#remember when they kicked me out of the drums shed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bbitess · 8 months ago

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fumbled prt 1- chris x f!reader

enemies to lovers‼️ chris kicked her out of the band in high school but he now realizes his grave mistakes

warnings‼️ this is mostly angst 💀

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i knew i was just where i was meant to be, on stage, playing music. i didn’t ever care where or even how, i just wanted to create.

if only it was that easy, i have the feeling of rejection looming over me daily. the gigs i played were made up of mostly men, the people i worked with were men, and my occasional guitarist and drummer were also men. i have had a hard time trusting the industry as a whole, i always am ready to have a knife stabbed in my back and twisted between my shoulder blades.

it all started with one little boy, he probably forgot about me like a week after he fucked me over. but i remember the abandonment i felt. i see his face and hear his voice in the back of my head any time i step on stage.

he is in my head when i strum my strings and sing my songs, i feel vulnerable.

chris was the first person i met when i moved here, he lived next door and walked me to school, when i was too nervous to go alone.

i trusted him, i cared for him. he came over to eat dinner, and i could crash at his place whenever i needed to. he was the one who got me into music. his tall cd shelf in his tiny bedroom played all i needed to hear to be convinced to compose music myself.

chris had played guitar for a little, but i really didn’t enjoy how meticulous the whole idea was. that was when chris introduced me to the bass guitar one day when we made a run to guitar center. it felt natural the second i touched the strings. i scraped up enough money and bought one for myself that very day.

as high school progressed we played music together day and night, with his brother playing drums. it felt perfect, the guys i had known my whole time here, can help me make beautiful music. but it wasn’t just my music, it was ours. we put hours of work into albums and set lists, but we never booked a show. i think we just got caught up in the inspiration of song writing and music playing.

i thought everything was going great until one day chris texted me, he didn’t even take 20 steps to my house, he just texted me.

i was out of the band, something about personal issues and band conflict and it wasn’t going to work anymore.

i felt so devastated, the man i had trusted for years now had brutally rejected me from something we had. something beautiful and finely crafted. still to this day i wonder what we could have accomplished with all the un-released music we wasted weeks- months- on.

i hated him. he threw away all the work i fought so hard to make. fuck him. and it got worse, chris decided to step up and sing, and got a new and female bassist. i wanted to puke and scream and cry, how could he do this to me? reject me coldly and then turn around and share what we had with another?! i was furious.

all the anger remains with me today, the distrust and uncontrollable industry hasn’t changed a bit. that brings me to the present, where i shed the band and became a solo artist. just me on the stage and whoever i could get to play drums that night. it wasn’t that difficult, after i graduated i started to gain more popularity, i am aware of a lot of different musicians to work with. no one like chris though.

so i still think of him, not only my bitter hatred for him and how confused he made me feel. leaving me with nothing but paranoia and distress. but i also think of how the drummers i’m playing with, and the guitarist substitute, will never be like when i was with chris. the days i will never get back flash though my head and sometimes, i’ll close my eyes and pretend it was the three of us the whole time. that the band had stayed together and taken off, and that we could have our own shows with a genuine audience, instead of whatever i was stuck in now. but a negative feeling follows.

every night going to a new show, alone. no one tells you how lonely it is to be a solo artist, especially someone like me, in a town like this. and i would turn it all back to my resentment of chris, i loathed him.

i stepped onto the stage, everything was set in place and the lights shined down on me. even though i’ve done this tens of times now, nothing makes it easier. my stomach churned with nerves but i felt some relief when some people cheered and clapped at my silence.

i stepped forward to the microphone and began to introduce myself. my voice was a little shaky. “hello?” i kind of asked. “um, this is my music, i hope you enjoy it.” i smiled a little after spitting it out. i looked back at my band and they seemed ready. the drummer could count off at any second and i faced forward with my hands on my bass.

then i saw what i had imagined before, a familiar figure walking into the venue. it was chris, he hadn’t changed at all. i panicked, it was like my worse fear coming true. i wondered if i was hallucinating. my fingers twitched on my strings letting out a bit of noise, and my drummer must have taken that as a signal to start. so he did, he counted off and i just had to play. there was nothing else i could do. the music was all i knew.

chris walked closer to the stage, about ten feet back, leaning on a wall and just watching me. i hated it, i thought he could see right through me, know how fucking scared i was in this moment. i just kept playing, and when the time came, i began to sing into the microphone. a shaky whisper escaped my mouth but it slowly elevated with the music.

i then felt a sense of redemption, fuck chris for leaving me, but look at all i had accomplished by myself. i pulled hard at the strings of my bass and almost screamed into the microphone, tears falling from my eyes. people really liked the music though, they seemed to be enjoying themselves more than at previous shows. i took a deep breath and completed the song on a great note.

the venue exploded into applause. i couldn’t help but let a cheesy smile coat my face. “thank you” was all i could say, some cold tears still on my face.

i completed the set, after i ignored chris and just tried to please the audience my nerves settled and i had the best show i possibly could have put on. more people came into the venue just to hear me play, and by the time it was all over, the crowd was so packed i couldn’t even see chris.

i said my thank yous and goodbyes to the audience, they were great. i packed up my bass and cable into my case and left to pack my van. i opened my trunk for the guitar amps to fit. i was so tired and sweaty from the set. i just took a deep breath and leaned my back into my car, trying to calm down.

then i heard a little snicker come from the parking lot. i opened my eyes and chris was about five feet away, walking towards me with a big smile. i didn’t move, i just stayed put on my car, staring him down. “that show was amazing, you really can make beautiful music.”

i was visibly confused, what was he even doing here? “what are you doing here chris? where is your brother?”

“claude is fucked up, i sent him home in an uber right before we got here. i just wanted to hear you play, i haven’t in years…”

“and who’s fault is that?” i ask sitting up from the car and meeting his gaze. he wasn’t exactly the same, he had grown taller and his clothes had an upgrade. he kept his hair long but now it was more shaggy and untamed. he still had his beautiful jawline and nose, and his hypnotic deep blue eyes.

“are you talking about the old band?” he asked. i scoff, “yes chris, you totally fucked up me and my hard work. i can’t believe you even had the nerve to show your face to me ever again,” i spat.

he looked hurt, his eyebrows contorted into a confused and saddened expression. “i didn’t know it would affect you that much.” he looked down. “that’s why you are such a dickhead chris! you didn’t even think about how i would feel getting kicked from my second home, loosing my best friend of years. you got a new band with a girl to replace me, and i heard you practicing in the garage every day, reminding me of my confusion. you and your brothers threw all your parties next door that i was never invited to. and all i could think is what the fuck did i ever do to you?”

chris stayed quiet, still looking down. i was so annoyed, even after all these years he was still a cowardly little boy. i walked up and pushed him in his chest, making him fall back and catch his balance slightly. “answer me chris! after all these years the least you could do is tell me what the fuck i did to you.”

he wasn’t answering. “hello?!” i yelled at him. he looked up slowly, i could see shiny tears rolling down his face in the dark. i was so confused in that moment. “it wasn’t your fault, it was mine.”

i’m so fucking confused, “what do you mean? you got everything you wanted from me and never wanted me again!” chris put his hands on my arms, i tried to squirm but he held me tightly and i knew it wasn’t worth the fight. “no, that’s wrong, all of it.”

“then tell me why you texted me that day? not come over or call me or anything. just a shitty text and then it was like we never even met!” i feel so distressed, im crying a little, but so is he. he looks down ang grabs my hand and he starts his story. “it’s a little difficult to explain, and i regret it every day. claude told me that you were too distracting and it would be better if we had a male singer and just bassist female.” i looked at him disgusted, does he even know how fucked that is? he continues. “i realize now that it was a stupid decision. claude could see my admiration for you growing and he said it wasn’t healthy for the band. i mean, we are brothers, i trusted him, i believed that you were totally out of my league. he sent the text on my phone and after i realized and saw how you hated me. it was just too late, you hated me and i hated claude. i knew i could never have what i had before back.”

“you are telling me that all of this was because claude realized you had a little crush on me before you did?”

“well that’s what he thought, yes. i also lied he wasn’t going to come tonight- it’s just me, i want to apologize and explain what happened. i’m so sorry i never came over or invited you back into the house, im so so sorry.” chris was holding my hands in his and pleaded into my eyes for forgiveness. more tears creeped down my face, “i was so hurt…”

“i’ll never forget it as long as i live, please, play music with me” i pulled my hands from his, confused and feeling a little deceived. “what about this!?” i said gesturing to my van of gear and the venue. “i play by myself, for myself.”

“i know, i’m not asking to be a band, i want you to bring me with you to shows to be your guitarist. it will still be your name, i just can’t leave you again.”

i was silent, i didn’t know what to say but i guess i couldn’t loose much, i wanted a roadie guitarist for a little bit. i began to nod and chris’s face lights up. “okay, i suppose i could use the help.”

“i won’t let you regret it.” he says with a grin.

part 2 here

#rory culkin #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin smut #chris kenton #twelve #hole band

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mywifeleftme · 11 months ago

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322: Rival Boys // Animal Instincts

Animal Instincts Rival Boys 2014, Tiny Records (Bandcamp)

Rival Boys were an Ontario indie rock band active in Toronto from the late ‘00s to the mid ‘10s. They were a three-piece comprising sibling vocalists Lee and Graeme Rose (on bass/violin and guitar, respectively) and drummer Sam Sholdice, with a sound somewhat like Vancouverites Mother Mother on a blue day. (Whom, as an aside, I have discovered are now way more popular thanks to TikTok than they ever were at the time—they have 8.3 million listeners a month on Spotify, which is like… 38 times more than the New Pornographers.) Both Roses affect a mewl somewhere between Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano and Sarah McLachlan, with Lee’s more powerful bellow usually taking the lead. In conjunction with the cold mountain violin that periodically sweeps the floorboards, it gives their otherwise youthful affect a nostalgic somberness. They were emphatically a rock band though, capable of kicking up a surly crunch: they didn’t have the dance rhythms of the Metric/Land of Talk acolytes who were all over CBC Radio 2 (the national public alternative music station) at the time, preferring to lope along like the Pixies.

Rival Boys were no longer a going concern by the time I moved to Toronto in 2017; I discovered them when I found a CD of their 2009 EP Life of Worry in the basement of an Ottawa house I shared with a friend who’d known somebody in the band back in high school. It was the first time I can remember coming across a group remotely in my social radius that struck me as unequivocally good. I listened to that five-song EP to death for a few years, and I still think they really nailed their sound with it; as a result, I had kind of a chilly response to their 2014 farewell Animal Instincts when I found it at a punk flea market. They’d shed just a touch of the raw-boned vulnerability that had made their loose, imagistic lyrics cling like a thin flannel against a harsh wind; a bit less bite to the guitar; a hair less heedless urgency to the vocals. The serviceable cover of Wolf Parade’s “I’ll Believe in Anything” seemed on the nose; the new rendition of EP highlight “Construction Work” didn’t make my heart stagger around like the original.

But listening to it now, I think Animal Instincts’ real sin was just not being the record I’d fallen in love with. Life of Worry is special, but there’s plenty to like on the LP. Opener “Fortune” edges the hell out of the listener before finally giving us some of Lee in full thunder; “Young and Old” is a showcase for the close harmonies, wet-eyed violin, and martial drumming that were Rival Boys’ most distinctive element; “Don’t Bloom” gives us a little of everything Lee does well, flowing from a distracted, introverted croon to a high wail that arcs like a flaming arrow at a Viking funeral. On this listen anyway, even the new version of “Construction Work” is doing it for me. There’s a nice closure to the fact that it was both among the first and last things they cut: the original with its blazing, desolate frustration sweeping into a folk reel outro that feels like transcendence; the revision more brittle, reserved, like people on the cusp of leaving adolescence behind giving it one last go, the quieter outro never quite taking off but settling into a low, churchy organ drone. It feels like a dignified goodbye.

Which the record in fact was, although it may not have been clear at the time. Graeme dropped out of the music scene altogether; Lee was quiet for a few years, but soldiers on with the very good Ace of Wands; I’m not sure what Sam’s up to these days. Time moves on—it’s 15 years since the EP, 10 now since the LP. I’m sure for the band members and their fans it feels like barely half that time, like finding a book you set down just the other day covered in dust and all your friends so old all the sudden! If ‘00s indie music can be said to have been about anything, it was surely about digging deeper into the experience of being alive, celebrating the wild joy of it while you can, making something of that. Rival Boys surely made something, and it’s nice to have something physical of it to keep.

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322/365

#rival boys #toronto #toronto music #'10s indie #indie rock #wolf parade #ace of wands #mother mother #music review #vinyl record #Bandcamp

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typingatlightspeed · 2 years ago

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@dizzyahellfire replied: I just want you to know I'm a huge fan of your work on MI on AO3. I'm the same person with a similar name. I'm interested in seeing engineer with Pyro outside of MI. Be it flirting, petting, or just being adorable in general. I'm a a sucker for Texas toast.

TF2 Fanfic - Thunder

When an oncoming storm makes it too dark to work or craft, Engineer takes Pyro out to see the untamed beauty of nature firsthand. Some fluff! I hope you like it, Dizzy! I went with the adorable in general option, lol. Inspired by a bigass storm that rolled in right as I sat down at my laptop to start drumming up ideas. It was so dark in the apartment, and it got the ball rolling. :D

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"Holy shit it's so dark," Pyro mused, looking up from the clay figures he'd been making upon realizing he'd been squinting in progressively lower and lower light. A glance at the clock on the wall shocked him. "It's only one-thirty!"

Engineer chuckled at that and cast a look out the window, where the gathering clouds had long since blotted out the sun, shades of charcoal grey covering the sky as far as he could see. The wind had begun picking up, sweeping across the desert and kicking up dust clouds from the dry, cracked earth. Those wouldn't last long, he thought, as the sky seemed fairly pregnant with rain, fit to burst. "Storm's rollin' in, looks like. Good thing, too. We need this rain."

"We always need rain," Pyro replied, sitting up and giggling a bit at the other man's middle-aged commentary. "We live in a desert, silly. Well. Work in one."

"We live here too, just not full time," Engineer offered with a noncommittal shrug. He tapped his pencil's eraser on the drafting table at which he sat, and reached up to turn on the lamp that was clamped to one side. A heavy growl of thunder rumbled in the middle distance, and he tried to remember when the last time he'd done preventative maintenance on the emergency generator was.

"It's home to me. 'Cause you're here." Pyro pressed his gloved hands flat to the floor and pushed his backside up into the air as he unfolded his legs to stand, then straightened up. He stretched backward, arching his back, working the stiffness out of his lower back. He'd been hunched over that clay for longer than he'd thought. "You think the power's gonna hold?"

"Just what I was wonderin', Darlin." Engineer tapped his pencil a few more times before setting it down. He wasn't getting any more drafting done for a while, it seemed. "Maybe I should go head out to the generator shed 'n' double-check 'er 'fore this rain hits." As if to spite him, the moment he'd finished his sentence, Engineer's plan was quickly dashed as the storm broke and the clouds let loose their payload, a deluge of heavy rain pouring down on the desert below. The sound on the old, metal roof of the BLU base was a cacophony, nearly drowning out the rapidly approaching thunder, which grew louder with each consecutive boom. "Welp, nevermind that, I s'pose."

Pyro giggled at that, trundling over to wrap his arms around Engineer's shoulders. "Absolutely. You're staying right here." He tugged his mask up and pressed a kiss to the his temple. "With me."

"Well shoot, I can think of nicer things to do in a thunderstorm than just sit around the workshop. Come on, Darlin'." Hopping off of his stool, Engineer took Pyro by the hand and led him down the hall, out to the side door of the base, to a concrete porch which sat under a cement overhang, shielding them from the downpour. He took a seat against the exterior wall and motioned for Pyro to sit beside him, which the firebug gladly obliged.

The smell of petrichor hung heavily in the air, a metallic scent that almost had a flavour to it. The brutal heat of the desert was drowned in cool humidity, the rain falling in such heavy, fat drops that they pooled and flooded out every flat surface, the soil too dry, too unaccustomed to the concept of moisture to even think to try and absorb it. The sky was so dark it looked like twilight outside, and the rumble of thunder grew louder still. Pyro pulled his mask all of the way off and took a deep breath, relishing the breeze on his face.

"When I was a boy, whenever there was a thunder storm, me and my granddaddy would sit on the porch and watch the storm roll in," Engineer mused, wrapping his arm around Pyro. "See the lightnin' leap from cloud to cloud, hear the thunder growlin' like a bear in the distance. Then when it got real close, it'd crack so loud, you could feel it in your chest like a punch to the sternum."

The thunder's rumbling turned into roars, and both men could tell the worst of it was approaching. Occasional gusts brought rain to spatter them, but they stayed mostly dry in their little alcove.

Pyro leaned into Engineer, smiling wide. "You never told me that."

"I'm tellin' you now," Engineer replied softly, gently, reaching to scratch at the nape of Pyro's neck.

"Yeah, but you don't talk much about your childhood."

"Weren't a whole lot of it that was good. When you're born with a legacy weighin' you down, there ain't much time for makin' happy memories 'n' gettin' all wistful."

"But your granddaddy made time to watch the storms with you."

Engineer pointed to the sky, lightning beginning to shock between clouds, short purple streaks flashing amid the grey. Pyro giggled excitedly to see it. "That he did. Said he used to watch storms with his mama when he was a boy. On top of that, he wanted to make sure I understood that no matter how much we tame nature, it's still wild 'n' beautiful 'n' more powerful'n we can comprehend. Put the awe of it into me."

"Sort of like fire, that way." Pyro tilted up to press a kiss to Engineer's jaw, lips on stubble.

"I s'pose so." Engineer smiled.

An easy silence fell between them, the patter of the rain and grumbling of thunder soothing both men as they relaxed on the porch, arms around one another. Pyro pressed himself against the shorter man's side so hard he might as well meld into him, half-laying on him, and Engineer couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

When lightning streaked out of the sky to strike the ground a ways off, both men let out a quiet, "ooh," at the sight. They broke into grins at their mutual reaction, only to be cowed a bit when the thunder crashed a moment later. They returned to placidly watching the storm, another bolt of lightning in the distance gaining another soft sound of appreciation from Engineer.

Pyro began to shake with gentle laughter.

"What's got you gigglin'?"

"You."

"Me? What for?"

"Mr. Practical Problems over here. Sure, okay."

Engineer lifted an eyebrow, a bit confused by the sudden almost-insult. "And what d'you mean by that?"

"When that guy interviewed you, you said you weren't the guy to answer questions like, 'what is beauty?' And yet here you are, taking me by the hand and leading me out here to bask in the raw power of nature, holding each other in awe of it. Told me a story about one of the rare nice things about your childhood. But you can't answer, 'what is beauty?' Yeah, sure, maybe not with words," Pyro explained, waving the arm not currently squeezing his lover close to him as he spoke, gesticulating vaguely. He looked to Engineer, smiling up at him in a way that made the other man's heart melt. "Instead, you just show me."

"Aw, shoot." Engineer hugged Pyro close, dipping down to kiss him. Their soft, giddy laughter puffed between them even as their lips parted and tongues began to tangle. Until a particularly close bolt of lightning and near-immediate peal of thunder startled them out of it.

Pyro looked to the now-burning post of the perimeter fence that had been struck and back to Engineer. "Should we...?"

"Yeah, we should probably git inside, that's too close even for me."

#TF2 Fanfic #Team Fortress 2 #TF2 Texas Toast #TF2 Engineer #TF2 Pyro

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kaldorei-shadows · 2 years ago

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Hexphae, Time-lost Shieldmaiden of Stromgarde

Al's new mission is to help someone dangerously beautiful and very, uh... special.

Alessandre didn't like dealing with Mattias Shaw. The Human was full of himself, and being a spymaster, a spymaster for Stormwind, made him worse off than most. Well, Al conceded he had his own vanity, few in the roguish line of work were lacking in confidence. (Al remembered how he had insisted on being called something better than master rogue if he was going to share the title with two colleagues, for example.)

However, Al was furious at Shaw for giving him mission orders, to his face, as if the Kaldorei worked under him. A ridiculous notion that the Alliance badly needed to shed, if they all were going to be actual allies. Treating whole races of people like your personal errand boys, rather than it being a real collaboration, just rubbed Al the wrong way.

"Not that everything needs to be run by a council vote, but I don't need to be sent and fetched!" Al let his complaining be as loud as he liked. The other rogues lingering in the halls of the SI:7 headquarters turned their heads as the tall, darkly handsome Night Elf spymaster headed into Matthias Shaw's office.

Al's friend... frenemy, Sharpen Jadescythe, anyway, he was an in-law, once told a story about punching Shaw in the face. Sharpen's outrageous tale had also involved wrestling sharks, and kicking a Dwarf in the face too during a botched SI:7 Seals swim test, all planned by Shaw himself. Al, seeing Shaw's prickish 'I own your secrets' grin again after so long, fully believed the stinky fish tale was true.

Al glared.

"Have a seat, please."

Al didn't sit.

Then, it was awkward, as both men had something to prove. Shaw could hold the entire meeting hostage, Al began to realize. Then again, Shaw surely knew that Triumvir Alessandre Shademoon was among the most vocal Night Elves petitioning Tyrande and Malfurion to withdraw from the Alliance. It was all because of how the War of the Thorns got botched, leaving the Kaldorei with far less support than many believed they should after putting so much into the Alliance over a lifetime.

