#they drew it out of their own volition i swear
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doodle/meme dump from rk + beetle
#the not talking comic is based on a real convo between me n beetle.... the last three are my favorite. beetle draws the best foods#THE LAST THREE WERE FORCED OUT OF ME. IM A HOSTAGE. HELP - beetle#they drew it out of their own volition i swear#NO I DID NOT - beetle#shhhhhhh shhhhhhhh sh#tsp#stanarrator#the stanley parable
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OCT 8 - VOLITION
Hold yourself together. Keep your Morale up.
I had to resize this image 3 times to get tumblr to take it... it is also past midnight here, but the day change doesn't really count if I haven't gone to sleep yet, so :)
Volition. My love. my favourite skill. please enjoy. I also drew the volitions of some of my mutuals!! because I love you guys and your volitions very much (holding them gently in my hands). hopefully you guys dont mind and I didn't mess them up too badly
anyway. uhm. I'm much too tired to write anything super coherent right now. please write tags for me or write comments so I can see them when I wake up haha
and! there is a LOT under the cut. like, way more than any of the other days. it is giant. be very careful expanding it <3
ok here goes... I'm typing shorter ones out and screenshotting big ones
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VOLITION - Stop, you're only making it worse for him -- you never help with *anything*.
- Rare volition being rude to other skills!!! it only happens under pressure, too
KIM KITSURAGI - "What else could she have done? Lie? She saw there was no way to lie and get away with it."
DRAMA - You would have caught it.
VOLITION - Like hell you would have -- remember?
- you tell him volition!!
SUGGESTION - What is *wrong* with you? Why did you ask to be connected to her? Who *does* that?! Act professional now.
VOLITION - *You* told him to do that stupid thing...
- rare volition callout!!
YOU - Can I trust that guy?
VOLITION - A little. They're all still of limited use, interpreting things to the best of their ability. Maybe they add flair or something? I wouldn't know. I don't add flair.
- this is one of my favs haha. you don't need flair, love, it's ok
VOLITION - Ouch.... That's like twenty points of pride-damage right there, buddy.
- This is after Sylvie turns you down to get coffee. (and you do suffer a point of morale damage haha). him calling you buddy is so funny. it's always mildly condescending too!
- here's the other two:
VOLITION - You're no titan of Volition, buddy. He's got you in a fork. Sit down or leave.
VOLITION - You're a little more moralist now, buddy. A little more *normal*. Even if you didn't want to be.
YOU - "Cryptid extravaganza? I like the sound of that."
KIM KITSURAGI - "And I *don't*. Just one."
VOLITION - Or he'll be *disappointed* in you.
ENCYCLOPEDIA - Whooh... tough choice there.
- volition knows it's truly the most terrible thing haha
VOLITION - An enormous expenditure of willpower to build up strategic semen reserves? You had me at *willpower*. Let's do it!
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Life is all about pleasure... why deny it?!
- these two are hilarious. poor echem. but also volition, honey, nono...
- the game implies consequences when increasing your skills too high but you don't see it with all of them. Volition's one you don't really see much downside to, but you can just. Imagine it here. Him pressuring you to do something stupid, just for the sake of it being difficult. Surely that's not healthy??
- I do think Volition has a lot of issues. I'll get into some more of them later though!!
- but just... Harry wanting to do something that *is* a test of willpower and Volition is completely uninterested. But the semen retention thing is okay? sigh
- and then after that, he's just like. nope. we're not going to not swear :)
- he's so stupid sometimes. also it's absolutely hilarious to me that you can pick the "..." option over and over and Volition will match it forever. You simply cannot out-will your own willpower. It's just not possible.
- I actually live for Volition being the singular voice of reason. Look at the others all chiming in!!
- this one too, Volition being the only one trying to stop it! Why are they all piling on?? Composure not you too >:(
- I had excessively high Volition *and* Pain Threshold in my first run and the two of them!!! PT gets very self destructive at high levels, so seeing the relentless push and pull of PT and Volition was so good.
- This line from the description -> "Cool for: Sane People, Well-Adjusted Cops, The Non-Suicidal" yes it's cool for them, sure, but it's incredibly!!! important for NOT these people! Because Volition doesn't make you sane, or well-adjusted, or non-suicidal. He's just the one voice of reason in there trying to veer you away from making irreversibly bad decisions.
VOLITION - She tries to hide it, but some *great doubt* is spreading within her. There is a crown slowly cracking above her head.
- I need to talk about this line. Just. Volition acknowledging the existence of Joyce's own Volition (which he refers to as a crown!!!) cracking! the *great doubt* spreading and cracking apart the crown! hghh I live for any and every depiction of volition cracking apart when morale gets low and this is absolutely one of them.
AUTHORITY - Weren't you warned to *not* go down this path?! And yet you *still* go and do it...
VOLITION - Just because you *can* doesn't mean you *have to* say everything that comes to mind. Back out before the situation escalates.
- these two's dynamic is very funny to me. I love when they work together (but I also love when they fight! fight fight fight!)
VOLITION - Don't ask, don't look, don't do *anything* here. Just go away. Get back to work.
- "Just go away" ugh my guy is fighting for his life here to get you away from the cigarette and alcohol counter in the Frittte
- hghhk Volition. this is a Challenging passive check too (the second one, to hang up). *one* chance, that's all he has in him. It's not possible at all in the dream, no matter how high your Volition stat is. It's just not something he can do. But here, with the distance of the payphone between you and possibly real consequences, he's able to manage one chance.
- (also did anyone see the post about the payphone conversation possibly being entroponetic crosstalk?? I could talk about that for way too long. but I am getting sidetracked)
YOU - "Yeah, I'm done talking about her. I don't want to think about her anymore."
RHETORIC - What a strange choice of words...
EMPATHY - Caustic, overflowing with negativity.
VOLITION - That can't be healthy. What's happening here? Why do you keep coming back to this window?
YOU - Nothing, everything's okay.
VOLITION - But it isn't. And you shouldn't come back to this anymore. This should be the last time. Stop talking about that damn window, please.
- this one too
VOLITION - Throw it away. Please.
- I need to talk about this. Volition dutifully directs you away from all the reminders of Dora. He does everything in his power to stop the final dream from happening.
- And I get it. He's trying to protect Harry. Because Harry isn't mentally stable right now and it could endanger the case. but... at least, when the final dream happens Kim is (usually) there when you wake up. And if all went well, you get to go back to your precinct, and take Kim with you. And Harry has support.
- If the dream doesn't happen... it will happen eventually. There are a million reminders in Martinaise in the span of a week, imagine what Jamrock is like. It's an inevitability. And then you're taking the chance that the dream happens at a time when Harry is much worse off. Maybe he's alone. Maybe Kim left, maybe he was let go from the force.
- The dream could happen at a better time too, of course. we probably all imagine harry picking up the pieces after martinaise and his life finally taking a turn for the better. and I imagine this is what Volition had in mind, by delaying the dream. Maybe it can be delayed for a long time, long enough.
- but it's a huge risk and I just... don't know if he's making the right choice here. keeping important information about Harry's past, which has shaped his relationships and life considerably, in a box so it can't hurt him
- yeah. anyway...
YOU - What if I don't want to ask questions?
REACTION SPEED - You're a cop, Harry. It is *unnatural* of you not to want to ask questions.
VOLITION - You don't have to. No one is forcing you to be a cop.
- Volition??? sometimes this guy makes no sense, he's so funny. I really think he occasionally just does something for the sake of being defiant
EGG HEAD - "Please. Please?" The young man smiles at you widely, bright and innocent as the summer sun.
VOLITION - His pleaful smile is disarming, but you can withstand it's glorious assault, if you just put your heart into it.
- why? why?? don't turn down egg head ever!
VOLITION - Alright, come on now. If *he* hasn't said anything about your lack of pants, no one will. You're only hurting yourself by not wearing them...
- this one is so funny. I love that he lets you know he *knows* you're trying to get a reaction and you're not going to get one!!
- yes volition, stop himmm
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - How very astute of you! This renders it ineffectual. You should look for a *whole* cigarette. Or better yet -- an entire pack! Strike that, a CARTON! Make sure they're all healthy and able-bodied, then smoke them all.
VOLITION - Or -- you could *not* do that. No one is making you.
- volition as usual trying to stop you from picking up bad habits... I just love the way he talks. he's not even telling you not to, just voicing his disapproval in a rather passive way
INTERFACING - Wow, the gods of mass production have made this alcohol container *laughably* easy to open. A child could have done it.
VOLITION - I don't know about this...
- he still doesn't outright tell you not to drink it... :(((
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Fine. We're not worried... you'll crawl back to this bottle soon enough. We'll give you another chance. Booze *always* gives you *another* chance.
SUGGESTION - Yes, it's *merciful* that way. It's your friend. Come back to it, we're all rooting for you to.
VOLITION - Not *all* of us...
- he's the only one rooting for you to not drink it!! he can't stop you. but he is supporting you in the only way he's able.
VOLITION - No. You *can* stop. Just wade through the hell. Month after month. Year after year -- you against the nothingness. It's possible, because *time* is possible.
- He can encourage you!!
YOU - "I *will* stop drinking."
MEASUREHEAD - "THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE. THE GAME OF *SHAH-MAT* YOU PLAY AGAINST THE GUL'S TRICKS IS UNWINNABLE. THE DAYS, THE WEEKS, THE MONTHS WILL WEAR YOU OUT. THE OCCIDENTAL HAPLOGROUP IS INCAPABLE OF LONG TERM LUCID THOUGHT."
VOLITION - NO.
- volition!!! <3 that's all he needs to say.
HORRIFIC NECKTIE - This is it. I'm gonna hit the ground and burn away now. Most of the people in this yard are gonna die -- if not all. Probably you too. It's a COMPLETE DISASTER.
PAIN THRESHOLD - Get ready for a world of pain, man.
VOLITION - No. Not a disaster. Weave this into the story of you. Walk out of its *ruins*. Save those who still can be saved -- *I'm* on your side.
ESPRIT DE CORPS - And the lieutenant too. And the men behind your back, drawing their weapons... you can live. You can get out of this.
- hnngh. this one is among my favourites too. my amazing 1 int run also had 1 motorics. at this point I had failed the rhetoric check to save ruby, failed the logic check to save lizzie, and now failed the spirit bomb throw too and was about ready to cry. Volition's quiet reassurance was very important to me in that moment. EdC too, and I did save Kim.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!
YOU - Leave it for now.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Thank god, I would have cut your throat.
VOLITION - The centipede is exaggerating -- people don't actually cut their own throats when they're shaving. At least not accidentally.
- centipede!!! it's such a funny nickname. alternatively
HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Your hand trembles as you scratch at your cheek... oh no, that's not how a grown man shaves!
YOU - This isn't sharp enough. Scrape harder.
HAND/EYE COORDINATION - Stop, for crying out loud! You're gonna cut your own throat.
VOLITION - There's no way to salvage this.
- these guys are hilarious. why is volition even watching this mess? 'there's no way to salvage this.' ??? I'm not even sure if he's referring to you or H/E... he must be so tired.
ENDURANCE - You feel like you're about to faint and fall off the swing. Your hands get clammy and the air tastes sour to breathe.
HALF LIGHT - Oh god, Harry! Oh god, Harry, what did you do...?!
VOLITION - No! Just nope. Say no to this, Harry.
- more of this!! >:( of volition trying to just avoid anything painful. wake up man.
LOGIC - Everything is so pretty and red -- you and Leo look like brothers as you glance around with similar childlike wonder.
VOLITION - Keep it together, no need to show your wonder.
- why? :( it's not hurting anyone. legendary difficulty passive for volition, high levels of volition are sometimes questionable. I love collecting all these instances of volition making weird suggestions. it's like when people point out really weird things Kim does, that you don't really notice as weird because he does it so calmly and confidently.
VOLITION - Huh... no, Mr. Conclusion. You're always kind of limited in your analytical abilities. That's not *her* fault. But still...
- volition: you're kind of limited in your analytical abilities... meanwhile logic and viscalc and ency calling you stupid and brain damaged lol. vol is so gentle about it!!
- then again...
VOLITION - ...no? He's not going to show up? I'm sorry, your lie detection isn't working. It's not her doing, he's just totally inept. It looks like you're also an idiot. But that's not her fault.
- lol.
RHETORIC - This is good. Clear the air first -- between you two -- then move on to questions.
VOLITION - No, it's not good. It's the opposite of that. This will let her dictate the terms of your...
RHETORIC - Shush. I can't hear what she's saying.
- no. don't ever cut off or shush volition ever again
- >:(
YOU - No-no-no-no...
INLAND EMPIRE - Yes, yes, yes, yes.
VOLITION - No-no, we're not starting with that. Not now. Not this time. This thought is over.
- volitionnnn... ily. my own volition also cuts off dangerous lines of thought for me. I think he's got to be constantly vigilant, in order to be so good at it. must be exhausting :(
YOU - "Can't promise that. I might attack him again." [Leave.]
KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant groans, but doesn't say anything.
VOLITION - That's right, you *should* do it again! It's the *last* thing he'll be expecting.
- uhm. not sure that's a good idea!!
VOLITION - You're too weak to say 'no' now. Waking up is the worst part. Maybe somewhere down the line you could decline...
- referring to declining the speed. all volition fails are very sad
VOLITION - Yes, look at yourself. What do you see?
YOU - Just a sorry stack of shit...
VOLITION - Yeah, didn't even know they stack shit *that* sorry.
- beautiful, rare volition scolding you!!!! after you disregard his advice and don't apologize to kim after the church fail. he's on your side, but he also knows he needs to tell you that this wasn't okay.
VOLITION - First the investigation, now this... how many more things do you have to fuck up?
- this one too! same scenario. this is a difficulty 16 (Godly) check...
- yes this again. it just needs to be in here. the volition panic attack. if this volition passive doesn't fire, you take no volition damage. it's completely self-inflicted :(((
PAYPHONE - The headset lands in the cradle with a clank. There it sits -- still warm from your hand. You have no idea what just happened.
(heal 2 endurance and 2 volition)
- if you hang up the phone before dora picks up!
VOLITION - He subdues the feeling. Dusts himself off and moves on. So should you. There will be other chances.
(heal 2 volition)
- if Kim misses getting a picture of the phasmid
HORRIFIC NECKTIE - The necktie is guiding you through this. It's your spirit animal, both your nemesis and friend. Suddenly a feeling of ease brushes through you -- you're fine again.
(heal 2 volition and 1 endurance)
AUTHORITY - That... was the most honourable thing anyone has ever done, Harry.
(heal all volition)
- very special incidences of healing more than 1 volition at once!! the fact that healing/damaging morale is just directly called heal/damage volition in the variable naming is. yeah. I think about it constantly. does it hurt him? I think it does. and he never says anything about it (unlike endurance!) he just bears with it quietly.
VOLITION - In honour of your shit, lieutenant-yefreitor. Which you kept *together* in the face of total, unrelenting terror. Day after day. Second by second.
INLAND EMPIRE - DETECTIVE
ESPRIT DE CORPS - ARRIVING
AUTHORITY - ON THE SCENE
- obviously this one has to be in here. funnily enough, in my second playthrough I had 2 PSY but everyone had been bumped up enough that they all fired except authority... I ended up throwing a point into authority and retrying the dialogue so it could be complete haha
VOLITION - What? I thought you had your shit together! This is nearing a complete meltdown! Stop it!
- volitionnn :( if you don't stop you have a panic attack, so I guess he's only trying to help
- this is too funny. volition honey, you absolutely do add flair too
YOU - Oh, you mean Cuno?
VOLITION - Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!
- yup, absolutely no flair. Super. Tip-top!
VOLITION - These guys are compromised. She's got them singing along to her tune. The little bleeps and bloops you trust for info -- you can't trust them anymore.
- it would be a crime to not include the bleeps and bloops in here! why does he call them that?? haha
- rare instance of volition not being able to stop the disaster!
INLAND EMPIRE - Your surroundings are undisturbed. While you slept, you were alone. Now that you're awake -- you're still alone.
HALF LIGHT - Get the fuck out of here. Fuck this place, fuck this world, fuck this life, fuck this body -- just fucking go.
SAVOIR FAIRE - The sheets are stained red. Your blood's been running again. Keep it together. Just get out of here and finish this fucking thing.
VOLITION - Harry... I know there's not much to say -- but if nothing else, just remember that you've made it this far. And it's just a bit farther now. Let's finish this.
- this is just. it's awful, if you have the final dream all alone. but at least you have volition with you
DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dick Mullen was made to crack skulls and solve cases. It's who he is. He could no more stop being a detective than a tiger could cease to be a predator in the night.
VOLITION - You're no tiger, though, Harry. You're a man. It's your curse to have to choose.
- I like this one.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - That sugary black rum stain on the counter makes you teary-eyed with joy. It's almost touching how syrupy and sticky it is. How long have you been up already?
YOU - Not now.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Oh *excuse me*, do you have something better to do than lust for sweet syrupy rum and lemonade? With a twist of lemon? Maybe lime? Maybe who cares, just rum?
VOLITION - Yes, you do have something better to do. Stop drooling over that stupid rum stain and go. Before it's too late.
- this is a challenging (difficulty 12) check! it's very difficult to resist the sticky rum stain I guess
YOU - Give up.
LOGIC - There we go. Your mind is a relaxed muscle. It's so nice and easy to give up, isn't it? On the downside -- you have no idea what you were supposed to do now. I could have *debriefed* you.
VOLITION - Blissful idiot -- say something. You've stood there for too long.
- blissful idiot
VOLITION - Don't be an idiot and say it. In this day and age, of all times. It won't end well.
- once again, volition pushing you away from the bi-curious thing. :( he just wants to keep you safe, but it comes at a cost.
- you can't just wrap harry in bubblewrap, volition. he'll never grow
- volition absolutely saving the day here. do NOT say it harry! authority's advice is SO hit or miss
VOLITION - It's time to leave it be. You're about to make a child cry. Are you proud of yourself?
YOU - Damn right I am! Proud as the Lion of Serber.
VOLITION - Excuse me, I'm not sure I heard that properly...
- volition ily. he has to deal with so much.
VOLITION - Should we? He's *nice*. I don't like *nice*.
- this is so funny. he's very suspicious.
VOLITION - Look at it, detective. And be ashamed. Until you make it right by *legally purchasing* that raincoat, I'll make sure you feel guilty every time you see it.
- YES YES conscience volition!!
YOU - Close the carabiner.
SLEEPING DOCKWORKER - The sleeping dockworker has little to say about your actions. He remains silent.
VOLITION - You're not 100% clear what you did here was *right*, but to hell with it...
- only sometimes!!
VOLITION - I can't restrain this one. The need to *cop* is too strong. You just need to ask it.
- why are you trying to restrain copping??? this guy, sometimes. he's so stupid (affectionate)
VOLITION - That's it. I'm calling it. Kim is beyond compromised.
- uhm. volition completely overcompensating with the compromised skills is quite funny. once drama wakes up, he does it too
VOLITION - See? It's oddly moderate. Probably compromised.
- oddly moderate now means compromised??
