in that revealed her figure to her visitors. “Why is she here? What has she done?” he asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” the sheriff said, giving a nod to the master who struck his innocent prisoner once again.

Fierce fury rose in Guy. “What are you doing? Stop!” he yelled.

“No one tells you how to handle your prisoners, Gisborne. Let the master do his job,” the sheriff said.

The master turned and hobbled to the stove in the corner of the cell and took a branding iron from the fire. He swept it across (Y/N)’s chest and held the red hot metal inches from her face. She cowered against her raised arms and screamed. “Please! Have mercy, sheriff, please! I’ve done nothing wrong.” Her cries turned into chest shattering sobs. “Please, help me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Sheriff, please,” Guy said, only for the sheriff to hear.

The sheriff sighed. “Oh, fine. Gisborne, you take the fun out of everything. Don’t burn her,” he told the master. “At least not her face.”

The iron dropped from her face, but before she could release her held breath it burned the skin over her hip. Her throat seemed to tear from her screams and Guy couldn’t bear it any longer. He tore the bars open and threw the master on the ground.

“Yes, Gisborne, save your damsel. Next time you fail me, she won’t be alive to save.”

Guy was grateful (Y/N) didn’t seem to hear the sheriff’s words. She was left limp and barely cognizant from the toll the extreme pain took on her body. He unlocked the chains around her wrists and caught her before she could fall to her knees. She whimpered in pain and fear while he carried her past the sheriff and out of the dungeons. “You’re safe now, (Y/N). I’m so sorry,” he chanted.

He held her close, even after setting her on his bed. Her tears had formed clean lines in the dried blood on her face and her ribs hadn’t stopped heaving from her sobs. He knew her wounds had to be cleaned and he rose from her side to find dressings and cleaning cloths, but she wouldn’t allow it. Even in her weakened state, she yanked on his clothes. “Don’t leave, please.”

He blinked wildly. “I-I’ll be right back.”

She shook her head and more tears fell from her tightly closed eyes. He realized she was still morbidly terrified. “You’re safe here, (Y/N).”

“No, I’m not,” she whispered. “I’m not safe anywhere anymore. I didn’t do anything,” she cried.

He shushed her and stroked her hair until she calmed. Eventually, exhaustion took over and she fell into a light, fearful sleep.

Guy cursed himself as he cleaned and dressed her wounds. His mind whirred, thinking of what the dungeon master did to her and wondering how long she was kept in that cell. His stomach flipped with guilt and rage. He would kill that disgusting torturer and he wanted to make the sheriff pay.

He made to leave her to sleep, but she grasped at him again, whispering, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

His mind was torn apart. He knew he should leave her and sleep in the other room. His feelings for her only put her in more danger. But he saw such innocent fear in her face that he chose to stay. He sat on the bed and inhaled sharply when she glued herself to him, pulling his tunic into her fists and burying her face into his shoulder. “You’re safe,” he said.

When she woke, she was alone. She felt robbed of any rest she might have had by nightmares and memories of the days before. She forced her eyes open, because every time she closed them she saw the dungeon master’s wicked face smiling at her.

She pulled herself up, gasping at the sharp pain in her ribs and arms. A clean tunic and pair of trousers were laid on the foot of the bed and bread and cheese sat on a nearby table. Nervous panic rushed through her until she remembered where she was. She thought of Guy and how her fear had made a fool of her the night before.

She shook her head, dreading the thought of facing him again. She was thankful for the change of clothing, her slip was stiff with dried sweat, blood, and terror. She found a mirror in the corner of the room and pulled the waist of the trousers down to see where she had been branded. She pulled the bandages away and winced. Her entire body ached, but this hurt the most. Not only had she been burned, her skin was marked like an animal. She pushed away tears of fury and mortification when she heard the door open behind her.

She whirled around and only partly relaxed when she recognized Guy. His gaze immediately fell to her hand covering the burn with her tunic. “Let me look at it,” he said.

“No,” she said, turning from him.

He sighed. She’s back to her old self, he thought. “I’ve already seen it, I dressed it last night.”

“You’ve already seen it, you don’t need to see it again.”

“(Y/N), I’m trying to help you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and showed him, refusing to look at him.

“It’s healing,” he said, reaching a finger for her skin.

She pulled away, hissing. “Don’t touch it, it hurts.”

He set a bowl of bandages on the ground and knelt before her. “If you leave it uncovered, it will fester.” She watched him with distrust, but her solid countenance softened at his tender touch. He secured the bandage and replaced her tunic and trousers to their rightful place before standing to tower over her. “Did you eat?”

She dropped her eyes to the plate of untouched food and heard him sigh. He forced a crust of bread into her hands. He eyed her until she took a bite and then told her to sit on the bed. He brought a chair next to her and showed her a glass jar of oily, white goop. “This will stop any scarring.”

Her nose scrunched. “It smells awful.”

He smirked and dipped a finger into the ointment. He gazed at her for a moment before reaching to her brow and smothering the thick cut there. She winced, but allowed him to continue.

“Why did they do this to me?” She waited for his answer but he was intent on administering the medication, and gave none. He moved on to the gash over her cheekbone. “I didn’t do anything wrong. No one would tell me anything.” She shook her head and looked to the floor. “Of course you won’t answer my questions either,” she spat.

He took her chin and made her look at him. “I will answer your questions.” For the first time that morning, his voice was no longer gentle. He sighed and placed a finger to the split in her lip. “They took you to punish me. I couldn’t kill Robin Hood and the sheriff doesn’t take kindly to failure.”

“Why would they take me? How did the guards even know me? I’m just a seamstress from Locksley, I’ve never even been to Nottingham before they took me.”

Guy stood and added the jar to the bowl of medical supplies. He crossed the room and pressed one shoulder to the wall, leaning with his arms laid over his chest. “Do you remember the first day I came to Locksley?”

“You came to collect taxes. And when my family didn’t have enough money, you tried to take our horse.”

“And you spat on my boots.” He watched her try to hide her amused and prideful grin. “Then, you rode it, bareback and no bridle, off into the woods and I could hear you laughing at me halfway through Sherwood Forest.”

She laughed. “I loved that horse. I couldn’t let you just take him.”

He hummed. “You disobeyed your superior that day.”

She rolled her eyes and stood.

“Don’t you ever wonder why I always come to you when I need something mended? Why I ride all that way out to Locksley?”

She shrugged. “You have weapons thrown at you every day, it’s no surprise your clothing gets ripped.”

He stood before her now. “There is a tailor from France in this castle at all times.” When she gave no answer, he continued. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve purposefully torn my cloak just so I could ride out to see the defiant seamstress in Locksley.”

For possibly the first time in her life, (Y/N) was speechless. Any other day, had he towered over her as he did now, she would have stood strong and bold below him. But now, she needed the support of his arm under her fingers to fight her shock. Her brows lifted as she felt his muscle tense under her touch. Her gaze rose to see his softened eyes and a rare smile directed at her.

“(Y/N), you’ve had my heart from the moment you laughed over your shoulder at me that day.” He backed away from her and furrowed his brow. “That is why they tortured you. Because of my feelings for you.”

“That’s why? That’s why they locked me in a cell for- I don’t even know how long? I was beaten, burned, and starved for days just to- just because you, you-” Understanding came crashing down on her and she sat on the bed again, shaking her head with closed eyes. She felt Guy gripping her hands and looked up to see him kneeling before her.

“Yes. It’s my fault, it’s because of me. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” His usual strong, deep voice sounded utterly broken and he couldn’t lift his eyes from her hands.

“None of this is your fault. It’s the sheriff. How do you work for that monster?” Guy gave no answer. She leaned forward and used a gentle finger to lift his face to look at her. “None of this is your fault. I don’t blame you.”

His features darkened. He shook his head and stood, walking to the other side of the room. “You should! I am the reason you’re no longer safe in your home.” Then he rushed back to her and dragged her to the door.” I’ll bring you back, I’ll make sure they won’t hurt you or your family. I’ll never see you again. I’ll convince them they were wrong.”

“Guy-”

“I refuse to be the reason you’re not safe!” he yelled, clutching her arms.

This was the Guy she knew. Sir Guy of Gisborne—loud, brash, and unrelenting. The tender, almost sweet man from the morning was gone and replaced by the power hungry man whose mind was made up whether she liked it or not. He stared at her with a clenched jaw and heavy, erratic breathing and she wondered what it would take to bring the gentle version back.

“So, because you work for the sheriff, you can never be happy?”

He gave no answer at first. Then, he pulled her out into the corridors of the castle and held her waist tight as he flew down the halls. “I will be happy when you’re safe.”

She could barely keep up with his pace. She huffed. “And you think you’ll be able to do that now? Keep me safe? I was in that cell for days and you didn’t know until the sheriff delivered you there. He’ll kill me next time, I heard him say it.”

“That won’t happen.” Once outside, he barked orders to one of the guards to bring his horse.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m bringing you home.” He lifted her to sit in the saddle, then used to stirrup to hoist himself up and rest behind her. He held her hips when she was jostled by the horse’s discontented buck.

“B-back to Locksley? But-”

“My mind is made up.”

She was silent as they rode back. It was a relief when they trotted through the gates and into the open fields where there were no more eyes to stare at her or mouths to spread gossip about what she was doing on Sir Guy’s horse with Sir Guy’s arms around her.

Her gaze fell to where his hands sat in front of her, holding the reins with a tight grip. She stared, waiting for some type of movement or fidget, but it didn’t come. She guessed she had seen the last of his outburst in the castle. His breath blew softly over her shoulder and she reached up to slide her loose hair behind her ear, sneaking a glance to him. His eyes were already on her. When she turned forward, she gasped.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing. The belt of the trousers scratched the-the burn.”

The horse stopped abruptly. “Does it need to be dressed again? We’ll stop-”

“No, it’s fine.” He watched her lift her tunic—his tunic that she was wearing—and lower the band of the trousers. His dressing job from the morning was still holding up. “Besides, aren’t you in a rush to get rid of me?” Her harsh tone cut through him.

“Of course I’m not.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t know from the way you pushed me through the castle like you were ashamed of me.”

“I’m not,” he paused, lowering his voice. “I am not ashamed of you. After everything I’ve told you, you should know that.”

She hummed, unimpressed. Anger flooded her chest and choked her neck. She was irritated with the situation, having to rush home and hide from that damned, evil sheriff. She couldn’t know if she or her family would ever be safe again. But she was mostly frustrated with Guy. He thought he was strong enough to protect her but he wasn’t even strong enough to leave a sheriff who didn’t respect him and put him in danger every day. She wanted him to be happy, safe from Nottingham’s grips on him. She wanted to see more of the sweet man she had caught a glimpse of. She wanted to know him.

Ahead, she could see the village of Locksley. “We could leave,” she said.

“What?”

“I mean, I could leave. Go somewhere the sheriff and his men couldn’t find me, where I’d be safe. And you could leave. You could be a lord somewhere far away, have your own house, your own land, your own—family. Somewhere else.”

“I said I’ve made up my mind.”

“I heard you, but-”

“(Y/N). It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work for either of us. I’m not meant to have that sort of life and I won’t bring you further into my… my hell.”

The horse stopped at the edge of the village. When he slid to the ground, she shivered as the cold air hit her back. He helped her out of the saddle, setting her down gently. He brushed a finger behind her ear, pushing her hair out of her face. He took in the cuts and bruising on her skin.

“I don’t know how to apologize for the pain I’ve caused you.” He sighed, looking to the ground. “I will never come here again, never see you again and you will be safe. I promise you that.” He leaned to her and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Then he left her and she watched as her fingers slid from his chest. He mounted his horse and galloped away.

(Y/N) walked through the gates to her home, hugged her little brother, and explained about the cart accident in Sherwood Forest that had injured her so badly. She had been well taken care of but was glad to be back. She returned to her seamstress work and mended many cloaks, but none of them looked familiar.

Time passed, crops were sewn and harvested, and clothes were made and mended by her hand. She often brought her work to the edge of the village that faced Nottingham. She would sit on the rickety fence and listen to travelers’ talk of the castle, the rich sheriff, and his tall, dark, right hand man. “That Gisborne, ‘e’s pure evil. Takes all the money for ‘imself. Never comes ‘ere no more, thank ‘eaven for that.” She bit her tongue. She knew it wasn’t all true.