"Standing is better for one's health anyway. I hear," Shaw let out a breath, drummed fingers on his desk. "I'll begin, then. There is someone we can't officially handle--"

"But the Kaldorei are fine with getting their hands soiled by messy Human matters?"

"Hear me out. It's for the good of everyone that we hold Arathi, Stromgarde especially, and keep the Forsaken in check. A wayward kingdom of Undead were being ruled by Galen Trollbane until recently, if you recall."

Al remembered it. He'd hated hearing about the rise of another cult-like kingdom hungry for revenge, under a demagogue like Sylvanas. It had been a tenuous waiting game to see if these Undead were going to be more loyal to their Human predecessors or the Forsaken of the Horde.

Al still wasn't saying anything useful. Shaw itched his scalp, smoothed red hair back, "There is a contact I want you to make, who has invaluable knowledge of the Arathi Highlands. Not just strategic knowledge, but a real grasp over the history, the ancient rituals, the tribal, uh, magic used around that time. Much of it was lost when Humans turned to the arcane teachings of the Elves."

Al smirked, "You mean the Highborne, specifically the Quel'dorei. My people were not involved, we were on a whole other continent."

Shaw snapped his fingers as if he'd simply forgot the name of a particular flower or something. "Nice! Thank you."

Al went to leave, "You've mixed us up at your own peril. Go talk to one of Alleria's lapdogs."

"I can't!" Shaw stood from his desk. "Hexphae dislikes the Quel'dorei."

"Oh, I see..."

"You don't see, actually," Shaw came around his desk quickly. "She never liked arcane magic. One of those odd sorts there to witness Humans use magic for the first time, at the dawn of time, and resent it so much, she quit Arathorian society and never returned. She's the daughter of shamans. Or, we think she is."

"Well, she and I can agree on one thing. I'm not so sure about having the Highborne back, using magic in our cities the way they do. What is left of our cities. "

"But, Al. Your people have learned to accept the magic users of the Alliance. If you could persuade Hexphae to do the same?"

Al paced away from Shaw, lingered near an interesting looking bookshelf, "It has to do with reining in the Forsaken and it has to do with someone who dislikes the Humans about as much as I do right now. I can see why you singled me out for this mission. But you're forgetting one little thing, Shaw." Then, at last, Al sat. Put his feet up on the edge of Shaw's desk. "What’s in it for me?"

Shaw came over quickly, pulled the other chair close. Al mused at how Shaw resembled a used cart salesman, but didn't realize it. "We want to hold Arathi, for good this time. Aggression with the Horde over this land is supposed to be over."

Al nodded, "Supposed to be. But I'm a posioner, a killer, a man who wants an independent Kaldorei nation that can fend for itself."

Shaw squinted an eye, "I hate to tell you that Night Elf world-domination ended with Azshara."

"I wonder how much insult you think I'll take, cornered in your office, before my dart-throwing arm begins to twitch."

Shaw was menacing, "Get over yourself, Al."

"I still don't hear my incentive on the wind."

"This is all about runestones. This potential contact, Hexphae, must know all about them. We're sure she does. Those are supposed to be deep underground beneath Arathi, all over the plains. It turns out, runestone magic predates arcane magic. Ancient Quel'dorei and Humans, even shamanistic Humans, were able to use runestones. But that's a secret forbidden to us in Stormwind even now."

"Well, your sin'dorei spy network broke down under Sylvanas." Al leaned in, his fine black leather creaked, "You telling me that the Quel'dorei or Void Elf contacts the Humans got a hold of won't betray tradition, either? Ha! Good luck!"

Shaw defended himself as Al got up, edged his way out of the office. "That runestone tech would be invaluable, to all of us, ontop of everything else! Al, don't be a stubborn ass like always. We are so close to results. Just go and see her for me. Please!"

Al strutted down the halls of SI:7, with Shaw yelling for him to just listen. But maybe it was for show. Maybe both of them knew it was the only way to end that meeting with neither man losing face. It was a bitter situation, asking any Kaldorei for a political favor these days. Beyond the loss of Darnassus, the shame was great. Night Elves were strapped for manpower, resources. There wasn't much they could contribute to the Alliance, among those who still wanted to. That nagged at Al as well. He covered up for it pretty well with his lofty ideals, but the reality was, the Kaldorei were coming up short. Alliance superfriends or not, it couldn't last.

Anyway, if Shaw was as good as everyone claimed, then Shaw saw the light in Al's eyes when the word 'runestone' was mentioned. Al played it off as well as he could.

Runestones kept the Quel'dorei safe from the Scourge and nearly every other threat for thousands of years. It took espionage and assembling a fifth pillar among the elite, Dar'khan, to infiltrate and get the runestones down at long last. Arthas Menethil had done that.

But what about in an era of mortals who had learned better? In an era where Arthas and the Dar'khans of the world had been defeated? Runestones had been done so well, proven true before. What if the Night Elves used them this time, to seal their lands? Or, great swaths of Kalimdor? Hell, why not all of it? Al wasn't ashamed of his greed when it came to protecting his people.

So, Shaw had to be left thinking that Al wasn't voraciously interested in this plan. At least, for now. Never let a rival know when they've got you in the palm of their hand.

Later, in Duskwood...

Al spent a few days at the Duskwood inn before he realized Shaw meant it when he said the Human woman Hexphae was a hermit. With no sign of her, the almost wild woman was apparently happier in a tent surrounded by feral Worgen and spiders, than inside the walls of civilization.

After scouting her out in the forests, Al literally dug himself a pit downwind of Hexphae and laid in it for a day, before he caught sight of her. That would have been the other reason Shaw wanted Al on this mission. He'd lived for an age as a hermit himself. He knew the mentality.

Rather than approach her outright, Al played it safe. He built a fire and cooked a delicious-smelling dinner. However wild this cave woman was, it would be better to meet on her terms, not trespass into what would be seen as her own territory. And he'd hidden well just beyond her doorstep till now. Any hermit would at least investigate. It was like waving a white flag from across a battlefield.

Around suppertime, this tall brown-skinned woman with bare, muddy legs walked into Al's camp. She was armed, but didn't have any of her weapons in hand. He also noticed that she was far from some tribal savage. Al had assumed animal skins would be involved.

He beheld a true daughter of Arathor, wearing thick, but finely crafted armor. The ancient plate was done over in runes that had a dull glisten, as if the metal was aware, sort of alive. She wore light cloth skirt beneath the wide betal belt.

Time-lost, definitely. She somehow had stumbled out of a rift from her time, into this one. She'd got beneath the gaze of the Bronze Dragonflight so far. Or, she was using powerful means to hide herself from them. Al would need to deduce that, fast. He had no intention of getting involved in some dramatic Twilight Dragon war.

"Hail."

That greeting reminded Al of an Orc or a Tauren.

"Evening." Then, he gestured for her to sit and share his fire.

"You know my name. You've been sent."

Al thought over how to handle this. Pretty quickly, they had both got on the same page. As if she were a decent spy as well. He told himself that it was just good instinct, from living outdoors. You always had to work out where and why you had new neighbors near your camp, man or animal.

"Hexphae, I believe. But am I pronouncing that right, my lady?" Al hoped charm worked in any age.

She warmed to him. She relaxed her shoulders. But Hexphae wouldn't sit just yet. "You're not Human."

"Does that make you trust me more? Or less?"

"Did the other Humans send you?"

Al couldn't hide how that irked him. This made her smile. She sat down and reached for the venison Al had roasting over the fire. She used her own knife to carve off a piece.

"You're not the first one they sent. But you are the first who didn't worship this Shaw idiot. They speak of him like some god. No man is a god. No magic is some god to be worshipped. Also, all of them wanted my armor. Do you want my armor?"

Al blinked. That definitely came off as some kind of invitation, however subtle. Usually, he did rely on a little flirting to get what he wanted. It was a part of who he was as a person, he couldn't help how people, especially women, responded to him. And, well, he'd started it.

Al stretched out, folded arms beneath his head. "It is very fine armor. What is that made of, exactly?"

She chewed meat for a while. "No one ever asks if I'd like get home. This must mean... it cannot be done."

Al felt terrible about that. "You feel used, I can understand that. I'll level with you... it may be partially because, the same ones who would send you back may also punish you for being here at all."

Hexphae balked, greasy meat in one hand, dull gray knife in the other. "Who has the right to choose that! Or the power? To damn people for things beyond their control."

Al sighed, "Dragons."

"Those are real?? Well, I suppose like magical lanterns that turn themselves on with a flick of your wrist, and orbs for scrying on people. Portals that take you halfway across the realm. Damn magic! Damn Elves!"

Al chuckled, "My people resisted practicing, well, a sort of full-on magic until recently. I feel your pain."

"Hrmph!" Hexphae finished the meat she had. She glanced at Al, who nodded, before she went in for seconds. "I see you're a kind of Elf. But I never met one who cooked meat this good. It's like home, over a simple fire." She blinked, "This isn't magic, is it?"

Al shook his head.

"That's right! The way to a girl's heart is through her belly. This is deer. It is delicious."

"A Kaldorei recipe. My name is Alessandre Shademoon. Call me Al. My people worship the night, the stars. We were made to rely on Humans in recent memory. Before then, we were a great nation, and we did that on our own backs. We were not addicted to magic, like some others. Like the ones who came and taught magic to your people so long ago."

Hexphae ate more slowly, she was getting contemplative or full, hard to tell. "They worshipped the sun."

Al wasn't sure what to say next. He seemed to have Hexphae on his side, but he didn't want to go straight into asking for big favors. Right now, they felt like neighbors, having a chat.

"I am called Hexphae. But you must understand, it is not a name. It is who I am, it is what I do. My true name... that belonged to my family, my loved ones. That is lost."

Al decided to let the silence continue to work for him.

She wiped a hand on her mouth, and then her cloth skirt, as if remembering her ancient manners. "I know you want to learn about the runes beneath Arathi. My clan, we tended to those."

Al tried not to sing and do a dance right there. "So, the runestones do exist."

"You can guess my price for tending them again, and you can't cheat me. You'll never manage it on your own. There is no way down, no tunnels. It's in my blood, and my bones. When I die, and I must be the last of the Hexphae?" She looked off through the trees, "The secret of Human runestones will end with me."

Al nodded. He sat up, and cut free some meat for himself. It seemed rude now not to share, to deal with her like some lost, hungry animal.

They ate together and talked of the land, the stars, the seasons. The eternal and natural way of things, the things that never cease to make one wonder at the world, for some time.

Al decided to be straight with such a kindred soul, "So. You would risk dragons to go back home? And that's after helping me--us, that is. The Alliance. The Bronze dragons may forbid you to go back. Or, worse. You could get caught up in their squabbles with the Twilight dragons."

Hexphae bowed her head, hearing all that. "I miss the old ways. I want to revel in the runes again, before I die. It may be that the means justify my end."

"I see."

"And to be called my true name again, after so long. By my own people. Eventhough I walked away from them, back then. I must not give up hope."

Al gave Hexphae a hard look. "You may have to begin again. Many on Azeroth have found themselves in this same position, their old ways destoyed. It was hard, but they made a new life, new family. I am not saying that it is fair, nor easy to do. But that may be the real hopeful end to this."

It began to rain. Al grimaced.

"Come, Elf." She thumped her chest and gave a weird smile. "My tent is dry."

"Uh, I'll give you an example of what I mean. See this?" He hastened to get the damned stone out of his vest.

Hexphae flinched, and her hand went for her greasy stone knife in the dirt.

"No, it's alright!" Al ducked as the rain kept falling on them, "It's a hearthstone!"

"Oh, a little runestone, how cute!"

"Yes. Cute! That's what it is. Here, hold onto me and watch what it does. Perfect for situations like this one."

Hexphae was not opposed to going over and squeezing Al at his inviation. Something that made him flinch this time. "Uh, hold on! Here we go!"

Al used his hearthstone. Hexphae squealed like it was a thrill.

The green magic faded, and the warmth of Darkshire Inn was suddenly all around them.

"Yes!!! Do that again!" Hexphae was still hugging him.

"Eh, kind of a one-way trip. That's the point, a hearthstone takes you home." He was nice about it, and smiled until Hexphae let him go.

Then, she growled and snatched it. "Mine!"

Al looked over this cave woman he'd suddenly adopted. "Uh... innkeep? Can I get another hearthstone? Seems we're staying."

"Can you make more meat! Hexphae hungers!"

"Uh, and some stew please? Calm down, we're in a house, not a cage."

But then it occurred to Al that he was the one in a cage. At least until he could teach Hexphae to be indoors around other, modern people.

"And after the meal, we will wrestle!"

Then, maybe things might calm down? His wife Opal would kill him.

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writingsofmax · 2 years ago

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Disarm pt. 22

Words: 1.5 K

Summary: Y/N plans a dinner date for her and Edward. Warnings: violence, abduction, threats

Tags: angst, violence, kidnappin Author's note: a very special thank you to @e-moneyyy for helping me with some of the writing in this chapter!!!!! everyone say "I love you E MONEY"

Chapter 22- Believe In The Resolute Urgency Of Now

Eddie had finally gone back to work at KTMJ. His planned time off had been used up and since he hadn’t ended up destroying the city– thank god– he went back at the end of the three weeks. Y/N missed him but he insisted that it was good cover, anything he could do to seem like a regular citizen was good. His absence did have its benefits however, because now she could surprise him. Edward did so much for her all the time. Taking care of her, cooking, cleaning, anything she wanted he would do without question. She wanted to repay the favor somehow.

She pulled a box of spaghetti noodles from the cupboard and carefully tilted it into the boiling water. She couldn’t do much in the way of money, extravagant dates, or lengthy adventures but she could cook. She looked over at the table, she had lit and put candles and flowers on it to decorate it but maybe that was too much? No, its cute– stop overthinking it. She turned back to the cutting board and started carefully mincing the garlic and tomatoes for the sauce. It was meditative, and nice to have something to do with her hands, nice to feel well enough to do something she liked and was good at. She picked up the cutting board and slid the tomatoes and garlic into the saucepan with the knife before turning to set the knife back down in the sink. She checked the clock anxiously. Okay good just enough time to finish up and plate this before he gets here.. She felt excitement bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. Finally she was able to do something nice for him! She slowly stirred the sauce that was now simmering in the pan, the smell filling the small apartment. I hope he likes it…

And then she heard it. The familiar sound of the front door opening. Damn it! He was home early. She knew that she should have started dinner just a bit earlier in case. Oh well, it’s almost done anyway. Her heart rate increased, making her feel a little dizzy as she waited to hear him discover how nicely she had set the table. She waited for the familiar feeling of his arms wrapping around her from behind as she called out to him while stirring the sauce on the stove. “Hey Eddie! You’re home ea—” her words were cut off as a rag was pressed over her mouth and nose, and rough hands jerked her backwards. Not Eddie. Her brain was screaming danger as anticipation turned to fear. She tried to wrench herself away but the person’s grip was too strong. She kicked causing the hot pots and pans on the stove to clatter onto the floor, spilling everywhere. The knife…! Despair flooded her when she remembered she had set it in the sink, out of reach. “Fuck!” a gruff voice grunted from behind her, “Get her god damn legs.” She tried to scream but her mouth was muffled by the rag, her vision was going blurry at the edges, darkening quickly. A second person, a man grabbed her ankles and then…

Help… Nothingness. —--------------------------------

Edward was running late, which he hated. He hated coming home late to his angel because of insufferable idiots at his job. Today had been long and he still had piles of work to catch up on after his extended absence. He chewed on his lip and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light turn from red to green. Red, head, bed, sled, fed, shed, lead, meds, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Ugh, he felt drained after his long day at the office. Thankfully he was almost home, and then he could see his angel, and that would more than make up for it. Pulling into the parking lot, he put the car in park and grabbed some files from the back seat. It was a small amount of papers, but it was what he was able to pull from the records without being noticed today. More of Falcone’s financial documents to sift through. His head throbbed at the thought of it, but he was so close now. So close to the finish line of all this. Dread pooled in his stomach when he thought about what the end of all of this meant, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t be sure of what would happen to him when he killed Falcone. There were too many variables. So –just in case– he wanted to spend his final days before the end of everything, with his love, and happy. With a quick sigh and a shake of the head, he went to the door, which was already open, and let himself in. Wait. Why was the door already open? His body felt cold, and his stomach flipped, “Angel?” he called out, his voice coming out pitchy and strained. No response. All the lights were on, and there was music playing from somewhere in the apartment but no answer from Y/N. Everything felt wrong.

And then he saw it.

Broken shards of porcelain littered the floor. There was food and water splattered everywhere. IT was on the floor, on the cabinets, on the stove, on the sink. There had been a definite struggle and Y/N was nowhere to be found. He took in the scene around him and realized the splatter that was everywhere was red. He dropped to his knees.

“No..” he mumbled, “No.. this isn’t..”

Wait. The familiar metallic tang of blood wasn’t in the air, it was… He reached out and swiped a finger through it. Spaghetti sauce. Relief flooded out of him in a long shaky exhale and suddenly the room was spinning. Not dead, not dead, she’s not—his gut wrenched as a sob forced its way past his lips. He drew his knees into his chest, his body shaking with sobs as he tried to gain control of his anxiety on the kitchen floor.

Get it together, get it together, come on, get it together. Waves of anxiety were crushing him, weighting him to the floor, darkness prodding at the edges of his vision. Get up. He took a gulp of air, willing the tears to stop coming as he placed his hand on the counter and pulled himself up.

The stove was still on and warm. Whoever did this couldn’t have gotten far. He whipped his head around and surveyed the room for clues, his legs feeling shaky beneath him as his head filled with screams, threatening to drown out his focus, anything to latch on, anything to—

A note. On the table. How could you have missed that? You fucking— He ripped it off the table with trembling hands.

Hello Riddler, or should I say Edward Nashton, I had been worried that I wasn’t going to be able to find you, until you took care of your girlfriend's little landlord problem. He didn’t fit the usual MO for your kills so we launched an investigation into every one of his tenants and anyone else that was in close relationship with them.

And then we found you.Someone that fit the profile we created on the Riddler perfectly. Same age range, same height, same build, someone who lived in the suspected area, a loner that’s good with computers and wouldn’t you know it, someone that has access to all financial documents in Gotham through the KTMJ. You’ve been causing quite the stir in Gotham. Impressive. You seem to have planned this all out, right down to the last second. I must say, I applaud you for having such precision with your crimes, not bad for a rookie. However, you’ve made one fatal mistake. You personally fucked with me and my business. So, it’s only fair that I personally fuck with you and yours. Your little girlfriend is awfully pretty, Nashton. So sweet. It’s such a shame that she’s so sick, so fragile. If you plan on seeing her in anything other than a pine box in the near future, I suggest you follow my instructions to the letter. You will meet me at the suite at the top of the Iceberg Lounge at 10 pm tonight. You will bring all the information you’ve gathered about the Renewal fund as well as a list of anyone else who has the information. You will bring the passcodes to your website and all your computer hard drives. If you try to rally your followers to attack me or have anyone come with you, I will kill your girlfriend immediately. Let’s work this out amicably. Maybe after all this unpleasantness is over, you can work for me. - Carmine Falcone. Edward was still. The candles continued to burn down quietly on the table, as if nothing had happened. The flowers sat in the vase, untouched. Their petals blooming open grotesquely. They disgusted him. Everything was disgusting, hideous, threatening. Gotham needed to be buried. He had been wrong. Everything was too vile. It was beyond saving, it was completely beyond—

Laughter burst out of him, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

#disarm fic #the riddler fanfiction #riddler x reader #x reader #the riddler x reader #edward nashton x reader #dano riddler x reader #danonation #danocel #dano riddler

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

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Prove Them Wrong | Reggie Peters

A/N: I got these two requests for a Reggie fic and decided to merge them together, I hope you don’t mind!

Request 1: Please i just want a fanfic of reggie discovering YouTube and uploading home is where my horse is video and the gang reacting to it since people absolutely love it

Request 2: Hi!! Can you do one where the reader is julies friend and is with her when the boys come back and her and Reggie have a instant connection and he follows her around and is always talking to her

Relationships: Reggie x Reader, Sunset Curve x Reader, JATP x Reader

Warnings: Fluff?

Words: 4,165

Your life has been pretty ordinary for the past 16 years. A life pretty much every person would call boring was a life you wouldn’t change for the world’s most expensive things. Until you met Reggie and the other boys from Sunset Curve. You say boys, but it would be much more accurate if you said ghosts. Sunset Curve was a ghost band from the 90’s that popped into your life one night when you were helping your best friend Julie clean up her mother’s studio.