- this is it. this is volition's only comment on this disastrous authority fail. he makes no attempt to stop it!!
VOLITION - Being Cuno's pig has a steadying effect on your hand. Go with the flow, man...
- volition's so silly sometimes
DAMAGED LEDGER - You feel that thing in the back of your head? That little voice, that quiet scream? You already felt this was a bad idea, but especially right now it's even worse. Try as you might, you can't read it now.
VOLITION - You've got *business* to deal with first. Talk to the Union boss first, at least... I can't stop you for long, but there's just enough of an excuse now.
- Volition fighting for his life to stop you from reading the letter :,(
VOLITION - If it's possible, then by pure willpower alone. You are going to have to become... a psycholocomotor.
- that is *not* a real word but we love you anyway vol
LOGIC - Is that how it is now? We should just try all good things *twice* and then give up? By that logic...
VOLITION - Not you too...
- he's all alone out here :(
VOLITION - Someone's been a very busy boy. Good on you...
- thank you...?
VOLITION - *Very* off. Just let her go. Listen to me for once...
- for once?? :((( but if you try...
VOLITION - I can't help you. I am totally useless. Everything I've said is lies. I want the exact same bad things you want. To stand here, like a pillar of salt, saying...
- this is probably one of the saddest lines. all the skills falling apart in the dream is awful, but volition might be the worst. it's also very important that volition *does* want the exact same thing you want. He wants to drink and smoke and think of dora and die. And he chooses to resist it anyways. To be the only thing standing in your way. But it's to the point where it's all he knows. He knows that he has to resist the things he wants, and will occasionally take it too far. Keeping Harry (and himself) from things that will make them happy. In the setting of the game, Volition keeps things together and on track. But once Harry is back in his normal life, it will become very much a double edged sword I think. Luckily(?) it will self balance a bit, where if Volition prevents Harry from being happy then he'll lose morale, weakening volition, and then vol won't prevent harry as much and it'll balance out. hopefully.
VOLITION - Despair creeps into you, getting fat on your weakness. Whatever noble intentions you once had as a police officer -- it's eating them all up now.
VOLITION - Nothing you can say would make you feel any better now...
- 😭 I hate this, I hate the volition death. the endurance one is really painful too, but this one's painful in a different way. Volition isn't getting back up from this. the awful newspaper clipping saying you go to live under a bridge... that's what happens when you let volition die?? if any of the other skills (except endurance) drop to 0 you can just raise them back up, but vollll.... ugh.
VOLITION - Listen... It's okay to take a few minutes to yourself. Sit down and have a breather.
ENDURANCE - You need to rest. Your body is aching. Getting in here has taken something out of you. Have a seat.
- our two health pool boys encouraging you to take care of yourself <3
YOU - "Kim, can *you* see it?!"
KIM KITSURAGI - "I can see it."
VOLITION - Four simple words -- thank god. If he can see, then you're not insane.
- this one is obviously very important.
YOU - "I've finally gone insane..." (Put your head in your hands.)
[...]
VOLITION - My god... maybe you *are*.
- if Kim and Cuno aren't there, and your Volition is really low, you get this very sad fail. :(
VOLITION - True, you ought not love ruins and hell -- and the fading scent of apricots.
- I like this one.
WASHERWOMAN - "I *can* wash it for you," she says after looking the jacket over, "but it's going to take about a half an hour. Think you can stay put for that long?"
VOLITION - Hell yeah!
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - No, we must run around ceaselessly. It would be torture to stay put.
- I really really love him.
YOU - "By the way, I'm going to sing karaoke here."
GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER - "Absolutely out of the question."
VOLITION - You wait and see, cafeteria manager!
- volition will not be told no!!
VOLITION - No one can STOP you from finding the phasmid.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!?! Are you going to CRY now, son?
VOLITION - You heard the coach! This is weakness. It cannot go on much longer, or you will LOSE.
- these guys are great. coach!
YOU - Right. Activate Denial Mode.
VOLITION - You're not really an automaton, you do know that?
- oh, thank you for the insight volition
- even your most willful, imaginative skills know this scope creep was insurmountable...
DRAMA - But we *are* awake, sire! She has been forthcoming -- with sordid details women usually conceal! Most *shocking* details of the sexual kind! We are a bulwark, un-breached...
VOLITION - You've been breached, bulwark. You've been breached, like, a thousand times now!
- nooo poor drama (volition is right)
- Volition trying to reassure you after the Tribunal is very important.
- SO TRUE.
DRAMA - This may have been a *grave* mistake, sire.
VOLITION - Maybe. Maybe not. Mercy is rarely a *complete* mistake.
- I really adore this quote.
I think I'm going to leave it here. I haven't included some quotes that I put in other posts already but I might add them in later to have a comprehensive Volition post... But I've spent like 4 hours on this already so I'm giving it a rest for now :)
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Break the Cage
Synopsis: Tav is confronted after letting Astarion ascend and letting herself be turned into a spawn. Astarion is, of course, there to intervene. But there is far more to her choices than meets the eye.
Hurt/Comfort, mentions of serious past abuse, angst with a fluffy ending. Soft(er) Ascended Astarion,
A/N: I swear I'll post these all in a multi-chapter collection on AO3 soon, but in the meantime you can find more of my Astarion/Eidel fic here
***
“You’ve let this go too far, Eidel!” Jaheira’s voice was full of that insufferable righteous anger Astarion had had quite enough of.
He lingered behind the door to their chambers in the Elfsong, peering through the slight crack as he watched the older druid pacing like a panther. Meanwhile his newly made consort held up her hands placatingly. “Please stop shouting.”
“It was bad enough you let him execute seven thousand souls, but you let him make you his spawn?” Jaheira continued, “What were you thinking?”
“It was my choice,” Eidel’s soft voice carried no hint of doubt.
“Choice is something you will never have the luxury of again.”
“Jaheira, please, I’m still me. Nothing’s changed.”
Astarion watched as his consort tried to reach out to the elf only for Jaheira to take a disgusted step back. “The druid I had come to know would never have allowed so many to die for such a selfish decision.”
“I never said it was easy.” A mournful tone crept into Eidel’s voice. “I will spend my eternity balancing those scales…how can I make you understand?”
“You cannot.”
Eidel sighed. “Very well, but…you will stay, won’t you? Our goals are still the same. We need all the help we can get to stop the Absolute.”
“I stay for the sake of this city and its people, of course,” Jaheria said. “But you have let yourself become an abomination.”
Astarion saw Eidel stiffen, her eyes going wide. “Don’t call me that. Please.”
“Why? Do you suddenly dislike the truth? You are a druid, Eidel, a creature of life and nature and you allowed yourself to be severed from the natural cycle of life and death. I never took you for a fool until today.”
“Is it foolish to want safety?” Eidel asked, her voice whisper-quiet. “For him? For me?”
“Enjoy your safety in the little cage he will put you in.”
“I’ve spent my whole life in a cage!” A screaming rage the likes of which Astarion had never heard from Eidel before burst out of her. Even Jaheira seemed taken aback by the sudden onslaught. “All my life, Jaheira! I know what captivity is. I’m free. And no one can take it from me. Ever. How dare you! How dare you!”
Her body was not built for anger. She shook and dissolved into tears. Astarion decided his curiosity was fully sated and he walked into the room. “I’ll thank you not to distress my consort further,” he said, coming to stand next to Eidel.
Jaheira seemed torn between guilt and anger. She looked as if she wanted to reach for his sobbing Eidel out of an abundance of remorse, but he slung an arm over Eidel’s shoulders, drawing her into a comforting embrace. He spared the older elf a small smile of satisfaction. Jaheria’s impotent glare was oh so rewarding.
“Eidel,” Jaheria sighed. “I did not mean to…there are other paths to take, child.”
“I think you’ve done quite enough,” Astarion gestured towards the door. “Off you go.”
Jaheira laughed without humor. “You cannot order me about, my lord.” Her voice dripped with disdain.
“Whoever said anything about ordering? You’re going to leave of your own volition because I need a moment alone with my consort. And you are upsetting her.”
“I…would like you to leave now, Jaheira,” Eidel drew herself away from Astarion, eyes shining and wet. “Please.”
“I see you for what you are, Astarion,” Jaheria said as she turned on her heel to leave. “Even if she does not.”
The door slammed shut behind her. “Well. What a thoroughly unpleasant woman,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Don’t you worry, sweet thing, I’ll keep a watchful eye on her where you are concerned.”
Eidel had stopped crying, but her hands were still balled into trembling fists and he could feel her sorrow and rage pouring off of her. The tadpole allowed for him to sense her emotions, but now he could feel them as if they were his own. The bond he’d forged with her was new, and unknown. Maybe it held some magic he had not yet accounted for. Astarion frowned, not particularly enjoying tasting Eidel’s emotions at present.
“I am not an abomination,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“Of course not,” Astarion assured. “You are perfect.”
“You won’t put me in a cage.”
He smiled. It wasn’t a question. She didn’t need reassurance to believe what she felt in her bones. But he gave her one anyway. “Unless you consider the Gate and all of Faerun to be one?” He hardly had to worry about her leaving his side. He could feel how terribly badly she wanted to always be with him. Her freedom, and his, aligned perfectly. And for such natural, darling, obedience he’d give her everything.
She inhaled deeply, and her trembling ceased. “I wish I could make her understand. I wish I could make them all understand,” she lamented.
“We don’t need their understanding,” he soothed, placing his hands on her shoulders. “We are far above needing their approval. We have each other.”
A smile flickered at his words, but did not stay. Eidel’s eyes were still downcast. “I shouldn’t have shouted.”
“Darling,” Astarion laughed, “you should have done a lot more than that.”
“I just wanted to keep you safe. To keep us safe.”
He was losing her to something dark he couldn’t identify. “Eidel. Whatever did you mean when you told Jaheira you were kept in a cage?” He’d heard her mention her life before this little adventure only on the rarest of occasions. He knew about the cage, about the fact that she had fled from somewhere before the nautiloid had found her. But the rest was an utter mystery.
“I…I don’t want to talk about it.”
Ah, that old song. How many times had he heard it? How many times had he let it simply slide away. “I find that puts us on rather uneven footing, wouldn’t you agree? You know all there is to know about me. All my dirty little secrets. I’ve shared everything with you. And yet you hide your past from me?”
“Astarion it’s…it’s not a nice story.”
“Oh and mine was such a fairy tale?”
Eidel had that look she often had when they touched upon her life. Prey hiding from the predator. He could smell her fear, a sickly curdled scent that wrinkled his nose. Eidel paced, walking a small five step by five step square from the hearth to the group’s chest and back again. “That’s about it,” she said, standing in the middle of the invisible square. “The size of my world for as long as I can remember.”
It was barely enough room to lay down in comfortably, even for one as slight as she. “It was always dark. I was always cold, hungry. I was a child and then not. There were figures always passing me in the dark but they never spoke to me. I would reach for them. I would scream at them. I learned to talk from the rats and spiders that would creep into my cage. When they would touch me they cut at me with sharp knives. Spoke in incantations. Shouted at me in frustration. They took parts of me with them every time. My horns first,” she reached up under her bushy ashen black hair to the flattened stumps that hid under. “Then my wings,” her hand went next to over her shoulders, reaching for the empty limbs that no longer existed. “Then my tail.” She touched her lower back, swishing her hips as if she still expected a muscle that no longer existed to move in response.
“I had no thoughts for a long time. Not until the animals taught me my first words. Then I thought. This was the whole of the world. But the rats would tell me of the sun. Of the trees. The spiders told me of the soft places in forests. And I learned a new word: freedom. And I learned to want things. They taught me how to change my form and then I escaped. A spider crawling through the dark cracks of the earth until I found what lay outside my underground world. And there I was. And it was bright and beautiful and…lonely. I don’t know why I was kept in that cage, in the dark. I don’t know why they hurt me. And the more I think about that time the more I feel as if I’m back there. I will never go back. So that’s it. You know as much as I do now. Please never ask me again.”
Astarion didn’t know what to say. There was anger simmering beneath the surface, but there was more. Understanding. Empathy. Emotions that twisted inside of him, vile and pathetic. She reminded him of his own degrading past, standing in her invisible cage like that. He wanted to look away. “You have a deal,” he said, “I never want to hear anything so unpleasant from your lips ever again. Now, come with me.”
He held out his hand and she was all too eager to take it. She was cold to the touch, a fact Astarion was still getting used to. He missed the gentle warmth she often radiated, but it was more than the chill of death on her skin. She looked dead. Her eyes were a blank, and her awkward bird-like legs shuffled alongside him like a thrall. An intolerable sight. He led her out of the rooms and up to the Elfsong’s roof where the afternoon sun was blazing bright.
“Here we are,” he announced with a small flourish of his hand. “A far more fitting setting than those dreary rooms below.”
But Eidel only blinked. He felt her mental exhaustion, felt the weariness in his own bones. “Eidel,” he touched her cheek. “Enough of this. You were not made to be kept in the dark.”
“Why was I made?” she asked softly, haunted by specters of her past.
“Oh, I don’t know, darling, hardly anyone knows those things,” he scoffed. “But I know that I made you for the sun. For the world to lay itself at your feet.” He turned her wrist over to kiss the twin bite scars he had placed there less than two nights ago. “I made you to be adored.”
He grinned as the light slowly returned to her eyes at his words. “You belong here,” he gestured around the open air. “So let’s have no more talk of such dreadful things.”
“No,” Eidel said before she brought herself against him. Astarion wrapped his arms about her out of reflex. “I belong here.”
He chuckled, “You sweet sweet thing.”
“This life? Freedom? It means nothing without you,” her words were deathly serious. None of her usual joyful, naive charm. “That was what I was trying to make Jaheira understand. Maybe she is right, in a way, maybe I am an abomination… I don’t know.”
“I can tell you definitively you are not, darling.”
“But, Astarion, I’d have sacrificed more than seven thousand souls for you. To protect you. To give you the world. I love you and it scares me. I cannot lose you.”
“And you never will,” he said, full of false gaiety. He tried on a laugh, but pulled her tighter still. Her words reached down into him, tearing something loose. He was the Vampire Ascendant, untouchable, invulnerable, but not against her. It was horrible to feel so keenly, disgusting to hold this fluttering bird and find her heart as valuable as his own. “We are bonded, you and I, for eternity.”
She still tasted of sorrow when he kissed her. “Eidel,” a gentle, teasing chastisement was on his tongue, but that wriggling, ugly vulnerability crept in when his guard was down. “I love you,” he said instead, surprising himself. It was not followed by a desire, a question, nor a command. He only wanted her to hear him say it.
Her smile was as warm as the sun, a shining gem he had all to himself. She let out a small, joyful laugh that sounded like her truest self again. “Perhaps that is what we were made for, after all.”
#Astarion#Ascended Astarion#Eidel#astarion x tav#astarion x f!tav#if they're both obsessed with the other is it a red flag?#not evil not controlling but a secret third thing#that gross couple that won't stop making out in public
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Servantember, Day 5: Franz Liszt (Foreigner)
Franz Liszt, Hungarian composer and pianist, is Day 5's pick! Famed for his vast and varied number of works, his skill at the keys, and his influence on countless other musicians of note, Liszt has gone down in history as one of the greats of the Romantic era, and his work remains incredibly popular to the present day.
...However, there was a curious period in his younger years where he was observed to have a bizarre effect on audiences. Crowds at his concerts would experience extreme joy, scramble to get near him, and fight over whatever belongings of his they could get their hands on, up to remnants of cigars. Physicians at the time were baffled by why there would be such a reaction to an attractive fellow like him, and eventually declared the phenomenon a medical condition termed "Lisztomania".
Lore Notes:
-A polite but anxious gentleman, happy to play his music and teach others, but fearful of the potential side effects. While he seems much himself as he was in life and doesn't much understand why he's been brought back in this way, the spectral piano tells a different story. He insists that he doesn't know anything about magecraft or whatever this is that's been summoned along with him, that he'd really rather it went away, and that he'd like to go back home now, please.
-All readings show an outpouring of otherworldly energy from him, indicating the presence of some great and terrible eldritch being mixed in with his Spirit Origin. He behaves much as any musician Caster might, his playing and conducting rendering sonic attacks possible through the power of his keyboard, despite his best efforts. His music, much like the keyboard, takes on a glowing, staticky aura as it surrounds friend and foe alike, but attempts at studying it in more specific detail have proven ineffective. Whatever it is that's fueling this, it's powerful and not of this Earth, but the compositions and their notes are exact matches for those of Liszt's, no matter how unusual they may seem on observation.
-Liszt's Noble Phantasm, Lisztomania, puts his audience into a state of high emotion, compelling them to dance, sing, swear their undying loyalty to the musician, fight one another, and generally go wild. He swears he's not doing anything differently from normal, and even when he refuses to play, his music flows through the keys as if of its own volition. Absolutely nothing seems to happen to those who are wearing ear plugs or sufficiently covering their ears when the Noble Phantasm is used. For that matter, it doesn't seem to affect those who don't care for his music one way or another, or even audiences who moderately like or dislike his work. How odd.
-An easy enough Servant to work with despite his reluctance and the otherworldly force's mercurial nature. Caution is advised should whatever it is manage to fully emerge, if it is at all possible. Direct combat is not recommended, but if you point him at a foe, the music will generally do the rest.
Design Notes:
A bit of a shorter one this time around! Foreigner Liszt was entirely inspired by my reading about the phenomenon of "Lisztomania", and my knowledge of Liszt's music is limited to listening to a few of his compositions in preparation for this. Sorry to any Lisztheads out there who feel I didn't do him justice! I'll leave the proper Caster Liszts to people more familiar with his work. Design-wise I just drew the man himself as he looked to the best of my ability, with the real weirdness coming forth in the spectral keyboard and glowing aura. As for the nature of the beast, who can say? One thing can be said for sure, though:
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TW.
OKAY NOW I WANT ANGST SORRY MUN ! first I love your Ruki, second … you remember the sister married with KarlHeinz ? What about A SUDDEN REFUSAL OF MARRIAGE which leads the sister to being forced to marry KarlHeinz but then she escapes, and then one month later is found, then was severely punished and became pregnant and hates her family and KarlHeinz and become Christa 2.0 ?
“…!! My dear sister… What on earth has happened to you?! Who could do such a—”
A rhetorical question, cut midway due to an evident answer emerging in the Vampire’s conflicted mind. Ruki already knew full well his benefactor, a man who couldn’t go one wife without her falling into a state of utter turmoil and mental degeneration, despite his almost convincingly altruistic acts during his time at the orphanage, would betray that kind charade in an instant should someone defiantly challenge him the way he knew his sibling would in the forced matrimony.
“—No, don’t answer. You don’t have to talk right now; just listen to me instead if it is too painful for you. I cannot pretend to understand what that man subjected you to, but it’s all too evident on your face. Not just your face, but also…” he lowered his gaze, “your future child. You’re pregnant, aren’t you? Truth be told I don’t know whether to congratulate you or to forsake everything that man has granted me and oppose him myself. It would be nothing short of a hastened death, I’m certain of it… But this level of depravity is something I cannot bear to witness. As your older brother, I’ve forsaken you all this time… I…!”