She even sat there when the weather was growing colder. A chilly wind blew through her hair as she knitted a shawl for herself for the coming months. She had almost finished when her brother ran up to her.

“Pa says to come in. Says it’s too cold out here.” He leaned his elbows on the fence next to her and giggled when the old wood creaked.

“Stop that. I’m almost done,” she said.

“Did ya hear about all that’s going on? With Robin Hood?”

“I don’t pay attention to that gossip, you know that.”

“S’not gossip! It’s true, the sheriff’s been killed. Long since that, but now his right hand man, that Gissyorn-”

She dropped her needles in her lap. “Gisborne. Go on.”

“Gisborne. He used to work for the sheriff.”

“I know that.”

“Well, now he’s working with Robin Hood. Got rid of the new sheriff. She was a woman. Can you believe that? A woman sheriff. I guess she was bonkers. There was a battle and half of Nottingham died.”

Her chest tightened. “Guy? G-Gisborne? Did he die?”

“Don’t think so. I heard that Robin Hood asked him to join his band, but I doubt he’ll do that. What do you think he’ll do?”

Just then, (Y/N) heard her father’s voice calling them both inside. She watched her brother go, but she folded up her finished shawl with a smile. “I have an idea.” She hopped off the fence and turned toward her home, but stopped when she heard her name being called across the field.

Galloping through the tall grass was Guy. His dark hair had grown long and his black tunic flapped in the wind. He seemed gaunt and thin since the last time she’d seen him, but no less handsome. As he neared her, she saw something she’d never seen from him. A wide smile, showing his neat, white teeth.

He leaped off the horse, almost stumbling in his rush to get to her. He landed before her, but did nothing else—didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything, gave her nothing.

She shook her head in awe. “I hear you’re a hero now.”

“Is that what they’re saying?”

She hummed, fixated on him. “So, does that mean…”

He gulped down his heavy breath and smoothed her hair. “You’re safe now. We’re both safe now.”

Relief choked in her throat. She lunged at him, folding her arms around his shoulders and bringing him down for a kiss. Their first kiss after months of danger and loneliness. Their first kiss ever. She felt herself swoon—he was strong, warm and safe. Then his lips left hers.

“I have this tear in my cloak.” He showed her.

“I can fix that.”

New taglist! Message to join! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm

Tagging those who may like this! If you don’t want to be tagged, just let me know! @fizzyxcustard @alae-megallen @deepestfirefun

#Sir Guy #Sir Guy of Gisborne #guy of gisborne #guy x reader #sir guy of gisborne x reader #sir guy x reader #robin hood bbc #robin hood fic #bbc robin hood #robin hood fanfiction #richard armitage #richard armitage x reader

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tss-grimmverse · 4 years ago

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Chapter 3: Lilac

i wish you out of the woods

and into a picture with me

The Youngstown Grimms had made it sound like Logan possessed arcane knowledge, and would cast some sort of protective spell over Virgil. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this whole protection business being based on proximity.

Had those Grimms warned Logan that they’d signed Virgil up for college classes? Did they even know how Logan’s “protection” worked? It took Virgil nearly the entire allotted thirty “digestion” minutes to muster the courage to bring it up again.

Honestly, with his track record, that wasn’t so bad.

“So…” he drawled, as the two were slipping on their shoes to leave. “How is this gonna work, anyway?”

“This?” Logan pocketed his phone.

“Me, staying here, with you.” Virgil gestured between them. “Like, do I have to stay within a certain distance for your protection mojo to work?”

“For the time being, yes,” Logan explained as they exited the apartment and started down the stairs. “My long term plan, however, is to make a charm that will shield you in my stead.”

That didn’t sound so bad.

“But I will be able to leave?” Virgil clarified. “Like, during the day or whatever?”

As much as he didn’t mind sharing space with an absurdly gorgeous…if a bit standoffish…guy, being trapped inside day after day would drive him up the wall.

Logan made a noise of assent.

“The charm I intend to make will ensure that our arrangement does not overly restrict your freedom. Shelley has informed me of your intention to attend fall classes at Stetson University.”

‘My’ intention, sure.

Truthfully, art school had simply been the cover story to explain why Virgil would suddenly abandon Ohio and his Faire family. The Youngstown Grimms warned him that the whole Ren Faire circuit wasn’t safe for him anymore, not even as far away as Florida, not when his master had already tracked him down once. He still couldn’t imagine what strings the Grimms had had to pull to get him into a fancy, expensive-as-fuck university on such short notice, with only a GED to his name and no other transcripts…but they had, and they’d told him all his expenses would be covered besides.

Virgil was smart enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw it…and too selfish to turn it down.

“Oh, I suppose I should ask.” Logan paused before they left the stairwell. “How sensitive are you to iron?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck.

“Cars don’t bother me, if that’s what you’re implying. Most metal doesn’t if it’s refined enough.”

“You are fortunate.” Logan absently thumbed one of his pointed ear tips. “I hypothesize that my sensitivity lies somewhere between that of a true faery and an older changeling. My disguise glamour protects me somewhat, so driving around town is not a problem, but a cross country trip would be…taxing.”

Virgil winced. “That still sucks.”

Logan hummed, adjusted his glasses, and they left the stairwell for the overly bright, bleached parking lot.

Florida, ugh. Virgil squinted in the unrelenting sunlight. No wonder Logan’s house brownie wears sunglasses. He would need to buy a pair of his own, and soon.

Logan unlocked a nearby blue Honda Fit and they climbed in. Virgil observed how Logan’s dark, graceful hands did not linger on either the door handle or the metal seatbelt buckle.

“I can eat stuff cooked in ordinary pots,“ Virgil added as they pulled out of the parking lot. “But cast iron skillets, man…” He shuddered.

“An iron skillet would outright poison me.” Logan grimaced. “Even heavily refined steel is distasteful to cook in.”

That’s why he owns a copper kettle, Virgil realized. Probably all his cooking utensils are copper or aluminum.

“I was shoved into a wrought iron gate once at a Faire,” Virgil went on. “Burned like a bitch, and I only touched it for a few seconds. I haven’t really tested my sensitivities beyond that.”

“I recommend against it.” Logan answered Virgil’s raised eyebrow with a sharp look. “The enmity between iron and Fae is an ancient one. You won’t develop a tolerance.”

Something in the tone spoke of past experience to Virgil. Another little interesting tidbit about the man he’d moved in with.

His charged iPod and headphones lay nestled in his hoodie pocket, but for once, Virgil chose not to tune out the world. Instead he observed Logan’s long fingers on the faux-leather steering wheel, the flex of muscle in his forearms, the crease between his eyebrows as he navigated downtown Deland’s narrow Main Street.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Logan said after a long silence, as though weighing the words. Which of course made Virgil’s anxiety skyrocket.

“What fae abilities do you possess?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted; he’d been dreading that question.

His own hands, caressing bits of straw, color and softness bursting from the hollow shafts. Sewing needles and the dark, metallic scent of blood. Mocking words and cruel fae lips and under it all his power, flowing from his chest into waiting bodies…

Dolls. Abominations.

“I make flowers,” he answered at last.

Logan glanced at him and arched an eyebrow.

Virgil sighed and patted his pockets, finally plucking a loose thread from his hoodie sleeve when nothing else turned up. He laid the tiny string across his palm, and mentally pulled. Warmth blossomed in his chest, like unfolding flower petals, racing down his arm, rippling under his skin, seeping into the thread he held.

It quivered, and expanded, buds bubbling along its length before silently exploding into leaves, the end growing bulbous and green and peeling into delicate violet petals and a yellow center.

He stuck the newly created forget-me-not, stem barely as long as his pinky finger, behind his ear.

“Go on, you can say it,” he challenged, chancing a look at Logan, whose expression hadn’t changed. “Sixteen fucking years in Arcadia, and I end up with the most useless changeling power in existence.”

It was safer, disparaging his magic like it really was nothing but flower-making. Those Grimms in Ohio would never have helped me if they knew what I was, and why my master wanted me back.

The half-faery’s eyes were a mystery behind his glasses. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

But then they were pulling up to an ordinary suburban house and Logan was parking the car, and Virgil had a whole different, slightly more ordinary situation to fret over.

Interacting with people.

“Come,” Logan said, getting out. “Time to meet Nicodemus.”

Virgil dearly hoped ’Nicodemus’ wasn’t another brownie, or a pixie or a hobgoblin, or…

To Virgil’s vast relief, Nicodemus turned out to be a brown Labrador that barked joyously at Logan’s arrival and spent the next five minutes on its hind legs, eagerly licking the half-faery’s face.

Logan rubbed the dog’s head, heedless of the spit bath, and exchanged words and money with the gray-haired woman of the house. Virgil gathered that she often watched Logan’s dog when he was away. The two of them, dog bouncing between, carried a crate full of hairy blankets, some dishes, and several toys out to Logan’s car.

Virgil hung back in the doorway, hands stuffed in his pockets, hoping he wouldn’t be called over to socialize. He stiffened when woman gestured towards him, and Logan said something at length. Virgil shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, wondering what excuses Logan gave to people for his changeling houseguests over the years.

Nicodemus trotted over, eyeing Virgil with curious black eyes.

“Hey…boy.” Virgil gingerly held out a hand. The dog sniffed it, sneezed, and gave his fingers a few licks. (Virgil grimaced and wiped them on his hoodie).

“I was hoping he would like you.”

Virgil startled, having not heard Logan approach. “Is that…what the licking means?”

The half-faery’s mouth twitched in a tiny smile.

“Thank you again, Stephanie!” he called, waving as the woman went inside. “Nic, come!”

Nic leaped obediently into the car’s back seat and settled with his snout just above Virgil’s shoulder.

“I suppose it is a bit late to inquire whether you are amenable to sharing a living space with an animal,” Logan commented in an uncharacteristically wry voice.

Virgil shrugged, reaching back to pet Nic’s neck.

“Dogs are okay, I guess. I’ve never had a pet, so…I don’t know much about taking care of them or whatever.”

Logan waved a hand. “I would expect no such thing. Nic is my responsibility.”

“Um, speaking of responsibility.” Virgil rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was thinking I should probably start looking for a job? So I can, you know, help out with rent and stuff?”

“Why?”

There was no judgement in Logan’s tone; only curiosity.

“I dunno, I just don’t want to be a freeloader.” Virgil shrugged, his shoulders hunched. “The Youngstown Grimms are already paying for all my school stuff and honestly I feel kinda bad about that.”

“I wouldn’t.” Logan raised an eyebrow at Virgil shocked face. “Do you truly think that an organization run by changelings, some of whom can literally transform physical objects into other objects, would have issues obtaining something as mundane as money?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted and he touched the flower still stuck in his ear…the forget-me-not he’d grown from magic and a bit of loose thread. Maybe making random objects bloom wasn’t terribly useful…but sometimes he forgot that such power was still extraordinary from a normal perspective.

Knowing that didn’t make his insecurities go away.

“Look, I dunno what they told you about me, but I was on the road with a Renaissance Faire for nearly two years before De…” Virgil swallowed, unwilling to say even the made-up name aloud. “Before my faery master found me. We didn’t have a lot and we never stayed in one place for long, but it was a good life, you know? They were the closest people I’d had to a family on the outside. And we all worked hard; you had to, to keep the Faire running. Everyone earned their keep.”

Logan hummed, rubbing a finger absently on the steering wheel. “Do you fear letting others pay your way will give them too much control over your life?”

Virgil picked at a rip in his skinny jeans. Logan was not as oblivious as his stilted language would suggest.

“I…yeah. I guess?”

“I am financially solvent enough to support myself and anyone the Grimms send to me, for however long that individual needs to stay.” Logan shot Virgil a look, his stormy eyes softening slightly. “However, I will not be offended if you wish to obtain employment and ‘earn your keep’, as you put it.”

Virgil leaned his head against the window glass, his lungs tight with memories, with fears, with feeling like any joy he scratched out of the barren soil of this existence would always be one faery whim away from being crushed.

Again.

“It’s just, last week I had a life,” he admitted softly. “Now suddenly it’s gone, and I feel a little…lost, I guess.”

Logan drummed thoughtful fingers on the steering wheel.

“Where were you initially rescued?” he asked. “Not four days ago, but when you first left Arcadia?”