2 months earlier…

A text from Julie comes in when you’re doing your homework on your bed whilst watching reruns of Friends on your laptop. The show makes for good background noise, you find. “911!” Worry rises within you as you read the call-for-help text from your best friend. “U ok?” you text back. Three dots begin dancing on the screen, raising suspense. “Do u wanna come help me clean out mom’s studio? :( x” A soft smile plays at your lips whilst more dots appear. “Don’t think I can do it by myself.” You close the Netflix app on your laptop and get up to put some proper pants on. You had the habit to kick your jeans off the second you got home. Prancing around in your underwear after a tough day at school has become one of your favorite things to do, but Julie might not appreciate that too much, nor would the neighbors. “OMW!” you quickly text back and hop into your Vans before heading down to the Molina house. You find your best friend behind the grand piano, looking up at the chair-decorated ceiling of the shed. Something Julie’s mom did with a superstitious meaning you’d kind of forgotten. Neither you nor Julie believed it, to be fair. “Hey,” you greet softly, making her look at you. A smile appears on her lips, glad you’d be willing to come over and help. Like you’ve been so many times last year when her mother died. You’d be there to listen to her talk about all the memories with her mom, or to hug her as she cried because she missed her. This is just another part of the grieving process she needs to get through, and you’re there to hold her hand all the way through it. “Are you okay?” you ask, walking towards the piano and leaning your forearms on it. “Yeah, it’s just a little weird to be here…” she says as her eyes start scanning the entire space. “There are so many memories of her in here.” Her fingers glide across the piano keys. “Yeah, I know,” you whisper, not wanting to bring up anything that might hurt her. You remember the days you’d come over to play with Julie and you’d hear her mom singing in her studio. You remember when you’d make music together with Carrie and her dad and Julie’s mom. There are so many unfinished songs about bunnies and puppies from when you were kids, and even some more recent ones about the person you had a crush on or about that boy that broke your heart when you were fifteen. Those songs are now stored away in the back of your mind, waiting for the day Julie would start singing again. Along with all those memories you put on tape. “Let’s get crackin’!” you tap the top of the piano in a rhythmic beat before stepping away and holding out your hands for Julie to take. The girl gets up from the stool behind the piano and carefully places her hand in yours. You pull her away from the piano and halt in the middle of the garage, looking up to the loft that suddenly seems very looming. Both of you know whatever’s up there is the ghost of a musician’s past, and not even Julie’s mom’s. No, all the instruments up there are from the people that used to live here. Julie never told you, but you’re certain Carrie’s dad used to live here when he was a child and sold his parents’ house to Julie’s parents when they died. You’d noticed the way Trevor always stood in the doorway, glancing around with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at his lips. Almost like he’s reminiscing about his past. Besides, he’s accidentally slipped up a few times when talking about his childhood, saying he used to play around here with some of his buddies. No one else ever mentioned it, so you didn’t either. There’s probably a good reason for him not to speak about his past in too much detail. You climb up the stairs first and step up on the wooden floor, letting your eyes scan over all the junk up here. Keyboards, old guitars, drumsticks, even an entire drum kit, along with bags and backpacks, all strewn around the place. “Y/N,” Julie’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. You look down to find Julie still on the stairs, half of her body in he loft. She’s holding a CD up to show you. “Sunset Curve?” you read aloud from the black CD case. “Never heard of that band.” “Let’s give it a listen?” she suggests and after receiving an agreeing nod from you, she climbs down again, followed by yourself. She places the CD into the stereo whilst you sit down on the couch. Julie presses play and joins you. “1-2-3 Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge--” The music fades away as it’s overpowered by a loud screeching noise. You look over at Julie, who has her hands up to her ear to cover them from the noise. Your eyebrows knit together, confused as to what’s happening. It might just be a fault in the production of the song? Or maybe a scratch on the CD? Before you can even come up with a decent reason, a bright flash lights up the entire garage, followed by a loud thud. And, when you look up, you find three boys in the middle of the studio, scrambling up from where they’d come down harshly. You and Julie quickly get up from the couch, wanting to take a closer look at the scene in front of you. “Woah! How did we get back here?” One of them says, confused about his surroundings. Julie lets out an ear-piercing scream before running out of the garage, leaving you with those three boys. You have no clue what’s happening, and you don’t know what to do either. Should you run and hide like Julie? Or should you just wait and see if they have a reason for being here? “Hello!” one of them yells excitedly, making you snap out of your train of thoughts. It’s the dark-haired boy with the red flannel tied around his waist that’s talking to you. “I’m sorry, who are you and what are you doing in our studio?” Your eyes widen at this. They think this is their studio? “I-I’m… I’m sorry, gimme a second,” you say, holding up your finger. The boy nods curtly before you dash out of there too, running up to Julie’s room with the question haunting your head ‘Who are they? And why do they think it’s their studio?’ After a while, you and Julie pluck up the courage to go back into the garage, armed with a cross since Julie’s positive they’re ghosts. Turns out they are. They -- along with Google -- explain they’re three ghosts that used to be in a band called Sunset Curve and that they died after eating bad hotdogs in ‘95. Luke, Reggie and Alex introduce themselves to you, and from that moment on, you’re certain these three ghost boys will change your life forever. And they do.

Present day

To say your life has changed since the day those boys came into your life is an understatement. It went from studying while watching Friends in your room to going out to their gigs almost every Saturday and sitting in on their rehearsals every day after school. You, along with Julie, have grown very close to the boys in the last five months. They’ve become your best friends you could talk to about everything and anything. But the most special connection you have, is with Reggie. Ever since that day, the boy hasn’t left you alone. Every time you’re at the Molina house, he’ll poof in, wherever you are. Whether you’re getting a drink or a snack in the kitchen, or you’d just come out of the bathroom, he’d be there. This caused a lot of heart attacks, but also a lot of deep conversations.

Especially if he came to your own house. This was mostly when he’d had a bad day or missed his old life or his parents. He’d poof into your room and just tell you to do whatever you were doing, that he just wanted to hang out. After a few times, you didn’t even ask anymore and he didn’t have to tell you to just continue whatever you were doing. Those nights even ended with the two of you cuddling, which is something you realized you could do for some unknown reason. But you liked it, so you didn’t think too much about it. Today is Friday, which means it’s the last big rehearsal before the boys and Julie have their gig tomorrow night. And though you’d much rather be there with them, you have to watch your little siblings for the night since your parents have gone out to a dinner party. You’re making some popcorn in the kitchen for all of you to munch on when watching a movie, when Reggie suddenly poofs in, making you jump. You hadn’t expected him to come in this early, which causes the worry to well up inside of you. Something must’ve happened. “Reg, you okay?” you ask in a hushed voice, glancing back at the kids in front of the tv. “No…” he murmurs, wringing his flannel in his hands. He looks sad, sadder than when he misses his old life, which means something really bad must’ve happened. “Gimme a second,” you say and turn to leave the kitchen. Reggie smiles a little as those words remind him of the first words you ever said to them. “Kids, it’s time for bed!” Moans and whines come from the little kids on the sofa, protesting their early bedtime. “No complaining! Chop chop!” you rushed them up the stairs before returning to the kitchen. “Get yourself comfy on the couch, I’m just gonna put them to bed real quick, okay?” Reggie nods agreeingly and watches you walk away again. He grabs the bowl of popcorn you’d prepared and takes it into the living room. Even though he can’t eat, he’d want you to snack on it since you’re the one that made it. “Sorry it took so long. They can be really stubborn sometimes,” you exhale frustratedly as you plop onto the couch next to Reggie. “Now, tell me, what’s going on?” “So, I suggested to Luke we’d try this song I wrote a while ago,” he starts solemnly. “Home is Where My Horse is?” you ask, remembering him writing that up in your room. You’d even helped him on some verses. “Yes, that one! But he just rejected it… Again!” he sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back on the backrest of the couch. “Yelled at him that he didn’t appreciate my talent and just poofed out,” he chuckles airily, and you do too. “I’m sorry Luke isn’t more open to your creativity, Reg… I really wish I could help you somehow, if I knew something I--” you stop in your tracks as an idea pops into your head. “What is it, Y/N?” he asks, getting excited as it seems you have an idea. “What if we film you singing the song and upload it on YouTube?” you suggest, eyes twinkling at the idea alone. He nods excitedly at first, but then slows down when he realizes he has no clue what you’re talking about. “What’s a YouTube?” he asks. You let out a giggle before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the dining table where you’d left your laptop. You open it on the site and show him the home page filled with different types of recommended videos. “It’s a platform where people can post videos of whatever they like. A lot of artists use it for their music videos nowadays. It’s where I posted ‘Edge of Great’ a few weeks ago,” you explain.

He peers at the screen with wide, intrigued eyes. You then lean forward and type in ‘Queen don’t stop me now’ before hitting enter. Reggie’s eyes widen even more as you press play on the music video.

“I could film you with my dad’s equipment and edit the whole thing together and upload it. At least then the world will see how truly talented you are and maybe Luke might change his mind too?” He eagerly nods his head in agreement, getting excited about the whole idea. Besides him being able to prove to his band that his country songs are worth taking a second look at, it’s also a good opportunity for you to test out some new techniques.

So, on Saturday, the two of you get up at the crack of dawn -- or you do since ghosts don’t really sleep -- and make your way down to the riding club your little brother goes for riding classes. You’re acquainted with the owners, so they’ll let you film whatever you need around there. Doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re not filming anything. “Okay, you ready?” you mutter as you set up the first scene. He’s currently sitting on a picnic bench with his guitar in his lap and the stables in the background. Your camera is set up in front of Reggie with the stable doors on each side of his head, perfectly balanced. You simply nod your head curtly as his ‘action’ sign. He immediately starts strumming his guitar and singing out his self-made words. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day…” You spent the entire day running around the ranch, letting Reggie sing his song multiple times in different locations. You even film a couple of nature shots to edit in later. This is just going to be the greatest music video you’ve ever made, and it’s all thanks to Reggie. Your Sunday is spent behind your laptop, editing Reggie’s footage until it’s turned into a somewhat coherent video. “Hey!” Reggie poofs into your room late that night. “Where’ve you been? You missed movie night!” he asks, worry laced in his voice. You don’t even take your eyes off your screen. It’s almost finished just a few more… Yes! “I just finished editing your video! Wanna see?” He nods his head excitedly, so you make some room for him on the chair you’re sitting on. He seems hesitant at first, but eventually sits down on the very edge. Your entire side that’s touching his tingles. It’s always been a weird feeling to touch him, but this is from an entirely new calibre. You rewind the video and press play. There’s a shot of the surrounding nature at first and some horses galloping in the distance whilst the strumming of his guitar floats out of the laptop. Then the camera pans to Reggie on the picnic bench with his guitar. “Home, what is it really? Sometimes it’s a someone and not a place, It’s that feeling of being safe, It’s about who you’re with at the end of the day… and for me” The picture changes to Reggie looking out into the meadows, watching the horses frolic around in the grass with a couple of shots of him playing his guitar as he’s walking along with the horses. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is Don’t need a house or a roof I just put on the saddle, lace up my boots Cuz home is where my horse is” In the next few shots, you’re even in it. Reggie had grabbed your camera and placed it on the grass before grabbing your hand and pulling you out into the meadow with him to dance. It probably looked most ridiculous to any bystanders, but the footage is too pretty not to use. You can just about see two silhouettes dancing around over the grass with a flare of sunlight breaking in and giving it a magical flair. “I don’t need the streets Don’t need the city lights I don’t need a fancy car I just hop on my horse and ride” You’d filmed a couple of the riders too, since Reggie himself couldn’t really ride a horse seeing he’s a ghost and everything. But it made for some good footage to set the scene of the song properly. “Home is where my horse is! Riding through trees by the river Feel the summer breeze smile gettin’ bigger Home is where my horse is I see the beautiful beast running up to me And I know I’m home” The song ends and the screen fades to black, Reggie vanishing as he looks out into the meadow again. You look up at real-life ghost Reggie with expectant eyes. He’s just staring at the black screen for a moment, mouth ajar and eyes wide. “Woah!” he finally mutters. “That was amazing, Y/N! Show me that again!” he exclaims excitedly. Of course you oblige and show him again. This time, he points out everything he loved. “This is my favorite part!” he says, pointing at the screen as the two of you are shown dancing. You can’t help but smile at how excited he gets over this collaboration. “So, can I upload it?” you ask when the screen fades again. “What?! Of course! Put it on the Tube-thing!” he claps his hands excitedly and watches as you open the site and start the upload on the Julie and The Phantoms channel. You had edited their Edge of Great video when Ray asked your father to help him film, so you pretty much had the right to do this, even if Julie might say otherwise. “There we go! It’s set to upload in about five minutes!” you say and turn to Reggie, almost forgetting how close he’s sitting until he’s literally mere inches away. You can actually feel his hot breath tickling your lips. A wave of warmth rushes through you when you catch his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again. “You’re really talented, you know that?” You simply hum in response to this compliment, not that you agree with him, but you don’t know what else to do. You’re completely frozen in place. His eyes are so pretty up close. They’re the most beautiful shade of green you have ever seen, especially with that twinkle in them. “Can I kiss you?” his soft voice makes you snap out of your thoughts about those dreamy eyes. “Wh--what?” you stutter, hoping you did hear that right, but not wanting to assume. “C-can I kiss you?” he repeats, his voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah.” Your voice wavers ever so slightly. Reggie’s eyes flutter close as he leans in to press his lips to yours. There’ve been times you dreamed about doing this, but you never thought you’d actually be able to kiss him. The ability to touch him was a surprise and a miracle, you didn’t think this would be possible too. A bleep coming from your computer causes you to pull away abruptly. You just about catch the smile on Reggie’s face before you turn to the screen, madly blushing yourself. “It’s ready to go!” you state excitedly and start typing up a description for the video. “What are you doing?” he asks, peering over your shoulder. “Typing up a little description for the fans, or whoever watches,” you reply as your fingers stilt for a second to think about what else to write. “Home is Where My Horse is, a Reggie original. Written and performed by your favorite bassist, Reggie Peters. Filmed and edited by Y/N Y/L/N. Special thanks to Hold Your Reins Ranch.” He reads the little text aloud. “Nice,” he nods his head, impressed by your abilities with this foreign platform. “And we’re live!” you inform him as you have pressed the post button. “Thanks, Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, making you look at him again. “I’m just gonna kiss you again, is that okay?” You nod your head before closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him again. This is not what you’d expected to come from this project, but you’re glad it had. This feels right. That night, you send Julie a message with the link to the video. “Give the boy a chance. This is an actual bop!” you sent along with it. You’re a little scared you might’ve overstepped and shouldn’t have suggested making this video for Reggie and you definitely shouldn’t have posted it to the Julie and The Phantoms YouTube channel. It probably wasn’t your place to mingle into a band conflict, but you couldn’t handle seeing Reggie so upset.

“Get ur talented ass to the studio. NOW,” Julie’s text reads. It sounds a little passive-aggressive, but you still obey and hop into some pants and shoes before heading down the other end of the street where the Molina house stands. “‘Sup, kids?” you say when you find the boys and Julie on the couch, throwing up a peace sign. The bubbliness might camouflage the nerves building up inside you. “Care to explain yourself, miss Y/L/N?” Julie starts with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. You glance over at Reggie. He’s glancing down at the rings around his fingers. “I’m sorry, Jules. But I really think you ought to give this boy and his horse a chance!” you aggressively point at the boy in question, whose head snaps up at this. Now he’s looking at you with a scared, yet tendered expression on his face. “I was joking, babes,” Julie mutters, holding her hands up in defense. “We didn’t think you’d react this defensive over this…” Your eyebrows knit together as confusion takes over you. “Wh-what do you mean?” you question. “Your video has been viewed over a thousand times already and it’s only been up for about two hours, Y/N,” Julie explains and turns her laptop for you to see the view count at 1,327. Your breath hitches in your throat at the large number. That’s how many people have seen your work? I mean, you would’ve watched it that many times in a row yourself because that song is actually amazing. These people are stupid for not giving it a chance earlier. “Woah, Reg! That’s a lot of people hearing your song!” you exclaim excitedly. The boy gets up from the couch and walks over to you with a proud smile on his face. “Actually….” he starts and scrolls down on the laptop. You taught him how to do that. “They’re loving your camerawork and editing!” He shows you all the comments underneath the video. The reactions are divided evenly between praise for the song and praise for your work. “Wha--” your eyes dart from Reggie to Alex, then to Luke and Julie. “We had a band meeting and we want you to become our band’s official videographer,” Alex announces with that soft smile of his plastered on his lips. Your mouth drops in disbelief. You’ve always loved videography and editing, but you always saw it as something fun, not as an official band thing. After months of sitting in rehearsals and watching gigs, you’re finally going to be part of the band. Or close enough to being a part of the band. “What do you say, babe?” Reggie asks when you’ve been quiet for a good minute. Luke and Alex exchange glances at the sudden use of pet names. That’s new. “I mean, it could be cool?” you shrug humbly. The band cheers, Alex and Luke even high five. Before you can even go over to hug Julie, Reggie’s already cupped your face and crashes his lips to yours. You’ll never get used to that feeling. “That’s new,” you hear Alex say when the two of you pull away. You need a good second to cool it after that passionate kiss, but once you do, you beckon the others over for a group hug. “Thank you, guys,” you whisper and press a kiss to Julie’s hair as a thank you. From that day on, you’re not only known as the Julie and The Phantoms videographer, but also as the cute bassist’s girlfriend. To say your life has drastically changed since meeting these boys would be the understatement of the year.

Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ifilwtmfc @angryknightstatesmantrash @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon @caitsymichelle13 @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp #reggie jatp #jeremy shada #alex jatp #owen joyner #luke patterson #charlie gillespie #julie molina #madison reyes #reggie jatp x reader #reggie jatp fic #jatp fic #reggie peters

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thebountyfucker · 3 years ago

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Three's a Company

18 + ONLY - NSFW

Embo/F!Reader/Bossk

This one has been sitting in my drafts for a while but I got bored so I finished it. Enjoy!

Tags: PiV sex, anal sex, DP, Embo's tongue, use of a vibrator, some violence.

Here's a link to my masterpost

The lights were dim, the music low and sultry. A Zeltron woman danced on a table wearing nothing but a scanty bodysuit. The scent of booze and bar snacks filled the air. This was unlike the Guild Headquarters that you were used to; you had only been once before, and the place was usually aflutter with the conversations of bounty hunters and mercenaries. Now, the place was rather reticent. The hunters and mercs were still around, sure, but their attention was drawn elsewhere. And by elsewhere, it usually meant on a pair of tits or a wayward bulge.

You, yourself, weren’t much of a dancer, but you were something nice to look at. Your job was, quite literally, walk around the place and drum up the sexual hunger. You could take a client or two, but it wasn’t a requirement. Thus far, no one seemed entirely interested. But that didn’t bother you.

You strutted past a table, not paying too much mind to who was there, until you noticed that you were being waved to. You approached, putting on a sultry smile, and leaned against the table. Staring back at you was a Trandoshan man - one of the Guild Leader’s sons, Bossk, if you remembered correctly - and a rather grumpy Kyuzo. Bossk, who had his arm wrapped around the Kyuzo’s shoulder, gave his friend a jostle.

“Are you entertainment?” Bossk asked, his long tongue flicking out to wet his lips. You nodded slowly.

“Sure am. What can I do for ya?” You leaned forward, accentuating your chest with a smirk.

“You see, my buddy here-,”

“We are not friends.” The Kyuzo interrupted.

“-well, it’s his Life Day-,”

“It is not.”

“-and I was looking to help him get laid.”

“I do not need your help getting laid.” He shrugged Bossk’s arm off, much to Bossk’s dismay. The Kyuzo crossed his arms over his chest and slumped in an odd little pout. Bossk rolled his eyes.

“Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t be here! Come on, Em… they weren’t worth it anyways.”

You watched the two interact, entertained. You had not been expecting this when you came over, but if you were telling the truth, this was the highlight of your rather boring night.

“I do not know what stories you are concocting, but there is nothing wrong.” Em tipped his large, circular hat down to cover his face. You sent Bossk a glance, and he shook his head. You eased onto the bench beside the agitated bounty hunter, and rested a hand on his thigh.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I am fine. I would be better off if I was left alone, though.” He growled lowly, and you retracted your hand.

“I’m sorry…”

“It is not your fault.” He turned to glance at Bossk, who was watching the Zeltron table-dancer disinterestedly.

“I’m sure the bunks are much quieter, if you’re looking for some peace.” You offered Em, and he nodded at this.

“Yes… that would probably be best.”

You scooted off of the bench and moved away, allowing Em the space to leave; you knew it wasn’t any of your business, but you hoped that somehow he’d have a better night. Only, that hope was quickly dashed.

Em moved to stand and exit the booth. The movement caught Bossk’s attention, and he let out a hearty laugh.

“Go get her!” Bossk pulled his hand back, and gave Em a hearty smack to the ass - it was likely meant to be a cordial gesture, akin to those athletes gave to one another. But you watched the way Em’s eyes flickered with rage, and Bossk knew in that moment that he had messed up. He moved away, but wasn’t quick enough to escape the swift kick to the chest. Bossk slammed into the back of the seat, coughing and hissing as he grabbed at his chest. Nearby patrons turned to see what was going on. Em straightened, brushed off his skirt, and waded through the crowded floor toward the bunks. You rushed to Bossk’s side.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Good.” He croaked as he rubbed his chest. You were surprised he wasn’t doubled over in pain. The kick looked like it was intended to cause some damage, maybe in the hopes that this would deter Bossk from bothering Em again. Bossk seemed sufficiently deterred, though, refraining from chasing after his ‘friend’.

“Are you certain?” You pressed a gentle hand to his chest, feeling for any broken ribs. Despite the force of Em’s kick, there seemed to be no broken bones. That was good.

“Yeah. Guess I was pressing his buttons too much.” Bossk muttered.