Melancholy swelled to its limit as the rivulets of regret teemed the corners of his eyes at the realization he failed to muster the strength necessary to challenge the man to whom he is encumbered. If only he developed a sound argument against the whole notion, if only he argued with Karlheinz to preserve his sister’s sanity, if only he shieled her body with his own, if only. It was all far too late, and all Ruki could do was scoop his sorely neglected sister with her child growing in her stomach in a tight embrace that exuded both the crushing relief she still drew breath yet the most sorrowful ‘I’m sorry’ as he draped his arms around her, embosoming her into his chest.
“An arranged marriage, I could understand… but bringing a child into this world against your volition? It is exactly these set of circumstances that foster a lack of parental guidance and along with it generations of those who swear vengeance against the world that abandoned them. In your current state, there’s no way you can care for this little one. Not when he has already broken you… Unbelievable.”
Agony dripped in each syllable of his hurt voice, his arms trembling ever so slightly.
“You have my deepest apologies, my dear sister. After all that we have done… After the fealty we pledged to him, I cannot fathom why he would rescue us that fateful day only for all these tragedies to occur. Whatever you decide, I shall follow suit. Whether you decide to raise the child as your own, or annihilate the new breed of demon… Just say the word, and we’ll figure out a solution together.”
🧩 Ahaha I’m so glad you like my portrayal of Ruki, Anon!! Thank you for your kind words. I don’t mind writing this kind of angst every now and then. It definitely urged a response from him that even I didn’t expect, but it’s interesting to write a vulnerable side of him as rare as it is. I hope you enjoyed this!! 🧩
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no. 1 party anthem
ethan torchio x non-specified!reader
requested: ethan & reading together
synopsis: you're a regular at sneaking away from parties. turns out someone else is too.
warnings: mentions of alcohol use, swearing, my terrible attempts at roman dialect/italian in general
word count: 2.4k
a/n: inspired by 'no. 1 party anthem' by the arctic monkeys, and dedicated to my best friend, who is in fact lesbian: i couldn't be happier for you. but ever so anti-climactically, here is that ethan fic you once requested xoxo
⭒
It was beyond you as to how you’d ended up at a party on a Saturday night, but Simon had insisted, and when Simon insisted, the universe gave him his way.
You preferred books, and attending the occasional concert of your own volition; house parties with drunk university students and shallow conversations were not part of your ideal weekend plans.
Not only a reader by leisure, but also by profession, you worked as a librarian at the same university as the people who presently surrounded you. Having completed sufficient education to begin working, and quite honestly not ever wanting to leave the beautiful grounds of Oxford University, you’d applied for a position at the Bodleian Library, and been hired. Likely because you had spent not only your studying hours but your free time in the library as well, so that the university’s head librarian had become your friend and recommended you for the job.
As one of Oxford’s youngest faculty members, friends were difficult to come by, and so when the sharply-dressed social butterfly that was Simon Pilby had approached you, introducing himself as a professor “and poet” in the English department, you had greeted him warmly and let him whisk you off to “make more friends.”
Now, a year down the line, despite his strenuous efforts, Simon remained your only friend. Too, he had become your best friend, though he seemed to disappear as the most inopportune moments — usually moments that coincided with the appearance of some handsome man who was to Simon’s liking.
This particular Saturday night party was a repeat of all the others Simon had dragged you to previously, and though people — students and staff alike — joked you were “the cool librarian,” none of the night’s interactions had been anything more than skin-deep. To add insult to injury, Simon had disappeared once more.
Fortunately for you, the party was being held at the house of a very wealthy family, whose floor plan included a library.
Conscious of the fact that Simon would shake his head at your choices when he later on found you surrounded by books instead of people, but not really caring, you refilled your drink in the expansive kitchen before tiptoeing up the broad hardwood staircase to where the library was tucked in, at the end of a hall.
The library in this house was nowhere near as impressive as the Bodleian Library at the university.
But it was bloody impressive for a library within a private home.
Glowing with dim lamplight, the room felt timeless. Its ceiling consisted of dark, wooden beams, dipping on either side with the slant of the roof above your head. The walls were lined with bookshelves upon bookshelves in the same type of wood as the ceiling, and beneath your feet, intricate tiling had been laid to give the appearance of a floor made of stars. A wide window with an inbuilt seat drew the eye at the far end of the room, and likely provided an ample view of the house’s lush garden during the day.
The books on their shelves were in every colour of the rainbow, and though they were clearly well taken care of, you got the impression that most of these bindings were in fact older than you. Despite this literary grandeur, however, the books did not seem as though they had been positioned to be a museum exhibition; the table at the centre of the room and the overstuffed armchairs placed close to the shelves suggested that this family was comprised of readers.
So they likely would not mind if you read a few books while you were there, provided you treated the novels with care and replaced them where initially found — two simple conditions you would never dream of neglecting.
Glancing toward the door, you gave the universe one last chance to stop you.
But no one came hurrying through the door.
You could hardly believe your luck as you set about choosing a book — the difficult part was where to begin, because of books there were plenty.
Then The Poems of Dante Aligheri caught your eye, and you reached for the beautifully bound volume, before heading for the window seat. Perching amongst the cushions, you sighed contentedly. Who needed social interactions when there were books to be read, portable worlds to be explored? Not you, that was for sure.
With the soft glow of the lamps and the hum of chatter outside of the library, you sank comfortably into a stupor of reading, sipping your drink intermittently. Here, in this secluded oasis, you were at home.
Dante was as good a poet as you had remembered, and soon you found yourself reading aloud, because simply, some things were too good to be kept silent.
“Upon a day, came Sorrow in to me,” you read, “saying, ‘I’ve come to stay with thee a while’—”
“And I perceived that she had ushered Bile and Pain into my house for company.”
You dropped the book with a start, nearly spilling your drink as the volume toppled to the floor, with a crash that made you wince.
“Sorry,” said the same voice which had recited, and you looked up from the floor to find a gentle-eyed man picking up that which you had dropped. “Italian poet. I’m Italian myself — I could not resist.”
Realising that you were staring, you closed your mouth. “No, it’s okay. You took me by surprise, that's all.”
He extended his hand toward you, holding out the book like a peace offering. You took the volume with a nod of thanks.
He smiled faintly. “Ethan,” he said, supplanting the book with his hand. There was no tongue-to-teeth motion in the pronunciation; it was replaced with a hard t and a long a. You figured this was the Italian pronunciation of his name, and found you quite liked it better than the English one.
You shook his hand and traded him your own name.
“So,” he continued, “is this a closed reader’s club, or can I sit here too?”
You smiled. “Not much of a party-goer, then?”
“No,” Ethan answered softly, gaze dipping to his toes.
“Me neither,” you said, and heard him laugh, with relief. “Choose your weapon, then. Poetry or prose?”
His gaze returned to your own, and he smiled conspiratorially as you narrowed your eyes. “I prefer lyrics, actually.”
A smile of equal mischief curved your lips. “A musician, then?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Can I guess what instrument?”
He quirked an eyebrow, before crossing his arms. “Only if you share the windowseat.”
“Deal.”
Out of courtesy to whomever owned this house, you’d taken off your oxfords and left them on the floor, and now shifted your socked feet, pulling your knees closer to your chest to make room for Ethan.
He’d taken off his leather jacket and had it folded over his arm now, as he browsed the books on their endless shelves. You watched him as he ran his fingers along the spines, black-painted nails running along titles and authors as his lips moved and he murmured beneath his breath.
Funny, you thought. He chose reading material in precisely the same manner as you — took his time and drifted off into a world of thought, where there was nothing but him and the adventure that awaited him on the pages of the book he chose.
Finally, he found a book to his liking, and with it, he returned to you, sitting down with his back leaned against the other wall of the window seat, eye-to-eye with you. You watched him surreptitiously over your own book.
With a gentle sigh, he opened the cover of his, touching his tongue to his fingertip to aid in turning past the copyright and title pages.
Then he caught you looking, his eyes flicking up to yours with a vague smirk. You immediately glanced back down, cheeks burning.
Shifting slightly, to make it out as though you’d looked at him by accident, you turned the page in front of you.
Though soft, his voice startled you when he spoke. “What are you reading now?”
“ ‘All My Thoughts,’ ” you said, on autopilot.
“Ah,” he answered, knowingly. “All my thoughts always speak to me of love.”
You arched an eyebrow at him. “D’you know that in both English and Italian?”
Ethan shrugged. “What can I say. Beautiful words are for memorising.”
“So you are a poetry man, then!”
“No, just well-educated.”
You squinted at him, at the waves of hair that framed his face in shadows, with dark eyes and a lingering smile to match.
“Pianist,” you guessed.
He smiled fully, and you knew immediately that you had been wrong. “No,” he said. “Try again.”
You blinked. “Guitarist.”
“No.”
“Violinist, because you seem to be goddamn Sherlock Holmes with your memory.”
His lips quirked upward again, but he replied in the negative. “No.”
You wrinkled your nose, and returned to your book as he laughed softly at your apparent defeat.
You tried to concentrate on the poems of Dante, as the bass of the party music bled into a kind of white noise outside the library door, but you could hardly take your eyes off of Ethan.
He moved so elegantly — in fact, he floated rather than moved — that watching him was like a dream, all soft lines and missed moments, like strobe lighting in slow motion.
“What are you reading?” you asked.
Ethan looked at the cover, and it was clear from his expression that he had never read the book before. “The Picture of Dorian Gray. Strange story.”
“But one of the best,” you smiled. “So, you’re a bassist, then.”
“No.”
“Dammit.”
He tried not to smile, but failed. You kicked at his foot, and he laughed.
“Quiet,” he said. “This is a library.”
You tipped your head back, laughing harder than you’d laughed in ages.
And then of all things, it began to rain. With a crash of thunder so loud you nearly leapt from your seat, you lost your book to the floor again.
“Really,” said Ethan, “you dislike Italian poetry so much that you keep throwing it on the floor?” Once more, he retrieved the book from the floor.
“Or maybe I just prefer when handsome Italians read it to me.”
Ethan quirked an eyebrow. “Well, then.”
You reached for the book now in his hands, but he held it out of your reach.
“A-ah. My turn.”
With a rather sultry smile, you folded your arms and leaned back, a challenging look in your eyes. “Go on.”
“There is a gentle thought that often springs/to life in me, because it speaks of you. Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true/the heart is conquered, and accepts these things./‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,/‘who comes here to seduce our intellect?”
His words ran together with the rhythm of a waterfall, almost lyrically, and you wondered again if he was a singer.
“Are you sure you’re not a singer?”
Ethan merely winked, and turned his eyes back to the page.
“Keyboards.”
“You tried piano and that was wrong.”
You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer. “Maybe you’re just finicky.”
“Finicky?”
“Picky, particular.”
“Ah. But no.”
You interrupted again, “Clarinetist.”
“Ha!” said Ethan. “This is getting ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Ethan tapped his fingers across the top of his knee, as though to a beat unheard by you.
“I would have thought you smarter than this, being that you’re a librarian and all.”
You gave a start, drawing back. Slowly, you said, “How did you know I’m a librarian?”
“Thank you for the confirmation. I wasn’t sure, but now I know. Of course, I’ve seen you at the desk of the Bodleian Library many times.”
“No,” you shook your head. “I would have remembered you.”
“Sunglasses indoors.”
“What?”
Ethan inclined his head in a pointed manner.
Suddenly, you remembered a visitor with long hair and sunglasses. At a passing glance, you’d thought it odd. But as a librarian, you saw all sorts of people and so on the whole had thought nothing of it.
“Are you famous or something?” you asked him, and to your surprise, he gave a gentle nod. “Then I definitely should have remembered you! Who are you?”
He chuckled. “I told you. I’m Ethan. I’m just a handsome stranger at a party.”
“Cocky, are we?”
“Handsome was your word,” he reminded you.
“You’re too quiet to be famous.”
“Am I then too quiet to be bold?” he asked, and you responded with a questioning look. “Ever dreamt of making out with a handsome stranger at a party?”
You laughed. He was hitting on you as equally as you were on him. Par for the course, you supposed. You’d ignited this spark with your comment about him reading you poetry.
“Where I’m hiding from the crowds amongst my books?”
He laughed, with that lovely lightheartedness that you could not have hoped to muster; you felt as though the sun had graced you with its light on a cloudy day.
Then in a moment’s decision, devoid of a second thought, you leaned over and placed a gentle hand on his neck, drawing him to you, then replacing his intake of breath with your lips.
His mouth was soft and slack — you’d caught him by surprise, and for a moment, you worried that this wasn’t what he wanted, nor intended. But then his hand hovered at your waist, and you touched his hand to bring him closer.
If you’d been coherent enough to think of anything but kissing him, Shakespeare would have come to mind; you kiss by the book.
But coherent you were not, and so the thought arrived late.
Yet when the thought did come, you pulled back with a start, staring into Ethan’s soft, bewildered eyes. He looked ready to apologise, but you silenced him with a hand.
“Drummer,” you said breathlessly, and when he broke into a grin, you knew that this guess had been right.
“How did you finally guess?”
You kiss with a rhythm like the ocean waves, you wanted to say. But this connection was new, still fragile, and while you spoke in lines from books, he spoke in the background of lyrics. You were not close, this was not familiar; you held your tongue.
You shrugged. “Ran out of lousy guesses.”
His eyes darkened, and a shiver touched your shoulders when you knew he’d seen right through you.
“You knew all along,” he said.
With a wry smile, you nodded. The laughter hummed in his chest as he pulled you close.
Perhaps some day, you’d tell him of the oceans with which he spoke.
⭒
taglist: @tabi-toast @hazypoppy @aprilaady @juststalking @petit-poussin @oro-e-diamanti @glittermalia @tiaamberxx @bidet-and-legolas @pytlady @immrbrightsideeee
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Nice to Meet You
Title: Nice to Meet You
Prompt/Day: Enemies to Lovers (Day 8)
Tumblr Name:
Rating: T
Brief Summary: "The moment I first saw her, I knew I was in trouble." A muggle university AU one-shot featuring Ron/Hermione.
Any possible triggering/warning tags: Mild swearing (because Ron can't clean up his language)
Word Count: 1,490
--
The moment I first saw her, I knew I was in trouble.
On a Saturday night during my final year at university, I was at a massive house party, drinking merrily.
I was on my third round of flip cup when I inadvertently flicked the cup too hard. I watched it soar through the air until it bounced off the top of a girl’s head.
“Oh, fuck,” I chuckled, stumbling my way through the throng of people before my feet landed in front of the large armchair she occupied.
She had long, frizzy, curly hair and deep chocolate brown eyes. The way her nostrils flared back at me, I suspected that she was pretty mad.
"Sorry about that. I think they’re going to have to cut me off," I apologized, hoping my speech wasn’t too slurred.
The mysterious girl rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. Her lack of a verbal response offended me, and I couldn’t just walk away.
There was an open book on her lap. "Are you reading? At a party?"
"Yeah. So?"
I was taken aback by her cold demeanor, although I recovered quickly.
"So, I feel like most people come to a party to socialize with other people, not to ignore them. If you want to read, why not just curl up on your sofa at home?"
She narrowed her eyes at me, looking annoyed by my decision to continue chatting with her. She clapped her book shut with a loud thud, her eyes blazing with an emotion that I could only decipher as fury.
“I’ll have you know that I agreed to be the designated driver for my flatmate tonight. I’d rather wait here than drive all the way home and back again. The last thing I want right now is to be interrogated by some clumsy drunk.”
“Ha!” The more I spoke to this girl, the more she riled me up. "You’re quite high and mighty, aren’t you? Aren’t we so lucky that you graced us with your presence tonight—”
“Who are you?” She interjected icily.
“I’m me. A human being. Nice to meet you!” I held out my hand for her to shake in a mock gesture that proved to be ineffective.
“You’re a mess.”
“And you’re a nightmare, honestly.”
Her eyes darkened, and I regretted my choice of words. “If you think I’m such a nightmare, then why are you still standing here speaking with me?”
I bent over and picked up the plastic cup, crushing it between my fingers as I stomped off, leaving the room with the tips of my ears burning. I didn't even catch her name, but I didn't think I wanted it.
--
I stumbled out of bed on Monday morning and trudged my way towards my favorite coffee shop, in desperate need of my daily dose of caffeine to make it through a long day of classes. My head was still throbbing from the events over the weekend, which did nothing to alleviate my sour mood.
When I pushed open the door, the wafting odor of coffee beans invaded my nostrils. Before I could seek out the counter to place my order, my eyes landed on someone that made me freeze in place.
Bloody fucking course.
It was the girl from the party. I almost laughed out loud. She still had her nose deep in a book despite the location change.
Sighing to myself, I walked up to the counter to place my usual order — black.
I sat on the stool at the bar counter, observing the infuriating girl as I waited for my coffee. I shook my head in amazement. She never looked up from her bloody book. Not even once.
My name was called, and I wrapped my calloused hand around the to-go cup, nodding my head in appreciation towards the barista. My hand was on the door when I paused. For reasons unknown at the time, something was pulling me back. My feet started to move of their own volition until I was standing in front of her table.
I waited a few moments for her to notice me, but of course, she still had her head buried in that book of hers. Eventually, I cleared my throat, and she raised her head with her brows furrowed and her lips pressed in a thin line.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Fancy meeting you here,” I smirked.
“Something I can help you with?” She sighed through gritted teeth.
I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I don’t know. Depends on if you’re ready to apologize to me for Saturday night.”
The girl’s eyebrows raised so high they disappeared underneath her fringe. “Me? Apologize to you? After you were the one who called me a nightmare? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Only because you said I was a mess first!” I never realized how petty I was until now. I decided to switch gears. “Look, I’m sorry for hitting you in the head. And I think we got off to an awkward start. My name is—”
“I know who you are. You’re Ron Weasley,” she said matter-of-factly.
I winced, feeling guilty. “I didn’t think we’d ever met before.”
“We haven’t met properly. But we’ve shared many classes.”
“I think I would’ve noticed if—”
“We have. And you definitely didn’t notice me until last Saturday.”
The pit in my stomach grew. “Well, I’d like to know you now.” I stuck out my hand in a gesture meant as a peace offering. “I’m Ron Weasley. And, you are?”
The girl studied me for a long, hard minute before extending her hand forward. “I’m Hermione Granger.”
I couldn’t understand why my heart started racing, or why I had to wipe my sweaty palm on my trousers after letting go of her hand.
“Well, Hermione Granger, it's nice to meet you.”
--
When I finally realized that I was attracted to her, I was already a goner.
It was near the end of my final year at university when I had first stepped foot into the school library, and it was all because of her.
Hermione looked surprised to see me and even more startled to see the pile of books I had tucked underneath my arm. Wordlessly, I sat down at her table across from her and began to flip through the textbooks of the classes I knew we shared.
We continued meeting in the library weekly, studying in silence. It wasn’t until one day in late spring, when we had the entire library to ourselves, that she finally spoke.
“Why are you here?”
I tilted my head. “I’m here every week.”
“I know that. But, why?”
“I want to be.”
“And why is that?”
“Do I have to have a reason?”