Virgil didn’t quite suppress a shudder at the word Arcadia.

“Somewhere in Pennsylvania, I think,” he answered lowly. “Some Grimms…not Youngstown; a different chapter…shut down an illegal trade between two minor Courts. My master was…”

He swallowed, unwilling to admit his faery master had been a fetch-dealer, that the operation those Grimms shut down that day had been a fetch trade. Trafficking in human dolls was the only Unseelie vice specifically forbidden by the Accords themselves. Faeries caught using them in their kidnappings earned an immediate price on their heads. And human thralls forced by said faeries to make those dolls…well.

The usually went mad.

The whole mess carried a well-deserved stigma.

“Let’s just say he was involved in a lot of shady Unseelie shit,” Virgil muttered, looking out the window again.

Logan’s fingers traced the wheel again, his gaze on the road but somehow also miles away.

“You escaped in the confusion?” he prompted.

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah. I hitchhiked to upstate New York and met old Betsy in a bar.” He smiled at the memory. “She introduced me to her Faire buddies and the rest was history.”

“And you were with them for two years?”

Virgil frowned.

“Yeah. What’s with the twenty questions?”

They’d reached the apartment lot; Logan turned off the car.

“Shelley and the Youngstown Grimms were wise to send you to me,” he said cryptically as they got out and opened the back hatch. It felt like the half-faery was changing the subject, though Virgil couldn’t say why.

“You know, before I left, Shelley told me that you asked for me.” Virgil narrowed his eyes. “When they told you my situation, they said you wanted me to come.”

Logan wore an unidentifiable expression as he hefted Nic’s crate from the back. Virgil moved to help. The shared burden made it easy for the half-faery to not meet Virgil’s gaze as they moved upstairs, Nic following placidly at their heels.

“I wanted you to come because I am in a unique position to keep you safe,” Logan allowed at last, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “Both because of my heritage, and because Florida is such a long distance from your previous life.”

Virgil liked to think he had an excellent trollshit detector, mostly because his Fae master had been, among other things, a master liar. Body language, tics, tone of voice. Everyone had tells, even stoic half-faeries with extraordinary control over their facial expressions.

Logan was not lying…but he was definitely fae-dancing around something.

“If we are able to keep you out of sight long enough,” Logan went on, “it is possible that he will give up looking. As much as faeries love the chase, a single human thrall is, for better or for worse, simply not worth their time in the end.”

Unless that thrall was a fetch-maker.

Virgil swallowed hard. Well, if Logan wasn’t going to share his secret, Virgil sure as hell wasn’t revealing his own.

“So you’re saying I’m not worth their time?” he quipped instead, attempting to lighten the mood as they reached the top of the stairs. “Now I’m not sure whether to be relieved or insulted.”

Logan cocked his head. “I…had meant the words to be comforting. Did they not come across as such?”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“How are you that literal? I was kidding.”

“Oh.” Logan frowned, shifting the crate to adjust his glasses again. “My colleagues tell me I am, in their words, ‘spectacularly’ inept at detecting sarcasm.”

Virgil swallowed a smirk. No shit, Sherlock.

“You’re gonna have a hard time with me, then.”

“Well, surely with sufficient communication we will…” Logan trailed off, and narrowed his eyes. “Ah. That was another joke.”

“You’re learning.” Virgil made a finger gun with one hand, prompting an answering eye roll.

Logan fished out his keys and the two guided the crate into the apartment. Nic bounded down the hallway and into Logan’s room; a smiling, irate Logan on his heels, grumbling that he’d better stay off the bed.

For a moment, Virgil breathed in the pleasant scent of the apartment, and listened to the soft sounds of Remy snoring in his cabinet, and allowed something like hope to lighten his heart.

He missed Ohio, but…this really wasn’t so bad.

“Oh for goodness sakes, really Nic?” Logan’s irritated voice drifted into the living room, followed by the man himself, holding a mangled stuffed animal. “That dog, I swear. Every time I have to leave him in another’s care, he destroys at least one of his toys.”

He made to toss the toy in the garbage, but Virgil scurried forward to stop him.

“Hang on, let me see,” he murmured, taking the toy and turning it over in his hands. It was a stuffed lion, chubby and smiling, with a squeaker in its belly. Stuffing was poking out of several messy rips, and the head was dangling by a mere thread.

“Yeah, I can definitely fix this. Do you have needle and thread?”

Logan nodded and went back into his bedroom, which Virgil barely noticed as he pressed fluff back inside and located all the busted stitches with practiced fingers. Logan reappeared with a sewing kit.

Virgil settled on the couch with the toy.

For a time the world faded; there was only cotton, yielding under his fingers; ragged edges folded and hidden; slick metal needle parting cloth and perfect stitches pulled tight. The satisfaction of tying the last knot and examining the body, ready to breathe life into its flowery heart and flaccid limbs, hear its first cries…

Virgil pulled out of the memory with a gasp, hand closing reflexively around the repaired lion, making it squeak. Slowly his surroundings filtered back in, easing the panicky tightness in his chest: couch, counter, front door, Remy’s cabinet. He was safe and out of Arcadia, out of Arcadia, and Deceit does not know where I am.

Logan sat in the chair opposite the couch, eating a sandwich and watching Virgil. A plate piled with more sandwiches sat on the coffee table between them.

How did he have time to make all those? How…how long has he been watching me?

Virgil flexed his sore right hand, trying to look casual but borderline freaking out on the inside.

He could have seen everything, I was seconds away from bringing that stuffed animal to life because it’s been so long and I got caught up, he’s gonna know what my power really is…

“Um, I think I’m done,” he muttered, gripping the lion and making it squeak again. An answering bark from the back bedroom made Virgil startle.

“May I?” Logan asked, holding his hand out for the toy.

Virgil held his breath as Logan pulled at the stitching, tugged at the head, waiting for the half-faery to call out how weird he’d just acted. But Logan only nodded.

“Excellent. This is one of Nic’s favorites; I know he will appreciate having it back in one piece.”

He stood and flashed Virgil a half smile, one that made his pulse race.

“Eat, I made plenty,” Logan added, gesturing at the plate and then disappearing into his bedroom.

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and ran shaking hands through his hair. The fading tightness in his lungs shifted into dull, stabbing pinpricks, making him hiss softly. It felt like thorns, choking his heart, brushing his ribcage with every movement.

The needle he still held in his fingers swelled and burst into flower: a single bunch of tiny purple blossoms framed by soft emerald leaves. Virgil bit his lip hard, tasting blood.

Lilac.

No, no, no, I had my power under control, I swore never again…he clenched his fists hard, crushing the delicate flower stalk, nails imprinting on his palms. Virgil focused on that pain, determined to push the dangerous feelings down, focused on his breathing, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, come on, Virgil…

The stabbing ebbed and he drew a deep, unsteady breath.

I’m safe here.

I’m safe.

And I can’t ever tell Logan what I was.

Purple lilac: first emotions of love

#sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #virgil sanders #ts virgil #fae #logan sanders #ts logan #sanders sides #mahoganyandteakwood

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mrneighbourlove · 4 years ago

Text

Evil’s Bane: Ch 8. Looming Dread

Leere looked a round a massive red ballroom, with a large staircase leading up to more doors. There were chandeliers hanging above, and many routes that they could take. No exits outside of course. Turning to Bonegrinder, she was catching her breath with the other Mortuus. “Bonegrinder. And Hades? I’m surprised you made it here.”

"Bonegrinder?" Black approached the Anagari who was breathing hard. It was evident he was not fully healed. Hades did what he could, but it would take a while for Prama's magic to finish such horrible injuries, most of which could not be seen with the eye. The Wraith frowned, noticing how the Anagari was struggling to even stay upright. "... we need to go back. You're in bad shape."

"He has been in bad shape for a long time, Black." Bonegrinder always had that dry humor availible, despite the situation. "You will have to wait to go back. Summoning a portal is not easy work. He will have to rest some more."

“Can we wait here? What if danger makes itself known?” Bi-Hanzo asked. Grabbing his head, he shook it. Felt hot in the room. And, did he hear something in distance? Sounded like laughter. No. Must have been his imagination.

"Not unless you have readily available portal magic so we can leave." Black then stated. "If you want to go on, then be my guest. My responsibility is the princess. Not you."

"... this snake supposes that he should question where we are. There is a familiar feeling of this place... but worse than last time."

“Last time?” Leere asked.

Hades was pacing around, feeling uncertain about his surroundings. Kenshi wiped the sweat off his head, feeling sick.

"Wait... no... was that this snake or Prama?" Bonegrinder rubbed his forehead. "His memories... Prama's memories... when is where, and where is when..."

"Don't stress over it," Black knew this was not a good sign. Anymore stress, and his master's mind might snap again. Two souls in one body was really taxing and he had seen many of his master's so-called 'episodes'. The last thing the group needed was a huge blast of magic knocking everyone back and drawing the attention of Destroyer... or his minions. "We're here now. Let's focus on the here."

Leere paced, rubbing her head. There was something... bad. Something familiar in the air. And it made her feel anxious.

Kenshi suddenly looked up, feeble shock trembling in his voice. There was sweat gushing down his face now, and his widened eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept for days. “Franeska?”

Leere and the others turned to see Kenshi suddenly running off. Bi-Hanzo was shocked by this. “Kenshi! Where are you going?!” The man chased after his fellow villager. When Kenshi reached the door, he opened it up with a kick. Inside was a small room with no natural light in the room. In that room, a little girl with her back to him facing the direct corner of the room was all that could be seen. Unnaturally she was perfectly illuminated with a bright red coat that covered her face from view. Leere looked to Black, hurrying along. Kenshi kept himself in the frame of the door from letting anyone else in.

"Don't follow after that apparition!" Black told Kenshi, sensing danger when the man ran off, but he did not chase him. He stayed with Leere. "Bonegrinder... something bad is coming, isn't it?"

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it, Black... it's much worse than you could ever imagine."

Kenshi drew closer, relief on his face. “Franeska? It’s your father. It’s me.”

As Leere got into eyesight, all her instincts kicked in so fast she almost threw up. Memories she buried of being underwater and trapped with nightmares flooded back. She could sense the unique brand of demonic undeath now. It tastes like iron and vomit on her tongue. As her breath grew dry, and she tried to get the words out, Kenshi felt it too. “Wait...”

What turned around was no longer his daughter. A hideous monster with bone claws coming out of its hands and a disturbing contorted face of twisted flesh. With a shake of its head, as if confirming it was no longer his daughter, it stabbed those claws deep into Kenshi’s chest. Over and over it tore him slowly apart. Leere and Bi-Hanzo stepped back. From inside the room, a gargled roar echoed in its chambers. Turns out, in the dark, there was long, long tunnel that stretched far and wide. And it was filled to the brim with monsters. Leere looked to the door up the stair case, adrenaline rushing through her. “RUN!!!”

"Again with the running, why can't humans ever listen?" Black hurried alongside Leere, rushing, but looked over his shoulder to see Bonegrinder and Hades. At least his master could still move, but his speed was greatly reduced. The ghouls snarled, almost trampling over each other to tear the group apart. They had so much energy and hate in their being then any other undead the Wraith had seen. Once the doors at the top of the staircase were open, and everyone was through, Black used a touch of his own magic to seal it for the time being. There were multiple bangs against the door, and he frowned. "We have to find a place where we can rest for a bit. All this running is going to take a toll on all of us."

The bang on the doors grew more intense, and the ghouls crawled over the walls and ran to other doors to find other ways of reaching them. There were hundreds of undead that chased them from that room alone. How many more were there? Leere gripped her shadow medallion, sighing. “Let’s keep walking down this hall for now.” Looking to Bi-Hanzo, she nodded solemnly to him. “I’m so sorry about losing Kenshi.”

“Least I know what’s happened to my missing people...”

"We need to exercise caution. We don't know what to expect from a place like this." Black walked beside of Leere, glancing back every now and then to check on Bonegrinder. The Wraith was concerned about the Anagari. He had not seen him look this bad in a very long while. Black was one of the oldest members of the Hive and he had been through harsh times with Bonegrinder, thick and thin.

Walking down the hallway, it started to curve. On the walls were pipes and lights. Leere heard of this before, and seen it in Danjur. Electricity. Little bulbs of light glowing faintly to light of the room.