“How long were you pestering him?”

“... All night.” Bossk admitted, reaching for the glass that was sitting on the table.

“Why?”

“Rumor had it that he was going through some sort of break-up. We need him on his best game, and I was trying to hurry along the healing process.” Bossk shrugged, his voice slowly losing the wheeze that the kick had given him.

“I see… perhaps I could help with that.” You patted Bossk’s leg. “I’ll be back.”

You got up and weaved your way through the crowd, your sights set on the hall leading to the bunks. The Zeltron table-dancer was stepping down, only to be replaced by a Theelin burlesque dancer. The sultry music slowly shifted into something a bit more lively, and the crowd seemed to perk as well. You paid this no mind, though, as you slipped down the hallway.

You stopped at a door labeled 'Embo' and pondered. Bossk had called him Em, but maybe that was just a nickname. At the same time, it was possible that this 'Em' and 'Embo' were different people. It was a big galaxy after all. Deciding to risk it, you knocked and heard a husky 'come in'. You slipped inside.

Em - or Embo, rather- was sitting on the large bed, grumbling and drinking something out of a metal goblet. He hardly glanced up, but acknowledged your presence with a sweep of the hand. You sat on the end of the bed and met his gaze.

"Are you alright?" You asked, taking care to keep your tone soft and cordial. He scoffed.

"I assume Bossk sent you?"

"Yes and no. He told me that you weren't feeling so great but it was my decision to come." You replied, transfixed by the sight of his mouth. Previously hidden by a bronze mask, he sported dozens of wicked, carnivore-esque fangs. Long and sharp, you knew they could do some serious damage. You weren't sure why, but the thought aroused you. You ignored the warmth building in your cunt.

"He is delusional. There is nothing wrong." Embo replied, his golden gaze flicking to yours, noting the sudden, and potentially odd, fixation on his mouth. "You seem to have a staring problem."

You blinked and shook your head, an embarrassed tint marring your face. "I don't mean to. I've just… never seen anything like it."

"Mhm." Was all he said as he took a sip of his drink. A rivulet of the purple booze trickled down his lips, and his long, snake-like tongue flicked out to lick it up. Oh, there was that twinge in your cunt again. "Why are you still here?"

"I came to offer my services." You muttered in response, your mouth cotton-dry. He quirked a browridge, intrigued. "I was hired to take care of the Guild's guests. Of which, you are one. If there are any desires I can fulfill, you only need to speak them."

His gaze trailed down your body, as if he was inspecting a work of art; his gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts, and the curve of your hips… but he didn’t reach for you. He hardly said a word as he set his goblet aside and waved you off dismissively.

“I want nothing from you.” He replied, though his tone betrayed otherwise. You crawled up onto the bed, slowly slinking toward him, your heart pounding in your chest. He didn’t cower from your approach, nor did he move to push you away; rather, he responded with a stubborn glare. He was a tough nut to crack, this one… but you know you’d get to him. No man could resist your charm… or your cunt.

You parted his legs, crawling into the newly freed space and planting yourself in between his legs. You rested your hands on the mattress on either side of his hips, and leaned up to look him in the eyes, mere inches from him. He didn’t falter, his gaze burning deep into your soul. A shiver prickled at your spine, and you fought the urge to move away.

“Don’t play coy, sir.” You whispered, saturating your tone with desire. For him. For what he hid beneath his layers of skirts. For that wicked tongue. Your hungry eyes found his lips, and you pressed even closer. “I know that you desire me. It’s okay to admit it.”

“And if I do not?” Embo hummed, still resisting, yet not pulling away. You faltered for a moment, trying to find the right rebuttal. Certainly, he wanted you. Now, how could you get him to admit it? “Is it so hard for people to leave me alone?”

You broke your act at this, pulling away to give him the space he seemed to long for. You sat back on your butt, watching him, waiting for him to make a move. He nonchalantly reached for his goblet, and thrust it at you.

“Bring me another.”

You looked at the goblet, and then at him. “Uh… yes sir.”

You took it and scuttled out of the room, holding it with all the care in the galaxy. You figured he wouldn’t be too keen on you dropping it or scratching it in any way. You expertly dodged any interlopers as you swept toward the bar. You set the goblet down and pushed it toward the tender, who met your glance.

“Embo?”

“Yessir. Give him whatever he was drinking before.” You rocked on the balls of your feet as you watched the tender pull out a large bottle - it was green with little gold accents, with a wide, circular base and a narrow neck. He poured out the purple liquid, gave it a few swirls, and then handed it back to you.

“Don’t let him drink too much more of this, okay? This stuff is potent.”

You nodded in understanding and hurried off towards Embo’s room, trying to hold the goblet as steady as you could. You knocked, but didn’t wait for an answer, and slipped into the room. In the time you had been gone, Embo had shed his numerous layers and had put on a silk robe. He was leaning on his bed, as he had been before, though now he looked much more content. You wondered if his drink had finally kicked in.

“Here you are, sir.” You handed him the goblet, and bowed your head respectfully. He bowed his head in response, and took a small sip, humming appreciatively. You eased back onto the bed, and he gestured to you.

“Have you ever had zhizhi wine, pet?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, sir.”

“Open your mouth.”

You did as you were told; he tipped your head back and poured a small stream of wine into your open mouth. The wine was thick - disarmingly so - and tangy, though the sting of alcohol was nowhere to be found. The wine warmed your body as it went down, and though you couldn’t describe why, you yearned for more. You reached for the goblet, and he pulled it away from your grasp.

“That would not be wise, pet.” He told you as he cupped your chin and tilted your head back down. “You humans do not process it the same way we do. Just wait. You will know why I cannot allow it soon enough.”

You thought Embo was talking a load of shit and being a selfish prick, but it wasn’t long before you understood what he was talking about. You could feel the buzz of the alcohol on the edges of your consciousness, despite you only drinking one sip. You let out a snort, then a giggle, before covering your mouth with your hand.

“What the fuck?”

“I did tell you.” Embo hummed as he leaned back, setting the goblet aside; his dusty green skin had flushed a brighter green as the alcohol worked its way through his system. You tried not to stare, but you noticed, through a crack in his robe, that he was not wearing anything underneath. And that it seemed that he was getting excited… You decided that it would be beneficial to try again.

You slipped between his legs, feeling the warmth of his thighs against yours, and reached up to play with the neckline of his robe. His large hand rested on the small of your back in response. You supposed this was good news.

“Sir, I don’t intend to be rude but… you look like you could use some attention.”

“Perhaps I could.”

“Could I… untie your robe?” You asked, your cunt throbbing at the prospect.

“Not until I see you first.” He responded, the hand on your back sliding up until it found the zipper holding your bodysuit closed. He guided the zipper downward until it couldn’t go any further, and you leaned back to give him the right angle to undress you. He peeled the bodysuit off your body, watching with rapt attention at the skin that was slowly exposed to him. You helped him pull it the rest of the way off of you. He tossed it off to the side. His ravenous gaze trailed down your form, taking in every inch of your soft, human skin.

“May I…?” You asked, leaning closer to him; the heat which radiated from him was akin to that of a furnace. Sweat began to bead on your brow. But your interest in what he had underneath his robe far outweighed the temporary discomfort of sweat. Besides, you had a feeling you’d be sweating a lot more soon.

He wrapped his large hand around yours, and directed it to the loose knot which held his robe closed. You swiftly undid the knot, and watched as his robe fell open. His chest was lean but strong, and peppered with scars. But this wasn’t what interested you. No, what interested you was his cock - half-hard and already longer than a human. You reached out to touch it, watching for any indication that he wasn’t interested. He gave you none, and you wrapped your hand around it.

A low, sharp hiss worked its way from his mask as you slowly and surely stroked his cock. His cock hardened in your hand, lengthening even further, and you idly wondered if he’d be able to fit inside you. He threaded a hand in your hair and guided you closer to him.

“Mmm… you are so lovely…” He purred as he leaned down to nuzzle your neck. You stroked him steadily. His hands slid down to the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest; you straddled his thigh, grinding your cunt against his leg as you stroked him. “Mmm… you are wetting my thigh, little pet. Do you desire more than this?”

“Yes.” You breathed as you reached up to cup his cheeks. You pressed your forehead to his as his hands gripped your hips.

“Do you need preparation?” He inquired, and you glanced down to his cock - there was no way it’d fit without some proper foreplay to loosen you up. You slowly nodded, and he leaned you back onto the mattress. He rusted around in his drawers, and produced a small, thumb-sized vibrator. It buzzed to life, and he drew it around your clit. You hissed.

“I didn’t - I wasn’t aware that you knew of human anatomy!”

“I am well aware of human pleasure-spots.” He chuckled as he rubbed the vibrator along your swelling clit. Sharp sparks of pleasure shot through your body, igniting the fire in your belly. You tensed, and he purred. “Does that feel good, little pet? Hm?”

“Yes…” You whined as he drew the tip of the vibrator up and down along your clit. Your breaths came out as strained gasps as your pussy drooled onto his bed. He let out a hum of appreciation, drawing his finger up and down the glistening seam of your pussy.

“Very wet… let us see how tight you are.”

He pressed a thick finger into your pussy, slipping in to the first knuckle so he could massage the spongey membrane of your g-spot. You squirmed, grabbing fistfuls of his sheets and closing your legs around his hand. “Yes! Yes, just like that!”

He did as you told, continuing to massage your g-spot while drawing a vibrator around your clit. The tension mounted, and the fire in your belly threatened to spill over; your body went stiff, and you threw your head back in anticipation, only for him to turn the vibrator off and remove his finger.

“W-what the hell!?” You snapped, the obscene orgasm you were chasing slowly subsiding. He loomed over you, one hand resting near your head while the other lined up his cock with your yearning cunt. His head pressed through, and you stretched to accommodate it.

“Is this more to your liking?” He asked, his breath rattling through his mask. You nodded, angling your hips to give him better access. He slowly eased in, watching your face for any indication of pain or discomfort. When he found none, he continued to press in until you had completely sheathed his cock. You swore his cock had pressed up under your ribs, though you knew this was not possible. You were so completely impaled by him. You had never felt anything like it.

He gave you ample time to adjust, before slowly easing out of you. The sudden absence of his cock made you whimper, and he shook his head.

“Do not be getting cock-dumb on me now, little pet.” He stroked your hair as he eased back in, his cock hitting every sensitive spot within your yearning cunt. Your head lolled back and your back arched toward him, and he took this as a sign to continue. You both hardly noticed the company at the door.

A loud, rattling hiss filled the air, and you turned to spy Bossk standing in the doorway. Embo growled but didn’t stop. In fact, he went faster, harder, delighting in the way that your tits bounced as he did so.

“What are you doing here?” Embo muttered between thrusts. Bossk was palming himself through his pants, his tongue flicking out to wet his maw.

“Came to see if you were doin’ okay.” Was all he managed as he tentatively approached, watching Embo’s reaction for any adverse reactions. Embo ignored Bossk as he reached up to unlatch his mask; he set it down on the bed within easy reach and leaned down, his tongue snaking out to lap at your nipple. He leaned down to wrap his lips around it, his golden gaze meeting yours. Your entire body shook with a mounting orgasm, and you closed your legs around Embo’s narrow hips.

“D-don’t stop!” You cried as he pulled away to ravish the other nipple. You were faintly aware of the unzipping of a zipper, and turned your head to find the source of the noise. Bossk’s two cocks were mere inches away, hard and yearning. Embo replaced his mask.

“Lift her up…”

Embo glared but did as Bossk asked, pulling you up against his chest. The pause in thrusting pulled you from the brink of orgasm, and you whimpered. Bossk slipped up behind you, pressing his chest into your back.

“Lube?”

Embo sighed and reached over into his drawer to produce a little bottle. Bossk took it with a purr and you listened as he squirted it all over his cocks. He slicked his length and rubbed the excess along your asshole, and you sucked in a deep breath, preparing for the breach.

What you weren’t prepared for was the head of Bossk’s lower cock prodding at your already occupied cunt. You gasped, holding onto Embo tighter as you stretched to accommodate both of their cocks. You never thought you could stretch this wide and yet… Embo hissed at the sensation of Bossk’s cock pressing up against his.

Bossk’s upper cock pressed into your ass and you leaned forward to bite at Embo’s shoulder to contain the scream which threatened to escape your lips. Slowly, Bossk inched into you; he panted in your ear, his tongue sneaking out to caress your neck.

“You’re so tight. Fuck!”

You whined, leaning back against him as they both slowly started jacking their hips, their cocks sliding in and out of you in tandem. Your nerves zapped with ecstasy as their cocks caressed every sensitive inch of your cunt. At the same time, the sensation of Bossk’s cocks rubbing against the thin wall of flesh separating them was enough to make your head spin. Embo’s hands went to your tits, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive, swollen nipples. Bossk’s hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise.

In and out, in and out, over and over again; their cocks put you in a daze as your body started to shake. Your eyes fluttered shut as they both uttered curses in their native tongues.

“Oh, oh!! I’m gonna-!” You cried out as the warmth in your belly threatened to spill over. They picked up their paces, thrusting unequally now at an attempt to usher forth your orgasm. It worked. You arched your back toward Embo with a loud cry, and a rush of fluids spilled out around their cocks as fireworks exploded within you. You felt electric. You felt alive. They didn’t stop their thrusting, chasing their own orgasms now even as your cunt tightened around them. When you regained control, you leaned forward, resting against Embo’s chest. You peppered his neck with tiny kisses.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

He nodded, a bit frantically, as his pace became erratic. This drove Bossk closer to his own orgasm, and soon, he too was off-pace. Embo came first, spilling deep inside you with a soft hiss. This was enough to send Bossk over the edge, and he followed suit, though he was much more vocal about it. Slowly, gently, they pulled out of you, and you felt their combined cum seep out of you.

“Fuck…” You muttered as you laid back on Embo’s bed. He laid down beside you, drawing the pad of his finger over your stomach.

“Are you finished, dear one?”

You shook your head frantically, and he chuckled. “Good… And you, Bossk?”

“I’m just getting started.”

#iri writes #my fanfiction #star wars smut #smut #smut writing

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bakugotrashpanda · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4

Jiro x Kaminari 𝄢 Band AU 𝄢 Word Count: 1633

!!: Angst, alcohol as a coping mechanism

𝄞 Chapter Select

Anything to numb the pain.

The flight home is a hazy memory that Jiro tries to block out with complimentary mini bottles of whiskey and a sleeping eye mask. Regardless, the memory of Kaminari fucking that woman is stuck in her mind, even when she closes her eyes.

The next few days are spent with a bottle in one hand, and her apartment blinds closed. Not even Tokoyami, who stops by with food deliveries, is allowed in. He leaves them by the door with a muffled promise through the closed wood that he’ll be by later, and a vague threat to bring his copy of her apartment key next time.

It’s an empty threat and they both know it.

Mornings turn to evenings and back again, the colors of the day mixing together. All sense of time gone.

In a rare, clear minded moment, Jiro picks up her phone, neglected text messages and missed calls piling up on the lock screen. She opens it and goes straight to her voicemail. A robotic voice talks to her.

“You have fifteen missed ca-” Delete. “Are you sure you want to dele-” Delete. “Messages deleted.” A small weight lifts off her shoulders. Some of those calls might have been important like from Tokoyami or Bakugou, but if it mattered, they’d call her back.

Next up, Denki Kaminari’s phone number. Jiro’s thumb hovers over the Delete button, but thinks better of it. Scrolling down a bit more, the red Block button staring at her enticingly.

You will not receive phone calls or text messages from people on your block list. Do you wish to continue? Block.

Gone. Alone. Free. Hurt.

The familiar loneliness and pain clinging to the edge of her heart starts to encroach on the parts that aren’t numb with booze yet. It rips at the few delicate strings holding her life together. Reactionary tears form in the corners of her eyes. How many tears has she shed all because of him?

Scrolling through her contacts one more time, she stops on a name and calls.

“Katsuki,” Jiro says, unsure if he’s actually listening or if she was sent straight to voicemail, “I’m coming over whether you like it or not.” Remembering Tokoyami’s threat about using a copy of her apartment key, she adds, “And if you don’t let me in, I’ll let myself in.”

One taxi ride later, Jiro finds herself in front of Bakugou’s front door. The worn wood frame keeps her up as the world spins around her.

“What happened to you?” Bakugou asks as Jiro pushes off the door frame and walks in. She takes the half-finished bottle from his hand and takes a healthy swig from it. The apartment is bare except for a couch and a coffee table, Ochako’s belongings long gone. Any homey touches are missing and the apartment is reminiscent of a sparsely furnished college dorm.

And yet Bakugou is trapped there just as much as Jiro is trapped at her apartment.

“Didn’t you hear?” she raises an eyebrow, “I’m sure there’s a video of it somewhere. I traveled halfway around the world and found my fiancé balls deep in another woman. Your turn.” Bakugou closes the door and scoffs.

“You already know what happened,” he swipes the bottle back and takes a noticeably longer drink. His wedding band on a chain shines like a beacon against his black tank top. “Why are you here? How did you get here?” Jiro flops onto the couch, unwilling to look at him – unwilling to be kicked out when she needs company.

“Taxi,” she sighs, “And I don’t want to be alone. It hurts too much.”

“Alcohol numbs the pain pretty well,” Bakugou jokes darkly and holds the bottle out to her again. Jiro shakes her head.

“That’s what hurts.” Attempting to change the subject, Jiro asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be in a sling? And what’ve you been doing to pass the time?” They’ve been lost in bottle after bottle, and they both know it.

“I don’t want it. And drumming.” Bakugou’s laugh is more of a bark, harsh and grating. “I gave up my marriage for music apparently, so-”

“No,” Jiro interrupts him, “She gave you up.”

Silence surrounds them as Bakugou chews on her words. A splotchy blush fills in his cheeks as the bourbon takes a hold of him again. He gracelessly sits on the hardwood floors, gravity and booze working against him. With his back against the couch, his voice is quiet when he starts speaking again.

“I see her everywhere I go,” he admits.

“She’s stalking you?” Jiro frowns and sits up suddenly.

“No, dumbass,” Bakugou leans his head back and rolls his eyes, “I mean I see places we went together. Where we had our first date. Shit like that.” Jiro sinks back onto the couch, her eyes making shapes in the spackled ceiling.

“I know what you mean,” Jiro whispers, “I haven’t left home because of it. I can’t turn on the radio without hearing him. Lies. Everything he told me; it was all lies.” Memories of working together on songs float through her mind. Was he cheating back then? Were the pretty words he recited meant for her? Or did he use them on everyone? “Did you know he wrote a song for me? One of his first ones. It’s about how much I mean to him and how much he loves me. Once we were engaged, I started jotting down some lyrics for him. But it’s all garbage now.”

“No,” Bakugou perks up, “It’s not.”

“What?”

“Write down what you have. Change the words. Add your feelings,” Bakugou says, “Work your magic on it.”

“I need my instruments,” Jiro deflects. Taking loving words and twisting them to fit how she feels now seems wrong.

“Come with me,” Bakugou says and hauls her off the couch. Behind one of the many closed doors is a stuffy room with old, worn instruments in them. A keyboard collects dust in one corner, a guitar covered in faded stickers sits in the other, countless drumsticks lie haphazardly all over the place.

“Are these…” Jiro’s voice trails off as she picks up the guitar. Her fingers graze a scratch on the back – an accident when Tokoyami was packing it up one day after a gig.

“Our originals,” Bakugou confirms, “Along with…” He pulls out a notebook from behind a drum set filled with page markers and sticky notes. Dark Shadow emblazons the cover in angular handwriting.

“My original notes!” Jiro gasps and flips through the pages. Song lyrics, chords, and venue dates are scrawled in almost every inch of the book. “I thought I lost this!”

“I kept everything,” Bakugou says bluntly, but Jiro doesn’t hear him, already lost in her old work. He sits in his seat and watches her start to work. Her lips move but make no sound, the pen in her hand scratching against the paper. Jiro pulls a hair tie out of her coat pocket and pulls her hair back so it doesn’t get in the way.

Neither of them move for the solid part of an hour, Jiro writing, and Bakugou watching her like a hawk. Jiro blinks and looks up, rolling the stiff muscles in her neck.

“Guitar please,” she says and holds her hand out expectantly.

“It’s one in the morning,” he states, but Jiro shrugs.

“If you’ve been doing nothing but playing drums, then what harm will a little guitar do?” she reasons. A wicked grin spreads across Bakugou’s face, the first one in a long time.

Jiro strums a couple chords, humming words to herself. Occasionally, she stops and jots down more notes before continuing. When she makes it all the way through, she turns to Bakugou.

“I’ll play it through,” she says, “Go with what feels right.” He nods and picks up a pair of drumsticks.

In the end, they practice and perfect the song until the ceiling is streaked with pale pinks and yellows, and their blood pumps cleanly through them, the song clearing away some pain and the subsequent bad decisions made.

“I needed that,” Jiro says, the bracing morning air waking her up fully for the first time in what feels like forever. Wispy clouds rush overhead, chasing the light blue sky taking over from the night.

“So did I,” Bakugou agrees. He insisted on escorting Jiro back to her apartment.

“We can’t share it with anyone yet,” Jiro says cautiously. Their wounds are too fresh and have barely started the healing process. Recording it now or sharing it with their fans would only rip everything open and gouge the wounds deeper than they already are.