“Everyone always has a reason for doing something.”
“I like you, okay?”
“And there is no hidden agenda?”
“Why does there have to be a hidden agenda to spend time with someone? Up until right now, I was quite enjoying your company.”
“Oh, so now you’re not?”
“Not really, no. Not if you’re going to keep making me out to be someone I’m not.”
“And who are you, Ron Weasley?”
“I’m someone who doesn’t need to take this shit. I’m out of here.” I shuffled my books into my bag, ignoring her calls as I charged out the door.
The door slammed shut behind me with a resounding bang. I clenched my fists at my side and willed myself not to look back. After a few steadying breaths, I knew there was only one choice to make.
I turned around.
I saw her crying, and all I wanted to do was wipe the tears away. The pang in my chest indicated I was the reason she was upset.
I turned the knob on the door, listening to the sound of it creak as I opened it just enough to slide through the crack.
Hermione placed a hand over her heart, appearing startled to see me again. She used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the tear stains, her face flushed. All I could think about was how beautiful she still looked, despite how open and vulnerable she was at that moment.
With more determination than I had ever felt before, I rushed towards her, watching her lips part and eyes widen in surprise as I drew closer. I cupped both of her cheeks with my large hands, dipped my head low, and kissed her full on the mouth. She responded fervently, clutching at my shoulders as our lips roamed together. It felt natural and right.
I pulled back mere centimeters and whispered on her lips. “Do you get it now?”
“Y-yeah.”
I searched her eyes, my hands still cupping her face. “I’m going to sit back down, and we’re going to keep studying together. Okay?”
The corners of her lips curved up into the first smile I ever saw from her. “Okay.”
#hpfic#romione ficfest 2021#romione#ron weasley#hermione granger#Queue up for the Dragon#cw:#cw:swearing
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Tainting the Righteous
18 + ONLY - NSFW
demon!Embo/priest!Cad/AFAB!Reader
Tags: religion, demonic possession (some dubcon elements), PiV sex, two cocks in a pussy, anal sex, I know nothing about priests, spanking
Here's a link to my masterpost.
“So what do you want to watch tonight?” It seemed like an odd question to ask a millennia old demon, and yet, this wasn’t the weirdest thing you had asked. You turned to see Embo sitting on the couch, his wings folded neatly behind him and his tail laid across his lap. He blinked, his hand buried in the freshly made popcorn. “We have horror flicks or rom-coms.”
“Horror seems… a bit ironic, yes?” He snorted, before gesturing for you to hand him the holomovies. He parsed through the titles, before handing you one.
“Dawn of the Damned, again?” You rolled your eyes as you extracted the film from the case.
“It is funny.” He shoveled a mouthful of popcorn into his mouth. You weren’t sure what good eating did for him - as you weren’t entirely sure he had a corporeal form. But he seemed to enjoy popcorn, oddly enough.
“Yeah. I’m not surprised you’d find this funny.” You put the film chip into the player, and eased down onto the couch. You reached for the popcorn, but he pulled the bowl away from you. “Hey, don’t be greedy now.”
He relented, but only barely. The lights dimmed of their own accord and the title image appeared on screen. You went to take a handful of popcorn, before a knock on the door interrupted you. You cursed and scrambled up.
“Make yourself scarce.” You tried shooing him off, but rather than physically moving, he just possessed you again. You cursed as you stumbled toward the door and then stopped to smooth out your pajamas. You opened the door and your heart sank to the floor.
“F-Father Cad! I… I wasn’t expecting you!” You stuttered, your gaze meeting with that of the Father of your parish. He tipped his hat to you, and his red gaze met yours.
“Hello dere… I’m just here t’ check in on ya.” He drawled in that thick accent of his, and he reached out to touch your shoulder. Embo did not seem to like this, but you ignored him. “Ya haven’t come t’ church in a few weeks.”
“Oh…” You had tried, but Embo couldn’t enter a church without a good deal of pain. You bit your lip, trying to come up with a quick excuse. “I… haven’t been feeling well, is all.”
“I see… wouldja like me to pray over you, darlin’?”
No! No prayers! Do not even think about it!
You shook your head at this, noting the slight quirk of Cad’s browridge. “I’m getting better, thank you.”
There was a pause as Cad’s glance extended over the entirety of your apartment; he clasped his hands behind his back.
“Darlin’.... There is another reason I was called.”
“Oh?” The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you had this sinking feeling that things were about to go wrong. You glanced around the room nervously, trying to see if there was anything that could reveal Embo’s presence to him. The last thing you needed was for Cad to try to exorcise you.
“Yer neighbors called… dey were worried about de noises comin’ out o’ here at night. Happen t’ know what dey’re talkin’ ‘bout?”
“N-no, father.” You lied. Embo had an affinity for fucking the hell out of you at night, and you were sure those noises were quite alarming. But it was only sex. There wasn’t much demonic screaming or anything… most of the time.
“Dey say yer speakin’ in tongues… and dat you aren’t alone. Dey swear they can see a winged silhouette through the curtains. Darlin’, is dere a demon livin’ here?” He asked, his tone low and deadly serious. You frantically shook your head as he backed you further into the room.
“Th-that’s absurd, father! Have you ever heard of such a th-.” Your butt hit the arm of the couch, startling you from your thoughts.
“I sense an evil in this house, darlin’.” He pressed closer, his gaze meeting yours; his eyes glowed, betraying how concerned. “Is dere a demon?”
You paused, before slowly nodding. Cad shook his head at this.
“And how did dat happen?”
“My friends summoned him.” You muttered. “He… decided to attach to me. My - uh friends got the worse end of the deal, though.”
“Are dey dead?” You nodded. “Where are dey buried?”
“Backyard. I didn’t… it wasn’t me. And it wasn’t Embo, either.”
“You named de demon?” He frowned at this.
“No! That’s his name! If I had named him, I would have chosen something cooler - like Aziphandel.” Your hand, of its own accord, smacked your cheek. You winced and rubbed your cheek with your other hand. “Hey! Don’t be a cunt!”
Cad moved back for a moment, scratching his chin. “When dey told me ya had a demon here, I wasn’t expecting dem to be tellin’ de truth…”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to get possessed and yet here we are.” You shrugged as Cad shoved a hand into his pocket. He rustled around, before producing a hand-held holy book. Your body recoiled, falling backward onto the couch cushions. Cad pressed the holy book toward you, and you scrambled to the other end of the couch, trying to get as far away from it as possible. Embo was chattering what you could only assume were demonic curses in your head.
Cad reached out with his other hand, planting it on the center of your forehead. He closed his eyes, and began to chant.
"Adjure te, spiritus nequissime, per Deum omnipotentem."
Stop him!
"Adjure te, spiritus nequissime, per Deum omnipotentem."
STOP HIM! Embo howled in your mind, before suddenly being wrenched out of it. When you opened your eyes, you spotted Embo standing on the other end of the couch, his fangs bared and his wings spread open as if to make himself look bigger. Cad’s eyes went wide as he looked the demon up and down.
“Well, dis is a first.”
“Embo’s harmless, he really is.” You tried to advocate for him, though Cad didn’t seem interested in listening. “He just fucks me and we hang out, ya know…”
“Yer fucking a demon!! No wonder I can’t exorcise him completely!” Cad snapped and Embo replied with a haughty chuckle as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yer given’ him de energy to stay in dis plane.”
“I can’t help it! He’s good!” You whined as Embo approached, putting his hands on your arms. He pulled you back into his body, and you moaned.
“I am good, Father. I get her screaming all night long.” He purred as he nuzzled against your cheek. “Do I not?
“He does.” You replied, your voice quivering as his hands wandered down your body. His hand found your cunt, and he gave it a rub.
“Let us show the ‘good’ Father what fun we have together...”
“Absolutely not. I cannot allow dis-.”
“It is not your domain, Father. It is mine. But good try.” He leaned down, his long, wicked tongue flicking out to lick up your neck. You shivered and moaned, leaning your head to the side to give him better access. Cad shifted uncomfortably. “Your Father has a secret, little toy… I can smell his arousal for you.”
“W-what?” You met Cad’s gaze, shivering as Embo gave your cunt another rub.
“He’s de peddler o’ lies, darlin’. Ignore him.” Cad growled through gritted teeth.
Embo was not so easily dissuaded. With a flick of his hand, your legs were wrenched open; he took a claw and dragged it down your body, ripping apart your pajamas. They peeled away, of their own volition, revealing your naked body to Cad. His eyes went wide, and his mouth hung agape.
“Look at how wet she is, Father.” Embo purred as he drew a claw around your pebbled nipple. You moaned, leaning your head back onto Embo’s shoulder as he lifted you up, keeping you on display for Cad. “Will you not revel in sin with us, Father?”
Cad approached, the expression on his face unreadable; he gestured for you, and Bo was eager to oblige, though you weren’t sure why. Cad took you into his arms, before gingerly setting you down.
“Sit dere, darlin’...”
Before you could object, Cad had rushed at Embo; Embo, seemingly allergic to the priest, stumbled back until Cad had trapped him against the wall. Cad pulled out the holy book again, but Embo responded by swatting it away with his tail, hissing at the pain it caused him.
“You are embarrassing yourself, father. Besides, your secret is out. Your intentions with her are just as sinful as mine.” He chuckled, his jovial countenance immediately changing when Cad thrust a hand out and wrapped it around Embo’s neck. You weren’t sure how effective it was - mainly, you weren’t sure if Embo actually had to breathe - but the gesture seemed to surprise the demon all the same.
“Let’s make a deal, demon.”
“You know that is dangerous.” Embo smirked, and Cad’s grip tightened. Despite the fact that you knew Embo was strong enough to throw Cad off, he didn’t. Maybe Cad’s holiness was just strong enough to neutralize Embo’s hellish energy.
“What will it take fer ya t’ leave her alone? I’ll do anythin’.”
“Anything?” Embo cocked a browridge at this. “Well, then… I have the perfect solution.”
“Out wit’ it.”
“I think a threesome would suffice.” He looked over Cad’s shoulder at you and winked. “What do you think, little toy?”
You nodded eagerly. Your cunt was throbbing, begging for penetration and drooling at the prospect of getting it. Your nipples were pebbled from the attention you gave them while the two were negotiating. Cad’s gaze flicked down your form, and he swallowed hard.
“You’ll leave ‘er alone after dat?”
“You have my word.” Embo hummed, before sending you a wink. You smiled as Cad shook his head and sighed.
“Fine.”
“Brilliant.” Embo pushed him off and appeared beside you, slicking his finger between the lips of your cunt. He was careful with his claws, having learned prior that they could seriously damage you (you decided after that incident that fingering was off-limits). His tongue flicked out to lick at your neck as he spread your slick around your cunt, and along your thighs.
You glanced over at Cad, watching as he pulled off his clerical collar and set it aside. He was shaking his head, grumbling under his breath about how wrong this was. You knew for a fact, however, that Father Cad was not as holy and innocent as he claimed. The confessional booth had seen its share of sin… perhaps it was fucking you alongside a demon that was the problem.
Embo vanished for a moment, and you were lifted into the air long enough for him to appear beneath you. You nestled in his lap, moaning as he instantaneously bottomed out within you. The heat of his cock, once unbearable, was oddly arousing inside you. Maybe you were just cock-whipped… either way, he felt damn near incredible in you.
You watched as Cad pulled off his shirt, then his pants, casting glances over at the two of you as Embo slowly rocked his hips. When Cad was naked, you noticed that he was already rock hard. So Embo wasn’t lying… you wondered, then, if Cad actually thought the reports of demons were mere lunacy, and he was using them as a way to get in your pants. If that was the case, you supposed he was getting his wish.
He tentatively approached, watching as Embo drew his claws along your shoulder, digging in hard enough to draw blood. He chattered in his ancient tongue as he licked up the beads of blood trailing down your skin. He jacked his hips up into you harder.
“Where do ya want me?” Cad asked, finally coming to stand before you.
“Cunt.” Your voice said, though it was not truly you who said it. Cad shot Embo a glare.
“Don’t do dat.”
“He’s… he’s not wrong.” You told Cad. “There’s… there’s plenty of room. I want… I want it.”
Cad blinked, and Embo reached out, locking his hand around Cad’s wrist; Embo’s eyes glowed. “Come on, Father… do it.”
“Yer powers of suggestion don’t work on me, hellspawn.” He growled, yanking his arm away. He bared his teeth at Embo, but Embo didn’t seem to care. “I’m gettin’ t’ it, ‘kay?”
Cad knelt down, slipping a finger into your already-occupied cunt. You gasped as you stretched to accommodate it, and Cad hummed.
“Are ya sure, darlin’?”
“Please, Father! Please!”’
“Alright, alright…” He gave his cock a few pumps, before probing at your cunt with the head of his cock. You cried out and Embo hissed as his cock slipped inside, stretching you out farther than you had stretched before. Embo’s pace didn’t relent as Cad eased in, one inch at a time. You whimpered, reaching for Cad, and he leaned down to let you wrap your arms around his neck.
“F-Father…. Oh God!” You cried out. You kissed him passionately; he kissed you back without hesitation, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tangling with yours. He sheathed himself within you completely, and you whimpered against his lips. You were completely stuffed. Cad’s hands tangled in your hair as Embo gripped your chest. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Slowly, Cad began to thrust, matching Embo’s tempo; Cad moaned at the sensation, and leaned down to kiss you again. Embo just growled.
They fucked into your cunt, their hands wandering over your form. Ecstasy shot through your body, building the delicious tension of orgasm within you. You whimpered, opening your mouth to try to tell them, but found that your voice wouldn’t come out. You reached up to touch your neck, only to feel a hand… which made five hands on your body. No… wait… six. Seven? You glanced down, not seeing any more hands than the four that were supposed to be there. But you could feel them probing at your asshole and gripping your thighs and tracing your clit. You rolled your head back, glancing at Embo, who offered you another wink.
“Go on now… cum.” His voice rang out in your head. You cried out, your cry rising in pitch and volume as your walls clenched around them. The fire in your belly spilled over, flooding every nerve with euphoria. You slumped back against Embo, your body limp and your vision black.
Cad and Embo continued to fuck into you until you came to. When feeling returned to your body, Cad pulled out, his cock still hard and yearning.
“Dere… happy now?”
“Oh no, dear Father… we are not done yet.” Embo chuckled as his body merged with yours, possessing you again as he had some many times now. He shoved your consciousness to the side, allowing you to feel everything without being able to take control.
“This is what you desire, yes? Shall we both take his cock?”
“Yes.” You moaned, and he chuckled.
“Good little toy.”
You - but not really you - reached out to take Cad’s cock into your hand. You gave it a long, slow stroke, reveling in the feeling of your slick as it lubed up his cock. You gave it a teasing lick, before moving toward the couch and shoving your ass into the air.
“Fuck my ass, Father.” It was your voice but… not. Cad could tell this, and he growled.
“I ain’t fuckin’ ya. I’m fuckin’ her.”
“We are one in the same now, Father. She can feel it. She wants it too.” You purred, wiggling your ass. Cad brought a heavy hand down on an asscheek, and you lurched forward with a yelp.
“Keep yer mouth shut. Got it?”
“Yes, Father.”
Cad drew the head of his cock around your asshole; you weren’t sure how, but you felt yourself getting lubed up as he did so. Then, he pressed in. At the same time, you felt your cunt stretch around some noncorporeal cock.
“Fuck!!” You cried out in your mind. Soon, you had taken Cad to the hilt, and he hissed.
“Yer so tight, darlin’.”
“Yes, Father, yes! Fuck me!” You cried out and Cad was happy to oblige, jacking his hips into you at a rough, slow pace. The non-corporeal cock in your cunt started moving as well, thrusting much faster. The two cocks rubbed against the sensitive wall of flesh separating your ass from your cunt, and you let out a howl. Cad cursed, seemingly able to feel the other cock as well.
Your hand went to your clit, rubbing circled on the sensitive bud. The sensations were more than you could keep up with. Your head was spinning. Spikes of pleasure shot to your cunt, which, in turn, caused the warm to bubble in your belly. Your entire body shook, alight with arousal.
Cad smacked your ass. The non-corporeal form smacked your clit. Cad gripped your asscheeks in your hands. The non-corporeal form pinched your nipples.
Finally, Cad’s pace grew erratic. Yours did too. Cad gave it a few more thrusts, before grinding his hips against your ass. He came, filling your ass up with his warm, sticky cum. You felt cum shoot into your cunt as well, and that did you in. With a howl, you orgasmed, your body arching in a way that was unnatural, your eyes rolling back. You chanted in ancient tongues. And you squirted, over and over again, soaking your couch and Cad with your fluids. Fireworks burst in your head as ecstasy coursed through your veins.
When you came to, Cad was stroking your cheek. “Good girl…”
Embo extracted himself from you, and appeared nearby. Cad glanced over at him, eyeing him with much less malice than before.
“You gonna keep yer word?”
“Absolutely not.” Embo chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You cannot tell me that you believed a lord of the dark. Lying is sort of our thing.”
“No… I didn’t believe you’d keep your word.” Cad shook his head, and you sat up. Cad glanced over, his gaze full of mischief. “How much longer until you can go again?”
“How about now?” You replied, reaching out so Embo could join with you again.
#I don't know if the latin is correct or even relevent#oh well lol#star wars smut#smut#my fanfiction#iri writes#cad bane#embo#reader insert
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Snapetober
Here is my participation #5: Day 10 “You’re bleeding”.
You can also find it on AO3.
This is an AU for my current WIP "That Awful Snape Boy" (TASB for us friends) - also on AO3 if you're interested. This can be read separately.
This is what could have happened if Severus's home life hadn't been discovered at the start of his 3rd year at Hogwarts; what his life could have been like if Minerva never adopted him…*sad face*
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Severus was looking through the window of the Hogwarts Express absentmindedly, trying to breathe deeply enough to quench the light-headedness he was feeling but shallowly enough not to hurt too much. It was an exercise in precision.
At least, Lily had only stayed thirty minutes or so in their compartment, having gone to meet with some other friends some time ago; trying to act as normal as possible had been so draining for Severus, he couldn't have kept it up for longer. Small mercies and all that.
Why was it that Tobias always chose to do the more damage just before Severus had to go back to school?
It was the beginning of his Fourth year and Severus was feeling hopeless. He still remembered how he had felt at eleven, brightly-eyed, hoping then that Hogwarts was going to be his liberation, that it was his way to escape everything: Tobias, the pain, the humiliation, the dirt he had been breathing every day since his inconvenient birth, the same dirt he lived in, absorbing it into himself to grow more and more into his disgusting self; even his mother – wherever she was now – who he now saw for what she was, not happy at all about that last disillusion. He couldn't help but feel that now familiar painful twist in his chest at the thought… why did she abandon him? She knew better than anyone what Tobias was capable of… Severus felt tears collecting in his eyes, trying hard to keep then from falling: even his own mother couldn't bear the sight of him. Even his own mother didn't care. Why should he then?
Severus was fourteen and he felt like an old man already, had been for some time.
No tears fell.