There were doors every once in the while on the left side. Staying alert, they saw a Mortuus at one of the doors, fumbling with keys to get in. Leere looked to Black. “Should we risk taking a guide, or move on?”

"Judging from what transpired outside this tower, these people rather shoot off their own foot than help a stranger." Black did not sound too enthused. "Let us try to keep moving until Bonegrinder can summon a portal."

"We cannot trust these Mortuus, Leere." Bonegrinder told the princess in-between slithers. He had to stop to catch his breath every now and then. Seeing he was larger than the humans and Hades, he could slither a little then rest for a moment. "Remember what he said about friend or foe; that does not apply here. They are both."

“Agreed. I don’t want to talk with these cultists of damnation.” It seemed Bi-Hanzo was in a charitable mood towards Bonegrinder. So they waited until the Mortuus was gone before contributing onwards. Walking up a spiraling staircase, they started to gain a view of the outside. The city held the sights of people arguing, children running through the streets, and monsters eating anyone who was foolish enough to have their guard down. High in the sky, a dragon flew by silently. Leere cringed when she saw how little skin it had on its body when it become illuminated by the moon.

Arriving at the top of the staircase, they came across a purple and red door. Creaking it open, Leere peered inside. A giant ballroom filled with cultists were strewn about. They were cutting apart bodies, experimenting with wiring, and praying to statues of various gods and demons. It seemed to be an active hub.

"...!!!" Bonegrinder felt physically sick. His scales flickered, sensing the danger. Carefully, he pulled Leere back with his tail and shut the door, praying none of the cultists noticed. "... he senses foulness there, tiny princess. Let us keep going."

"... they were making more puppets, weren't they?" Black asked his master.

"Yes, among other things. This snake can sense his brother's presence nearby... that or his magic one. Destroyer and Chaos have riddled this place with their disease of seducing black arts."

As Hades was about to turn back down the stairs, he paused. His powerful sense of hearing often lead to dread. “Those undead abominations have found our path. Judging by the smell, they’d be upon us in fifteen minutes.”

"There's no way all of us can take down a horde of those things." Black knew he could simply hide in the shadows and wait it out, but pulling in three other beings with him? That'd drain his magic excessively. There was no way he could pull it off for long and he refused to leave his master's side anyhow. "Do you think we can find a way to the outside? It'd even be safer to hang off a wall at this point."

Hades looked down at the room, scanning its contents. At the far end, he saw a sign of hope. “Very end of the room. There’s an elevator going upwards. Our chances are much stronger if we fight our way through to there then back down. Bonegrinder. Can you manage it?”

"This snake can move, though he is concerned about the elevator." The Anagari told the Lynel. "He is very weighty and so are you, old friend. There is a chance we both might not fit."

“Then we can take turns. Let us depart.”

Down at in the ballroom, one cultist was conducting an experiment. With a rat maze, he had a small worm like parasite travel through a fog identical to the one that the group traveled through the cave. Once it made its way to the other size and in a bigger container, it grew nearly ten times its size to fill the glass container. As he was writing notes, his head suddenly turned into red paste as Hades club utterly destroyed him with one swing. The Lynel short teleported over your cause first blood and sew confusion amongst the cultists.

Leere was running down the steps to the elevator, when she paused in her tracks at a monument she saw. A red obelisk with runes glew a menacing light glow on and off, and a deep anger filled her being. It was a construct just like the Beacon she shut down decades ago. “Sweet mother of god...”

When a cultist tried to hack at her with a sickle, Leere twisted her body around to dance around her attacker. With a graceful movement of her arms, she positioned her scythe at the other Mortuus head. Activating her blade, the blue hum of the energy easily decapitated her target, sending the head rolling in Black’s direction.

Black was managing to keep the cultists away from Bonegrinder with ease. He was using the darkness to his advantage. One by one, he took down anyone foolish enough to try to harm his master. Still, there was no place safe enough to rest and recover. The group would have to keep moving. Though when Hades suggested that all of them take turns on the elevator, Black shook his head furiously. "I will not leave Bonegrinder while he's like this. If he is alone and attacked, and another episode occurs, he could bring down this whole tower and us with it."

“Then you go up with him first!” Hades bucked his feet backwards, kicking another cultist into a statue. Leere watched Bi-Hanzo race for the elevator. When they got closer, he realized how big it was. More so, looking up at the opening, how far it traveled up. “Hurry!”

One Cultist threw a spear and chain at Black, stabbing through his shoulder blade and pulling him closer. His eyes were a mess with bloodlust, and with magic, a ghostly green fire spread up the chain to burn the Wraith. As the cultist was ready to turn up the heat, Leere cut the chain off, following up with chopping Black’s attacker in half. It left a messy pair of legs to stumble around for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Bonegrinder managed to slither into the elevator, fitting his coils inside tightly. There was just enough room for Black when the Wraith was suddenly pulled backwards. As soon as the assassin was out of the elevator, the doors suddenly shut and trapped the Anagari inside. Black, however, released a piercing screech as the blade struck through his body. He did not know what the tool was enchanted with, some kind of dark magic, but it made his limbs feel numb. Almost like the Cultist was trying to force his will. As soon as Leere cut down the cultist, he held his shoulder. Little drops of blood floated around the wound, able to see clearly through the hole. This would take a while to fix. "... that magic was trying to force me to obey." The Wraith then glanced at the elevator. "And we're separated from Bonegrinder. We must find him."

The elevator suddenly shot up, leaving the group the watch Bonegrinder be taken away. “No! No!!!” Leere reached a hand up in vein. She wasn’t fast enough. Looking around, she saw a lever to call it back down. Pulling it, she didn’t know how long they’d have to wait. Although the last of the cultists were dead or scattered, the danger wasn’t over. Back at the door they entered, a cultist was about to flee, when she was suddenly snatched away by the swarm of the undead. The hideous ghouls looked down the stairs, looking at the group. With a war cry of terror, they ran towards the flesh. Leere gripped her scythe, taking a few breaths. “We just have to hold out!”

"Hold out?! There's too many of them." Black was never an optimistic person. "If one of us gets pulled down, we're not getting back up---!!!"

DING!

The Wraith was interrupted by the elevator's appearance... without Bonegrinder inside.

Too late. The monsterous creatures were already on top of them.

Bi-Hanzo magically blasted ice and picked up a sword to hack away at them. When one slashed at his stomach, bleeding him, he retreated back into the elevator after bringing up a wall of ice between him and some of the ghouls.

Black might have been impressed by how quick and furious Leere was if both weren’t concerned with staying alive. The Shadow Sage kept hacking away at the fast undead, limb after limb after limb. But there were just too many. Covered in blood, unsure how much was there and how many cuts they gave here, she didn’t know if they’d make it out alive.

That was when Hades launched a powerful stream of fire to burn away a wave of the undead. “Into the elevator! Flee! Now! You must live!!!”

The ghouls were endless, one after the other, and he was down an arm. The Wraith had to improvise, pulling the undead around with his shadows and using the area to his advantage. Yet, even he was tiring. When Hades bellowed at him to move, the assassin started to protest. Bonegrinder would have his head if he knew he left Hades, but also if he put Leere in unnecessary danger. Damn it, why did this always have to happen to him.? Black had never moved so fast in this second chance of life, if one would call it that, as he chucked Leere over his shoulder so she could still swing her weapon and launched into the elevator.

Leere was ready to save Hades when Black suddenly picked her up. Her concentration disrupted, she could have used the shadows to give him a fighting chance, or give him reinforcements. As she got her footing again, the last glimpse she saw of the Lynel was being swarmed by the ghouls when the elevator doors slammed shut, and they made their way up.

“No!!!” Leere slammed her fists on the door. Still angry, she turned to Black, clocking him in the face with a surprise punch to the nose. “What the hell are you thinking?!?! You disrupted my concentration! Again! I could have helped give Hades a chance had you not suddenly grabbed me from behind! You’re not a knight in shining armour Black!”

Bi-Hanzo was still catching his breath, looking at this blood covered woman screaming at her comrade. Glancing at his own wounds, he winced.

"..." Black barely flinched when Leere punched him. He wiped away the floating blood from his nose and then retorted, "Bonegrinder gave me an order to look after your ungrateful ass. I promised him I would. I'm keeping my promise, no matter how much I think this whole idea of yours was a fool's errand. Now are you going to stop screaming at me like a brat and help me find my master or are you going to continue to berate me for my job?"

“I’m going to berate you for not thinking properly. Yes, I wanted to come here. But I know exactly what I’m getting myself into! I’m a warrior Black! This type of shit is my expertise. And if you keep fucking around and treating me like a Princess, you’re going to get others killed, or me! You want to save your master? Then use your goddamn brain.”

Bi-Hanzo leaned back against the wall, taking deep breaths. “What kind of shit are we in?”

Leere took a moment to use her shadow magic to peel off the blood stains from her clothes and onto the floor. “Nothing good at all. These Mortuus must be magical geniuses or morons. I’m going to say the latter seeing how they found a way to open up a portal to a dimension of madness and the worst undead I’ve encountered in my life. There’s no telling what else we’ll discover here. All I know is I’m not leaving until I shut it down. Again.”

"... fine then. You certainly have the bitchy temper of a princess." Black used the shadows to 'stitch' his shoulder wound closed for the time being. It almost looked like a dark parasite latching onto the Wraith's skin, but it would have to do for now. "I'm going to search for Bonegrinder. You do what you like." Once the elevator stopped, the Wraith took a look at the surroundings before stepping out.

Outside, was a narrow, metal caged hallway. The steel was rusting something fierce, and the darkness was overwhelming from all directions around them.

“What happened to sticking together?” Leere finally took a look at Bi-Hanzo’s wounds, pulling out a sewing kit from one of her pouches to help him out.

"You obviously care more for this Prama-forsaken country than you do for the well being of the one who has tried to protect you from all this darkness for years. I don't understand you. You're not the hero, you're the Shadow Sage. Heroic missions are for that kid swinging around a sword in green." Black stated very bluntly, "Bonegrinder is by no means perfect, but he does care for you for some reason that eludes me. I'm not going to guard someone who doesn't want me to do so and I'm going to go and find him so we can get out of his hell on earth."

“And what are you Black? An undead blade to your master? Klinge minus the smug charm?” She pulled tight on one of Bi-Hanzo’s wounds. “What I do I don’t ever account to my daughter or other children. This isn’t a fairy tale of a hero. But this is good vs. evil. There is a nightmare I need to put an end to here. You go find Bonegrinder. Leave if you want. But you save the good that can be found in this damned corner of earth.” She turned to him, a fierce determination in her eyes. “Because fighting for the good of humanity is always a noble cause.”

"Heh, now Klinge was someone I would admire. He had the lethality of an Echidnan when he was undead but gave it up for that woman and to play house." Black told the princess with no qualms about his statement. "I am an assassin. I was a bringer of death in life and now I am in this state. I killed many arrogant bastards, some who deserved it, some may not have. Either way, what 'good' I have seen in this world is debatable." The Wraith told Leere. "I am not here to protect the 'good' left in this earth. I am here to ensure the safety of Bonegrinder, the one being who tried to help me during the time where I was lost. I am not here to save the many, I am here to save only one." He then said, "Have you even thought about what would happen if Prama was ripped from Bonegrinder too early? No? Of course you haven't. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here, in the last place my master should be, but no. No, he's here because you made a deal with that damn Prama and he feels guilty. You manipulated him." Black barely showed emotion, but this was definitely a button for him. "You're right, Leere. I am no knight in shining armor. Never aimed to be. Yet, I will keep Bonegrinder save with the last of what I am because he helped me when no one else would." He scoffed. "Good of humanity... humans caused all of this. They had a choice. These Mortuus had a choice. And look what they chose. I have very little faith in humanity."

“You’re right. And it’s my choice to save what I can.” Leere stepped off the elevator with Bi-Hanzo. Activating her scythe, she used the blade to light the way forward. With blood long stained on the floor, it didn’t look pleasant. Leading them, she smirked at Black’s thoughts on the o. “Gave up his lethality? I pity you Black. You and the rest of the Hive. And I think I finally get it.”

"You don't need to." Black admitted to Leere almost with a chuckle. "We're all monsters here. The fact is, I've embraced it." He then looked at her. "But you haven't."