“I’ll get these to Tokoyami,” Bakugou holds up Jiro’s notebook, “He’ll know what to do.” Arriving at Jiro’s apartment, she turns and looks at Bakugou sadly.

“We can’t stay here, can we?”

“Life keeps moving even if we don’t want to,” Bakugou says grimly. Jiro recalls her parting kiss with Kaminari. A wish to freeze time so she can bask in happiness with her fiancé, a wish that they didn’t have to part this very second. Oh, how the tables turned and now she can’t wait for the future to come.

“Let’s get everyone together. We’ll pick up where we left off,” Jiro nods, “How long until your arm heals?”

“It’s good enough,” Bakugou flexes, pale, healing scars twist in the light.

“Bakugou,” Jiro chides.

“I’ve been playing this whole time. It’ll be fine,” Bakugou shrugs, “I’m not punching walls or breaking glass anymore.”

“Still keeping it?” Jiro nods at the wedding band resting above his heart on a chain.

“Can’t get rid of it,” Bakugou pats them unconsciously, “You?”

“Couldn’t wait to get rid of it,” Jiro smirks and raises her bare hand for him to see.

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#bnha imagines #jiro #kaminari #bakugou #tokoyami #angst #alcohol #drivers license #ch 4 #writing

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sourbat · 4 years ago

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I felt like exploring magtok HCs, and ended up writing this little scene/ficlet. Let me know what you guys think :D

Summary: A short scene where Magnus and Toki get out of a messy scuffle.

Rating: T for swearing, violence and reference to blood and injury

Pairing: Magnus and Toki

Magnus remembered the pit. Heck, he had told Toki more than his fair share of stories of when he dabbled in other scenes, and partook in crazed rituals that left him sore, bloody and bruised the morning after. The lights. The sweat. The energy. The late-night train rides and sneaking into tight alleys leading out of the high street and to shanty basement dwellings that pulsed bass and drum beats. The incredible sound of punk rock blasting up close, lyricists giving the orders to the crowds to unleash their bridled rage and scare away the casual listeners and tourists looking to get a taste of the underground scene. Stomping. Yelling. Heads banging, leather belts and cheap metal chain links swaying in tandem to a rapid, unforgiving beat. Boots slipping on booze or loose pins, and nostrils taking in the thick, dangerous atmosphere. His hand forming a tight, hot fist that flung into the steamy hot air, across the angry rowdy crowds or, if it came to it, straight into someone’s jaw.

Perhaps it was his enthusiasm, those nostalgic tales where he was younger and the hero of his own tale that lead to Toki inviting him closer to the stage, into the raging swell of drugged and drunken thrill seekers. And though Magnus entered the compacted club already so overwhelmed by the flashing red stage lights, bodies fighting at the door, for a seat or spot at the bar, and music amplified to its max, when Toki asked him to join him in the mosh pit, Magnus happily obliged.

Somehow, he forgot the pain, and it wasn’t until he was too far deep, lost in an entanglement of dangerous bodies that crashed and slammed into his older, frailer self, did Magnus finally recall the wet snap of a broken nose, the icy-hot sting of cracked, torn knuckles, and the agonizing, nauseating migraine that almost always arose after taking several blows to the face the following morning. The first rough bump startled him, but he thought he could regain a better sense once he had his footing. An elbow to his side hindered a chance for recovery, and someone shoving him into a bystander, heads colliding, made things worse. Magnus was still on his hands and knees when someone pulled him up and decked him in the cheek. No time to explain himself, just a fist bashing into the side of his head. The booming of the music throbbed along with the blurring vision, and as he stumbled back, heard Toki’s vicious war cry.

They put up a good fight. He did as well as an old bastard could, tagging himself free of any responsibility shortly after a nasty ringed fist to his mouth earned an unsatisfying snap from within. After that, Magnus let Toki finish the job, and pondered the extent of his damage, and when exactly he became too old for this sort of thing before blacking out.

He regained consciousness a few minutes later. They were in a gated alleyway right outside of the club. Toki helped him lean against the wall before making a turn for his phone. Magnus rubbed his aching temples, listening to Toki’s short call and learning they’d have a ride in just a few minutes.

“Wowee, that was something,” he said through a stuffy nose. He picked up on how odd he sounded and, through teary eyes, pressed his finger against his nostril and snorted out a ball of congealed blood and mucus. Lovely.

Both stared at the fat glob, giving it an appropriate moment of silence out of respect for its size and composure.

“Thanks for your help,” Magnus mentioned once it had passed, then gently applied pressure around his nose with his forefinger. He was hot to the touch, and the skin was swelling tight and thin, but it didn’t appear that his nose was broken. Thank goodness. Magnus wasn’t sure if he could afford another tooth on top of a broken nose. “You really saved my ass back there.”

“No problems.” Another forced snort, and then Toki regained his posture. “We makes a good teams.”

“Yeah, we do.”

Magnus licked his gums, then tracing a trail of blood up to the pooling hole where a tooth once lay. The location was far enough where it wouldn’t impact any new impressions, but was it far enough to stave off an expensive visit for a few months?

Thankfully, the alcohol impeded any further concern for money. A hand picked him up by the chin, and as Magnus shirked away at the slightest change of pressure, fell into a brief state of comfort at the sight of Toki’s welcoming smile.

Half his face was covered in drying blood or clots, and what wasn’t had hair sticking to it, adhered to with old sweat. Toki was red and blotchy, some parts still carrying monikers of where rings made impact. Magnus was positive Toki’s left forearm was bruised in several places, with his bicep already speckled unevenly with purple and blue. There was a bit of blood here and there, but most of it was seeping through his left nostril. Otherwise, Toki was in decent shape. He was a mess, but he survived. He did well. Better than Magnus, and he looked good doing it. Hell, bloody cheeks and snot be damned, Toki still looked good.

“You. Uhm… it was pretty hot when you kicked that guy in the nuts,” he mentioned as Toki reached to help pull him off from the wall.

“Thanks.” Toki squeezed Magnus’ arms. Then, another smile, and this time Magnus made out a bloody, cracked tooth barely holding on to the gums.

“Holy shit, Toke.” Magnus grabbed Toki and squinted his good eye to better assess the damage. “Your tooth…”

Second tooth from the front, where everyone could see. Cracked down the middle, and pushed outwards from a hemorrhaging socket. If they hurried and put it on ice, then a dentist might be able to save the tooth.

“I think your tooth is about to fall out,” Magnus stated, his slightly grim expression shifting from Toki’s shrinking grin to his confused, periwinkles eyes.

“Oh, dats all?” Toki asked back, then put his hand to his mouth. With the precision expected from a drunk, he reached into his mouth, prodded the tooth with the blunt end of his finger. The whimpers Toki’s coughed out send a nasty chill down Magnus’ back.

“Toki!” Magnus shook his head as Toki performed a pained dance in front of him. “Are you seriously trying to yank your own tooth out?”

“Yeah?”

“And lose the whole tooth?”

“Ams not a problems,” Toki said gently and with a slight lisp. “Charles gives Toki and Dethklok the best plan on accounts of all the accidentals we gets into.”

He sniffed, then wiped some of the many tears flowing down his cheeks with his shirt. Carefully, and barely patting the side with the now ailing loose tooth.

“You knows” he added, waving a pointed finger at Magnus. “You ams also on the same plans now.”

Toki noticed the missing tooth? Maybe the gape wasn’t as deep as Magnus hoped, but the promising news of a dental plan immediately grabbed his attention. He recalled the many documents Offdensen made him sign a few weeks ago to effectively be considered an “unofficial” member of Dethklok incorporated. He knew a certain amount of Toki’s insurances and privileges were extended unto him, though to what degree was still being unraveled. Of the many pamphlets sent to him the following week, were any for dental plans?

Suddenly Toki’s phone went off. The klokateers were here, ready to pick them up. A hand sticky with blood took Magnus the hand.

“Was thinking. Maybe we can gets new teeth togethers,” Toki suggested. His bloody, swollen face attempted what Magnus thought was a smile. His double-vision brought on by the migraine made it difficult to tell. But he was sure Toki just invited him on a date to see a dentist, and whether Magnus could afford it or not, his boyfriend was a billionaire.

“Yeah?” he said, trying to snicker and appear as casual about the invitation as he could. But the pulsing in his head made it difficult to stand straight, and his right eye shed some tears as a car flashed light in their general direction. He winced, but once the pain leveled, and Toki coaxed him into blindly following him though the smokers, around the gated area and back into the quiet comforts of their limo, Magnus muttered that he’d rearrange his calendar.

“Thinks you can makes room for tomorrows?” Toki whispered into Magnus’ crown just before the gear readied a syringe loaded with delicious morphine.

Eyes closed, Magnus brushed his bruised cheek against Toki’s shoulder. “Sure.”

The needle hadn’t yet gone in when Toki placed a soft kiss on top of Magnus’ aching head. He did his best to appreciate it, but the pain proved itself too much.

“Ow.”

A nervous chuckle. “Sorries.”

#magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #magtok #hammertooth #metalocalypse #blood #swearing #unbeta'd #will fix mistakes later

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m00nmins · 5 years ago

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as requested by: @starryseung :: ❝ can i request a fluffy chan roommate au? love your works bub 🤧❤️ ❞

[ 11:34pm ] bang chan was a dick of a roommate. he always left the dishes unwashed in the sink and you could always find more of his hair clogging up the shower than yours which was saying something. (how can you tell? oh just by the sheer dryness of his curly bleached strands, of course. you swore this boy shed worse than a dog-) he brought home another person every other night (at least that’s what it felt like) which left you sleeping in the room farthest from his own, the living room. and the couch was hard like his- well then.

but he had his moments.

“what are you doing?” asks chan, kicking off his sneakers walking to your spot on the floor. great, you’ll have to fix that later. you had a project due tomorrow and god were you not up for his bullshit tonight. this is why you hated working in partners; you were more than often left to do most of the work yourself which lead to you staying up late the night before because you always had too much trust thinking ‘no it wouldn’t happen again’ and-

“OW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR!“ you yelled at the pain of chan’s finger flick. you looked at him scandalized rubbing the now-red spot on your forehead.

“i asked you a question dummy,” chan smirked. he was a freaking sadist, you swore. you take a deep breath in, closing your eyes and leaning back on the couch’s base. when was the last time you took a break today? you didn’t know but this moment of talking with chan was the first break you’ve gotten since you’ve gotten home.

“just...just a project chan. nothing for you to be worried about,” you sighed. nothing for him to be worried about but everything for you to be. you’ll be damned if you get anything less than an ‘a‘ in this class and if you don’t do well on this project because of one lazy partner.

“damn did jeon back out again?” chan asked exasperated (wait why was he exasperated? it was your project!), “why didn’t you ask professor kim to switch your partner? anyone would want to work with you.” oh. that was nice. was the bang chan actually complimenting you? are his ears a bit red? yeah, they’re definitely red. wait uh-

“why are you sitting down?” a confused look grows on your tired face. you really can’t deal with him right now. “i’m not in the mood chan, i’m sorry i really just can’t talk-” chan holds a finger to your previously moving lips.

“i’m not here to talk. i’m here to help,” he asserts as he pulls his own laptop from his bag. you blink fast dramatically as if what he just said was unheard of. well here’s the thing, it kinda was. bang chan didn’t always help you with your homework when it was almost 12am at night after all.

it was like he sensed your confusion as he quickly adds, “i’ve worked with jeon before in a calc class. they’re hell to work with precisely because they don’t do shit.” you nod in agreement. he doesn’t have to tell you that twice.

you realize chan is actually ready to help you right now as he grabs for one of your many papers. you grab his wrist as he brings the paper to you. “you- you really don’t need to. this isn’t the first time doing a project by myself. plus do you even know anything about the anatomy of the brain?” you attempt to make chan back out of something he’ll regret doing. something you’ll regret doing.

all chan does is grin at you prying your fingers from his wrist. sighing you give up. maybe he can help you. or maybe not. but you suppose another person near you will make working until late a little more bearable.

you and chan work for only about 20 minutes before your stomach lets out a loud growl. cue chan’s hearty laugh and your red face. “hungry?” chan teases. you just got redder. what did he think? “it’s okay, i think we have some leftover pizza from the other night. i’ll get you a slice,” chan finishes with a smile. as he stands, you start to protest but before you know it, he’s left to your small shared kitchen.

you can’t stop the boy, can you? you continued working in silence but you couldn’t help but miss the presence of another person beside you even when you weren’t talking. ‘another person or specifically chan?’ the little voice inside your head questioned. your eyebrows furrowed at the thought, pushing it to the back of your mind. that’s a thought for future you to worry about now.

out of the corner of your eye, you see chan walking towards you holding two paper plates with a slice of pizza on each. as he sets the plate in front of you you make a beeline for the food muttering a quick thanks. as you chew you realize something. there were no sausages on them.

this was usually how you preferred your pizza usually, but you distinctly remember there only being chan’s sausage pizza left in the fridge. you look at chan’s plate and lo and behold, there is your pizza’s sausages. he knew you didn’t like anything but cheese pizza?

a finger snaps in front of your eyes. “daydreaming? i thought we were working on this together. now don’t leave me to do all the work,” chan chuckled. your head snaps back to your computer and you resume your research, every once and awhile copying down a quick note that would be useful for your project.

by 2am, you and chan have finished your project, exhausted and ready to collapse and get five hours of sleep before your stupid 8am classes. you more obviously as after you submit the written portion of the project you fall asleep leaning against the couch.

you wake as you feel your computer being taken from you lap. in your groggy state, you feel a blanket being draped over you and a slight pressure on the top of your head, a far-away “good night” ringing in your ears. did chan just kiss you? well the top of your head but still you. you could hear your heart beating in your chest but kept your eyes shut. even opening them seemed like a chore.

the last few events of today replayed in your mind. chan helped you with your project and kept you company, and you didn’t hate it. he remembered how you liked your pizza and gave you a blanket and good night kiss. and he made your heart beat like a drum.

okay, maybe chan was a little less of a dick of a roommate. but he was still a dick for making your heart beat like that.

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cagestark · 5 years ago

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Introduction to Ink

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Chapter Four

@starknakedsluts ;)

About this: Bucky has tattoos and sheltered!Toni wants to touch them. Fem!Tony Stark. College AU.

BUCKY.

The first time Bucky sees her, she’s sitting on one of Nat’s tasteful patio chairs with a textbook open on her knees, bent over to try to read by the fading light. Her hair falls long and dark around her face, hands tanned with thin fingers that flick through pages of her book with purpose. All around her are various acts of debauchery: water polo in the pool with Nat shouting at someone who has spilled their cocktail in the chlorinated water; music loud enough to feel like a second pulse where it resonates in the drum of his chest; the patio table beside her littered with bottles of alcohol and mixers. All this and she looks like an island, some peaceful quiet piece of frozen time. Completely out of place. Bewitching.

A warm hand clasps him on the shoulder, startling him. It’s just Steve, hair wet but body dry when he pulls Bucky in for a quick hug. “Good to see you, brother,” Steve says warmly in his ear, and yeah. Bucky will endure the chaos for this. It’s been too long since he’s seen Natasha and Steve and Sam and the others. So what if he has to swim through an ocean of obnoxious people to find them?

Islands, he thinks, eyes drawn back to the girl reading the book.

Bucky lifts his chin in her direction. “Who’s that?”

Steve glances over. “That’s Toni. She’s Nat’s roommate at uni. I guess she was homeschooled her whole life, real sheltered. Nice girl, though. Hey, go get a drink and I’ll see if I can’t get Sam away from the beer pong table. Clint’s around here, too, I think, so keep your eyes peeled for him.”

With careful, cautious steps, Bucky approaches the table. Toni doesn’t look up from her book, though she does flip the page. Her nails are short and tidy, free of polish. This close, Bucky sees that she’s wearing a sleeveless shirt with a high neck and a skirt that brushes her knees. She couldn’t be more different from the other girls at the party, and she might as well be the antithesis of Nat.

Curiosity tickles at the back of his brain. What is she reading? he wonders. A glimpse at the open pages shows complex graphs and models that offer him no hint. He’s so busy trying to look at her book out of the corner of his eye that he knocks over a bottle of Jack Daniels. Like dominos, it sends a stack of plastic cups and a cup full of decorative umbrella scattering over the table.

Cringing, he lets his eyes be drawn back to her. Toni is staring up at him, and then Bucky remembers that he’s not like anyone else at the party either. First he takes in her face: the wide, dark eyes, the straight nose and full mouth. Fuck, she’s young he thinks to himself, feeling like a pervert. Obviously of age if she’s sharing a room with Nat back at NYU, but he wouldn’t doubt that he’s got seven or eight years on her. He’s so busy looking his share and berating himself that he almost misses her expression, the way those big eyes grow round as moons, her mouth dropping open in a near comical expression of disbelief and perhaps disgust.

Right, Bucky thinks distantly. He’s not the poster boy for sheltered.

She takes in the tattoo above his left eye, the one of his sister’s name that he’d only gotten earlier in the year on the anniversary of her death. Those dark whiskey colored eyes skirt past his face down to his neck where ink protrudes from above his collar all the way to his cut jaw. He’s grateful that he’s wearing a jacket over his t-shirt, so that she can’t see the tattoos that cover his arms. It doesn’t stop her from eyeing his hands though, the letters tattooed across his knuckles, the UFO and creeping ivy (respectively) on the back of his hands.

It’s not the first time Bucky’s been stared at this way (like he’s a degenerate, like he’s got three heads) and it won’t be the last; though, he does wonder when it will stop stinging so much. He cuts his eyes away from her, unable to watch her watching him with that look on her face. He fixes the mess he made, restoring everything to its proper spot. Unwilling to turn tail and run—at least, not without a drink—he kneels to open a cooler beneath the table and finds twist-top beer. When he chances looking back up, there’s a complex series of microexpressions playing across Toni’s face, ones that Bucky can’t even begin to interpret.

At his stare, she mutely lifts her book and presses it flush to her chest as if it is a shield. As if she is afraid of him.

The cover reads An Introduction to Modern Astrophysics.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters.

Her mouth opens and then shuts. She nods, absolving him. He takes that as permission to give her a forced smile and make a prompt exit left stage. Dark eyes burn into his back as he walks aimlessly into the sea of party-goers looking for Steve or Sam or anybody.

Nat finds him spectating the game of beer pong (instead of pulling Sam away, Steve had somehow become roped in himself, helping Sam to dig himself out of the hole he’d been slipping into). She’s a breath of fresh air, her red hair wet and dark and plaited down the back of her head, her eyes tired and her smile easy. Bucky doesn’t even mind that she gets him wet during their hug. He’s missed her.

They spend time catching up and heckling Steve and Sam.

“What’s the deal with your roommate?” Bucky asks, leaning into her so that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

Nat narrows her eyes, seeing straight through him. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder and refuses to elaborate. Sam makes a shot and a girl on the other team has to drink, so Bucky lets his eyes rest on the stranger’s bobbing throat just so he has a place to look that isn’t into Nat’s x-ray eyes.

At last, Nat hums. “She’s an engineering student. Her dad was some big Congressman—I guess he made some controversial moves because she said there were a lot of threats made against him and his family. They kept her home all the time to keep her safe.” Nat leans in, her mouth nearly touching his ear. “She said once when she was little, she was kidnapped for ransom.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky mutters.

“She’s basically been living under a rock her whole life. A very expensive, luxurious rock.”

Even at risk of saying too much and laying all his cards on the table, he says: “She looked at me like I was a freak.”

Natasha frowns, face going soft and sad. “I’m sorry, J. She’s probably just never seen someone…”

“Like me.”

“She’d be an idiot to judge you for the way you look.”

Bucky smiles a little. “Most people are idiots.”

She can’t deny that. When Steve and Sam finally crush the duo they were up against, the two losers slink away to lick their wounds and leave the end of the table free for new blood. Natasha looks up at him with a smirk. “Think you’ve still got what it takes, Barnes?”

Bucky slips his jacket off his shoulders. The only thing beneath is a white t-shirt, thin enough that the tattoos on his chest and abdomen are just visible through the fabric as dark, teasing shadows. He knows he’s pale, avoids the sun to keep his ink as fresh as possible. Leaving his jacket on a nearby chair, he says, “Only one way to find out.”

While they’re filling fresh cups with beer, his eyes are drawn to the patio chair on the porch, looking for that dark curtain of hair. Except he finds a tanned, angular face watching him, ducking back down to look at her textbook once she’s caught.

Bucky turns his eyes away and doesn’t let himself look again.

TONI.

The sun sets, and the moon turns the party-goers into hellions. A fight breaks out between two frat boys over a girl and Steve has to step in to break it up and kick both of them out. Not a half hour later, three police squad cars show up after a noise complaint from one of the other neighbors in the cul de sac. The party is shut down (to Toni’s guilty delight).

She’d moved into the house once the sun had set, unable to read by the twinkling fairy lights that she’d helped Natasha to string around the yard and patio. It was much more comfortable inside among the air conditioning and the luxury. The marble countertops of the kitchen island felt familiar to her. The outdoors with the grass that itched her ankles, the bugs that never stopped shrieking or flying in her ears, and the humidity that made her shirt stick to her bare back—that would never be familiar to her.