He knew he needed to do better than last year, it has been too close back then. He remembered it vividly still, Tobias had again done his worst one last time before sending Severus back up to Scotland. (He had wondered about that, why his father was letting him go back to his "freaky school"? He finally came to the conclusion that his father enjoyed him gone even more than he enjoyed him as a punching ball. Severus didn't know how to feel about that; it was how things were, that's all.)
Anyway, a few days after his third welcome feast, Black had pushed him against a wall, jarring his sore ribs, and Severus had fainted like the weakling he had always been. It had been so close, his secret nearly exposed, his shitty life put under unwanted scrutiny. In the end, his stubborn silence had ended all enquiries and soon enough everyone had moved on, focusing on some other gossips. Lily had nearly made everything crumble back then, her silence deeply shaken by the staff's questions; she knew too much already and he had sweared to distance himself a little from her since the incident. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop her from talking a second time… He was really alone now.
His thoughts as painful as his side, Severus closed his eyes, tired of it all. Why was it always this difficult? He really needed a rest, damn it.
As if the universe had heard him and thought his life was a joke, the compartment's door banged open suddenly making him jump. Pain was blurring his vision still when he heard the hated voice:
"Hey James! Look what I found, if it isn't Snivellus himself, in all his greasy glory!"
Of course it had to be Black. Severus wondered briefly if he had summoned him somehow with his thoughts alone. Maybe he did have a fever after all.
"Go away Black.", Severus heard himself say, his tone so flat it was a little freaky.
"Oh oh, did you miss me, Snively? Were you crying alone, imagining what it would be like to have friends?"
Not now, please.
Black seemed to deflate a little at Severus's lack of repartee. He looked briefly in the corridor again – no doubt searching for his jerk of a friend Potter – before shrugging and finally entering the compartment, closing the door behind him.
This situation was not going Severus' way at all.
Defeated and too exhausted to really think of some way out of this alarming situation, Severus hunched a little more onto himself, unconsciously protecting his injured side, closing his eyes. Maybe Black was going to kill him already and everything would finally stop, just stop. Nothing would be better than anything else right now.
"Really Snape, no insult, no disturbing hex? Are you really gonna give me nothing today, not even a greasy mark on my impeccable robe?"
Severus felt himself flush violently, his hatred for the smiling boy in front of him burning his veins like fucking lava.
"Why does it even matter, you fucking git? You're the one always going on on how disgusting I am and here you are, alone with me by your own volition. If I didn't know better I would think that I'm reminding you of your mummy Black, do you miss her too much? Is this what it is?"
Black's eyes narrowed at once, taking on this steely glow that Severus knew now to associate with danger. Strangely, the absence of Potter didn't feel like a mercy here. The two of them together were skilled enough to overpower Severus from time to time but Potter, despite all his shortcomings, could also act as Black's conscience when things tended to turn a little too dark. Black could well enough try to fool the world, he wasn't that better than Severus in the end. Nobody could be all that innocent with that last name anyway.
"Fuck your filthy mouth, greaseball!"
"Make me", Severus couldn't help but taunt in reply.
Black jumped on him at once, the taller boy crushing Severus painfully against the window. They struggled for some time, punching, grabbing, pinching as they went. Severus was trying to get to his wand – he had foolishly let it on the little train-table in front of him – when Black unexpectedly drew back, looking shakily at his left hand for some reason. This was… weird. Severus felt unsettled by the whole thing, what the hell was happening here?
Straightening up on the booth seat, he grabbed his wand in his shaking hand, trying not to groan from the worsened pain he was feeling. Fucking Black, always making everything worse. He took a moment to calm his breathing.
The silence grew heavy and Severus stared at Black again, trying to understand what was going on. Strangely, the other boy still had his hand in front of his face, moving his fingers slightly. That's when Severus saw it too: the unnatural dark red covering Black's digits. Fuck.
Black stopped looking stupidly at his fingers then and looked Severus in the eyes with a puzzled expression Severus had never seen on his face.
"You're bleeding."
It wasn't a question.
"Go back to your shitty mates, Black, and leave me alone."
"Why are you bleeding?", Black repeated, a lost look on his handsome face.
"Why do you care?", spat Severus, unsettled by this weird-acting Sirius Black.
"But… –"
"– just go away Black,", repeated Severus, desperate now to be left alone, "please."
And how he hated the pleading undertone in his voice… Closing his eyes in shame, Severus felt a little warm drop hit his hand, slowly wetting a little track down his skin before falling on the leathery surface of the bench, followed by another one.
This couldn't be happening, this was so much worse than the pain of Tobias's fists. He was nothing, he was so pathetic. He was crying in front of Sirius's Black.
He jumped out of his spiraling despair when the sound of the compartment's door closing gently registered in his mind. Severus opened his eyes then, confused.
Black had left. How could he have left when Severus was such an easy target? When he was offering him so much ammunition? It didn't make any sense.
On reflex, Severus got up quickly and turned the lock on the little door: it wouldn't do to just wait here and wait for Black to come back with Potter in tow…
He stayed silent for a while, listening intently, half-expecting the little door to blew up in his face to reveal all four of the Gryffindor buffoons. He stayed like that for most of the ride, tense and in pain, his breathing distraught and his head in shambles.
In the end, nobody came.
Nobody ever did.
#severus snape#snapetober#snapetober 2020#snapedom#TASB#my fic#I hope this will interest someone#I'm not feeling as motivated for the challenge as I was#let's hope it will come back!#this was written really quickly#I hope it's ok
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Last Resort - Chapter 2
Fandom: The Maze Runner
Pairing: Thomas x Newt
Warnings: ex boyfriends, AU
Summary: Three years after breaking up with Thomas, Newt finally thought the past of hating each other was behind them, until Thomas asked him for a favour - pretend they got back together for a week while staying at his parents’ home. Because it was an absolutely dumb idea, Newt was inclined to refuse, but then found himself in the house he used to visit when he was in love and happy and the bitter reality of only pretending for people he always liked made him miserable. But it was nothing against dealing with Thomas himself for a week straight and trying not to fall back in love that hurt them both.
Or: Prompt ch. 192 with added spice. Or something. I just needed to write for a while :’)
Can be found on Ao3.
Notes: I think I never did so much rewriting like I did with this chapter. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I swear my brain just can't come up with anything else. Scrapped like 6 pages asdfjslfjslfjsdl. Now it's short :c
Anyway, guess I just wanted a bit of Thomas' insight for it. He's complicated lol. Or maybe not really, just trying to keep up. Don't we all though lol.
Oh and @izzymultifan (actually remembered)
Unbetad!
EDIT: (17. 5. 2021) I edited the ending with a lil continuation of the scene I previously deleted, because I thought it was unnecessary, but then I returned to it after few days and thought it should stay. It's not very long but I guess it's kinda important.
***
Thomas woke up disoriented, thirsty and definitely not rested enough, like when his alarm goes off on a workday and he only slept for four hours. But here was no alarm, no work, just him waking up with a flinch and realizing he wasn’t in his flat, and he wasn’t alone either.
The blond hair right in his face immediately pushed him into realization he was holding onto Newt like he was his lifeline, one hand under the shirt on his belly, other on his chest clutching the fabric, and an unmistakable morning hello tenting his pants, digging right into Newt’s backside. In retrospect there wasn’t much worse Thomas could have done to him, except maybe having a hand down his pants (which admittedly he used to do sometimes when they were together, but then again, that situation definitely didn’t scream murder like it would now).
In a sleepy confusion that hazed his just-woken-up-brain he searched the foggy memory on how this situation came to be, no matter how familiar it felt to him. Newt made himself pretty clear about sleeping together, so the sudden closeness – well, more like an absolute merge, unless he’d slip in – no, no dirty thoughts, bad Thomas, bad – didn’t make much sense.
The night came back to him embarrassingly slow – he got drunk because for some reason his dad decided to decimate his super precious whiskey, even though normally he hoarded it like a dragon his gold. He could only think of Newt being the incentive, drinking the whiskey so fast in his dad’s eyes, while Thomas downed it all to save him from barfing (Newt’s alcohol tolerance never existed in the first place, he disliked about any kind of it, and as far as Thomas remembered he got drunk only once with vodka mixed with orange juice on Aris’ wedding, because he could barely taste the vodka in it until it was too late). Then the world started spinning, Newt dragged him to his room somehow… which sounded farfetched, so maybe dad helped, he drew blank around that area honestly, probably because he stood up and all the alcohol began circulating faster. Then they talked… probably, and then Thomas fell asleep, since that’s all he could recall.
And now his hard-on was trying to get some, and he held Newt against himself with sheer ferocity of an obsessive hugger off his meds and the realization dawned on him like tons of bricks. Was he going to wake him up if he let go? Newt always woke up at the slightest noise before, there was no way of going to pee at night without getting back to the blond blinking owlishly at him, asking what happened. Was this Newt he barely knew anymore still the same? Still twitchy and light sleeper and grumpy and slow to rise when getting up?
Thomas didn’t have much choice anyway, did he. He just had to let go either way, and preferably remove his hips from Newt’s back and act like it was no biggie to be hard when in bed with his ex. He slowly untangled his hand from the front of Newt’s shirt and retreated from under the shirt as well with the other hand and managed to roll onto his back without Newt visibly stirring, which was a success. Unless he pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to Thomas about pushing into him like a horny teenager, which also worked.
Not like he hadn’t been doing that in the last month of their relationship anyway, just... ignoring the problem until it went away (a problem named Thomas) and well, ultimately it succeeded. It would work now too, and Thomas refused to poke the wasp nest this early in the morning – judging from the clock at 8:04 – and just went with the flow.
Need coffee, he thought unhappily when the headache set in. And water. Maybe some alone time in a bathroom first.
Newt didn’t stir until Thomas slinked out of the bedroom, which was a complete lie.
***
“Dad, just drop it,” Thomas repeated for fourth time when his dad couldn’t stop haggling him about his childlike alcohol tolerance the moment he appeared in the kitchen, asking for black coffee. He couldn’t tell him he drank Newt’s portions and without that argument nothing would sound plausible anyway, so he just dodged it with an increasing headache. Newt got up about half an hour later and didn’t speak a word to him – Thomas would even say he avoided his eyes several times, which meant he was absolutely awake in the morning to witness all of Thomas’ struggle to even exist around him peacefully. Which he couldn’t for years, really, so this only proved it.
It was fine. Thomas learned how to deal with it, despite taking him two years to come in terms of being hated by a person he loved since he was 17. Well, everything around the breakup took a lot from him, but he dealt with all eventually, right? He could finally look Newt in the eye without having all the incoherent anger and frustration pile up and he could talk to him fine as well unless they breached one of the thousand forbidden topics. Like them. Like family. Like love. Like sleeping. Like breathing, existing and fucking just trying to live.
Anyway. All dealt with, of course. No hard feelings.
(Lots of them.)
“You dealt with the drunkard just fine, right Newt?” his dad chattered towards the blond, patting him on his back and Newt forced a smile and a nod. Thomas saw this particular expression too often to not recognize it and huffed while sitting down at the counter with his own coffee.
He was used to being a bad guy anyway, no matter how much of the blame he genuinely deserved. They both knew he didn’t get drunk because he wanted to get wasted enough to drop unconscious on a spot and Newt would be a hypocrite to badmouth him when he was pouring all his whiskey to Thomas’ glass with thankful expression yesterday. But then again, not even he could tell Thomas’ dad about it, so they just had to have this unspoken oh yes, Thomas is a real piece of work as always.
Which sort of sucked. But Thomas couldn’t care less what his dad thought about his alcohol tolerance, it wasn’t like he threw up everywhere or broke mum’s precious bowls set (again). Not that he expected Newt to defend him anyhow, but he could at least say nooo, he was fine, he just fell asleep or something. Not that it surprised him he didn’t, but…
“He used to drink majority of guys from my work under the table and now look at him,” his dad delivered his fifth Thomas can’t drink for shit jab. He sure loved to milk that. “At least he has you to look after him, huh.”
Thomas stared at Newt’s back with mild annoyance the more the blond refused to elaborate on anything, just smiling at his dad while making himself a cup of coffee, and then Thomas’s eyes suddenly fell on the nape of Newt’s neck with a vicious, red mark near the hairline, and his whole body seized up like he got paralyzed.
A hickey? Since when? From who? What? Wait, was Newt already dating somebody else?
Saying already like three years were short amount of time… Thomas mentally scolded himself and his body raised up on its own volition, like being pulled in by some invisible force towards the blond. He had no clue if it were a twisted need for revenge or vindication or just him being unable to come in terms of not being told or warned, or maybe all of it together, he just couldn’t stop and plastered himself all over Newt’s back, trapping him between his body and the counter, circling his thin waist like a vine (he got thinner for sure).
“Of course I have you, don’t I,” he purred into Newt’s ear, loud enough for his dad to hear perfectly, and felt how Newt’s whole body froze, his hand mid-stir of the coffee. Thomas could see how his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped. “Looking after me when I get hammered into unconsciousness.”
“Yeah.” Newt’s voice sounded small, and Thomas wanted to bite down at that red, angry place on his nape like an animal. His dad probably wouldn’t appreciate it, but his ego sure would. He let his hands slide lower, to Newt’s hips, grabbing a handful, and the habitual movement made him restless. He did it zillion times during the time they were together. He did less, he did more, naked, clothed, lying, standing up, in whatever situation, touching Newt was his privilege.
And some fucking horny prick just took it?
Just marked his boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, Thomas, ex-boyfriend for three years, pull yourself together, you’re not 17 anymore – like a property and he didn’t even fucking notice?
Newt’s breath hitched and the spoon he was holding dropped into the coffee, splashing the black liquid around it, dribbling down the drawers under, making the blond curse under his breath.
“Sorry,” he immediately said towards Thomas’ dad who was handing him a cloth to wipe it with, and started squirming. “Thomas, leggo. Can’t reach.”
“Don’t wanna,” Thomas refused, squeezing Newt even tighter. “I’m hangover and miserable and you’re supposed to take care of me.”
Thomas’ dad snorted but took the hint and retreated while calling at his wife the boys are being rowdy again, Anna! And the kitchen fell back into silence, except of their breathing, with Thomas plastered against Newt’s back like he wanted to topple him over (he sort of did).
“Do you enjoy being a bloody prick?” Newt finally broke the spell, pawing at Thomas’ hands to get them off, his voice an angry whisper. “What’s your deal, for fuck’s sake!”
“Hangover,” Thomas huffed, not letting go and to be completely honest, Newt wasn’t really trying as much, just slapping his hands half-heartedly. “Could’ve at least said I didn’t give you any trouble, I covered for you the whole night.”
“You gave me loads of it!” Newt started wiggling, and Thomas had to fight the urge to just bite down, mark any piece of skin available, to make the restlessness go away. “You were heavy as fuck, I had to carry you all the way to your room!”
“Yeah, and?” Thomas grabbed him lower, and Newt pinched his hand in revenge, which finally made him let go with sharp breath.
“Fuck you,” the blond barked at him with fiery eyes. “I don’t know what you are trying to prove but groping me is not on the bloody table, get it?!”
“Mhm,” Thomas rubbed the place Newt pinched him at. “Sure. No fun allowed, got it.”
“Fuck off!”
Thomas hated how Newt turned away and the hickey was so visible it made his insides churn. He used to talk about his problems a lot these past few years, so he could finally let go of whatever was holding him in place, unable to forget, and he thought he reached that point, that he was free.
Looking at Newt marked by another man… no. He was not. Still stuck, still the same.
Still angry and miserable.
Still… there.
***
The fact Newt refused to talk to him completely was an understatement. Thomas blamed his unsteady approach on the alcohol, because what else he could blame it on – his own feelings? He sodealt with those already, there was nothing that would make him see red.
Except of a hickey on his ex-boyfriend’s neck, that would do it. Apparently.
But still – it was the hangover that made him stupid, right. If he’d be completely sober and not aching anywhere and his mind clear, he would just… shrug at it. It was Newt’s business who he slept with or not, or who he let bite his nape like a dog (some young fucking idiot who thought hickeys are still sexy? Stupid shit).
Not Thomas’. Not anymore.
The more he tried to push it away from his mind, the more his mind pushed back, just pointing it out loudly every time he glanced towards the blond sitting on the couch in the living room, bundled in a fluffy blanket, fiddling with his phone.
He was fiddling with his phone a lot actually. Texting somebody?
The guy who left the mark?
Thomas felt the irrational anger seep into his consciousness again and he forced it back down with a frown. He knew asking Newt to help him to get his parents off his back wasn’t exactly a great idea (asking ex to be your bf again for a show just screamed trouble), but at the same time asking anybody else just felt… wrong.
Thomas had to admit he’d be able to go along with this only with Minho, probably. Because Minho was a born actor, he’d be able to breeze though this with ease and Thomas’ parents would like him for sure, because, well, everybody liked Minho, honestly.
Asking Teresa or Brenda was just… desperate. Because other than them it would be Newt and getting back together with Newt… well. Thomas could tell from the moment he saw him getting into his car in front of Newt’s workplace it was going to be tough for both of them.
Not much of a surprise so far climbing Mt. Everest would be easier than keeping his chaotic feelings under control.
“You need some fresh air,” his vision of Newt got obstructed by his mum in a frilly apron she wore unironically and he looked up to her with half-lidded eyes.
“I think I need chicken soup, actually,” he offered in response, because dragging himself through the snow outside now sounded like a death penalty.
“Air first,” she insisted, adamant, and turned towards Newt like an executioner. “Right, Newt? A walk would do him good.”
Newt looked at Thomas and Thomas just knew. He was doomed. Newt was going to betray him like Scar did with Mufasa and he’d enjoy it, he could see the glint in his eyes, just shining there, spelling revenge in big, neon letters.
Please, he mouthed at the blond in desperation and Newt tilted his head to the side and then his mouth curled up.
“Sure, that’s a great idea, Anna,” he signed the death certificate without an ounce of shame and relished in it.
Fuck you, Thomas mouthed again, and Newt sent him a condescending smile. Fuck him especially.
***
“You’re unusually quiet,” his mum casually pointed out like she didn’t just drag him out to cold ass weather while holding a knife (butter one, but that’s what made it scarier), despite his very vocal (or vocal sort of, too loud and his brain wanted out of his skull) protests.
“Hungover,” he reminded her bitterly. The snow under their feet crunched sharply and the noise was tearing his brain to pieces, like walking on a broken glass and he had no idea how much longer he’d be able to act like it wasn’t killing him.
“Well, it was nice of you to cover for him,” Anna shrugged like she didn’t just blew their cover with a killer one liner and Thomas probably shouldn’t have been as surprised. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink.”
“That’s cuz he can’t drink for shit,” he mumbled with a frown. “Did dad notice?”
“No,” she shook her head. “He was too busy boasting about the partnership. It’s been some time since I’ve seen him so happy, you know how he hoards the whiskey otherwise.”
“Yeah, cheapskate,” Thomas snorted, and the noise sliced his brain painfully, like an instant karma.
“Think he was happy about Newt being back too,” she hit the nail on the head a bit too close to home and Thomas hated how his stomach lurched at it. “Well, you know him.”
“Sure is happy for not getting any grandkids,” he just grumbled and Anna patted him on his back.