“And you think that’s a good thing? You lack humanity. You lack empathy for those outside your immediate bubble. It’s our connections to family, friends, and those we love that makes us strong. Why would you want to be a monster Black? Monsters are what threaten the innocent.”

”You can’t save them”

A tiny whisper ran out in their heads individually. It was like the wind in the air, briefly passing by.

Leere gripped her head, shrugging it off to paranoia that she’d fail. “I can be as vicious, bloodthirsty, and dangerous as I can be. But that doesn’t make me a monster.”

"It is a good thing, because the monsters survive, Leere." Black thought it was rather amusing. She still had no clue of why Bonegrinder wanted her to avoid all of this madness. Yet, perhaps it would eventually be her downfall. If only she had listened, the princess wouldn't be in this place. "And I am not human. Therefore, my lacking of humanity is for naught."

“But you where human once. Surely that means something to you. Tell me. Who do you love the most Black. Who’d you give your all to that wasn’t your job? Who do you miss in your heart?” Leere’s scythe went out, and she never got her answer. “Black? Bi-Hanzo?” Leere searched around in the darkness, and the assassin and the Mortuus warrior were gone.

"I was never fully human, I was am a hy---!!!"

Black was suddenly alone. He pivoted on his heel. Where did the princess go? He looked up and then down. No, he did not fall through a hole. Nor did he activate his shadow magic. What was going on? The Wraith jolted when he saw an outline of his old home. It was faint in his memories, but he knew it was there. He also recalled the pain that was held there. Recollections he'd rather forget. His parents were very much in love, but his birth was a bad omen to them. Yes, his beautiful mother, a human, and his mighty father, a monster from some of Mother's adoptive children, as she called them. A enchanting Nokken, otherwise known as a shapeshifter. Some could reproduce with humans. Others could not.

"Filthy halfling, filthy halfling."

This was an illusion. His parents were long gone. These faces which tormented him were dead. He knew that, he killed them. Perhaps it was now his turn to be haunted. Yet, that would be silly. A Wraith? Being haunted? A ghost haunting a spirit? That was laughable. Yet, the words still stung. The way the other children would chant 'filthy halfling' always irritated him. There was no love for anything remotely human in the world of monsters. It was easier to be a full monster, then anything resembling human. So, Black wanted to make sure that no one would ever mistake him for a pitiful human ever again. He'd change his shape and blend into the shadows.

"Don't you want to be a full monster? What if we could help you?"

"A little too late to play mind games, don't you think?"

"You could be of more assistance to Bonegrinder rather than a weak halfling."

"That's true. I probably would be stronger."

"Then accept our help. Let us help you break free of these human restraints."

"No."

"No? We thought you hated humans."

"I do. They're rotten creatures. But... they're crafty. And I'd like to hold onto that part of me."

“How about a test then?” A voice that didn’t belong called out. A shadow swept through the area, materializing with horns and a smell of brimstone. With flickering red eyes and a body that wasn’t all there, the Shadow Man confronted Black. “A choice then. Human? Or monster kind?”

"... you're the one that Echidnans call Tzitzimime..." The Wraith did not seem afraid or bothered. It was hard to have emotions being in a state of limbo, he supposed. Though, for some odd reason, he could still feel frustration. "The embodiment of Chaos."

“A humble avatar for my master.” The Shadow Man chuckled. With the wave of a hand, two doors appeared. “You have a choice to make Wraith. On the left door you will be led down a path to the fallen Echidnan God. On the right, the Mortuus Sage desperately clinging to hope. Both are about to become in mortal danger. If you hurry, you might be able to save one. Human or Monster? And I’d chose quickly.”

"So I suppose Mother of the Monsters was correct. You are split into pieces." Black simply stood there. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to kill me. Giving me a choice instead?"

“Because it’ll be more fun to see you fail in protecting not just one, but potentially two of your companions.” The insidious malice dripping from his voice was piercing. “Be fun to see your face twist with anguish when you see them dead.”

"You are mistaken if you believe I think of that human girl as a companion." Black was as stoic as ever. "Bonegrinder told me to protect her. She told me not to do so. If she dies, then the world will be rid of another one of your potential hosts you've waited for, obviously for a long while or you'd be here causing your havoc already." The Wraith asked, sounding a touch... pissed. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

“I do. That’s why you aren’t dedicated in a choice regardless by now. Save your master, or go out to kill the girl to stop my first plan of choice.”

"Well, you see, you made a mistake. I care about Bonegrinder. Not that shitty god inside of him. Also, one more thing," Black held out his hand before jerking it back. "You have to pay an assassin to kill someone. I'm not seeing any loot. So goodbye." The Wraith took the door to his master.

The Shadow Man’s eyes flickered with a smile. Closing the door behind Black, he made sure to single Destroyah that now was the time. “All too easy.”

Bonegrinder was in a hell of his own. The Anagari was frozen, unable to move. His limbs would not work and he could not find the strength to slither. He was tormented by visions of his family, lost long ago. The way they spoke was like a drug. He had not heard their voices in years, seen their faces in ages. The snake was content to die here since he saw his family one last time. Yet, Prama was trying to draw the snake back to rational thought, will him to get up and fight, but if he risked using too much magic, it would draw the attention of Dhakk. He could sense his brother nearby. This had to be a ploy.

Luckily, Black knew just the way to gain his master's attention. "Forgive me, Bonegrinder, but I am doing this for your own good." Black had suffered under illusions before and the only way to break free from them was... pain. So he stuck the tip of his blade into Bonegrinder's tail, earning a yowl from the Anagari.

Leere turned to see a white light shine down on a dark silhouette in the distance. It was a woman standing up, yet crooked in her posture. When she spoke Leere froze. ”My sweet little daughter... you shouldn’t have come here. You should have listened to your friends.”

Leere held her ground as a deathly version of Zelda walked toward her like a puppet on strings. Her eyes were gauged out, with bloody trailing down her cheeks like tears. It was sickening to see her mother used against her again. Especially now that Zelda had passed on. “Get out of my head. You aren’t my mother.”

“Why? Afraid you’re going insane? It’s ok. You’ll be dead soon enough you stupid girl.” The puppet suddenly ran at a frightening speed towards Leere. With no hesitation, she swung her blade to cut Zelda in half down the side. With her body splitting apart, the upper half of this sickening doppelganger of her mother leaped towards Leere, pinning her down. Zelda’s hands reached around Leere’s neck, squeezing tightly with rotting fingers. ”You’re a disappointment to the family. And none of them will see your body again. I should never have adopted you from that cage.”

Leere gasped as she was losing breath. Reaching to her side, she grasped at empty air until she found her knife. Turning purple in the face and her eyes growing bloodshot, she thrusted up in Zelda, stabbing the nightmare in the throat. Twisting the blade, she grabbed a lose hand up and snapped her neck. Gasping for breath and tearing up, Leere chocked on air as she kicked frantically to stand up.

However, her torment was far from over. The area exploded into a rush of yellow lighting, and the eerie cackles of children called out. Leere saw a large light in the shape of a door way. All around were tiny zombified children hissing and running at her from the dark. Every last one of them was a freakish version of her daughter Joy. Grabbing her scythe, and relying on instinct, Leere ran to the light. Everytime she was forced to cut down a version of Joy, a piercing taunt ran out in her head.

”Don’t you love me mommy?”

”Why did you never come back?”

”My mother didn’t love me enough to return.”

”You’re hurting me!” ”Die with me mommy!”

”It’s you’re fault we’re dead!”

With a frantic scream, Leere ran through the light. On the other side, she tripped and collapsed onto a clear floor all alone. Shuddering, she bit her lip hard to feel anything else other than fear. Rising up, she let out a roar so angry, so full of wrath, it’d shake the hearts of any who heard it. “I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!!!! YOU’LL PAY FOR TAUNTING ME!!!”

Leere wasn’t going to let these fuckers get away with torturing her and her friends anymore.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626094887593443328/evils-bane-ch-7-entering-the-tower

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/626630162211028992/evils-bane-ch-9-everyone-has-something-to-lose

#Crossover!#Love comments of your thoughts #ridersoftheapocalypse #Leere #Leere Dragmire #Bonegrinder #Black the Wraith #Ghouls #Horror #Bloodshed

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choupichoups · 6 years ago

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Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.10

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

"You’re sure you're okay with this?”

Lucas pauses, croissant halfway shoved in his mouth as he regards Eliott with an inquisitive brow. “With what?”

“Me announcing to… uh… all my followers who I’m dating.”

Lucas resumes eating, rolling his eyes as he brushes the crumbs off his fingers. “I already told you it’s okay,” he says, partly muffled due to the food in his mouth. “What can they do anyway?”

Eliott chokes on a laugh, “What can they do? Lucas, have you seen the shit people do on social media?” He runs a fork over the leftover avocado on his plate. “You know what, I should probably delete that story, it’s only been half an hour anyway—”

“There’s no point, someone’s already saved that by now. It’ll just be up somewhere else.” He shrugs, feeling not an ounce of worry on this subject. “You posted about me before and if you haven’t noticed, some of your fans already found my account too.” He takes a sip of his coffee, smiling as he nibbles on the straw. “And your face is all over that one.”

Eliott reaches over the table for Lucas’ hand, entangling their fingers together before bringing their hands up to his lips. He brushes a light kiss over the back of Lucas’ hand before pressing a smile into the same spot. “I just don’t want you feeling bad over any of this.”

“No stranger on the internet can get to me, Eliott,” Lucas says, rolling his eyes again despite the fact that his voice might sound a tad too fond for eight in the morning. “Here.” He detaches their hands to get to his phone, pulling up that adorable photo he took of his boyfriend before leaving the apartment earlier. Tagging Eliott on the post is barely an afterthought and he cackles over the caption before placing his phone back down. “There, now if your admirers attack me it’s gonna be equally my fault.”

Lucas hands Eliott’s phone over, laughing to himself when his boyfriend’s expression morphs into outright affront after seeing the comments.

He goes back to eating his food, noticing that his own phone is now buzzing with a phone call. He’s been getting calls from an unknown number for the past week but no voicemails are ever left. Lucas makes a point not to answer until an actual human voice leaves a message, convinced that it’s some marketing company trying to sell him their life insurance or some shit. The buzzing stops eventually but it goes straight to into ringing again immediately after.

Lucas wipes his hands down and turns the phone over, almost choking in his haste to swallow down the food in his mouth when he sees the caller.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Lucas Lallemant?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he responds in a rush. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m so sorry for calling in so early, but Mrs. Lallemant has been asking for you all morning and we’re having trouble having her cooperate--”

Lucas doesn't let the nurse finish. “I’ll be there, I’ll be there soon. Can you let her know that?”

“Of course, we will, thank you--”

He’s already digging around his wallet before he ends the call, looking up to his boyfriend’s worried eyes when Lucas leaves money on the table that is very likely much more than what they owe.

“I need to go,” he says, stumbling out of his chair in his hurry.

“Whoa, hey, slow down, what’s going on?” Eliott follows after him, catching his arm in a strong grip before Lucas can dash out to the streets without him.

“My mom--” Shit, he doesn’t have the time nor the brain power to give Eliott the entire tragic backstory so he settles for an agitated, “It’s complicated. I have to go see her.”

“Can I take you there?” Eliott asks carefully, holding Lucas’ face in between his hands so that the latter’s eyes would quit darting around and just focus on him. “I won’t go in with you, I’ll just drop you off. Is that okay?”

And Lucas does focus on him, worry increasing as he thinks of what Eliott’s reaction would be. But explaining to his boyfriend why he can’t accompany Lucas to a task as menial as dropping one’s significant other off to their parent’s house sounds more taxing than simply agreeing, so he nods. If Eliott notices the reluctance in the act, he doesn’t question it.

But the closer their bus gets to the clinic, the more Lucas is starting to regret that decision.

He can feel Eliott’s confused glances when Lucas gets off at a stop nowhere near the residential areas. The clinic is a lengthy building that takes up the entire acre beside the road— there are no other buildings beside it and the giant sign by the gated entrance gives it away without Lucas needing to explain where they are.

Chancing a glance up at his boyfriend, Lucas can’t tell what’s going through his mind. Eliott’s face is blank, the confusion and worry from earlier have disappeared. It makes Lucas nervous.

However, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later.