Toni had always been a homebody, willing or not.

Seated at the kitchen island, she is so short that her feet can’t touch the floor, ankles crossed where they sway gently in the air. Flipping through her textbook without aim, she waits for everyone to be gone so that she can help Natasha pick up and then hopefully sleep in one of the tasteful guestrooms. She’s daydreaming of the comfortable bed, the clean cool sheets against her skin when she hears the sound of the patio door sliding open.

All fantasies of cool and comfort burn up, combusted by the man who walks in. The man with the tattoos.

He towers above her even seated on the tall island chair the way she is. He’s shed the leather jacket he was wearing (and for good reason too, with the hot, humid weather). Beneath he wears simple jeans in a sinful fit with a white t-shirt that’s nearly see-through, sticking to his skin from sweat. His face is stunning: angular jaw covered in a few days’ stubble, a straight nose, eyes a stormy sea-foam with low brows that make him look intense in a way that has her legs shaking.

His conventionality ends there. Toni has never seen a man like him in her life. Above one brow is a woman’s name in elegant cursive. His ears have holes in them large enough for her to see through. On his neck are geometric lines reminiscent of honeycombes, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. He’s covered from fingertip to shirt sleeve with designs, her eyes dancing across his pale skin, never able to land for longer than a moment before something else captures her attention.

He looks like a kindergarteners artwork, she can imagine Howard sneering. Scribbles all over him. Not even worth pinning to the refrigerator.

Toni has seen tattoos before. Happy, her security guard for as long as she could remember, had one on his bicep of his mother’s favorite flower, so. It’s not like Toni wasn’t aware of the things or didn’t believe in their existence. She’s just never seen someone so saturated with them. It’s a stark difference from the people she grew up knowing: stiff public figures in formal clothing who denounced youth culture and considered people with tattoos degenerates.

He’s everything her father warned her about when she insisted on going to public university under a different last name. He’s so raw.

He’s so, so beautiful.

“Sorry,” he says at the sight of her, his neutral expression dropping into something stormier.

Toni tries to smile, but judging by the way his face grimaces, it isn’t successful. She can feel the way her face begins to burn just from his sheer proximity, so she forces herself to turn back to her textbook and pretend to scan the page.

Surely he must see through her. She feels attuned to him, hyperaware of the sound of his footsteps on the tile floor, brain working to pinpoint his exact location based on how the sounds shift. When he appears in the corner of her eye, she flinches, everything in her fighting to keep her eyes on her book. Instead of pausing by her, he continues past to the kitchen cabinets, opening them as if he lives there. How does he know where the drinking glasses are, she wonders.

With his back to her, she feels safe enough to let her eyes flicker upwards, though she keeps her head angled downward for maximum deniability should he turn around without warning. The muscles of his arms are lean and powerful. Sculpted of flesh and bone instead of marble. Only reminiscent of Michaelangelo’s David, he conveys more of Barberini Faun: the impressive height and lean strength of him, the low brows hinting at torment.

Unlike Barberini Faun, there’s nothing overtly sexual about what he’s doing (filling a glass with filtered water from the refrigerator) but Toni finds her back arching in her seat, her sex looking for the blissful pressure it aches for. Toni’s experience with arousal isn’t enough to fill a post-it note with. She’s intimately familiar with erotica, books propped open on her chest with her free hand down between her legs, fingers drifting through her aching folds. At least once a week, she wakes from a hazy, half-formed dream with the urge to roll and wedge a pillow between her legs, to rut against it. There was also that squirming heat that bloomed whenever Natasha stripped her clothes off in the main room of their dorm—but that was nothing Toni was interested in confronting today.

This man is the first non-fictional person she’s ever experienced such attraction to. Her own naivete is downright sickening. Toni has always prided herself on being knowledgeable and a quick learner, but she has no idea how to make her interest known or how to try to be interesting to him in return.

Idiot, she thinks to herself, forcing her eyes back down to her textbook. To interest him would require there to be something interesting or excitable about her. All Toni has going for herself in that regard is an IQ in the 160’s. Hardly a trait to lust over.

The man is refilling his glass when the patio door opens again. Toni’s heart leaps, grateful for anyone or anything to break this invisible tension and also dreading that they might see her embarrassing ineptitude.

It’s Natasha’s boyfriend Steve, his face flushed with drunkenness. He’d been very polite and thoughtful when Natasha introduced them earlier in the day, with an aura about him that could put any person at ease. Toni found her lips quirking up into a smile just at the sight of him, even when his own smile is directed past her. With a half dozen long steps, he’s crossed the kitchen and scooped the man with the tattoos into a bone-crushing hug, water sloshing from the glass over the both of him

Toni notes that tragically it only turns the dark-haired man’s shirt more see-through. She can almost make out whatever image might be inked onto his pale skin beneath—

“Man, I’m so glad you’re back in the city for a while,” Steve says, voice loose but not slurred. He won’t let his friend go and has instead begun an awkward, drunken slow dance with him, shuffling side to side in a way that has Toni pressing her lips together to keep from laughing. The comical expression of exasperated endearment on the other man’s face makes her feel like she’s swallowed a jarful of butterflies.

He pats Steve on the back. “I missed you too, buddy. Buy me dinner though, first.”

Steve snorts. He pulls back and turns to Toni whose eyes widen fractionally at being caught watching their exchange.

“Hey Toni, have you met Bucky?”

“Not formally,” she says, heart pounding. She almost sticks out a hand as if he’s a 60 year old lifelong Senator her father has brought home for dinner. Inside one of the deeper tracks of her consciousness, his name whirs in an endless circle: Bucky Bucky Bucky.

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but it is lost as more of Natasha’s closest friends enter, taking refuge in the house as the majority of the party are herded off of the property. Apparently they’re going to have a bonfire with just the inner circle left—how the hell Toni has managed to become a member of that inner circle, she has no idea. While she wishes she were tucked away in one of the guestrooms, reading, at least a party of a dozen sounds infinitely more tolerable.

Not to mention that fewer party-goers automatically raises the chances for interaction with Bucky, an idea she both anticipates and dreads. Glancing up, her eyes are drawn to his figure where he and the others have retired into the living room, only to find that he’s watching her. She can feel the flush in her face as she turns back to her book, leaning over and hoping that the curtain of her hair hides her embarrassment.

#winteriron #female!tony stark #toni stark #tattooed!bucky #sheltered!toni #cagewrites

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frostsinth · 5 years ago

Text

Li’un Ma Shkio - Pt. 7

Parts ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE & SIX

Karianna finds her own feet in Unvar’s world. And Unvar has a special gift just for her...

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But after what felt like hours of following him around with nothing but sideways glances to acknowledge my presence, I was growing bored. The talking was too fast paced for me, and the meetings beyond my scope.

---

At one stop, there was a great hound lounging beside the Tlaloc Unvar addressed. The big brown mutt’s head was as high as my waist, and when we approached he stood curiously. As Unvar greeted its master, the hound approached me, sniffing with his big black nose and wagging his tail slightly. After my previous evening’s experience, I found I was a little apprehensive of canines. But the beast was very friendly, if a bit smelly, and I smiled as I scratched him behind the ears. Pleased, he plopped down on my foot and leaned against me.

Its master raised a hand and grinned, saying something to me and Unvar.

“G’rook not friendly with non-Tlaloc,” Unvar translated for me, “But seems like you.”

I rubbed the big mutt’s side and he panted, his tail beating like a drum on the ground. His great bulk leaning on me had me unbalanced, and I wiggled my foot out from under him. Still, I couldn’t help a small smile.

“I like him too.”

Unvar nodded approvingly, and there was a slight wrinkling in the corners of his eyes as he grinned. “Alo’aya has pups soon. We get one for you.”

I smiled, but before I could respond it was time for us to leave. G’rook and his master both seemed disappointed to see us go, and waved us off pleasantly. I watched the dog over my shoulder, sighing slightly.

I jumped as Unvar’s hand settled on my shoulder. He quickly pulled it back as I turned to face him, and jerked his chin behind us.

“You like G’rook?”

I nodded, then tendered a shrug instead. “It was the first thing I had to do all day.”

His brow crinkled, and he led us between a pair of Tlaloc patching a tent. “What mean?”

“Well, nothing. Just that I don’t know your language, so I have no idea what you’ve been doing all day.”

“Being chief!” He told me, puffing up his chest.

I hid a smile. “You seem good at it, but I still don’t understand anything going on.”

He gave a rumbling “hmmm”, considering this. He put out his arm to stop me, then gestured back the way we had come.

“If want, you can go with G’rook,” He seemed to be nodding to himself, as if agreeing with the idea as he thought of it, “He will keep safe.”

I looked back behind us. “I worry I would get lost.”

Unvar gave a small shrug. “I will find.” Then he hesitated, lifting up one hand as if to touch me, then stopping himself. He shuffled his feet. “... Stay in camp.”

I nodded, giving him a sheepish smile. “I learned my lesson.”

He let out his breath in a rush, then nodded. “Go. Tell G’rook’s master un ki’ilit. He will understand.” He hesitated again, but then gently tucked his fingers under my chin briefly, tilting my head back to look up at him. “I will find soon.”

“Un ki’ilit.” I echoed, then smiled shyly again, “Ok.”

We parted ways and I made my way back to the Tlaloc with G’rook. As soon as I approached, the dog bounded back to his feet, tail wagging. His master looked up at me and raised an eyebrow. I repeated Unvar’s words, and his sagging lips spread into a grin. He laughed a little, then reached back and tossed me a strange skin sac. As soon as he saw it, G’rook started bounding and barking. Getting the idea, I nodded to the Tlaloc and turned, making my way between the tents to the small clearing by the horse pen where he pointed.

G’rook ended up much better entertainment than listening to strange Tlaloc conversations. I tossed the skin to him many times, and he always retrieved it and bounded back to me with great eagerness. Once or twice though I had to pry it from his mouth, though he seemed to think this was great fun too.

I wasn’t sure how long we were playing before his ears perked. He turned, then, with a bark, darted off. I was surprised, and was just beginning to try and figure out my way back to his master when he bounded back. He nuzzled my hand, then turned again, looking over his shoulder at me.

“Alright then,” I agreed, and followed his wagging tail.

He led us past a few lean-tos for the horses, the scent of hay and manure strong. Then he ducked into an enclosed stable made of rough branches and piled bark. Likely a temporary shed meant for keeping grain and hay, it also had a few small stalls in the back. I followed him curiously to the back stall, where a soft growl greeted me.

Another large dog was curled there, bigger than G’rook, her large side quivering beneath her thick black fur. G’rook approached the female, and she snapped at him warily. He darted just out of her reach, and she seemed in no state to pursue him.

She looked up at me with wild yellow eyes. The hay around her was slick with afterbirth, and there was one small pup wriggling next to her. But she seemed in distress, and I slowly opened the stall door. A low growl had her lips curling back from her teeth, and I crouched down to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

“You must be Alo’aya,” I murmured to her soothingly, remembering what Unvar has said earlier about pups.“It's ok,” I told her soothingly, “I’m not here to take your baby. I just want to help.”

She pricked her ears at my words, but didn’t cease her snarls. Suddenly, her growl turned into a whimper and whine, and she turned and nudged at her side.

“Ouchie, mama,” I scooched a little closer, “What’s going on?”

Alo’aya snapped at my fingers as I reached my hand towards her. G’rook whined behind me, pacing back and forth. She offered him a snapping maw as well when he snuck a little closer.

An idea occurred to me, and I quickly dug through my pockets for some of the jerky one of the Tlaloc had offered me earlier. I snapped it into pieces and tossed her one. She snarled at me, but then her nose wiggled, and she found it by her paw, lapping it up.

G’rook nuzzled under my arm, sniffing, but I pushed him away.

“Not for you,” I scolded him, then turned back to the female. She was still watching me with wary yellow eyes. “Here you go, girl,”

I tossed her another piece. She watched it land, snuck a growl at me, then snapped it up. The next piece she caught in the air. I eased a little closer. She growled, hackles raised, but then whimpered as another contraction hit her. She rolled her chin pathetically across the hay, nosing the wriggling pup beside her.

“Poor thing, it's ok,” I told her. I only had a few pieces of jerky left.

Tentatively, I held one out to her between my fingers. Her lip curled back from her teeth, but she made no sound. Slowly, nose sniffing, she reached out and nipped the meat from my hand. G’rook whined, then gave a soft bark before darting off.

“There you go.” I praised her softly, glancing after G’rook before moving even closer.

She snapped at me again as I reached my hand out to her side, but perked her ears after. Another soft whine, and she kicked a little at the ground. I moved towards her tail, and she curled back, snapping at me again.

“Just looking.” I assured her.

I wasn’t sure there was much I could do, yet I had helped with a few births before. Goats and cows mostly, but I was sure the principle was the same. With the next strain I saw the bubble of a birth sack appear, then retract. Actually, it looked almost like two were trying to come out at the same time. Now only if I could get her to let me help.

“Easy, easy,” I told her, reaching out a hand.

She barked and snapped, and I barely withdrew my hand before her teeth chomped down on it. Letting my breath out in a rush, I sighed.

At a bit of a loss of what else to do, I began to sing softly. Her ears pricked, and her lips uncurled. I reached out my hand again, this time with jerky, still singing softly. She sniffed, then took the meat more delicately. I waited a while, still singing some old nursery rhyme in my most soothing voice. Then another piece of meat. I scooched closer, so that she was not far away at all. Her eyes stayed fixed on me, but she didn’t snap. A low growl formed in her throat, but she kept her chin on the ground.

As the next contraction hit, I reached out and touched her side. She yelped softly, and her ears flattened, but I was still singing. So she considered me warily, but didn’t bite at me. Smoothing my hand down her sleek black fur, I reached out with my other and fed her the last piece of jerky. Another contraction, and the bubble appeared again. Quick as a wink, I darted in, nimbly pushing back one bubble while wrapping two fingers around the other and giving a gentle tug.

Now she did snap at me, and I had to fall back on my bottom to avoid her teeth, but with a gush, another puppy emerged. Quickly she became distracted licking and cleaning the new pup. She cleaned its nose, licked its face, rolled it onto its back to clean its belly. The little thing was quite still, despite her care. Alo’aya whimpered softly, nudging it.

“Can I see?” I asked her softly, reaching out towards the pup.

Her ears flattened, but another contraction hit and another pup came rushing out. I used the distraction to pick up the floppy pup. She growled at me, but designed to lick the new pup rather than lunge at me, yellow eyes watching me instead. I cleared the still pup’s mouth with one finger, then pinched at its nose gently, trying to clear out any fluids there. I gave it a few gentle pats upside-down, then pulled off my cloak and began rubbing the tiny body with it. A growl was forming in Alo’aya’s throat again, so I resumed my singing.

“I won’t take it anywhere,” I assured her between verses.

After a few moments of intense rubbing and gentle singing, the pup in my hands gave a loud squeak. Alo’aya half stood, her big nose snuffing. I smiled, holding out the pup to her. She nosed it, licked it, then licked it again as it began wriggling. I gently placed it back at her side.

She delivered the rest of the pups without incident. Eight in all, a mixture of black, tan, and white. One even had a few spots! By the final pup, she didn’t seem to mind me stroking and petting them, and even seemed to enjoy the attention I gave her. I cleaned the hay off the pups’ wet fur, and settled myself with my back to the wall facing the stall door with my knees next to her head, sighing deeply. The hound’s nose snuffed my pocket, her tail twitching slightly.

I laughed. “Sorry, mama,” I apologized, patting her huge head, “I have no more. But I’ll get you some. You did a good job.”

She let me scratch behind her ears, if a bit warily, then went back to tending her pups.

“Kari-anna!” Came a call, and I heard the soft bark of G’rook at the door to the stable.

“In here!” I called back softly.

The new mother’s hackles raised, and she growled angrily as Unvar, G’rook, and his master came into the makeshift barn. Unvar’s eyes shot wide when he saw me, tucked behind the dog and her new pups.The black dog’s growl grew louder, and she started to raise up from her stomach with her ears flat.

“Kari-anna,” He breathed, holding up one hand, “Move slow,”

Alo’aya’s hackles shook as she growled, her teeth fully bared, one leg protectively over her new pups. Unvar’s hand went to his belt where his ax was clipped.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, confused.

“Take care,” He warned, his fist wrapping about the handle, “Come slow.”

I shook my head, and reached out, placing one hand on the dog’s haunch. Both men jumped, hands raising, shouts caught in their mouths. Alo’aya barked at them, but one ear flicked back to me.

“Unvar, put your ax down. And back up a bit! She’s just anxious, that’s all.” I told him, then turned to the hound, stroking my hand down her spine, “Shhh, mama. It’s alright. No one’s going to take your pups.”

Her ear flicked back to me again, but she watched the men warily as they backed up a little. Once she determined they were a safe distance, she snorted, shaking her head quickly with a soft sneeze. I smiled as she settled back down, nuzzling her pups.

“Look!” I told Unvar excitedly, “She had eight of them! Eight! I’ve never seen so many puppies in one place!”

“Come out now,” Unvar told me, his gaze shifting back and forth between me and the beast curled up by my knees.

I ignored him, crouching over the pups instead. I gently rolled my hand under the second pup, and it snuggled into my palm. Unvar and the other Tlaloc gave a warning cry, and Alo’aya started growling again. Her head raised from the hay, and she narrowed her eyes at the men.

“Look, this little guy almost didn’t make it. Little trouble maker.” I told him, pulling the pup to my chest and stroking his little ears as I sat back on my heels.

The new mother turned, looking at me with the pup in my hands. I heard Unvar start to protest again, and saw his hand twitch towards his ax. But her shackles weren’t raised and she had her ears perked. She panted softly, and I reached out, scratching her behind her ears again, looking at the men curiously. Trying to determine why they seemed so on edge. Yellow eyes glanced warily over to the other watchers, and she gave a soft snort. She turned back, nuzzling the pup in my hands, then gave him and my fingers a gentle lick.

“Kari-anna!” Unvar hissed, sounding a little desperate.

“Alright alright,” I scoffed at him.

I showed the little pup back to his mother, and she snuffed at him tenderly before I placed him back with his fellows. Then I stood slowly, wiping the hay off my skirt.

“Take care,” Unvar warned again, “Do not-”

I stepped around the new mom and over to the door as he spoke, leaning against the half wall at my hips. Panic filled the Tlaloc’s eyes, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. A soft growl echoed from behind us as he yanked me up and over the short branch wall.

“Hey! What!?”

Keeping his arm wrapped around my waist, his eyes never left the beast in the stall. Slowly he backed away, carrying me tucked under his elbow. She watched, glancing at me, and seemed to be considering following. But I smiled at her, and spoke some soothing words. So she settled around her pups once more. Unvar quickly backed away to the door, being sure never to show the dog his back. I wriggled a little in protest to being carried about like a ragdoll.

Once outside, Unvar placed me back on my feet, then proceeded to lift my arms and spin me about.

“Unvar, what-?”

“You hurt?” He asked, grabbing my hand and seeming to count my fingers.

“No, I’m fine!” I almost laughed at his anxiousness, pulling my hand back.

G’rook nuzzled against my dangling hand, then sniffed at my pockets. His master said something, a small smirk on his lips. I didn’t catch the meaning.

“What doing?!” Unvar demanded.

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean, I was just-?”

He grabbed my chin, twisting my face this way and that. As if he still didn’t believe I was all in one piece. I shoved his hand away.

“Unvar!” I snapped, getting a little frustrated.

“Dangerous!” He snarled, towering over me with his brows knitted in anger. “Dangerous! Not safe!”

“Helping a dog?” I replied, exasperated. I threw up my hands, at a loss.

He shook his head. “Not dog. Ma’iitso.”

I glanced over my shoulder, starting to gather his meaning now. My throat felt a little tight at the thought. “... I thought that was Alo’aya. The dog you mentioned earlier.”

He jerked his chin towards the stable. “Yes. Is Alo’aya. Half-breed. More wild than dog.”

The man standing behind him said something else, still smirking, and Unvar shot him an angry look. He shrugged, then called G’rook to his side and went off.

“Well, how am I supposed to know you keep wolves in the stable?” I demanded, shaking my head.

Unvar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his brows bunched at the center. “Alo’aya keeps to self. No touch, no Tlaloc. But good mother, good breeder. So stays.”

“She didn’t hurt me.” I assured him after a moment, “She growled and snapped a bit at first,” I smiled a little at the memory, “But I think we reached an understanding.”

He dropped his hand and studied me, looking me up and down from head to toe with an exasperated expression between his brows. “... Alo’aya mean finger eater,” He told me, “She is not dog. Not pet.”

I almost laughed again, holding up both hands and showing him my fingers, my smile growing by a few molars. His face softened and he finally offered a small smile in return.

He reached up, taking my hands in his, cupping them and tracing his huge thumb over my knuckles. Suddenly self-conscious, I watched our hands quietly, the sun sinking slowly behind me. I wondered at the large, calloused green hands so gently touching mine. The way they made my heart race whenever they touched me.

“She seem like you,” He murmured softly, sighing off the last of his previous fear and anger. His shoulders drooped a bit.

I shrugged slightly, smirking. “I had jerky.”

Unvar reached up, cupping my cheek, tilting my head back to look at him. I lingered in his hand almost nervously, shuffling my feet. His copper eyes studied mine, and he sighed again.