“We still have Hannah,” she reminded him sweetly. “Maybe one day she’ll feel like having kids and force you to babysit for her two times a week.”
“Me? You’re going to be the grandparents, it’s your obligation to babysit!” The idea of taking care of Hannah’s kids made him scared for life, and they didn’t even exist yet.
“Pretty sure Newt wouldn’t mind,” she chirped happily, and Thomas loathed how right she probably was. Newt never really showed any kind of real interest in having kids or anything, but he never minded babysit for his own sister, and generally all the kids liked him.
Not that thinking about that had any merit anyway, since they split up with a point of no return. Maybe Newt already planned kids with the new person who left the distasteful hickey on his nape, or the person who he kept texting, and the more Thomas thought about it, the more his chest burned.
“Cherish him a bit more, would you,” she poked his arm. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you have some beef between you. Had an argument before coming here?”
Why the fuck is she so perceptive?
“A bit,” he answered quietly. “No biggie.”
“Set things right,” she plainly ordered him like he was ten again and had do her bidding. “I don’t want another sad Christmas.”
There isn’t going to be any Christmas for us, he wanted to tell her, but kept his mouth shut. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be anything for them, at all.
I really need some sleep.
***
Not very often did the morning come so peacefully, like a gentle spring washing over tired soul, leaving it invigorated. Thomas basked in the pleasantness of it, a quiet, warm and relaxed moment where he slowly woke up from a dream into reality still welcoming and soft like he never left the fantasy realm.
He took a deep breath, stretching, slowly coming to realize of contours of another body pressed into him, and under his hands and around his legs and under his chin. The soft blond hair came to view when he opened his eyes, with Newt draped around him needily, and his heart melted.
The first night in their flat. Their home. A place that only belonged to them, these walls and floors, and small kitchen and big windows, for them together. It came true, finally, inevitably, for Thomas to have Newt all for himself, to share his mornings, his evenings, his life with him. Nothing else could make him happier.
“You already up?” came a sleepy rumble from Newt’s chest, the hands holding Thomas’ waist slowly moved up, to his back, pushing them even closer together.
“Just woke up,” Thomas kissed the top of the blond strands, his own hands traveling over Newt’s back, right onto his butt, kneading it.
“Mmmm.” Approving sound doubled his endeavour and then Newt was slowly grinding to him, lazily, his lips stretched in a smile, reaching to pamper Thomas’ neck with small kisses. “This sure is nice, huh.”
“Love it,” Thomas agreed with the sentiment while grabbing Newt’s thigh and hiking it up over his hip. The blond softly moaned at the contact and Thomas pushed more into it, completely awake and needy and allowed. There was nobody that could hear them, scold them or gasp in shock like a puritan at them making out – just them, two lovers in their home, free to make love any time they wanted.
And Thomas wanted too much.
***
He never stopped wanting.
He woke to his room bathing in shadows, with the blanket twisted between his legs, his headache still present, even though in weaker state than in the morning, and his body wasn’t any less sluggish. The walk with his mum didn’t help him much, just added to his misery with freezing cold and nagging reality he couldn’t play this game any longer, which made him feel empty and unhappy.
He didn’t feel this unhappy in a while, it usually only came back when he heard of Newt about a year after the breakup. Every time his ex came back to his life, even when somebody only mentioned him in a passing conversation, Thomas’ chest set off that painful pang in it, like a trigger just waiting to be pressed, and he fell back into hollow kind of depression.
He got rid of it, somehow. He built walls around himself, he locked all of his twisted personality traits and pushiness and hateful behaviour away, he spent years searching for more he could fix, for all that made Newt unhappy with him, what made him leave Thomas after seven years without really talking about it.
He thought he managed to become a better person. He believed he could change the way he acted. He hoped if he ever talked to Newt again, at any point of their lives, he would be at least able to show him he wasn’t that ungrateful, lousy boyfriend anymore, that they could at least be friends. Somehow. Just talk normally. Just… exist in the same room without… Newt making that anguished face, like it hurt him still.
Thomas tried. But failed. Maybe it was just recurring theme of his life – to touch something wonderful, to taste true happiness, just to fuck it all up and lose it.
Maybe he was just obsessive. Suffocating.
Maybe making mistakes were rooted too deep in him to get rid of.
Maybe… it was simply impossible.
***
Newt was playing games with Hannah in the living room when Thomas came back down. Hannah made fun of him for sleeping all day like an old guy and his mum said something about hoping he didn’t catch a cold and gave him a bowl of chicken soup.
The strange, unattached feeling stayed with him since he woke up, and only doubled when he saw Newt’s neck marked by some fucker on display. His stomach churned at the implication there was this unknown guy waiting for Newt to come back home, who kept impatiently sending him texts that made Newt frown and smile in turns, like he just slowly sunk back into the problem they never resolved. Thomas felt disgusted with himself, and angry, and, when it came to it, immensely tired.
“Oh, you have the whole week free?” his mum asked suddenly, breaking Thomas’ bubble of trying to eat the soup like a mental case of lobotomy, and he realized there had been a conversation going in meantime and he didn’t catch any of it. Newt wasn’t playing the game anymore, though Hannah still furiously pressed buttons on her controller, and instead of it sat on the couch, turned towards Thomas’ mum at the table.
“Yeah, thought getting out of the city might do me good,” he answered her with a soft smile and the idea of another week like this sent Thomas into desperate mode. Even though it was him who forced Newt to take whole week off, because… he only had bad ideas, obviously.
“But there’s bit of a rush now, right?” he entered the conversation impulsively and Newt glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “At work. Christmas and all that being close.”
“Yeah, it’s… a bit hectic,” the blond admitted, making Thomas’ mum go aww. “There’s lots of people taking vacations they didn’t spend yet, so we usually work crunch time.”
“Yeah, kind of same,” Thomas added. It wasn’t really a lie. But not the truth either. “And I know I said a week, but I’ve got some texts from work already, thought of going back tomorrow instead.”
Newt stared at him with an evident confusion, but Thomas knew at this rate they were going to crash and burn again if they stayed, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t even trust himself to keep it civil when his blood boiled like in a bull taunted with red flag.
Except the red flag was an unknown nobody on the other side of the line of Newt’s phone.
And bed.
“Uh,” came from the blond. “No, wait. What? You…”
“We can visit again during Christmas,” Thomas offered a big fat lie, he almost bit his tongue at it. Christmas were a taboo, he knew mentioning it were already risky, but it gave him an out with his mum, so that worked at least. “When it’s calmer.”
“When is what calmer?” Newt still stared, Thomas said almost disbelieving, and he just prayed for him to play along and not act like he knew nothing about it.
“Work,” he answered stiffly. Too stiffly, he realized, since Newt’s eyes narrowed.
“Uh oh,” he heard Hannah interject, which meant he already failed in the mission to make this believable. Fuck.
“I need a smoke,” the blond announced instead of reacting and stood up sharply. Then shot Thomas a badly masked glare. “Keep me company?”
He wanted to say no but couldn’t when his whole family watched them like during tennis match. So he just nodded and followed Newt outside of the house while feeling like slapping himself.
***
“Care to explain or am I supposed to guess.”
The cigarette was lit, its fiery tip shone bright in the darkness of the porch once the automatic light shut itself because they weren’t moving like they rooted in the wooden floor. Newt was wearing his coat and Thomas only stood there in the long-sleeved shirt, which in retrospect was probably a mistake.
“I did explain,” Thomas said. “Just thought about work-,”
“No, you didn’t,” Newt stopped him immediately while crossing one of his arms on his chest while other held the cigarette like a weapon. “You said a week, so I took a week off. I’m not bloody leaving now. It’s my vacation.”
“I also said three days would probably be enough,” Thomas asserted. “And they are. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
“Why?” the blond demanded. “It’s not like I suffer here. I like this place. What’s your problem?”
That kind of question had no easy answer and Thomas held Newt’s eyes only for few seconds, before looking away.
“Am I the problem?” came another question, even sharper. “You just can’t stand me anymore, so you want to leave?”
“You know that’s bullshit,” Thomas scoffed. “Since when did I ever-,”
“No, I don’t know!” Newt interrupted him with raised voice and Thomas flinched. “I don’t bloody know anything about you anymore! You brought me here and expected what? War? Did you want us to fail?”
“Why would I want us to fail?” Thomas’ eyes widened in a shock. “What kind of fucked up logic would that be?!”
“I don’t know!” Newt barked. The cigarette he was holding was slowly fading away, the ash falling everywhere how he moved his hand. “But something’s up since this morning, so obviously you’re lying about work and I want to know why!”
Well, finding out his ex-boyfriend had a lover, or a sex friend or whatever the other person was definitely served as a wake-up call. Thomas couldn’t overlook it – he thought he’d be fine with anything, it had been years, but one fucking hickey and some fleeting texts and he just had the rising urge to tear the walls he built down and get angry and make Newt inevitably miserable, which he despised.
He fucking loathed it. And himself. And everything around him.
“Why did you even agree to come here?” he couldn’t help but demand. “Why did you even bother playing this stupid game when you have somebody home? You trying to make him jealous or it’s just your thing?”
Accusing – stupid Thomas, fucking idiot, just talk normally, what’s wrong with you – as always.
“What?” Newt’s eyes shot up, wide in honest surprise. His cheeks were red from the cold, or maybe embarrassment, Thomas didn’t know. “What are you talking about?”
“About that hickey on your neck?” Thomas pointed towards the incriminated spot and Newt’s whole body went rigid.
“A hickey…?” Newt’s free hand was touching the place now, his voice shocked. “You… ugh.”
“Look, it’s not my business, clearly,” Thomas rubbed his eyes tiredly, desperately trying to make an excuse for his own consciousness why he couldn’t look at Newt. “But obviously it’s causing you trouble with him, so. As I said. Three days are fine, we can leave now. Go back home. Forget about this.”
And forget about me trying to corner you, and me getting hard in the bed with you this morning, and me sounding jealous and lame, and me… just for being me.
“Are you fucking with me?” Newt’s voice sounded disbelieving. “Are you bloody serious right now? A hickey from some random guy appeared over night here? That’s what you’re saying?”
Overnight…?
“Overnight?” he asked a little dumbly, which forced him to look Newt in the eyes, where he saw hell unleashed. It made his throat squeeze almost hard enough to suffocate him.
“You think I just popped back home for a quickie, then back to your bed in the morning like a bloody Cinderella?” the blond seethed, the cigarette in his hand morphing into a protentional weapon of choice. “Where did that even came for, for fuck’s sake? You’d been seeing me for two days, never noticed anything, and then suddenly your Esmeralda syndrome got cured or what?”
“But-,”
“You bloody drunk fucker,” Newt took a step towards him and Thomas found himself hitting the entrance door with his back, when he automatically tried to back out. “Should have known your bird brain won’t remember anything.”
The realization hit Thomas like tons of bricks right in his face, able to cause heavy concussion if it were real.
“I did this?!”
“No, the bloody sucker behind you, who the fuck do you think?!” Newt’s voice was harsh, but Thomas could only hear the bare fact he made a hickey of size of Texas on his ex-boyfriend’s nape while spending the next day being jealous… of himself.
“What the fuck,” he breathed out with an ugly relief flooding his veins, which was all sorts of wrong. Being relieved over attacking his ex at night definitely did not count as a good point in anybody’s book. “What the fuck.”
“Calmer now?” Newt sighed in exasperation and Thomas couldn’t say he was. It just opened door to another set of bad he had to deal with.
“I attacked you when drunk?” he asked quietly, and Newt blinked in surprise.
“Attacked?” he repeated and then barked out a laugh. “No, you really didn’t. You were drunk out of your mind, for fuck’s sake.”
“I see.”
“Didn’t think it left anything,” the blond sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if in memory, which was kind of hot – no Thomas, it was not hot, but embarrassing, shut up -. “I mean you just munched on me a little, then fell back asleep. No harm done.”
“You made a fuss about us sleeping in one bed but it’s no biggie when I leave a hickey?” Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little and Newt’s face showed signs of hesitation.
“Look…” he tried after a moment, the cigarette in his hand nearly gone. “I… don’t know, you were just sleeping while holding me, it doesn’t mean anything-,”
“And that’s fine with you?” It was Thomas’ turn to interrupt him, and Newt looked a little lost for a moment.
“I suppose that’s fine with me, yeah,” he admitted slowly.
Thomas looked at his shoes, taking in a deep breath. He couldn’t deny the knot forming in his belly over the day already started easing off, for purely selfish reasons he had, but at the same time his head became even a bigger mess than before.
“So what does it mean?” he asked after a while. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, I thought… you’d rather leave than stay with me longer, after today, but…”
“I want to stay,” Newt answered immediately. “Unless you really don’t want me here. Then no, of course. I had the same problem the first day, feeling all kinds of weird and jumpy. I guess I just sort of dealt with it. Stepped out of my comfort zone and all that.”
“Sorry you had to.”
It wasn’t like Thomas wanted Newt to change anyhow by doing this favour for him. But he’d also be a hypocrite if he didn’t admit he wished Newt to feel good here. With him. Selfishly, hopelessly. Like before, like they were okay. Like they still… liked each other. At least a little.
He knew that kind of hope was self-destructive and harmful, but he didn’t stop loving this man three years ago, after going through an immensely rough patch, so he wouldn’t stop loving him now for no reason either.
“No need to be sorry,” Newt interrupted his thoughts with much softer tone than Thomas expected. “I mean even despite it’s you, you didn’t really do anything bad yet.”
“Wow,” Thomas snorted. “Way to ruin the mood, boyfriend.”
“I try,” Newt grinned, and it seemed like the tense mood dissipated and they both relaxed enough to breathe easier. Thomas possibly wouldn’t even notice he had been so strung up until now, if the huge boulder of irrational fear of fucking up didn’t fall off his shoulders with a bang.
“And just for the record,” Newt added while finally inhaling the last puff from the already burned-out cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I noticed you digging into me in the morning.”
“Of course you did…” Thomas banged the back of his head against door in utter shame. “Because universe hates me, and you had to fucking wake up.”
“Yeah, well,” Newt let out a small shrug. “I got hard at night, if it makes you feel any better. Let’s call it even.”
“What.”
“Had a real nice dream,” the blond casually announced like he was ordering pie with no filling and Thomas was a stupefied cashier at Costa Cafe. “Woke up with you being handsy with me. Tried to scramble away, cue for you to make the hickey and fall back asleep.”
“Uh.”
“1:1, right?” The sly smile Newt’s mouth produced did things to Thomas’ underbelly and before he even caught himself, he automatically reached out and grabbed Newt’s side.
Fuck.
“Pretty lousy score,” he just said – bad Thomas, stop making a pass at your ex -, “That’s no match whatsoever.”
Newt glanced at his hand resting on his waist and then back to Thomas with a thoughtful hum.
“I’m not that good at sports,” he just said, looking back into Thomas’ eyes. “But you might be onto something.”
Thomas took a deep breath and risked the second hand grabbing other side of Newt’s waist, pulling him closer. The layers of clothing made him dissatisfied, no matter how cold it was and how his skin already felt like ice, he just wanted to get under the coat and the sweater and the shirt and make Newt react somehow. The blond just silently watched him, let him do whatever he wanted, and somehow it felt like a test and Thomas was scared of failing it.
“That’s it?” Newt broke the tense silence around them when Thomas just stood there, holding him.
“Thinking,” the brunet mumbled with a frown.
“About?”
“How to touch you without it being classified as groping,” he moved his hands a little lower as an experiment, getting no reaction. “Since it’s off the table.”
“Pfff.”
He hesitated, then gingerly let go of one side and reached for the zipper lodged under Newt’s chin, keeping the coat closed like a fortress. His hand barely cooperated with how frozen it was, but Newt still didn’t stop him and that encouraged him unfairly.
“Newt.”
“Yeah?” the blond’s voice was quiet and close to his face.
“What’s with all the texting?” He kept holding the zippier between his fingers like he couldn’t decide, and Newt made a soft huh? noise in the back of his throat.
“You were on your phone the whole day,” Thomas lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Is there somebody…?”
A sigh. Thomas let go of the zipper.
“That’s Alby,” came a reply and if Thomas wasn’t already propped against the door, he’d take a step back. There was nowhere to run now, so he just let go of the blond completely, nodding.
“He’s my partner,” another string of words Thomas comprehended but wished he didn’t. “A bit demanding one.”
“Sounds like it,” he just commented, staring at his feet until Newt’s shoes came into view as well when he stepped closer.
Seriously testing me. That’s-
“A bit cruel,” he breathed out with a puff of white smoke and Newt pushed further and pressed his mouth against Thomas’. His cold lips lingered for a moment before parting, their breaths mingling, and Thomas’ heart fought really hard to get out of his chest and run away. The proximity was non-existent, Newt stood so close their chests were touching, and his eyes were so dark, and pupils blown wide Thomas got easily lost in them.
He always did. Nothing had changed.
“You look cold,” Newt whispered to his lips, hovering so close their mouths gently touched when they took a breath.
“Freezing,” Thomas answered in daze, holding back only by a miracle. He wanted to reach out and pull the blond man flush against him, to grind into him, to kiss him so deep his toes would curl, and he’d buck up, he just wanted so much it made him suffer.
“Alby’s my colleague,” Newt dropped quietly. “Funnily… you weren’t wrong about work being in a rush now. He’s struggling a little. Wanted to know my opinion.”
A colleague. And nothing else?
“Nothing else,” Newt answered like he could read his mind and then sagged against Thomas’ body like the energy just left him, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder.
“I thought I can handle being this close to you,” he heard him mumbling into his shirt. “But the more I am, the less I can fight it.”
“I thought I can handle you dating somebody else,” Thomas added to it while letting his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. “But obviously not. It’s scary. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”
“Yeah,” Newt agreed with him. “Me neither.”
He wasn’t sure if this had been some sort of consensus they reached, or just a fling that happened because they were both lonely, but Thomas didn’t want to let go – even though he should have, logically, to protect them both. The pain they caused to each other three years ago was still there and festering under their skins, but the more Newt was pressed into him, breathing softly, the more Thomas noticed his reason slowly creeped away, like a thief in the night disappearing with loot.
But he wanted. For fuck’s sake how he wanted to just hold him close and promise him love and eternal happiness, and the scary part was he couldn’t promise shit. His love was real, but not unconditional, happiness was fleeting and simply relying on both of them and the rest of the world deciding whatever to fuck them up or not.
But…
“I give up,” he mumbled, weary to the bone. At Newt’s soft hm? he just sighed. “It’s fucking cold.”
The blond barked out a laugh, but nodded and let go of him, immediately taking all the warmth away.
“Then shall we assure them we’re not breaking up again?” he nodded towards the door and without waiting for Thomas’ reply he already reached for the handle. “Or not leaving tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” the brunet conceded. “Hannah’s going to be milking this for the rest of the week…”
“Serves you right,” Newt laughed quietly while opening the door and Thomas kept the answer to himself.
We’re not breaking up again rang in his head like a bell, deafening his reason even further. Newt didn’t protest when he reached for his hand on their way inside, and he wondered if his heart was ready for another trial.