“Hey, I’m Lucas Lallemant, I got a call earlier for…”

“Ah, yes. I’ll get the nurse for you right away.” The receptionist busies herself with the phone and Lucas turns to Eliott, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt.

“Um, you don’t… have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Eliott’s eyes are trained on something over Lucas’ shoulder. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

“Lucas?” A frazzled looking nurse addresses him and Lucas follows after her, trying not to think too much about Eliott being present for this. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly, we had notes on her file to call you if something like this happens but with Marie gone, we weren’t quite sure how to proceed.”

“That’s fine, thanks.” To be fair, his mother hasn’t had any terrible meltdowns since moving into this clinic.

“She’s in her room, not acknowledging anyone, just keeps saying your name.”

Lucas thanks her again with a small, apologetic smile. The nurse looks young— she’s probably new, judging from the many emotions flitting across her features for every word she speaks. Lucas hasn’t seen a professional in this field who feels so much. Not even Marie.

“Mama?” No response, but he’s figured that would happen. “I’m here now,” he continues, sitting by the bed and fixing the sheets around her shoulders. She’s situated to face the window, back towards him. “Did you need me for something?”

Still nothing. He sees the untouched glass of water placed beside her pills and Lucas runs a finger over the condensation forming on the side as he thinks of what to say next.

She’s told him once before that hearing his voice helps her a lot. Especially on days like this, when she’s unresponsive and away from the reality she doesn’t quite want to face.

“Do you hear it?”

Or maybe not as unresponsive as he’d thought.

Lucas straightens up, leaning on the edge of the bed to hear her soft voice better. “Hear what?”

“The trumpet.”

There’s only silence around them. “No, mama, where is it?”

“It’s been playing since this morning.” She turns on the bed, facing towards the ceiling. Lucas can see the pooling tears in her eyes. “The rapture’s here and I’ve been left behind. It’s because I’m such a bad mother is it? A terrible wife?”

“No—” He shuffles forward to take one of her hands in both of his.

“Ephesians 5:22; wives, submit to your husbands,” she quotes absently, hand limp inside Lucas’ hold. “Is it because of the fight?”

A frown etches its way onto Lucas’ features. “What fight?”

Tears escape from their fragile perch in her eyes. “He’s right.” She turns her head, looking at him this time. “Your life would be so much better if I just go.”

Lucas doesn’t know where all of this is coming from but there’s dread forming in his chest, his mind picking up on everything that goes unsaid. “Where are you going, mama?” He shakes his head, the sight of her delicate tears triggering his own. “That’s not true, I don’t want you to go.”

“So much better without me,” she whispers, head shifting back to resume gazing out the window. Her hand remains small and slack in his grip. It’s evident that she’s not listening to a word he says.

Lucas gets up, scrubbing at his face as he closes the door to her room. He needs to tell Eliott to leave without him as he’s probably going to take a while— he doesn’t feel right, leaving his mama right away when she’s in this terrible of a state.

Eliott’s standing by the walls only a few steps from the room and he gently takes Lucas’ face in his hands, wiping at the tears that stubbornly make their way down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop fucking crying already.

“Sorry, sorry I’m— this is so sudden I—” He tries to speak through the hitches in his breath.

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Eliott says, pulling Lucas closer to place a sweet kiss on his forehead.

This only serves to make him cry harder for whatever reason and Lucas has to take a deep breath, fists balled at his sides as he tries to reign over his emotions. “I’m gonna stay here for a bit, you should go.” His hands raise to hold onto Eliott’s forearms, thumbs tracing soft lines from back of the palm to wrist. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

Eliott nods but doesn’t make a move to pull away.

They only do so when a pair of footsteps echo in the hallway and Lucas does a double take when he sees the man walking beside his mama’s temporary nurse. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Both his father and the nurse pause and Lucas is starting to really feel bad for the poor nurse, getting caught up in their family drama all in less than a day’s worth.

“Please excuse us,” his dad says to her and she takes the golden opportunity to scramble the hell away from them. Eliott doesn’t take the same cue, moving back to give them space but staying within Lucas’ reach. “Hello, Lucas.”

“Why are you here?” Lucas brushes off the niceties. If there’s one thing he can’t stand it’s his father pretending to be a decent human being in front of others. “Have you been talking to her?”

“Yes.”

“Who says you can do that?”

“She’s my wife, I can talk to her.”

“She’s not!” Lucas steps closer, raising his voice as if he’d done the opposite. This man has lost the right to call them his family. “You don’t get to talk to her whenever it’s convenient for you! Did you see what you’ve done? She was doing so fucking well without you!”

“Mind your language, Lucas,” his father grits out. The sound of crumpling papers makes Lucas look down to where the man’s hands are clenched around a file folder. “I’m still your father and I won’t tolerate—”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Lucas scoffs, shaking his head at the audacity. “You’re so full of it.”

Lucas sees the man’s fisted hand move— he sees it, but he does nothing to stop it. Maybe if the hospital cameras catch the bastard acting with violence then Lucas would have a real reason to want to throw him into jail. Or at least to have him stop stirring shit in their lives. Legally.

But no pain reaches him even as he braces for it and when he tunes back in, it’s to Eliott’s back in front of him, one hand gripping Lucas’ father’s wrist in a firm hold.

“That’s enough, sir,” Eliott says, mock polite.

All hands drop back down to their respective sides but the tension remains high up in the air.

His father’s eyes switch from Eliott to Lucas, face impassive. The thick silence only lasts a for few moments, however, because Lucas’ father is as shameless as one can get. He thrusts the file folder under Lucas’ nose, sidestepping the entire wall that is Eliott standing in between the two of them.

“Sign these and mail them back to me, pronto,” the man says, pocketing his hands once Lucas has taken the papers. “Don’t give me a hard time about this, it’s for your own good.”

Lucas spares him the coldest glance he can manage as he reads through the file. Insurance claims? Transfer permission? To Marseille? Taking a sharp breath through his nose, Lucas simmers in silent rage. So this sad excuse of a man finds a new job that provides extra allowance to employees caring for disabled family members and suddenly he’s husband of the year? Fuck that, fuck him.

Fuck everything and his fucked up life.

“Fuck you,” he says, throwing the papers back at his father. He doesn’t give a shit that they land scattered on the ground— maybe the man would pick up some of his dignity along with those papers that way.

Lucas turns around before his father gets over the shock of his reaction, gazes at his mama’s door but he can’t. He can’t deal right now, not after this. There’s a chance that he’d actually lose whatever’s left of his sanity if he goes in and is faced with the hopeless look in her eyes. His mother, who’s supposed to take care of him, hasn’t been able to care for herself for years and years. His father, who’s supposed to provide for him, has abandoned him for longer. Now, he’s stuck dealing with their escalating issues again, an unwilling tether to a breakable thread. He doesn’t know why his mother’s holding on so tight to the delusion of a complete family, he doesn’t know why his father’s holding on so tight to the farce of being a good man.

And Lucas is so tired of this bullshit.

His phone rings with the same unknown number and Lucas wants to throw it to the fucking floor.

He runs for the back exit, not wanting to run into his father when the man leaves the clinic as well. There’s a dire need inside him to breathe in some air, one that doesn’t linger with antiseptic, that clean, fabricated hospital smell that drives him up the wall.

Eliott’s there to hold him when his knees threaten to buckle under him. Lucas turns into his arms immediately, clinging onto the hood of his sweater as he takes in unsteady breaths.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he says into Eliott’s shoulder, tears making their unwelcome comeback in his tired eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” Eliott assures him, hands running back and forth over Lucas’ back. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Lucas retorts. “It’s not.”

“Hey.” Eliott tilts his chin up with a thumb and smiles fondly when Lucas sniffs miserably up at him. Eliott brushes a hand through his hair and kisses him on the forehead again. Lucas’ heart melts, settling calmer with the knowledge that even if his world feels like it’s going for another ride in hell, at least Eliott’s here with him this time, the angel that brings light to his life. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

More tears spill over the corners of his eyes. Eliott deserves happiness all the time, not Saturdays with strange clinics and witnessing shouting matches with horrid fathers.

“I’m so tired,” Lucas whispers, closing his eyes when Eliott’s thumbs come up to brush away his tears. He doesn’t know what he’ll do without them now-- doesn’t ever want to go back to a time without Eliott’s warm, gentle touches. “I just wish that everything’s normal for once.”

“Normal how?”

Lucas gestures to the clinic where he and his father held that unpleasant confrontation. The clinic has started to become his mama’s safe space but now that man’s just gone and ruined it. “I’m tired of that bullshit. Why can’t I just have a normal family?” He shakes his head, feels his phone ringing in his pocket for the thousandth fucking time and he doesn’t even want to think about what’s brewing on that front. Telemarketers aren’t that persistent. “Why can’t I just have normal people around me? A normal life? Fuck, I hate this. I don’t wanna deal with any more of this.”

Eliott’s quiet above him but he holds Lucas tight in his arms, very tight. Lucas buries his face in Eliott’s neck and locks his own arms around Eliott’s torso, deflating after finally getting those thoughts out in the open.

“You don’t have to.” Eliott whispers into Lucas’ temple, cheek nuzzling into his hair.

“Hm?”

“You won’t have to deal with it.”

“How?”

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Yann is still there when Eliott drops him off at the apartment. Lucas must look as shitty as he feels because Yann doesn’t tease when he opens the door for them, Lucas being too out of it to bring out his keys. He can feel his best friend and his boyfriend exchange glances above his head and in a better state, he’d probably coo at how they’re able to hold silent conversations already.

But as it is, Lucas just wants to take a goddamn nap.

Lucas turns to ask if Eliott would like to stay with them but his boyfriend brings him in for a rather abrupt embrace, so quick and inexplicably strong that Lucas loses his breath for a moment. His hands fly up to Eliott’s shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as he presses his nose to Eliott’s chest. Eliott has his face buried in his neck and Lucas feels him take a deep, lingering inhale before pulling away with a soft touch to Lucas’ hair.

“Take care of yourself, hm?”

Lucas nods dumbly, watching Eliott walk away.

lucallemant thank you for coming with me earlier do you have any plans tomorrow?

srodulv me and idris actually have to start another project so I'm gonna be busy for a while

lucallemant oh ok airplane mode type of busy?

srodulv yeah

lucallemant okay, take care of yourself this time lol don’t forget to eat and sleep good night eliott ♥️

#skam france #elu fic #elu #elu insta au #fictag #i have nothing to say but sorry #and yes im trying to sneakily fix the typo #shhhh #shhhhhhhh #dont look for it

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camillemontespan · 5 years ago

Text

she wolves [part five: he is mine]

@jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @moonlightgem7 @burnsoslow @ibldw-main @emichelle @katedrakeohd @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @mskaneko @nazariortega @dcbbw @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @notoriouscs @star-spangled-eyes @rainbowsinthestorm @stopforamoment @pedudley @drakesensworld @pug-bitch

Warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Okay, this is when She Wolves turns into a massive shit storm. I spoke to @sirbeepsalot before this as this chapter reflects one of her chapters and just to clarify, she is 100% OKAY with me posting this because we all get similar ideas. Maybe we should all work for PB?

This is a long chapter, sorry!

Madeleine

My Manor is now empty with everyone having left to return to their duchies. Leo has also left. I dread to think he has gone to Lythikos with that psychopath orphan but I have a feeling that he has.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her at the press conference yesterday. It was humiliating! Why can't he just see that she is nothing compared to me? She will never have with him what we had.

He was my first kiss.

He was my first date.

He was the first man I had sex with.

He was my first love.

So why is he with her?

I know people change but the beauty about Leo and I is that we continue on. We still love each other. We still circle around the other, like the sun and earth, forever connected.

How can what we have shared amount to nothing in the end?

I'm hibernating in bed but even that doesn't come naturally to me. I hate laziness. I have been taught from a young age - not by my mother - that if you want something done, you are better off just doing it yourself.

I can only rely on myself to fix this situation with Leo. And I will fix it, one way or another.

********************************************

Kiara

I am sat in front of the TV with my notebook in my lap, pen poised, ready to take notes.

I'm conducting research. On the screen in front of me is the news programme Good Morning Cordonia and I'm keen to find out what the newsreaders thought of the press conference.

I doodle stars in the margins of my notebook until I hear my name come up.

'Now, Kiara.. What do we think of her?' the newsreader, Natalia, asks their political correspondent, Sarah.