“You make good Tlaloc,” He told me, “Have no fear.”

I shook my head. “I’m not Tlaloc,” I reminded him softly.

I half hoped that would bring him to his senses about this whole affair. And found the other half afraid that he would. But instead, it had his eyes flicking down to my lips.

“No,” He agreed, meeting my eyes once more, “But, you are hal’shaleen.”

“Hal’shaleen?” I echoed curiously.

His thick lips curled around his tusks in a tender smile. “Very beautiful.”

I turned away from his palm, a blush rising on my cheeks. I heard that familiar deep chuckle in his chest, and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye to see the smirk reaching his eyes.

“I like this,” He said, tapping his thumb against my cheek.

“What?”

“This,” He tapped his thumb again, “Face change colors. Like leaves.”

I put my hand on his huge wrist, thinking to push his away. But he deftly turned and caught my hand in his instead. Clutching it, he stroked the back of his knuckles down my jaw line, and took a small step closer. I swallowed apprehensively.

“I think,” he purred as he moved, and I craned my neck back to look up at him. “Does all skin change like this?” He brought my tiny hand up to his mouth, running my fingers over his huge lips thoughtfully. “Or just face?”

My cheeks burned hotter, spreading to the tips of my ears. I opened my mouth, but there was no reply forthcoming, so I simply had to shut it again. I was rewarded with another deep chuckle from somewhere in the depths of his throat, and I tried to pull my hand from his.

“Don’t you have more to do?” I asked, trying to distract him.

“No,” He replied, and I thought his voice sounded a little huskier, “Can wait tomorrow.”

“I thought-”

“Come,” He interrupted, his eyes suddenly lighting up, “I have gift. I show.”

“A gift?” I echoed, but he had already taken my hand back up and was leading me away.

He led the way to the edge of the camp, and pulled aside some of the fence as easily as parting grass to let me pass. There was a soft hoot in the distance, and he turned and waved to the guard as I hesitantly passed through. Then he followed me, letting the sticks snap back into place with a loud THWAP!

“W-where are we going?” I asked nervously, looking around. The shadows between the trees were already growing quite long, the trunks bathed in the sinking sunlight on one side.

He gave me a goofy, lopsided grin. “I show. You see.”

I sighed, relenting and letting him take my hand and lead me deeper into the forest. But I couldn’t help jumping at every twig snap and soft rustle. As the sun dropped so did the temperature, and I wasn’t sure we would have much daylight left at all. I regretted leaving my small cloak with Alo’aya as a chilly breeze brushed my bare skin. Yet still he pulled me along.

“Unvar?” I called to him, trying to keep my voice light, “It’s getting dark…”

“Soon.” He assured me.

A few moments later, he grunted eagerly and seemed to step a little faster. Then, we broke through a thick bush, and out into open air.

It was a meadow, with grass up to my chest. The amber stalks swayed lightly as a breeze swept through the place, rustling them together with a sound like a rain stick. A few birds chirped, swooping and diving overhead. It was peaceful, I decided, and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Come.”

I looked around at the sound of his voice. He waited for my gaze to settle on him again, having allowed me a moment to pause and look around.

He had dropped my hand and now made a path for us through the long stalks. Heading over to a large boulder near the center of the meadow, he hopped up its side with a grunt, sitting down on its top. I tilted my head all the way back to look up at him, and he gave me another small grin. Then reached down, offering me his hand again. When I placed my palm in his, he gave a powerful tug, and lifted me completely off the ground. Again, I found myself surprised how easy it was for him to simply pick me up whenever he wanted. But I caught my breath again as he eased me onto the rock beside him.

Settling with a few inches between us, I looked around. The last rays of the sunlight scraped over the tops of the long grass. And when the breeze swept through again, the copper tips looked like sparks of fire. The stone was cool against my skin, and I rubbed at my injured shoulder as I looked around. I watched quietly, still unsure why he had brought us here. I glanced anxiously back the way we had come, wondering how we would find our way in the dark.

“Is it safe here?” I asked him softly, almost afraid to disturb the peaceful silence of the meadow.

Unvar gave a soft grunt. “Yes. Is safe. I keep safe.” He assured me, patting the strap to his broadsword across his chest confidently. But his eyes were scanning the forest edge along the opposite side of the meadow.

I frowned, but did the same.

We sat in silence for a long time, next to each other but not touching. The sun’s light disappeared, and slowly overhead more and more stars twinkled to life. I liked this hour, when the day and night fought for control of the sky. Or perhaps it was much more tender than that. Perhaps it was more like the day giving into the beauty of the night with a soft sight. I let out my own breath in a sigh, still feeling tense. But watching the stars slowly appear in the sky was helping, despite the chill settling upon my shoulders.

Suddenly, I heard a soft sound, almost like a song. I turned, searching for its source. A delicate white glow caught my eye, and I stared as a creature slowly stepped out into the meadow.

It looked a little like a deer, but it was pure white and had much longer, thinner legs. Instead of a tuft of fur it dragged a long tail of feathers behind it on the ground, like a peacock. At first I thought it was a trick of the fading light, but then I realized that the creature really was glowing, ever so slightly. Like a white firefly, pulsing slightly with each timid step. It had soft golden eyes, huge in its delicate little head, and it turned slowly this way and that, looking around.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched it slowly inch out into the meadow. It paused a few feet from the forest’s edge and raised its head, flicking over-sized ears about. Then its tiny little mouth opened, and the strange song came out. Just a few notes, then it stopped, and looked around again.

A responding melody echoed from another part of the field, and I turned to watch another of the same creatures emerge. This one had not only a larger tail plumage than the first, but a radiant array of snow white antlers atop its head. The tip of each point glowed golden like its eyes, and it stepped out a few feet, then sang a note out to the other.

The first responded, and ventured out further. Suddenly, there was another note, from another part of the field. Before I knew it, there were half a dozen of the glowing white creatures, all slowly making their way to the center of the field. When they met, they nuzzled one another and cooed soft, melodic notes.

I stared, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. The moon was coming up over the crest of the horizon, and when one of the beasts next sang out, it seemed to shiver as it spread its tail wide. The tail rippled in iridescence, a thousand colors flashing like a rainbow across the white feathers. The creature pranced, shuffling its feathers about, then kicked out its heels.

Another of the creatures sang out, and it too spread its tail feathers. Again, I was astonished to see the myriad of colors rippling over the feathers. Flickering in and out of the white. The two began to sing, a beautiful melody in harmony. Soon, the others joined in, shaking out their own feathers. Some had a few feathers elsewhere on their body, and some had long trailing feathers that followed behind them like ribbons as they began to move.

They bounded and leaped in the air. Springing from the ground and up a few feet before landing gracefully a yard or two away to shake out their feathers again. Their song, hummed and sung in a wordless melody, rose like an eerie echo into the night sky. Dancing around the meadow in a mesmerizing display.

I managed to peel my eyes away finally to look over at Unvar. And found his copper eyes settled on my face. Surprised, I met his gaze, taking in the soft expression set amid the deep scars and rough lines. He seemed to be studying me again, watching me with as much captivation as I had been watching the strange, ethereal creatures in the field.

I was suddenly distinctly aware of the air moving in my throat, and heard my heart beating like a steady drum in my ears. It kept rhythm with the song in the meadow, but my eyes were following a different dance. The way the moonlight played in his copper eyes as he looked at me.

Finally, he gave me a small smile, then lifted one finger to his lips. I nodded, glancing back at the dance in the meadow. I watched as the creatures spun and twirled about each other, some of the colors of their tails seeming to trail in the air behind them like wisps of smoke.

I felt the thick fingers of his far hand move from his lap slowly to creep over mine on the boulder beside his leg. Inching into my palm, then slowly engulfing it into his own. I welcomed the warmth, but resisted the urge to look down at them, instead focusing on the show before us. Then I felt his other hand slowly slide around my waist, before he gently tugged my body. So I slid closer, half by my own will and half by his, until my pale leg touched his deep green one. I felt electricity zip through my skin as it did.

He rubbed his thumb against my bare skin there for a moment, but then scooped his arm under my opposite thigh. With a soft gasp, I suddenly found myself neatly tucked into his lap, one foot dangling off his leg, the other bent and nestled on top, with my shoulders against his chest. He took his hand cupped around mine and brought it to my own chest, squeezing my fingers gently as he enveloped me. His other hand wound snakelike around my waist, tucking back onto my opposite side.

Then he rested his chin against the top of my head and I felt him sigh. Contented. I found myself grateful for the warmth of his body, his cloak draped about both of us, as the night was becoming as cold as the one before. Amid the dancing creatures, small puffs of warm breath lingered in the air as they bounded about.

I realized my back was mostly bare, and it was my skin that touched his as I leaned back against him. I also realized at that moment, I didn’t really care; it felt strangely magical. And like we fit together as perfectly as two pieces of a puzzle. So I tucked myself into his broad chest and rested my free hand upon his thick arm about my middle. His thumb traced up and down on the skin of my waist, but it was almost as soothing as the creatures’ eerie song, and I let out my breath slowly, relaxing against him.

We watched the dazzling display quietly for a long time, simply tucked into each other’s embrace. Slowly though, the dancing died down, and the creatures seemed to pair off before going about the business of grazing on the long grasses. I felt my eyes growing heavy as I watched them, the moon slowly rising high into the sky overhead and bathing the meadow in a silvery light.

I felt Unvar shift behind me, and then felt his hot breath on my cheek. I turned slightly, blinking in a dreamy haze. He unwrapped one hand, placing it on my leg with the lightest of touches.

“Li’un ma shkio…” He murmured against my ear, nuzzling it gently.

“Bel kadan?” I predicted, a small smile slipping onto my lips.

His chuckle rumbled in his chest behind me. “Ma shkio hil’un gishta manuk.”

I shook my head, unsure of his words. He nibbled on my earlobe, and I suppressed a giggle, curling away from him slightly.

“I show? Ha’fu?” He asked, his lips still against my ear.

My breath hitched in my chest and my pulse raced at his request. I hesitated for a long moment, unsure, then nodded, feeling suddenly bold. His hand on my thigh slowly began to move up, until it reached the edge of my skirt. He paused there, then traced its edge. After a few tantalizing seconds, he slipped his fingers under and then further up.

My skin raced with electricity, and I quivered as his large hand moved up my leg. He slowed near my inner thigh, gently massaging the tender flesh there. I drew in my breath a little sharply, then tried to force myself to let it out. But it came in a huff.

“Kas’shta mil’un ma,” He whispered soothingly into my ear.

I tried to relax again, but his strong fingers had me quivering. He stayed at my inner thigh, massaging and rubbing. Waiting patiently, I assumed, for me to be ready for more. I wasn’t sure I could be, even though his touch sent ripples of warmth shooting through my body. He squeezed my hand in his, and I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“Mil’ma, kish’ik nun manuk,” He murmured, “ Mah’un de, Bal th’ez uk man’dwe.”

Even though I wasn’t sure what he was saying, I still found a strange comfort in the deep, rumbling words. Combined with his gentle touch, they sounded like he was reassuring me. Telling me he would do nothing I wasn’t ready for. I felt them forming in his chest through my back, and the way they whispered forth into my ear had a shiver of delight running down my spine. I nervously squeezed his hand, reaching up my free hand to cup his cheek by mine.

“Li’un ma shkio bel kadan.”

I turned without hesitation, oddly pleased to have a request I wanted to grant, and found his lips waiting. He pressed them against mine, then nipped at my lower lip with his powerful teeth. I opened my mouth willingly, and he slipped his large tongue in. His hand cupping mine dropped it to reach up and bury itself in my hair instead. Now free, I turned a little more, sliding my palm over his chest.

His hand under my skirt slid too as I moved, and adjusted from front to back. Instead of my thigh, he rubbed at my ass now, squeezing the cheek firmly in his massive hand. I found that easier to bear, but no less tantalizing, and turned to face him. He growled softly against my lips, and scooped my legs off to one side before returning his hand to massage my ass again. With more ease to move about, I slid my hand over his thick arms, then down his chest, tracing my fingers over the top of the furs on his abdomen. I lingered there, even daring to curl my fingers around the edge of his armor and feel the warm skin underneath.

Using his hand buried in my hair to pull me out of the kiss, he then tugged gently to angle my head back. With my neck thus exposed, he bent down and began to lick and kiss it. I slid my hand to the base of his skull, and twirled my fingers about his braids as he moved his mouth down my neck. The way his tusks lightly scraped my skin as he did left my head spinning, and I let out a little sigh of pleasure. The sound had his chest rumbling against me, and he worked his way slower down to the hollow of my neck. His teeth skimmed over my collar bones, his hot tongue playing with the soft skin there. He slid his hand out of my hair to rest between my shoulder blades and pulled me closer so he could better lap at my skin.

“Unvar,” I breathed, feeling a little dizzy.

His responding growl rumbled both in his chest under my fingers and through the lips pressed to my skin. He squeezed my ass again, then continued rubbing it gently with his thick fingers.

“Unvar,” I said again, a little more persistent.

“Hakan bashta ma nu d’hisa. I like when you say my name,” He growled against my skin.

The sensation sent goosebumps racing around my body, and I suppressed a little moan. I shook my head slightly, trying to rid myself of the dizziness.

“We… we should go back,” I breathed, but closed my eyes in harsh contradiction to my own words, “It's… getting… late… “

He growled again, his meaning quite clear. Why did it matter? I hesitated myself, wondering. Why did it matter? Why not just stay with him as long as I wanted, letting him kiss and explore my body? I felt a little heat rise to my cheeks at the thought, and felt a little embarrassed for my sudden desire for him. But it felt right. And I wanted it. I craved his touch like a person craves water to drink.

The numbness of my toes in my boots and the chilled breeze on the small of my back reminded me what had pulled me from my trance in the first place though. I shivered, and this time not from pleasure.

Unvar seemed to sense the same reasoning, and leaned back slowly. He nipped at my chin, then tilted my head back down to kiss me squarely on the lips again, sliding his hand to cup my cheek as he did. I let out a heavy breath as he pulled out of it, and my eyes stayed hooded as I looked at him.

“J’tsu kun ma ha’an,” He told me softly, a small smirk playing over his thick lips, “We take bed.”

Scooping me up with one arm under my knees and one around my shoulders, he slid down the side of the boulder. I gave a small ‘eep!’ of surprise at our brash descent, but with his knees bent to absorb the impact, I hardly felt the landing at all.

At some point the magical beasts had disappeared back into the forest, so we were alone as we turned and made our own way back to where we had come from. I wrapped my arms around Unvar’s thick neck and sighed, resting my head against his chest. Breathing in his scent.

I didn’t mean to, but the gentle sway of his long stride and the warmth of his skin against my cheek lulled me. I soon drifted off to sleep.

---

UPDATE: Part Eight HERE

#orc boyfriend #monster boyfriend #orc #OC #li'un ma shkio #exophilia #terato #slow burn #romance #budding romance

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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For Those I Love — For Those I Love (September Recordings)

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There’s the Ireland you know. Leprechauns and pan flutes and weathered Celtic crosses and Joyce and Beckett and U2 and Aer Lingus and wistful stories of Charles Parnell and corned beef and cabbage and Kerrygold butter and potatoes, endless potatoes except in the famine, and Guinness and Jameson and names like Sean and Brian and Roisin and Siobhan and hurling and faded IRA murals and St. Patrick driving all the snakes out and Grian Chatten’s fuckin’ diddly-diddly-aye and a great green sweeping countryside washing out to the ocean.

Then there’s the other Ireland, the real one the tourism board doesn’t touch.

The one in the study that showed 49% of women reported being sexually assaulted or harassed, that 31% of adults experienced sexual harassment, that 15% have admitted to being raped at some point. Sex offenses on the rise, residential burglaries on the rise, public drunkenness on the rise, and all of that was before the pandemic. And somebody has to make up that 5.16% unemployment. For a nation it takes five hours to drive one end of the other in, there’s more than enough of the roughest stuff to make hard hearts of the softest souls — and it’s that Ireland, lacerated and flush with those scraping by to the tune of everyday strains, which serves as the backdrop to David Balfe’s nine-track therapy session and debut full-length under the For Those I Love name.

The entire project is fueled by the suicide of Balfe’s best friend. It helps to know that Balfe’s friend in question also happened to be one of Ireland’s most celebrated young poets and performers, Paul Curran. Before his passing in 2018, the songwriter and vocalist from post-punk band Burnt Out was an outspoken advocate of working class youth identity and the forces conspiring against it. “Dear James,” to take the band’s best example (and one that gets namechecked on For Those I Love), was itself a true story about a teen’s public suicide in the early 2000s. “The pressure of merit, valid work, social status and identity” were at the root of Curran’s art. It’s no different with Balfe: Every one of these songs is shot through with local flavor shedding light on similar experiences, most of them painful.

Some of what you hear on For Those I Love cropped up in cruder, briefer forms across the 47-minute mixtape/hodgepodge Into a World That Doesn’t Understand It, Unless You’re From It posted to Bandcamp in August ahead of “For Those I Love” the single — if nothing else, David’s certainly made his intentions clear — which arrived fully formed both musically and visually the following month. So proves the rest: Written and recorded out back at night in his mom’s shed in Donaghmede north of Dublin’s city center, For Those I Love is a wonderfully open-hearted portrayal of young Ireland akin to contemporaries Fontaines D.C. or the Murder Capital.

The method by which he conveys that perspective, however, shares almost nothing in common with those bands. Indeed, the most jarring aspect of For Those I Love might be the music itself: Balfe talks his way through stories and rarely rises above a quiet flooded monotone of weighty thoughts that runs itself dry irrespective of the track beneath it, which often strikes an optimistic note, a positive tone, an upbeat figure. He’s already been slapped with the “Irish Streets” billing, but his homespun productions are a little richer than Mike Skinner’s and wouldn’t sound out of place at an EDM festival or a Night Slugs party a decade ago, full of post-Burial long synth decays, atmospheric vocal samples and house rhythms as the bedrock for his eulogies.

Take “You Stayed / To Live,” which resembles a Caribou castaway as Balfe describes stealing and setting fire to a couch (possibly the one from the “Dear James” video), then veers into a digression about their younger years hanging at each other’s houses, playing in a band and how fire reminds him of Curran now. “To Have You” is similar, assuming the dynamics of a big room build-up with huge piano strikes, thumping kick drum and, improbably, a sample of Bread’s “Everything I Own”; Balfe’s vocals, meanwhile, wrestle with the instrumentation. It’s not always clear exactly what he’s saying (and not just because of the brogue), but you get the point, understand the message.

“Top Scheme” is comfortably the shortest song on the record at less than three minutes, but it’s also the most aggressive. Balfe notches up the intensity by giving the state a proper goodnight/fuck off flip of the fingers. “How can we not feel this rage / When the therapy costs more than half your wage / And you’re turfed back out the same that very day?” Though he doesn’t always go for the throat of the system outright, it permeates all his and his ilk’s tortured actions.

Balfe is at his best when the beats match the gravitas of the subject matter. “The Shape of You” is a raw heartbeat where the music perfectly matches a lighter tale of wasted youth waking up to a Belgian hospital and the joking romp it took to get him back home; its extended outro, better even than the occasional recorded interstitials between tracks, serves as a space to collect yourself. Along with “Birthday / The Pain” (whose Finn remix, it’s worth noting, eclipses the original in its ebullience), it might be the most uplifting song here. The latter is an ode to surviving a world fraught with violence, but it’s the unexpected brass sample that slides in like a herald announcing love’s arrival that really catches you out.

Yet for all of that, there is still no better song to explain what For Those I Love is about than the title-track. It was a smart move to close the album with “Leave Me Not Love,” which interpolates the opener and brings things full circle, but the wordplay at work as Balfe elevates Curran’s memory to nigh holy status remains the album’s best. You can feel the anguish in his own muted way as he runs back through face guards, grief and knaves talking tunes and poems with too much weight for his age. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more open wound in music over the past year.

There have been times when I’ve, say, longed for a good crumb cake and my mom has commented on how it was one of my grandfather’s favorites, or I catch myself watching thermite welding videos on YouTube a little too long and remember I’m my father’s son. A person isn’t just who they are, it’s what they pass on to the rest of us, the little quirks and the stories we tell ourselves to remember who we’ve lost and who we’re losing. Both are inevitable. “I have a love and it’s full of pain” go the last lines of For Those I Love, but I say they’re indistinguishable, that you couldn’t know the grace of one without the other’s suffering. That’s how you know it’ll never fade. Tell all your friends, I’d say.

Patrick Masterson

#For Those I Love #september recordings #patrick masterson #albumreview #dusted magazine #dublin #ireland #house #poetry

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lilyharvord · 4 years ago

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Song of the Phoenix Part 7

WHoa, it’s been a haut minute since I updated this fic. But now it’s gonna be fun. We meet some new characters and they are very important.

Find Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6

tag list: @evangelineartemiasamos @mareshmallow @redqueenetwork @farleydiana @whatsup-gorls @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday

(/Coriane/) I don’t remember falling asleep, nor do I remember them stopping and switching out the person guarding us. My head bumps the back of the truck as we stop though and I snap awake, thinking everything must have been a dream that I’m going to wake up from and laugh at how silly the whole thing was.