He ignored the uncertainty and took a leap of faith.
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The Last Rites
*So, many fans including myself were unhappy with Adam Milligan and Michael’s exits out of Supernatural. This is my fix-it or at least my interpretation of what happened after 15x19 and 15x20. Enjoy!*
Summery: Chuck now human is a bitter bin collector and part-time serial killer stalking his latest victim. Little does he know that the dynamic human vessel/archangel duo Michael and Adam have been stalking him.
"Damn that Sam and Dean and that little brat for making me human! But I'll get the last laugh," he says as he makes his rounds and choosing his latest victim. Plotting all the terrible things he plans on doing to the Winchesters. “I’ll get them all for this!”
As Chuck follows this person out to their car in the middle of the night, knife in hand. All off a sudden he hears wings flapping and turns around in horror. His eyes bug out when he sees a figure standing before him in the shadows.
"W-who's there?"
Michael/Adam step out of the darkness wearing a "surprise-bitch" look on their face: "Hello...father" by the darkness of his ton Chuck knows his son hadn't forgotten the last time they saw each other. By that lakeside where he'd killed him for helping the Winchesters.
"No i-its impossible... You're dead I killed you. You should be in the Empty."
Michael hesitantly shakes his head. "Not anymore."
"How?"
"Let's just say I made bail thanks to my nephew and Castiel as they needed my assistance in Heaven's rehabilitation. And I humbly obliged."
"Castiel? He's alive too?! And you're working for them?! Why? That little brat took my power!" Chuck screams in anguish. "NO you both should be suffering in the Empty for all eternity!"
Michael/Adam looks at his hands flexing them into fists. Recalling the last second he drew breath being smited by his father. Regretting his decision to ever forsake his duty for humanity for his father. And his anger burns like acid.
"After what you did to me the last time we spoke...all I've cherished was this moment," the archangel Prince darkly replies. Adam's soul quietly astral-projected is in the background roots on his buddy. "Jack and Castiel offered me a chance to atone myself for wrongly choosing you over that which I’ve swore an oath to protect. That I could leave the Empty and reclaim my throne in Heaven if I stayed on Earth and helped the Winchesters clean up your mess."
Chuck glares "So you're their bitchboy now? Ha, pathetic." He chortled in his throat. "I always knew you were weak, Michael. Being in that cage all those years with Sam and Dean's forgotten little bro has made you soft."
Michael's cheeks throb angrily. But he maintains his restraint. "Oh I'm not doing this for them," he reveals; stepping a little closer to his father. Shoulders squared. "Being stuck on Earth is also my punishment. But I've accepted it...I deserve my fate...just as you deserve yours right now."
Chuck then scrutinizes his son suspiciously. Looking from the archangel's fists to the face of his vessel Adam.
"What so you're like an archangel superhero now?" He can't contain a laugh. "Wow those Winchesters must be really desperate to resort to sending you here instead of facing me themselves."
Michael shook his head. "As I've already stated...I'm not here for them, he says. "The one called Dean, my original sword, has already fallen in battle and has inherited his place in my nephew's paradise. And his brother Sam sought out his other brother Adam, my chosen vessel. They've been working together ever since."
"And that's when Jack sent you."
“Yes."
"Dammit!,” Chuck swears this wasn't suppose to happen. If he killed a Winchester in his story the other brother left alive was suppose to take his own life in grief. No this couldn't be happening. They changed his ending AGAIN. "THIS WASN'T THE ENDING I PLANNED! I DIDN'T WRITE THIS!"
Michael cocks his head sideways; basking in his father's frustration. It was music to his ears. Then he's serious; raising his hand and forwarding his palm in a power-up.
"Your reign if tyranny is over father. You will not be scribing another's fate ever again. Not while I'm around."
At that Chuck's face is ghostly white. "Wait, what are you doing?" He puts up his hands submissively. "I'm human now, you can't just smite me. I'm part of the humanity that I created for you to protect!"
"Oh you don't have any rights here," growls the archangel sternly. "You gave up those privileges when you chose to use your newfound humanity to blindly murder others. Your arrogance and hatred for mankind was your own undoing. And now your death shall be your punishment, father."
Chuck trembling now resorts to begging for his son's mercy. "Michael, wait son we can talk about this." He showcases a nervous smile. "We can still make this right."
"No we can't." Michael scoffs. "The centuries of my allegiance to you have also perished. And I've wanted nothing more than to watch you beg forgiveness as you draw your last breath."
"Wait please show your father mercy, my son! Please!"
"Like the mercy you demonstrated to me that day by the lake shore?"
Chuck nodded still keeping his hands up. Okay so Michael was still pissed about that. "Fine you're right that was a mistake. I should've never hurt you like that. I was wrong and I see that now."
Michael's expression is smug, giving a mild throat chuckle. Then his cold expression shifts into anguish. "I hate myself for ever believing in you and turning my back on humanity. I will never be able to forgive myself for making that choice. For allowing you, Lucifer and my devotion to you to manipulate me from doing what was right."
"This doesn't have to get ugly Michael, we can still talk this out." Chuck begs. “Come on, what do ya say?”
"No we're done talking father." Michael's eyes glow like silvery blue light.
Chuck back peddles "Wait j-just give me another chance. I can prove to you I'll change I will."
Michael chuckles darkly, "Like the chance you were about to give that civilian you were following just now? Or the others you’ve murdered since?"
He eyes the knife in his father's hand. Suddenly Chuck realizes this and impulsively drops it onto the pavement.
"No, this isn’t what it looks like. I-I wasn't going to hurt anyone else. I swear!"
"You'll never learn will you father," Michael shrugs apathetically. "It's a shame. You were given a gift by your own flesh and blood and you've squandered it."
"WAIT MICHAEL, PLEASE LET'S JUST TALK ABOUT THIS!"
No, no the archangel Prince was done talking. He'd said all he needed to say and with that throws Chuck's own last words to him right back in the short man's face.
"SAVE IT!" smiting him instantly on the spot. Blasting his father in a blinding light, erasing him from existence. When the dust settles Michael eases his tense shoulders releasing a sharp intake of breath.
Adam's projected soul then takes it upon himself to console his friend. Who is clearly bitter about destroying his own father even if he was an evil bastard.
"You did the right thing you know," the pre-med student/hunter in training reassures him. "Your dad would've killed that person if you hadn't intervened."
But Michael doesn't want to hear it. "I didn't do this for that person. I did it out of my own volition. I wanted my father to pay for what he'd done to me and my broken vow."
"It still doesn't change the fact that you saved someone tonight, Michael,” Adam insists. “And you proved that you can be better than Chuck ever was."
Michael frowns lowering his gaze to the ground melancholically.
"Or maybe I've just demonstrated that I am no better than him. I betrayed my sworn oath," the archangel squeezes his fist tightly. Putting all his anger into that hand. "And for that transgression alone I shall never be redeemed."
Adam recognizing the sadness in Michael's expression, throws his celestial pal a genuine smile, kneading his shoulder. "There's always redemption for all of us," he says gently. "I believe my brothers were capable of that, even if they never cared about me. Knowing you and even getting to know Sam has taught me so much more about myself, my family and what I'm meant to do with my life."
"What like being a hero?"
"Yah and it's kinda cool I get to kick some ass with an archangel."
"So, you want to honor your family. Despite what fate they'd left you to."
Adam shook his head. "Sam and Dean were far from perfect. I don't think I'll ever fully forgive them for what happened," he reveals. "BUT I think it changed me for the better. I got to become friends with Heavens MVP and I care about their cause now. They wanted to protect the world from evil and that's what I want to do. It's not about honoring the Winchester's legacy I want to do some good in this world. And you know what...I think you do too."
The archangel smiled to himself. "Well I did get some amusement out of watching my father squirm," He says lightly then adds. "Alright kid, you win. We shall continue our eternal quest for justice."
"Good, but we can continue that quest another night," the pre-med checks his wristwatch. "I gotta get some rest I have classes in the morning."
Michael scrutinized Adam. "You do know that you no longer require rest now that I've possessed this vessel or has that notion escaped you?"
“Oh yah I forgot," Adam laughs. "I guess I won't be needing sleep anytime soon then. Let's go home anyway I want to check out the bunker some more. Find any hidden passages or something."
"As you wish. I imagine your canine companion is also getting famished without us around to feed it."
A light bulb went off in his head. Right Sam and Dean's dog Miracle was in his care now. He loved that scruffy mutt even if he did drool a lot. Time to get home.
"Miracle, okay we gotta get home stat!"
And with that Michael flew back to the bunker.
#adam milligan#supernatural#midam#michael the archangel#Archangel Michael#chuck shurley#SPN#adam x michael#michael x adam#spn one shot#spn fix-it#spn fanfic#chuck god#spn spoilers#supernatural season 15
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Whumpay: Day 4 - Ice / Fire
Stay Strong, My Love
read on ao3 2572 words mature, star wars: rebels, hera syndulla, grand admiral thrawn, graphic depictions of violence, torture, interrogation, electrocution, forced nudity, slavery mention, minor sexual assault, hypothermia, cultural appropriation, referenced rape/non-con (this is basically a dead dove: do not eat)
Hera couldn’t believe she had been captured. And by Grand Admiral Thrawn. That dirty Imperial low-life! She wanted to punch him in the face, find out what color his blood was. She tended to not think of herself as a violent person, and fought when she had to and for what she believed in. But he had rubbed his disrespectful and ruining hands all over her culture. He’d taken her family’s kalikori and kept it like it was some kind of trophy. To him, her culture was nothing but something to be collected to survive the extermination he was part of.
But her culture wasn’t a trophy, or artwork for any scum to just admire. It was hers, her family’s!
And now she was captured by this horrid man.
She was restrained in one of the interrogation chairs, the metal cold and hard against her.
Thrawn walked into the room, as poised as ever, and Hera snarled at him.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
Her gut instinct was to swear at him, to tell him how horrible he was, but no, that would surely have no effect on him. Instead she asked, “Does this look comfortable?”
“Hmm… I suppose not. But that’s the point, isn’t it?” He approached her, and got so close she could smell him, could feel his breath on her face. Hera tried to shy away, but she was strapped in tight. “Discomfort. Pain. These are all things that will hopefully extract the information as to the whereabouts of your base from you.”
He caressed her cheek, and she restrained the urge to spit at him.
Keep it together, Hera. You’re better than that.
A small frown crossed his face when she pulled away.
“I wish I could say I was sorry about this, as I do respect you, and find your culture most… interesting. But, you see, you’re undermining the Empire, so there is no way we can be friends. Not unless you cooperate, of course.”
“What makes you think I’m going to cooperate with you?”
“Oh, you will,” he said in his soft, accented voice, that was somehow brimming with confidence. “In time, my dear. Now, enough pleasantries. Shall we begin?”
Thrawn went over to the desk across from Hera, and picked up a remote that was on it. He fiddled with some of the controls, and then the chair’s conduits were drawing close to her.
Hera had been in pain before, had struggled. Though this situation was new, she hoped she could get through it. She had to. She dared not even think of—
Stop. Don’t even think the name.
So Hera tried to think of something else as the conduits drew closer to her head, as there was a slight whine as they began to charge.
Think of Kanan.
Drawing up any happy memories or images was difficult with the calm way that Thrawn stood before her, ready to hurt her. He was clearly determined to get his way.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said to her.
Hera gave him a fierce grin despite how she was beginning to shake with fear, and said, “I’m afraid we do.”
A small smile upturned one corner of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s mouth, and he pressed a button.
Suddenly, it was like Hera was being stabbed a thousand times over. And then the stabbing turning into fire. Her body convulsed of its own volition, muscles spasming and aching. She had no control of the tortured sounds that left her. She forgot everything but the aching and the stabbing and the fire. Oh, the fire.
Every second was unbearable, and there was no part of Hera that could stand it.
After what was surely an eternity, the conduits were powered down. The electrocution stopped.
Hera trembled, her head aching. Her vision was blurry, and she began to feel… numb in certain places, even with the fire crawling over her face. She couldn’t breathe. Oh stars, she couldn’t breathe!
Thrawn came forward, and she started as one of his hands touched her lekku.
Hera tried to growl at him, but all that got her was drool unceremoniously dribbling from her mouth and onto her chin. To her great surprise, Thrawn wiped it away for her.
Was this even real?
She shook her head, trying to clear it. His hand was still caressing her lekku, examining the one on the left.
“Fascinating.”
“Don’t… Don’t touch me!” she got out.
And then she realized her mistake. He now knew one thing that got to her. But how could it not get to her? Only family members and Kanan were allowed to touch her there. And with Kanan it had to be in private.
Hera tried to bury the hurt under an amusing memory, but it wouldn’t come to mind. She was too groggy. There was just this scum. Hera wanted to see him crushed, even wanted to do it herself.
“So are these tattoos? I heard these are… very sensitive. How brave of you.”
“What does it matter to you? Just get your hands off me!”
Thrawn stroked her left lekku once more, and the sensations burned, but not with the same fire that was consuming her face. This was one was soft, deep, and sensual. She bit her lip against a groan, but a sound still came out—a whine.
Then he stepped back, and hefted the remote again.
“As you wish.”
This time when he pressed the button, Hera forgot where she was, and didn’t know how long she endured the agonies put upon her.
“Now,” Thrawn asked, “where is your base?”
“Kanan…” Hera breathed.
She… she needed Kanan. Where was he? Why couldn’t he be here with her?
No, no, no. That wouldn’t be good. That would mean he’d been captured too.
Was she captured?
Where was she?
“Don’t make me ask again.”
Hera looked up, her head falling back against the hard, unforgiving metal of the interrogation chair. And all she saw was Thrawn. His blue skin, his unforgiving red eyes, the makeup he wore around them.
“Go ahead,” Hera snarled. “Ask again.”
This time when the pain hit, when she was stabbed with fire, and her body was made to seize, the base came to mind. It was home for her, in a way. Just like the Ghost was.
Atollon.
When the pain stopped, in her tormented delirium, Hera began to say the name, but sudden clarity came upon her. She turned what she had started saying into a scream, hoping to fool Thrawn.
It seemed to work, as he sighed, and withdrew.
“Disappointing,” he commented. “Luckily, I know just what to do with you.”
He turned on the comms on his wrist, and ordered someone, “Jump to hyperspace. Set a course for Hoth.”
“Right away, sir,” came the response.
The smile that Thrawn gave her chilled her down to her bones. He caressed one of her lekku again, making her flinch and try turning her head to bite him. It was no use. He tugged, and gods, she wished she could kick him.
“I’ll leave you be now. Hopefully I won’t have to go to the extremes I’ve planned. I’ll let you rest, think about our conversation. It would be most beneficial for you to give me the information I seek.”
“Over my dead body.”
“No, that won’t do. Goodbye for now, Hera,” he said, making to leave. “Do think on where your base is. I’m very curious. It would save me a lot of work.
Hera tried to bare her teeth at him one last time as he left, but it came out more as a grimace.
When he was gone and the automatic door slid closed, she started crying.
~~~
An hour passed before Thrawn came back. In that time Hera was sure she’d lost consciousness a few times, because she’d seen Kanan. She’d seen Sabine, and Ezra, and Chopper, and Zeb. The Ghost.
Ato—
Stop. If you think the name he starts winning.
Hera had to hold out. Somehow.
“I hope you’re feeling more agreeable than you were earlier,” Thrawn said in lieu of a greeting.
“And I hope you’re less of an ass.”
“Funny. Now, where is the rebel base located?”
“What rebel base?” Hera asked, trying a tactic Kanan had taught her. To not give anything away during interrogations, to respond to questions with a question.
“Fine, if that’s how you want to act.”
Thrawn waved his hand, and there must’ve been a camera somewhere in the room, because soon stormtroopers were entering.
“Strip her,” Grand Admiral Thrawn said. “Put her in binders. And, oh, bring in a shock collar. I don’t want her wandering too far.”
“What… What are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” he told her.
Hera tried to fight as she was released from the interrogation chair and the stormtroopers’ rough hands were on her, stripping her. She felt like she was going to be sick. Her head was spinning, and her mouth was making far too much saliva.
“Don’t touch me! Get away from me! Get away! Stop!”
They weren’t gentle with taking off her head covering, which left her lekku with an odd ache. Her clothes were being taken off, and she desperately wanted to cover herself. But she was held steady.
Suddenly, she was punched in the gut, and her head spun, the air in her lungs leaving her. First she had just felt the pressure of the blow, but now it was beginning to throb.
Hera forgot all about keeping her dignity in front of the enemy. What dignity was there in being forcibly stripped?
When that was done, she was left shivering, the room cold and unforgiving. The stormtroopers put her in binders, and another came in with a shock collar.
Hera tried to kick at them, but it was simply unceremonious flailing with the way they held her fast. She was slapped across the burn on her face, drawing blood. Her vision went black, and she screamed.
Brain fogged with pain, she was hardly aware of when they put the shock collar on her. All she felt was the unnatural, horrible weight of it. And all of her tensed, waiting for pain that would surely come.
But none did for now.
“Take her outside.”
Oh. That’s what he was doing.
Thrawn seemed to notice the realization in her eyes, and he praised, “Good girl. I knew you were smart. You know, it doesn’t have to be this way. Just tell me where the rebel base is. This is your last chance.”
Hera, having lost all her dignity already, spit on him. The fucking bastard didn’t even flinch. He just wiped it away, and started leading the stormtroopers out.
Hera wanted to cry and hide, seek out a dark corner where no one would ever find her. Thankfully, Thrawn didn’t seem too interested in her nudity, but she couldn’t tell where the stormtroopers were looking because of their stupid helmets. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were… admiring her. She’d heard horror stories of what they did to her people on Ryloth. And she knew the terror of being a Twi’lek, that any of them could suddenly be captured and sold. Her people were popular in the slave trade, and she’d known of what was done to them since she was a child, having learned the hard way during the Clone Wars through seeing the torment of her people.
All that terror filled her, and the shame, and the humiliation. Hera didn’t want to exist anymore.
If she told them where the base was, maybe they’d let her put her clothes back on. They wouldn’t be doing these evil things. They might stop.
That nearly broke her.
But she knew she couldn’t tell them. Too many good people would suffer and die if she said that one word, that name. The rebellion would be over. The Empire would win.
Hera was just one person amongst all this. And she was one person who had to persevere.
Stay strong, my love, she heard in Kanan’s voice in her head. Maybe it was a memory, or perhaps it was real. Could she actually feel him? Could he reach out to her like that? Maybe she was just suffering from pain- and fear-induced delirium.
Hera was brought to the bay doors. Cold wind immediately attacked her as they opened, leaving her trying to retreat. But a stormtrooper shoved his blaster roughly into her lower back, making her grunt.
She was dragged down the ramp as it lowered, and then was tossed off of it, into the snow.
Hera’s breath was taken from her. Shock took over her body, and she couldn’t move, could barely think.
Snow, and ice, and wind attacked her. The cold was so fierce that it burned, not even acting as a balm for the injuries to her face. When her breath came back to her, she let out a strangled screech, the cold touching incredibly sensitive places on her body.