'Kiara was.. Lacklustre,' Sarah answers. 'She barely said a word and this is concerning given that she is wanting to become Queen. How can we support her when she has nothing to say? Sure, when she was asked questions, she mentioned how her father is a diplomat and she has learned from him. She knows how to talk to important figures and conduct herself well but that's the bare minimum for a queen. She needs to step up.'

Natalia smiles sympathetically. 'Agreed. She seems like a very nice woman but we want someone strong and who isn't afraid to defend our country. Do you think she is outshined by her rivals?'

Sarah nods. 'Absolutely. You have Olivia Nevrakis who is fiery, dominating and has admitted in the past that her favourite hobby is knife throwing. Then you have Camille, who although is American, just took to her role as a Duchess like a duck to water. If Kiara wants to be recognised as a true claimant for the throne, she needs to go for it.'

I turn the TV off. My stomach feels like it's in knots. If course they think that of me. Everyone does.

What people mistake for shyness is actually me observing. I'm a master at reading a room. I know how to approach certain situations talk to certain people and keep the peace. But when I observe, I become quiet because my mind is working overtime to take everything in.

I know Leo is falling in love with Olivia.

I know Olivia is falling in love with Leo, but I doubt she knows that herself.

I know Madeleine hates Olivia with a passion and wants Leo for herself.

I know Hana doesn't actually want to be Queen.

I know Penelope is having a secret affair with her driver.

I know Drake wants a normal life but Camille isn't as forthcoming.

I know Madeleine wears vanilla scented perfume when she wants to seduce (I didn't know that naturally.. She told me when she was drunk).

Well, I will show them. I will prove I have things so say and that I'm not just boring Kiara.

I will invite them to my duchy for a weekend of elegance, music and wine. Lots of wine. I will be social and confident and I will prove them all wrong.

********************************************

Camille

I wait anxiously, my eyes fixed on the little stick that now sits on the edge of the sink. I'm sat on the floor and Drake is sat down with me, his arms wrapped around me, whispering that I shouldn't be nervous.

I really want this.

Not because I'll have an heir but because I finally get to have a family with Drake. Its all I've ever wanted since I was little and now, if this happens, everything will fall into place.

I would love to see Drake as a father. I just know he will be so good at it. He would be protective but not overbearing, he would teach our kids how to do outdoorsy stuff like building a campfire or toasting smores and he would make our family his priority. I know he had a rough childhood as his father passed away and his mother abandoned him, so he has so much love to give. All I want is for him to be happy.

I would hate for this to be a false alarm.

Drake's phone beeps. 'It's time,' he whispers, giving my hand a squeeze. 'You ready?'

I nod mutely and stand up. At the last minute, I panic and cover my eyes. 'God, I can't look, I'm too nervous!'

Drake chuckles and stands up too. Slowly, he picks up the stick and his eyes look down at the result. I look at him with bated breath.

A smile breaks out on his face. 'Are you ready to be a mom?'

My heart skips a beat and I let out a scream of joy. This is happening! This is actually happening!

I'm jumping up and down with tears in my eyes and Drake is laughing and coming towards me to pull me into his arms. He lifts me up so we're the same height and he kisses me over and over as he cries happily.

Drake never cries. Our happy tears mix together. 'I'm so happy,' he murmurs into my hair. 'So fucking happy.'

*********************************************

Olivia

I'm lying in bed watching the news, trying not to smile as Leo kisses his way down my body. He has made it his personal mission to see how many kisses he can cover my skin with and currently, he is on 200.

'Olivia Nevrakis is a difficult one,' the political correspondent says to the newsreader in their segment. 'She has grown up alongside the monarchy all her life and she is powerful. Cordonia needs a strong figurehead. But she often comes across as a little.. dark.'

I smirk and Leo chuckles, pressing a kiss on my stomach.

'I know what you mean,' the newsreader agrees. 'The public don't seem to connect with her. They didn't support King Liam as he used brute force as a way to exert power so I doubt they would be as accepting of Olivia, who admitted in the past that when she was five, she was given a dagger for a birthday present.'

They both sigh. 'She is very loyal to her country,' the political correspondent says, trying to find something positive.

Leo looks up at me. 'Oh I know she is,' he says, giving me a wink. I laugh and watch as he kisses lower, his hands roaming up my arms to keep me in place.

'She seems to lack.. Feelings,' the newsreader says.

I turn the TV off at that. Say what you want about me but don't dismiss me as being a cold blooded cretin like Madeleine. I have feelings.

Leo stops kissing me and looks up at me with concern. 'Liv.. I know that look.'

'I have feelings!' I snap. 'Sorry I don't like to be all lovey dovey all the time. Sorry I don't think everything is sunshine and rainbows, sorry I like practical presents like daggers, sorry -'

He bolts up and presses his hand over my mouth. 'Shh, Liv,' he whispers. 'Who cares what they say? Fuck em. You're Olivia Nevrakis. You don't let them tell you who you are, you tell them.'

I'm ashamed to admit that tears prick my eyes. 'I hate to be compared to him,' I mutter.

Leo closes his eyes. He knows I mean his brother.

'You are not like him,' he grounds out, opening his green eyes so they flash with anger. 'You will never be like him.'

'He raised taxes so he could improve our armies and when people couldn't pay, he threw them out of their homes..' I whisper. 'I would never do that. Am I really so intimidating that people think I would be that heartless?'

Leo presses a kiss on my forehead and holds me close. 'You are not heartless. My brother abused his power and lead Cordonia down a dark road. Yes, he threw people out of their homes. He raised taxes. He imprisoned those who dared to speak against him. He shut down Parliament so only he could be the authorative voice of Cordonia. He gave nobles more and more reward and neglected the commoners to the point where they rose up against each other. He didn't care. He watched his country destroy itself by civil war and instead of fighting for peace, he fuelled it.' He breaks off, his voice cracking.

'So don't you dare believe those who compare you to that monster,' he says. 'You are loyal to this country, you care about your duchy and you hated what he did. You tried to steer him back towards the light. You're remarkable.'

I stare at him, my mouth agape. He has never been this kind to me before. We never talk about feelings or what we think of the other person. I'm not like Madeleine who constantly needs reassurance. We laugh and joke and fuck. Serious conversations never take place in our bed.

My bed.

His bed.

Not our bed.

'You have feelings,' he assures me. We share a heated look and it feels like he can see into my soul. It's like he knows I have feelings for him that are buried deep down.

'Do you have feelings?' I ask quietly.

Leo smiles his lazy smile. 'Yeah, Liv. I have feelings.'

He makes love to me after that. I usually refrain from calling sex that sickening phrase but that is what he does. There's no other way to describe it. He takes his time, his hands roaming my body gently, taking me gently, his lips gentle on my neck. Everything is gentle. Sometimes I forget that sex doesn't have to be adventurous or pushing boundaries. Sometimes, it can just be lazy and kind and lovely.

He is turning me into mush but right now, I don't care. All I want is to keep being reminded that I have feelings and that I'm human. He reminds me of this with each stroke, each kiss, each whisper of my name.

*********************************************

Kiara

The court arrive at my Manor a few days following the news programme. I wasted no time in organising it.

I have decorated the Manor to look like Versailles which isn't tricky as my father installed a miniature Hall of Mirrors when we first moved in. Ostentatious? Yes. Shows off our French heritage? Yes.

Camille looks around the Hall of Mirrors and Drake takes her hand. I forgot that Camille has ancestry from Versailles. Great. She can prove she now more noble than I am, well done Kiara.

'Wine?' I ask them. 'Vintage 1795, from Bordeaux.' A servant offers a tray filled with glasses.

Drake takes a glass but Camille waves it away. 'Thank you, Kiara, but I'll just have water.'

The servant nods and finds her a glass of water. I study her and look at the flushed look on her face, the pride that is etched on Drake's and I put two and two together. She is pregnant.

Camille has an heir.

That's even more stability for Cordonia if she were to be crowned Queen.

'So what are we to expect this evening, Kiara?' Drake asks me.

I smile. 'A tour of our vineyard, music and dinner. Camille, if you like, I can find you some alcohol free wine?'

She blinks. 'Uhh that won't be necessary but thank you.'

She knows I know.

'Ugh, alcohol free wine?' Olivia drawls, strolling up to us. 'Really? What's the point?'

Drake smirks. 'My feelings exactly. But thank you Kiara for the gesture.'

Olivia frowns. 'Gesture?'

Camille turns red and grabs Drake by the arm. 'Honey, let go see Maxwell, I need to find out how his book writing is going!'

Weak excuse. Clearly she doesn't want people to know yet. She and Drake leave and I turn to Olivia who is sipping a glass of wine and studying me.

'How are you, Olivia?'

'Just peachy,' she replies dryly. 'Excuse me, I'm going to go talk to a wall..'

She strides off, leaving me alone. Sighing, I down my glass of wine and go in search of someone who actually wants to talk to me at my own event.

**********************************************

Penelope

I'm with my parents in the car driving to Kiara's. We're running late thanks to my mother being indecisive over what earrings to wear but she finally picked a pair and now Thomas is practically gunning it down the highway.

My mother is scrolling through her online diary. 'Penelope, I've arranged for you to meet a suitor,' she tells me. 'It would be good if you had a partner so that when you become Queen, you can show more strength.'

I turn pale and grip the side of my seat. I see Thomas is trying his best to ignore the conversation but his hands are gripping the steering wheel and his knuckles have turned white.

'Really, mother, it's okay,' I protest. 'I don't want to be dating right now. I just want to focus on being Queen.'

My father grins warmly. 'That's our girl! Keep your eye on the prize!'

'But she would do well to have a match!' my mother cries. 'It would really boost her chances -'

'Penelope can do just perfectly on her own,' father interrupts, giving me a wink. 'She's always managed to hold her own.'

'Some people don't see that,' mother whispers. 'She can daydream too much in other company.'

'I can hear you, you know,' I cut in, my voice like ice. I see Thomas's eyes crinkle up in the car mirror as he smiles.

My father places his hand on my mother's, placating her. 'She's already shown her intelligence and kindness, Emme,' he assures her. 'Have faith.'

She sighs and looks at me apologetically. 'I'm sorry, honey. I'll be better. I'm just nervous, that's all.'

'It's okay, mom.'

She smiles. 'So you'll meet the boy I have lined up for you? You know his sister!'

Ezekial. Kiara's brother. No.

'I don't want to meet anyone,' I reply bluntly. 'I'm not even thinking about love.'

My eyes catch Thomas's and I will him to understand that I don't mean it, not really. I love him. I love him.

He nods and I feel relief. He understands.

**********************************************

Madeleine

Kiara's wine tour is fine. That's all I will say. Its understated but enough to show off her wealth and sophistication, especially when she drones on about flavours.

I watch Leo as he tastes a red wine. I know he is dying to just down it because this sort of event is not his thing in the slightest. A refined Prince, he is not.

I could have helped shape him if he let me. We could appreciate wine together and go to the polo and bet on the horses. We could go out to the theatre and the opera.

But Leo doesn't enjoy any of that.

Olivia is by his side which is becoming the norm. For someone who constantly says that she doesn't need a man, she is showing her true colours.

She eventually leaves his side and that's when I see my moment. Quickly I walk to where he is standing by the open bar.

'Leo,' I greet him. He smiles and kisses my hand.

'Maddie. Always a pleasure.'

I inch close to him, so close that I can smell the red wine on his breath. 'Are you free tonight?' I murmur.

His eyes flash over my shoulder to Olivia then quickly back again. I smile, pretending I haven't seen his hesitation or the reason for it.

'I'm quite busy tomorrow so need an early night..' He says weakly.

I am my mother's daughter. Although she may be a permanent drunk, she did teach me a few things. I place my hand on his crotch and squeeze hard.

Leo's eyes bulge. 'Maddie!' he gasps.

I smirk. 'Come on, Leo.. You know you want to. Just tonight. It's been so long.'

He closes his eyes. 'Okay. My room. Kiara assigned me the one on the third floor near the tower. 10pm.'

I release him, triumphant that I've won. I turn and walk away, deciding to prepare for tonight. I need my best lingerie.

*********************************************

Olivia

I see Leo racing towards me with a dark look on his face. He takes me by the arm and whispers, 'I need to talk to you.'

I follow him outside to the gardens and watch as Leo paces.