My heart beats erratically as I take in the darkness in the back of the truck. Mare is unnaturally still next to me. Braving the silent stone, I reach through the net to touch her shoulder. “Mare?” I whisper to her, but she doesn’t move. Her eyes are open though, and I can see the whites of them in the darkness. Whatever has happened to her though, she is not recovering from it.

“Mare?” I whisper her name again, panic rising into my tone. Outside of the truck I can hear people approaching the back. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even seem to breathe. The man in the back of the truck with us watches carefully. He scans the way Mare lies still as death, and how I frantically try to wake her. She’s the physical weak link, but I’m something far worse.

“Please,” I choke to her when that thought passes through my head. I don’t know how much good it will do though. If she didn’t respond to me before, pleading with her won’t change anything.

Four people with lanterns appear. In the weak light cast by one of them, I can see that two of them are huge men, and two of them are women. They look us over for a few minutes, and the silence stretches until I wasn’t to scream. One of the women huffs though and says, “I thought you said they were important?”

“The one in the net is, you idiot. That one’s Mare Barrow.”

“I don’t recall her being important.”

“You know! Mare Barrow, The Little Lightning Girl, the girl that brought down the King of Norta.” He says it and spits to the side, as if the words are poison in his mouth.

My stomach flips in surprise, and I tense before slowly drawing my hand away from Mare. The woman who had asked the initial question looks me over before stepping into the truck and holding the lantern up to my face. She has a thick scar that drags from her temple down to the middle of her cheek. I dont want to know how or where she got it.

I shy away from her as she edges closer and sneers. “This one looks pathetic.”

Something in me shrieks in protest, but I do the thing I’ve always been good at, and drop my eyes in shame. She snickers at my reaction and says, “Bring them out then. He’ll take a look at them and tell us what to do.”

Scar face grabs my arm and drags me toward the end of the truck bed. I tug against her hold, and try to fumble over the right words to say to her. She laughs at my attempts and tosses me out on to the ground. I catch myself on my hands and knees, and scratch up my palms on dry grasses. She drops with catlike grace to land behind me, her hand latching onto the collar of my shirt. I glare at her over my shoulder and say, “You won’t get—”

“Don’t try to tell me that, we’ve got you hundreds of miles away from Ascendant. Your best bet sweet thing, is to keep your mouth shut.” She says with a rapier sharp grin before grabbing my arm as well and dragging me to my feet. I feel like a small animal being manhandled.

A thud behind me make me turn around though. The two men sneer down at Mare in the net before smirking at each other and dragging her like a fresh catch behind them.

“Don’t let them hurt her, she’s injured already, please.” I plead, but the woman simply huffs at my words and tugs me back around to get me moving again. I try to protest her hold but she grips my arm so tight it feels like the bone is going to break. Strongarm, I realize, when I see the veins sticking out in her forearm. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows in the heat, but she walks like it doesn’t bother her. My mouth feels like its had cotton shoved in it, and already i beads of sweat run down my back.

In the darkness in front of me, I see a set of fires. As we approach them, the tops of massive tents come into focus. The shadows dance on the edge of them, and my stomach rebels as I remember the stories Jessabel used to tell us about slavers who took women that wandered the streets at night and turned them into meat or something worse. I bucked immediately at the thought. Scar sneers and spits, “Come on, you’re worse than a spooked deer.”

She drags me into the middle of the encampment, and people peel out of their tents, looking at us in surprise. I spot dirty children clutching their mother’s legs, and young men trying to stand to the front and look tough. A village, this was a village of sorts. That eases my panic a bit. At least I’m not about to be pit on a spit and roasted for tomorrow’s lunch.

My attention is immediately grabbed by what is in front of me. In the center of the camp is a massive gold and red tent. There are two guards stationed outside of the entrance and they immediately dive inside as we approach.

Scar face pauses in front of it before kicking the back of my knees to bring me to a kneel. She grabs my wrists and binds them with a worn piece of leather before pulling the knot so tight my skin barks in protest. Pinching my face against the pain, I watch her disappear into the tent as well.

Mare is dropped next to me and the men continue to stand behind her like she might try to get up. Her eyes are open though, and they finally seem to be in the present because she looks around sluggishly.

“Mare,” I hiss her name, testing my bonds weakly. One of the men kicks my side, hissing, “Quiet!” 

“Forin, let’s not kick our guests.”

I turn my eyes in the direction of the new speaker. He steps out from inside the tent with Scar Face. He’s young, goodness he can’t be older than Cal. In the firelight, his copper hair and grey eyes cut an imposing figure. He’s dressed like the rest of the soldiers in what could be a ragged uniform. Even in that uniform though, I can tell he is some form of nobility. The way he stands, the way his eyes slowly drag over me scream court trained. Perhaps I can get through to him, make him understand that everything is a mistake and he should release us.

He steps toward me, the fire light bringing his handsome features into focus. His eyes never leave mine as he asks, “Reece tells me that you’re a whisperer, is this true?”

I purse my lips, and swallow my answers, deciding that I want to be stubborn. Forin, one of the men that dragged Mare, hisses and grabs me by my hair so tightly it makes me shriek in pain. “He asked you a question!”

The new comer does not step to my defense again, instead he watches me with narrowed eyes. My own water as Forin digs his fingers deeper into my scalp until I whimper. “No! I’m a singer!”

“A singer?” He asks in disbelief, and I nod weakly, even though that causes more pain to explode across my scalp. I crane my neck to try and relieve some of the pressure on my head before choking, “Yes, I can… I can only make you do what I want if I sing and make eye contact.”

“There aren’t many singers in the country Sire, the only one that I know of is the one in Ascendant. The one Kels told us about.” Scar face speaks from behind him, her massive arms crossing across her chest. He nods in response and that spark of familiar information makes me cry, “My brother! That’s my brother!”

Scar face laughs at my outburst, her eyes glinting wickedly in the dim light. “Please, your lies are pathetic.”

“His name is Julian, he’s my brother!” I argue, only for my words to be cut off as Forin squeezes my hair again.

“Enough of your lies, you little snake.” His grip tightens to the point that I release a strangled cry of pain. Next to me, Mare groans and the other guard launches himself on top of her, pressing her face into the ground. She can barely move, and they think she can fight them all off? How powerful do they think she is?

The man holds his hand up in a silent order. Forin grumbles, his grip loosening until he drops my head. I let myself fall forward until my forehead is resting in the dirt, while I sob softly. I was as useless as a rock. Actually, I was more useless than that, you could at least throw a rock and hurt someone. I was more like a petal. Maybe not ever that, because petals could be poisonous. Elara had always been right about me. I was weak, pathetic, and useless.

The dirt near me crunches and slowly someone crouches down. I shy away from their touch, wanting to just curl up in a ball and disappear into the darkness again.

“Get her inside, take the other one to the shed and lock her in there. Keep the net on her. We can’t have any accidents.”

“Sire!” Forin cries, but the silence that follows his exclamation tells me that there will be no argument. Strong hands grab my arms and yank me to my feet before dragging me forward toward the tent. I flip my head around and watch as two new soldiers grab Mare and drag her in the opposite direction. “Wait,” I choke, as I try to pull away and go after her. Where are they taking her? Where is the Shed? Are they going to torture her?

I’m forced forward and through my tears, I can see the young man pulling the tent flap of the massive tend aside and disappearing inside ahead of us. I takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brighter interior, and I squint as I look over my surroundings. The interior seems to so out of place with where we are. Beautiful mahogany furniture decotates the space, with books and maps stacked on every available space. In the face corner, almost hidden behind everything is a small cot with a gas lamp on a crate.

The guards leave me standing and take hesitant steps back on a silent order I assume comes from the young man standing before us. A second later though, he whispers, “leave us.”

There is a soft hiss from Scar Face, but she follows the order nonetheless. I quiver as she passes by me, her grumbles clearly audible under her breath. The tent flap slides into place and we’re left in silence. The only thing I can hear is the soft drumming of fingers on a desk. I keep my eyes on my bound hands though, terrified of looking up.

“What is your name?”

I tense and shake my head in response to the question. The drumming stops, and I hold my breath until it continues again. We remain in silence, until his voice fills it. He’s still carefully guarded, but softer when he speaks. “I will give you mine then. We’re cut from the same cloth and you deserve my name at least.”

I bring my eyes up, just enough to look at him through my lashes. He’s standing behind a massive mahogany desk, littered with papers, books, and a few almost nonexistent candles that are lit. Julian would be disgusted at the candle wax that has leaked onto the covers of the faded volumes.

He comes from behind the desk slowly, and I take a step back in fear, but he pauses at the front of the desk and leans against it. With a slight dip of his head, he says, “My name is Proteus Valazt, and I am the king of the Raiders.”

That draws my eyes and a slight incline of my head. He nods with me and then says, “Yours now, it’s only fitting. I’m sure you’re not versed in the court etiquette—“

“My name is Coriane Jacos, and I …” I trail off, hesitant to say my title, wondering if it would make things worse for me if I told him. He raises a brow expectantly, and I drop my eyes and head again. “It doesn’t matter what I was.”

He shrugs, as if the information truly doesn’t matter. He turns to one of the candles behind him and says, “Do you understand that you are our hostage?” 

“I understand that in war there are certain rules to hostages. You are not harm them for one.”

He chuckles darkly and raises his eyes to me with a smile that the shadows play in. “We’re not at war with Montfort. They are at war with us.”

Narrowing my eyes in confusion, I watch the rapid, mercurial change to his features. I’ve told lies, I know what they look like on people’s faces. I’d schooled my face to hide the unhappiness underneath my skin for years. I know all the tells.   If he realized that he’s given me knowledge about himself, he doesn’t show it, instead he gracefully makes his way back behind the desk and sinks into the chair. He watches me carefully until I say softly, “You don’t believe that.”

His expression changes immediately from confident, to surprised, to composed. He’s young and hasn’t completely learned how to control those changes in his expression. I blink at him and he leans back in his chair, and brings his fist up to support his chin. It takes a moment for him to realized that I am more than just another silver, I have been in a court somewhere, and I know the games, at least some of them.

“Who are you?” He asks carefully again. I shake my head and drop my eyes.

“Forgive me, I’ve overstepped,” I try to back pedal, my fear that he’ll figure out the truth coming through. He narrows his eyes and says, “You’ve served in a court, I want to know which one.”

There was no harm in leaving him with a little information, not enough to gain the truth though. “I lived in the Nortian court for a while.” I give the piece willingly, and his eyes narrow even further.

“My father helped a princess from the Lakelander court a few years ago. She came bringing words of peace, and a promise that the King of Norta was going to help us conquer Montfort. Here we are years later though, missing a king, and lacking support.”

“I’m not that support.” I murmur, and he laughs with a shake of his head at my response.

“I don’t need to see to know that.”

He rises from his chair, settling into his new position in the conversation. I move away from him as he walks passed me and digs through the drawers for something behind me. When he returns, it’s with a knife. I pull back in horror, but he grabs my wrists and holds me in place. He’s considerably taller than me, and has no problem manhandling me.

“No, wait, please—“ I cry, closing my eyes and tensing until I feel the metal between my wrists and hear the near silent snip of the knife cutting through leather. I crack open my eyes and watch him slowly saw at the bonds on my wrists. He works in silence, the callouses on his fingers rubbing against my skin as he does so.

The leather falls away and I pull my wrists to my chest, rubbing at them softly, trying to sooth the skin. He slips the knife into the holster on his belt, and watches me carefully back away into a corner of the tent, trying to put distance between us. He sits on the edge of the desk again in response, staring at me before saying, “If we succeeded in our effort to over throw Montfort, I would need to know how to function on the political stage. So, my father made me memorize all the kings and queens growing up. There was a singer queen in Norta.”

My stomach plummets to my knees and I swallow past the sandpaper feeling in my throat. I can’t speak though. Not as he crosses his arms comfortably and says, “Coriane Jacos, the Singer Queen, that’s what they called her. The rumor was that she whispered honey in the prince’s ear and he married her within the week.”

I want to argue in my defense, but I simply press deeper into the shadows, trying to hide. He won’t let me though, his words light fireworks, igniting my past and showing exactly who I am.

“She gave birth to a son, Tiberias Calore the Seventh. She died a year later, and a Whisper Queen took the throne in her place.”

“Please—“

“So who are you Coriane Jacos? A queen, a singer, or a corpse?”

My skin crawls at the last word and I whisper, “Nothing, I am nothing.”

“No one is nothing,” he reasons, and looks down at his boots, his lip curling for a moment in distaste. I wish more than anything that I were a Haven, so that I could blend into the shadows and disappear forever.

“You’re one of the Living Dead, aren’t you?” He asks the next part softly. My reaction brings a smile to his features, and he says, “Yes, we have them too. They’re growing in number, rising as fast as they die. In fact… my scouts were reporting a change in the weather as you were being brought here. The men I lost in the battle might just walk into this camp tomorrow morning.”

I wheeze for breath, remembering Mare’s words from earlier. They shouldn’t have this many men, their numbers were too great.

“Do you know why it’s happening?” I whisper breathlessly, and his eyes widen in surprise, before he shakes his head infinitesimally.

“Do you?”

I shake my head in reply, stepping out of the corner just slightly. His lips draw into a tight line, as he replies, “It’s not stopping anytime soon though.”

I hesitant to take another step forward, drawn in by the conversation, and say, “Montfort might know something. The Premier… she might know something.”

He sneers at the mention of Rori, but his next comment is cut off by Scar face returning, almost out of breath. She looks between the two of us, and then spots the leather strap on the floor. Her eyes narrow a fraction of an inch before she looks up and says, “It’s Harv, he’s almost left us.”

Proteus is up in seconds and starts for the exit to the tent. He freezes before turning to look at me, as if he just remembered I was there. I try to press myself back into the shadows, but I have a feeling I will never be able to hide from him. “Grab her, Doria. She cant stay here.”

Doria crosses the space to me, and I try to put up a fight, but she wrestles me into movement. I don’t dare drag my feet, not now that Proteus has cut my bonds. That was a quiet blessing, and I want to think that it’s a promise of some sort. I’m not sure of what yet though.

I’m dragged through the camp, which seems to have resumed some resemblance of nighttime activity. The children run around the camp fires, shouting and making up games as they go. Elders hush them, and other younger members chatter. But they all bow their heads when Proteus walks by. A hush seems to follow him too. I remember that hush, it makes my skin crawl now, just like it used to when I walked next to Tibe through the crowds.

He pushes a tent flap aside, which has a massive swath of red paint across the front of it. Doria pushes me inside, and I struggle against her grip, and then against the bile that rises in my throat at the stench. I gag, and choke for a second, while my eyes adjust to the limited light. Next to my feet a woman groans, her body covered in white boils that ooze. I back up into Doria’s chest, trying to put distance between myself and the woman on the ground. Another one to my right groans though, a child from the looks of it, who face is covered in so many of the boils that it doesn’t even look human anymore.

Doria pushes me to the back, and the further we go, the worse it gets. There are no sounds back here, the people here are the ones closest to death. Here are the people praying for it to end.

Proteus pauses above a young man and slowly drops to his knees, his facade cracking as he does so. I can barely hear the wheeze of the man’s breaths. His eyelids are swollen shut with the boils, and his body shakes with every exhale. Proteus reaches a hand out only for a nurse to hurry over and whisper, “Your Majesty, I’m sorry, but you can’t--”

His hand hovers over the man’s skin for a moment and he whispers, “Harv, can you hear me?”

The man doesn’t move, and the nurse bends down to whisper something in Proteus’s ear, her voice gentle. She’s not a healer though, or else the people in here would not be this sick. Surely they have a healer though?

One of the boils pops when Harv opens his mouth and a yellow pus oozes out. I gag and turn to rush from the tent. Doria lets me go, her fingers trailing on my arm. I barely make it out of the tent before I’m sick. A few people look up from nearby, and pull their children away. I lean against one of the poles, trying to catch my breath. I’d never seen anything like that. Not even in the worst of the red villages. Then again, I’d never gone that deep into them. Mare might know more, she said she grew up in the Stilts. It was the poorest, I knew that much.

A while after I finish vomiting, Doria and Proteus emerge from the tent. I look up, and Proteus glances down at me in surprise, as if he was shocked I was even still standing there. Then his eyes harden and he orders, “Take her to one of the tents, have them burn her clothes, and wash her. I won’t let one of my hostages die.” 

Doria nods and grabs my arm before dragging me away and toward another one of the tents at the edge of the encampment. A few women sitting outside of it stroking a small fire look up when she approaches with me. They rise as one, and look me over before pulling the tent flap aside. I can’t even bring myself to protest as they drag me inside. (////)

Hours later, after I’ve been scrubbed raw and doused in oils and soaps until I smell like a perfume parlor, the tent flap shifts. The ladies brushing my hair pull back in surprise and bow their heads deeply. I glance up in the shockingly clean mirror to see Proteus standing behind me.

“Out, all of you.” He orders, but he almost doesn’t need to. The minute the first word leaves his mouth, they are rushing to leave, whispering like birds as they flee. I straighten my shoulders as he approaches me from behind, internally I tremble. I have no idea what his ability is. He’s too lean to be a strong am, but that wouldn’t stop him from being anything else. Tightening my hands into fists on the thin fabric of the robe they gave me, I demand, “What was that?”

He sinks into one of the chairs in this tent, his eyes closing almost instantly. “We don’t have a name for it.”

Information, no bonds, and he sits in my presence like this? I truly am next to nothing in where threats are concerned. I didn’t feel like a hostage though. What was his end game?

“Where are your healers?”

“Died first.” He exhales before tilting his head down and opening his eyes again. My mouth goes dry at the words. I must pale considerably, because when he continues, it’s softly, “It’s not airborne, that’s all we know. It’s spread through contact. But we can never be too careful.” That explains the loss of the healers. They would have had to touch the people they were healing.

He looks bone tired in that position, and so very young. I remember Cal telling me that he was king for a day, and that it had been miserable. I wonder if this is what he had looked like during that day.

“What are you going to do with me and Mare?”

His lips twist in distaste. “I don’t know.”

“What would you trade us for?” I ask softly as I turn on the stool to face him. His eyes glint before he smiles ruefully and says, “An end to Montfort. They forced my people out, sent us into these hideous plains to try and eke out a living. All because we refused to bow to their will.”

“Their will is good. The people are free, there is no hatred and…”

“You didn’t look hard enough. There is hatred. It’s there, but it’s rooted deeply and hidden carefully.”

My lips draw into a tight line. It’s a poor excuse, and a poor argument. He probably has never even seen Montfort. If his father, and his father before him had been forced out. His hatred is breed in him. He probably doesn’t even truly believe in fighting this little campaign. “They could help you,” I whisper, “they could send healers… people to help.”

“Their healers would die just like ours did.”

“Not the ones like Mare… the Ardents. They’re stronger than silvers.”

He raises a brow at my words as I stand slowly and take a hesitant step toward him. “Trade us for healers, for medicine, and food, and water. Trade us to save your people, not chasing an ideal.” I have no idea if this will work, if he will listen to me. I’ve seen a glimmer of the truth beneath his façade though. He does not want this lofty goal that he claims to serve. He wants something else. I don’t need to be a whisper to see that.

He raises a brow at me, his expression searching for ground before he says softly, “I can see why your people loved you Coriane Jacos.”

I reel in surprise. My people had never loved me. They had feared me, and they had feared my ability. Even then, they never saw me. I had been Queen, but I had been a shadow. I barely made appearances. I wish I had though. I wish I had been stronger. That I could have found it in myself to be happy. Maybe I could have been there for Cal, maybe Elara would have never dug her claws into Tibe. I could have had strength and power. I just wasn’t strong enough to pretend.

I crouch down slowly and reach for his hand. He starts when I take it gently and whisper, “You have the chance to save your people. Trade us for what you need to save them.”

For a moment, I think he actually contemplates my words. His lips draw into a tight line a heartbeat later though, while his brows draw together. Yanking his hand from mine and rising from the chair, he growls, “You couldn’t possibly understand what has happened. My father lost his life fighting for our people to live once more. I will not be the one to let him die in vain.”

He storms out of the tent, leaving me dumbfound. Rising quickly from the dirt though, I rush for the entrance after him. When I reach it, Doria steps inside. She catches me, and pushing me backwards so that I have to catch myself on the vanity.

“Running away little song bird?”

I have no response. She chuckles at my silence, and takes Proteus’ place in the chair. Pulling out a knife to pick at her nails and cuticles, she says, “Proteus is too kind to you just because you’re silver. He should lock you up in that shed with the Red devil.”

The mention of Mare brings my head around so I can glare at her. “Where is she? What have you done to her?”

Smirking at my words, Doria looks up from her nails to say, “Nothing she didn’t deserve.”

My blood runs cold as I try to advance on her, stuttering over my threats. Before I can truly reach her though, she leaps to her feet and grabs my wrists. I yelp as she squeezes tight enough that my bones feel like they will shatter. She practically presses her nose to mine as she hisses, “Try to bewitch my king with your little songs, and I will find a hole in these plains and bury you so deep you won’t be able to dig yourself out when you return.”

She throws me backwards onto the mess of blankets that make up the bed. I scramble to right myself, and watch as she sinks back into the chair. She goes back to picking at her nails, and even though her eyes aren’t on me, I know that she is aware of my every move. If she stays here tonight, I doubt I’ll get any sleep, which leaves me with plenty of time to start planning an escape.

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