'Leo -'

'Madeleine is coming to my room tonight,' he tells me quickly. 'She wants me.'

I keep my poker face. He doesn't have to know that I'm disappointed. He doesn't have to know that I think things changed between us when he made love to me the other day.

I cross my arms. 'Okay. Happy fucking.'

He grabs me, his eyes wild. 'I'm going to end it with her,' he says. 'I only want you. Liv, I promise. These past six months have been incredible and its down to you, not her. You're the one I want. I know you're not one for declarations of love and neither am I, but I have to be honest here. I love you.'

We had both silently agreed that we had feelings. But we have never said the L word. Why would we?

But as I watch him looking utterly distraught and terrified, I know I feel the same. He makes me happy. He makes me see that just because you're with someone it doesn't make you less of yourself.

I kiss him.

'I love you too,' I whisper.

I feel his shoulders loosen and his smile against my mouth.

**********************************************

Madeleine

I'm wearing a white lace bralet and matching thong with stockings and suspenders. My eyes are lined with kohl and my hair is tousled.

I place a trench coat over it and with a final check in the mirror, I stride out of my room to Leo's.

I'm going to win him back. For too long, Olivia has had her talons in him. No longer. He is mine.

I reach his door and knock. I hear him shuffling and the door opens. 'Hey, Maddie,' he says, gesturing for me to come inside.

There's no candles or champagne cooling. No romantic music. None of the typical Leo Sex touches are here.

I cast this thought aside and unbutton my coat. It falls to the floor and Leo stares at me as I advance slowly on him. 'What do you think?' I ask huskily.

He is mine.

Leo swallows. 'You look lovely.'

I reach out and start to unbuckle his belt. 'Relax, Leo..'

'Maddie -'

I unbutton his trousers and push him onto his bed. Quickly, I straddle him and grind against his crotch. I can be sexy. I can be seductive.

He is mine.

Leo grabs my hands. 'Madeleine, no.'

He never calls me by my first name. He never tells me no.

I laugh it off and lean down to kiss him but he turns his head. I sit up and stare down at him, trying to be calm. 'What's wrong?' I ask. 'Can't get it up? Here, let me help -'

'No,' he grounds out. 'Madeleine, I'm sorry but I have to end this. I don't want to do this with you anymore.'

I blink.

But he is mine.

'Okay.. So you're giving up sex?' I ask, knowing it's a stupid question. 'Does that mean you're ending it with Olivia too?'

He looks at me like he's in pain. 'No.. Just you.'

But he is mine.

My heart is beginning to pound and my skin is blooming goosebumps. I feel sick.

He reaches out to stroke my hair but I push his hand away violently. He doesn't get to feel remorse.

'After everything I've done for you..' I murmur.

Leo closes his eyes. 'I know and I'm sorry. I just can't keep stringing you along -'

'So now you have feelings?!' I burst out. 'Cry me a fucking river!'

'Maddie -'

'I wanted us to rule together!' I cry, tears burning my vision. I can't stop talking. 'I dreamed of us being together and helping to raise Cordonia up! All I needed was for your brother to be gone and you to take the crown and make me your Queen!'

His eyes are huge. 'What? What are you talking -'

I push my hands on his chest and trap him under me. 'I killed your fucking brother,' I hiss in his ear. 'And this is how you repay me.'

He is mine.

Leo pushes me up. His eyes are like fire, filled with anger and horror. 'You.. You killed him?'

My secret is out.

'He needed to die!' I cry. 'He was ruining Cordonia! I kept thinking that you are the rightful king, you should replace him and have me by your side. So I planned his defeat. I tried to seduce him as a way to make him vulnerable,' I say, my voice shaking. I know I am ruining Leo's image of me. I know I can't take this back.

'He was all for it,' I tell him. 'Anything to make you feel like shit. So I got him under me, like you are right now, and I held him down and I suffocated him with a pillow.'

I reach out slowly and lift Leo's pillow. He is staring at me like a deer caught in headlights.

He is mine.

'All you had to do was take the throne,' I say. But you refused. I hoped that you would back me if I were to be Queen but it's become increasingly clear that you favour that orphaned slut -'

'Don't you dare speak about Olivia,' he hisses. 'You know nothing about her.'

I smirk. 'I don't care. She took you from me. You both ruined my plans.'

Leo stares at me in horror and realisation dawns on his face. 'You're the reason the room smelled of vanilla..'

'Bingo..' I sing.

I raise the pillow up. Lots eyes widen and he tries to grab my wrists but I knee him in the crotch. He lets out a strangled moan.

'If I can't have you, nobody can,' I hiss.

I push the pillow down onto his face. Leo shouts out and struggles but I keep him held in place. Tears flow down my cheeks. I have lost it. I've lost all sense of morality. I'm wild right now.

He is trying to scream for help but the pillow muffles his voice and I keep the pillow pressed to his face. His body jerks against me but I'm strong and he is losing a battle.

He stops.

I wait and slowly take the pillow off his face. He is slack and his chest is not moving. I let out a sob, knowing what I've done and that I can't take it back.

He was mine.

#trr fanfic

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its-negans-lucille · 5 years ago

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Beyond the Veil

Ships: Mysterio x (M or F) Reader, (M or F) Reader x Quentin Beck Words: 1,440 Warnings: cursing and minor violence Category: Angst if you squint Summary: “It was all an act: he had mastered the art of mysterious manipulation”

The cold air caressed your skin, sending goose-pimples up your arms and a delightful tingle down your spine. It was the celebration of lights as rivers of shimmering diamonds and jewels seemed to run through the street, illuminating the sins of man. They reflected what may have been seen were it not for the thick layer of smog that lay upon Prague.

You had expected it to be an average night, simply preparing to watch the droves of tourists be conned out of their money for something as simple as a falsetto-glass light.

That was, however, until a chorus of screams began: a dreadful symphony for the damned.

You leaned forward from where you perched alongside the many gargoyles, mimicking their hunched over form as you surveyed the chaos swiftly unfolding below you. A huge beast, formed from the depths of hell itself was raving around the celebration. It’s fire seemed to dwarf the stars themselves as a cacophony of chaos followed in its wake. You continued leaning forward; if a gust of wind came along you would fall as swiftly as a tower of playing cards.

Though, soon wind was the least of your problems. You saw out of your peripherals a huge object fly at you. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact that would tear you from this world far too quickly. But, to your immense surprise, such impact was much smaller than you had prepared for.

You were suddenly flying through the air, your hands grasping on anything you possibly could: something, anything for a foothold. You were plummeting downwards while you held onto a small, mechanical objects that, apparently, couldn’t hold your weight. The sound of wind rushing in your ears was only overcome by the immense whirring emitted by the object in question.

You hit the ground with a deafening crunch. You sat up after a few short seconds, rubbing the base of your spine which now throbbed painfully. You slowly opened your eyes, expecting to see the monster ravaging the street just beside you. Through your lashes you made out no monster, no carnage, just a small army of drones humming through the air.

Your eyebrows creased in a frown as you slowly stood up. The street seemed almost untouched.

Almost being the key word.

A tall man stood in the middle of the chaos of drones. Clad in a suit that would usually be worn for special effects, his face encased in what looked to be a gold-fish bowl while two more drones illuminated his face with blue light, evidently projecting it somewhere. The man was yelling, his voice trembling so that if you didn’t have your gaze fixed upon him you’d think that he were in grave peril. Swiftly, realisation dawned on you.

It was all an act.

A perfectly orchestrated, beautiful art of manipulation. These monsters, these Elementals, as the news media had dubbed them, were simply pixels and organic sounds put together for such a desired effect that one may get in the cinema. This man, whoever he was, was profiting off the fear of innocent people: people who just wanted to celebrate the stars as they winked in the sky.

Such a fury that you hadn’t felt in a long time began coursing through your veins, keeping you alive just as much as oxygen. You began to advance on the man who had his back turned, blissfully unaware of the hurricane set directly at him.

“Run, Peter!” He sounded positively adamant. “I’ll take care of this!”

With that, he waved his hand and the drones dropped their magnetic lights. The man took a brief sigh of relief, removing the glass orb that haloed his face. He rolled his head on his neck, just as one does after doing a particularly taxing task before you raised your fist and hit him in the head.

You sent him sprawling to the floor, curses flooding from his mouth as if a dam had broken. You clutched at your dominant hand, rubbing it as a stream of expletives escaped from between your lips. You were positively sure that the crack you’d heard when your fist collided with this mysterious man’s cheek was that of your own knuckles breaking.

“What the fuck?!” The man swiftly regained his footing. He watched you with eyes drowned in madness. “What are’re you doing here?”

You took a step back as he advanced at you but were horrified to feel the cold sting of metal against your back as one of his drones blocked your escape route. You grimaced as this man invaded your personal space.

“Answer me.” His voice was low with an element that reminded you of cement being mixed. His eyes flashed with something akin to respect as you tilted your chin up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

His sapphire eyes dragged you in, making you briefly forget the chaos surrounding you. His straight nose was framed by magnificent cheekbones. His jaw were coated in a soft dusting of hair which only continued to accent his thick lips. But those eyes. If they were drowned in madness, you were swimming in it.

“Didn’t you hear me?” He growled, his eyes flashing, dragging you in like a black hole, deeper and deeper and dee-

“You’re Mysterio,” You gasped, your eyes flitting wide with surprise.

The man raised his hand and suddenly you felt a cold barrel at the back of your skull. Your heart started beating molten adrenaline through your veins. Your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Answer. My. Question.” He repeated, his breath on on your ear.

“I fell! A drone- it hit me and I fell into this-” You gestured widely around at the gestating illusion moving like a wave. “You faked it all, didn’t you?” You asked, finally returning your gaze back to Mysterio’s.

“Quick to catch on,” He began pacing around you. “The illusion should continue, however, even if one passes the boundaries of the machines.” A finger came up to caress a strand of hair framing your face. “And yet, here you are.”

You had to swiftly accept the whiplash his mood had given you. One moment he looked as if he were going to murder you and the next his hot breath was a hairs breath away from your ear. You remained vigilant, however, of the muzzle of the gun placed at the crown of your head.

“How?” Mysterio asked, finally stopping in front of you. The sounds of screaming became distant, forgettable, even, under his intense scrutiny. He watched you like you were a puzzle he designed to complete. When you didn’t reply immediately he waved his hand and the gun pressed further into your hair. “How?”

“I’m a tech student- I work on animation in film.” You stuttered quickly. “Oh? Well tell me…” He was so close that you had to tilt your face upwards to continue to meet his dizzying gaze.

“Can we improve?” His lips wrapped around the last word sinuously. How could someone make such an ordinary word sound like even devils would blush at it.

“Well, I-” You tried desperately to think of a way out of this situation with your brains firmly where they had started. “Some of the animation could be- be smoother?” You finally vocalised, watching the volatile man in front of you with a wary gaze.

“Could we now?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“I believe so… yes,” Your voice grew steadily stronger with each word spoken.

“Well, in that case-” He waved his hand and the muzzle of the gun suddenly retracted- “May I be so forward in offering you a position.”

“A position?” You asked, it was your turn to frown now, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“Yes: join my team if you really think we have so much to improve on.” He was enjoying this, the taunting of you. How his eyes twinkled with a mischief far too boyish for your liking. “Unless you want me to… how do I put this,” He tapped his chin in foe-thought, “Dispose of you.”

You stomach dropped with an unpleasant lurch.

“Think it over, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” Mysterio even had the audacity to wink.

“But- I-” You stuttered, your mind blank from all cognitive thought.

“Quentin?! Quentin are you there?!” A young, pubescent voice called from his earpiece.

“Ah, sorry, darling.” He smiled, certainly not sorry at all. “That’s my que to go.”He stepped on a drone, his eyes never leaving yours.“I’ll come for your answer tomorrow.”

With that, Mysterio (Quentin?) left and life would never be the same.

***

thank you for reading!! have a great day!

#Far From Home #Gif not mine #Mysterio Fanfic #Mysterio #Mysterio Fanfiction #Mysterio x reader #Quentin Beck #Quentin Beck Fanfic #Quentin Beck Fanfiction #Quentin Beck x Reader #Reader x Mysterio #Reader x Quentin Beck #Spiderman Far From Home #Spiderman: Far From Home #jake gyllenhaal

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