Over the wind, she heard Grand Admiral Thrawn: “Don’t try to run away. If you do…” She twisted to look at him, and through the blinding white and the excruciating cold digging into her, she saw him raise a remote. His thumb roved over it, almost sensually; and Hera was too frozen to feel sick inside. “Think on the location of your base. I’ll have someone come back to collect you… eventually.”
The ramp retracted, and the doors started closing. Somehow Hera got herself to move. She ran through the burning ice, and began banging her palms against the door, each smack feeling like it’d break skin.
“Hey!” she cried. “Hey, stop this! Please, let me in!”
Her pleas were useless, and eventually she gave up. She was so tired, so cold, and she nearly just sat down in the snow.
Keep moving.
Her motions were slow, but she trudged away from the ship. Remembering something Kanan had told her about one of the places he’d been she started digging into the snow. The stinging pain that quickly turned into numbness had her crying again. The tears froze on her face.
“Hera.”
“Kanan?”
He touched her shoulder, and she leaned against him, feeling his warmth.
“You know I’m always with you.”
“Of course, love.”
White turned to black.
Hera woke up, snow swirling around her, piled on top of her. How long had she been out here? Was she going to die? She couldn’t feel her body, or her face. Not even her lekku. There was nothing to feel. Perhaps she was getting frostbite now. Hypothermia.
How long? How long had she been out here? Since she wasn’t dead yet, surely only minutes.
Through bleary vision, and fighting exhaustion, she saw the doors open and the ramp descend. Stormtroopers came and collected her.
Hera lost consciousness as her ice cold body was dragged inside.
When next she woke, she was in a medical bay, and Thrawn was watching over her. She started, which pulled at the tubes and wires she was connected to.
Micro-injections pricked her all over from the shock blanket they had on her, making her wince.
But she could feel.
Did she want to feel?
“Hera Syndulla,” Grand Admiral Thrawn began, “where is your rebel base?”
An explosion rocked the ship. Kanan was here. Hera would be rescued.
She bared her teeth at him, and declared, “I’ll never tell you.”
#swr#swr fanfiction#grand admiral thrawn#hera syndulla#whump#star wars#star wars: rebels#star wars fanfiction#star wars: rebels fanfiction#sw#sw fanfiction#fanfiction#writing#my writing#tw: graphic depictions of violence#tw: non-con#tw: slavery mention#tw: rape mention#tw: torture
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Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 3
Masterlist | Previous | Next
Content warnings: fantasy religion, death mention
Morgan's golem eventually warned him of people approaching. He didn't need to look to guess it would be Blaise and Icharion. It had not been an especially dignified departure. Blaise would have questions, and would have dragged him along with her to satisfy the sentry. Morgan took a steadying breath and raised his head. This conversation might as well happen now. He made a cursory effort to wipe the tears from his cheeks, not that it would make it any less obvious that he'd been weeping.
Icharion was the first to speak once they had rounded the corner and spotted him. "It was cruel of Master Ordan to lie to you as he did," he said stiffly. That didn't sound right at all. Morgan hadn't known Icharion especially well, but he hadn't been one for that sort of reflection. It was the sort of sentiment he would expect from Blaise, though. He glanced over and saw her watching him intently.
"We both know that cruelty was not the Master's intention," he said, addressing Icharion. "And we both know he was in the right."
Icharion exhaled. "I told you," he said to Blaise. She elbowed him.
"There's nothing right about what he did. Don't sell yourself short," she said to Morgan. "You've gotten so much stronger since we met. Just look at everything we've done together."
"That has nothing to do with it," Morgan replied.
"I told her, she wouldn't listen-" Icharion was silenced by another elbow to the ribs.
"Explain it to me, then," Blaise said, crouching in front of Morgan to look him in the face. "Because it sounds like this Ordan just sent you out to die without even telling you what you did to deserve it, and I really don't understand how the two of you seem to think that's justified."
"You know we don't perceive death the same way you do," Morgan reminded her. She nodded grudgingly. "Master Ordan's primary concern is the maintenance of our Order. Our numbers are few enough, but even a small tree can benefit from pruning its weakest branches." That had been one of the master's favourite metaphors. He'd usually used it in the context of seeking out weakness within oneself, but it seemed apt enough here too.
"Yeah, that's pretty much what he said, but you aren't weak." Her voice was rising, the frustration clear on her face.
"I am weak in the ways that matter to the Order," Morgan explained. The heat of shame prickled at his neck. He had no desire to enumerate his failings to her here, in front of someone who could verify the precise degree of his inadequacy. But Blaise was a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't let her focus her anger on the Order. They were important, even if he was not, so he tried to explain. He started reluctantly with the most fundamental issue, the lowest bar he'd failed to surpass.
"In order to uphold the Balance, we must be objective in our judgment. And we cannot do that if we are beholden to emotions. It's some of our most basic and essential training, and I have never been able to master it properly." He could hear the bitterness creeping into his voice, feel the familiar weight curling in his gut. Even now he was failing.
"So, let me get this straight. You have feelings, like a regular person, and for some reason you think that's so bad you deserve to die for it." Blaise cocked an eyebrow at him. "It's not like that's something you can just turn off."
"I should be able to. It's one of our central tenets. We must be able to separate ourselves from our emotions so we can remain clear-headed. I truly thought I had myself under control when I set out, but... oh." He trailed off as the pieces finally clicked into place, tracing an unmistakable pattern back to its origin. It had felt like it had finally started getting easier by the time he'd left on his quest. The doubt he'd had in himself had been erased by the Master's assurance that he was ready. And he had found it to be possible, if not exactly easy, right up to a very specific point.
Proper control had been impossible ever since the fight against Andariel. Whose venom had caused a lasting change in his sense of pain, lingering even after all physical traces of the wound were gone. Permanent, Jamella had said. And Cain had also mentioned that Andariel could cause emotional sensitivity. So this, too, would be permanent. A heavy feeling settled over Morgan, coming to rest behind his ribs. The rest of his shortcomings were insignificant in comparison to this. There was no hope of redemption. It would take years more dedicated training to overcome this weakness, if it was even possible. And he had nowhere to train, no mentor to correct him when he inevitably strayed. He couldn't return to the Order, not after the story Ordan had woven. Icharion's reaction would be amplified a hundredfold. Why had he-
"Speak, Morgan. You're inside your own head." Icharion's voice was not unkind, but Blaise shot him a dirty look.
"I was clearly mistaken. I just don't understand why Master Ordan lied about the request," Morgan said, voice so low it was nearly a whisper. "He only had to ask. I would have gone willingly." If the goal had simply been to remove him, that could have easily been accomplished in a number of simpler ways. Everything else made sense. Morgan looked up at Icharion, half hoping to find an answer, half dreading what it might be.
"Politics, most likely. Any expulsion from within the Necropolis must be approved by the council, and Jostan is too troubled by our numbers to let anyone go, no matter the reason. No one would have believed you decided to go of your own volition, and Ordan has too many eyes on him to stage a convincing accident."
"Ah." Morgan looked back down. That explanation made sense enough, he supposed. He had simply been so intolerable, so far from adequate that it had forced the Master's hand. The man was fiercely loyal to the brotherhood, if rather unyielding in his views. His decisions were unswayable, and clearly he'd decided - he'd seen - that there could be no place for someone as weak as Morgan in the priesthood, no matter how earnest his devotion.
"Hang on," Blaise said, "when you talk about 'going', do you actually mean-"
"Dying, yes," Icharion interrupted. "It is an honour to lay down one's life in service to the Order." It was an honour he would never know, Morgan realized suddenly. That twisted like a knife.
"You're really not convincing me that any of this is okay," Blaise said.
"You don't need to believe the truth," Icharion replied. "It will be true all the same, with or without your approval."
"Blaise," Morgan said quickly, "wait." She looked ready to explode, glaring murderously at Icharion. Morgan tried to find the right words, ones she might take heed of. "Master Ordan was right. I cannot serve the Order of Rathma. I am not capable of meeting their standards. He saw that and acted in their best interest because that is his duty. The only fault here is mine. I should have seen it too." Should have recognized the truth and gone long ago, saved them all the trouble.
"That's stupid. The whole time I've known you, everything you've done has been in the name of the Balance. I've watched you work yourself nearly to death for it, and you're telling me that's not good enough? Bullshit."
"I've no doubt his intentions are pure," Icharion said with surprising gentleness, "but effort alone cannot overcome inability. Not all people are capable of all things. Few are suited to our work, fewer still are able to carry it out."
"Bullshit," Blaise repeated, but it was quieter this time. "That's not fair."
"It is important work," Morgan said. "It cannot be entrusted to those unfit to do it."
"And you really believe that includes you? Even after all the shit you've been through for it? After how hard you've worked?"
"I do." Morgan closed his eyes against the surge of emotions that swelled up at the finality of that admission. He had no choice but to accept the truth. It was nothing new, after all. Hardly the first time his best efforts had proven to be insufficient. That didn't do much to soften the blow. At least his ineptitude was likely to have prevented him from doing any real damage to anything in his efforts, he thought dully.
"I could witness your departure," Icharion offered after a time, breaking the silence. "We are far from home. The rules would allow it." It was an unexpected gesture, permitted but not necessary by the laws of the Order. Morgan studied his face for a moment. He found nothing; of course Icharion could make himself unreadable, like a priest ought to be able to do. There was an undeniable thread of kindness in the offer, though. At least it could be done properly. That would be a small comfort.
"I would appreciate that very much," Morgan said, getting to his feet. Blaise sprang up as well as Icharion drew his sword.
"Whoa, whoa, hang on a second here. Somebody tell me what's happening. I'm not going to let-"
"It's not that kind of departure," Icharion interrupted her. "Sit back down." Blaise bristled.
"It's just a ceremony," Morgan reassured her. "An oath. Nobody dies." She seemed slightly mollified but did not sit down, instead crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. She would let them proceed, then.
Morgan fished out a vial of oil from his chest pocket. Uncorking it, he pinched the tip of Icharion's proffered blade with his thumb and forefinger and squeezed several drops of blood in to mingle with the oil. Then he poured out the contents in a rough circle around himself. The circle glowed faintly as he imbued it with intent. He had never seen this particular ceremony, but the steps were as familiar as all the others he'd ever committed to memory.
"On my heart's blood I swear I shall never again interfere in the Order of Rathma, nor in the affairs of the dead." The words left a heavy feeling in his chest, but it was a little better than the jagged hurt that already sat there.
"On your heart's blood it is witnessed," Icharion replied, "and so are you bound." He traced a line under the circle with the bloodied tip of his blade. It drew in the light from the circle, which faded to nothing as he dismissed the magic with his free hand. Morgan wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt.
"Thank you for that," he said quietly. Icharion nodded an acknowledgement as Morgan handed over the rest of his ceremonial oils. He no longer had a use for them. A thick, protective numbness was starting to settle in, blunting the world's edges.
"So that's it? You're just... done?" Blaise hadn't moved, still regarding them suspiciously.
"It is a very straightforward oath," Icharion pointed out as he wiped his blade clean and returned it to its sheath.
"Oh, fuck off."
"I will continue to do my part in the effort against Baal," Morgan clarified, the words feeling far away and hazy. "But on my own behalf, now. I think I'd like to join you in battle tomorrow." He could still work toward a purpose, still make himself useful. He needed that. To hold him together.
Blaise slung an arm around his shoulders. "I'll be glad to have you by my side." Morgan leaned into her gratefully. "And I think the barbarians are going to like your golems. If you're still..." she broke off, glancing over at the one still standing watch.
"He cannot raise the dead, but the earth is still fair game," Icharion confirmed. "Now if you're quite finished, I'm going back inside." He turned and left without further comment.
"You should go back with him," Morgan said. He pulled away from Blaise, but her hand lingered on his shoulder.
"Hey," she said softly, "are you... okay? I mean, fuck, obviously not, this is... I know the Order is important to you. Can I help? Somehow?" Once again, she was looking at him with earnest concern. He should have felt something about that, probably, but the numbness was there instead.
"I don't know," Morgan replied. "I'm going to finish checking the wall for damage," he found himself saying, "and then I think I'm going to meditate." Being fully rested would be a good idea. He'd been getting so much sleep recently, he didn't need any more and he certainly didn't want to risk the nightmares. But he found he didn't want to be conscious either. Though the specific techniques had been developed by the Order, the act of meditation was hardly exclusive to them. It wouldn't interfere with anything. He could still have that little peace, at least.
Blaise squeezed him gently. "Think about eating something too." That was probably also a good idea, but less appealing. He nodded anyway. "I'll leave you to it, then," she said, then followed Icharion's path back toward the gates.
There was still more to do, Morgan reminded himself as he walked slowly around the wall. Tyrael had bidden them to slay Baal. He still had a purpose, for now. Between that and the numbness, it was enough to propel him through the rest of the day's actions. His body patched a few more damaged spots in the wall, and put some food into itself, and found a bed to lay itself in, and then it rested as his mind drifted in meditation, carefully focused on absolutely nothing at all.
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Sleepwalk It Off || Leah and Alcher
TIMING: Sometime before Charmed, I’m Sure PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @zahneundklauen SUMMARY: Leah goes for a walk and runs into Alcher, who’s on a different kind of walk. CONTENT: Family death mention, House fire mention
The fall air was crisp in White Crest, and despite a chilled, wet, and miserable Winter surely on its way, this Autumn was proving to be generally dry and enjoyable, barring the killer fog that seemed to be rolling it’s way through town. Leah was on one of her usual walks in the forest, enjoying the color of the trees as they continued to change for the season. Truthfully, on these walks, she always hoped to catch a glimpse of a rogue supernatural animal, to study it from afar so she could learn as much as she could. Instead, she spotted another person in the distance, and as she got closer, the person was looking more and more familiar. “Ada, hey!” she called out, waving to get her attention. How exciting! They were just planning on meeting up for lunch soon anyway, it was a nice coincidence that they’d be able to enjoy a walk together, too. Leah knew Ada’s sleep troubles had been bothering her recently, and it was easy to tell, even from this far away, that her gaze was distant and far off; almost definitely worried about the restful nights that were still plaguing her. Ada’s mood seemed to change as Leah approached her, and now not only was her gaze still distant, but now she was yelling- about what, Leah couldn’t quite make out. “Ada?”, she asked, trying to catch her eyes and gain her attention with a wave of her hand, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Dreamland was an escape. Alcher didn’t even realize her body was taking itself on a real journey. In her dreams, she had her family. They would play together and laugh together. In her dreams, she had a pack. And they would hunt together and they would smile. In her dreams, she had her own pups, and she loved them with her whole heart. But, as dreams often do, they turned to nightmares. Her life melted away. It burned. They all burned. And Alcher was back in that room, tripping over furniture, scrambling from the flames. Climbing up the chimney and feeling the burn of the flames on her legs as she did. Feeling the flu digging into her leg and tearing it apart as she forced it shut and pressed herself against the walls of the tiny space. Trembling. She screamed and cried and shouted and-- someone said her name. Alcher’s eyes snapped open and she was staring at Leah. And she was in the middle of the forest, not her home, not the chimney. Her skin felt hot. She wasn’t wearing much but her body was sweating and she shivered. “L-Leah?” she asked, out of breath, “where...where am I?”
The closer Leah got to Ada, the more the concern in her belly grew. She was disheveled, shouting, and dazed. The clothing she was wearing were wrinkled in a way only sleeping in something will do to a person. It was certainly a contrast to the confident, poised Ada she first met. Was she sleepwalking, then? It would make sense, with all the sleep troubles she’d been having. And it would certainly explain the dazed look, but the yelling...? She wondered with furrowed eyebrows if she had looked as lost when she was sleepwalking as Ada did now. “Ada”, she said more firmly, reaching out to grab her shoulder. “Ada. You need to wake up, I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself”. Suddenly, something seemed to snap her awake, and Ada was looking at her with a horrified expression. She kept her arm firmly on her arm, hoping to steady her. “You… you’re in the forest. White Crest Forest.” She pressed her lips together, blinking slowly. “I think you were sleepwalking, Ada. You-... you didn’t seem… yourself.” Had Leah really known Ada enough to know what herself even was? Or would Ada stiffen at the rude assumption. “Do you know what day it is?”
Leah’s face came into view after a few hard blinks and Alcher felt herself falling out of whatever daze she’d been in. When she came to, the world was still spinning a bit, but the light of the morning was peeking through the trunks of the trees around them. Her gaze fell back to Leah and she tried to calm her expression, but the worry that wrought through her body was clear on her face. “It’s…” she blinked again, but she didn’t know yet. The world hadn’t come all the way back. “Thursday.” She reached up to rub her face, to try and wash the weariness from her eyes. “I...am sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she mumbled through her palms. First, the sleepwalking, then she’d started seeing Klaus everywhere-- and now she was feeling and doing things not of her own volition. She shook her head, running hands shakily through hair. At least she was dressed, that was more than she could say for the last time she’d woken up from a sleep walk episode. “What are you doing out here, anyway? It’s dangerous out here.” And Alcher was one of those dangerous things, especially if this kept happening.
“Thursday”, Leah said, nodding slowly. Her eyebrows were furrowed with concern, and she rubbed up and down Ada’s arm gently, almost as if she was willing the confusion out of her. “Don’t be sorry”. Her voice was quiet- gentle even, as if she were talking to a child waking up from a bad dream. It was so similar to the way Ada had spoken to her when she first called her out on her scent. “Let’s find somewhere to sit, yea? Get you situated again.” It was less of a request than it was an urging, and without waiting for confirmation, she did her best to guide Ada to sit on a nearby rock, licking her lips once she was sure she was situated. “I take most of my walks in the forest”, she admitted, finally letting go of Ada’s arm. “I’m not afraid of what I might find- I’m pretty versed on what to look out for, and how to avoid getting hurt”. Her father warned her often that her refusal to see the danger in these walks would come back to bite her one day (quite possibly literally), but she paid him no mind. “What about you, though…” she tried. “Do you...remember coming here?”
The world was still taking its time in trickling back into Alcher’s senses, but she could smell the warm ash of Leah’s scent, and the comforting smell of the forest. The sounds of leaves and birds and critters crunching leaves on the ground. She drew in a breath and brought herself back down to Earth as much as possible before speaking again. They were sat upon a rock and Alcher felt the cool, smooth ridges of its shell under her palms. “Knowledge can only get you so far in a place so unpredictable,” she answered quietly, brows knit with concern as she turned to look at Leah. “I don’t, no,” she went on, looking down at her legs. “I still have my leg on, which means I did not change.” Which was, ultimately, all for the better. She took another look around but it was just the two of them in the clearing. “I’m beginning to believe this...might be a problem,” she muttered, lifting a hand subconsciously to her ribs. The spot where the doctor had written upon them.
It was a relief that Leah had gotten Ada to sit down, it would be much easier for her to regain her bearings that way. She nodded softly, understanding Adas concern, but still too stubborn and proud to stop the activity that she loved so much. “I’m quick on my feet”, was all she offered as a response. Leah’s eyes followed Ada’s down to her legs, and she nodded at the observation before she looked back up. “Every problem has a solution”, she said, fully believing her words. “Maybe it’s a problem, but we’re going to find an answer, Ada.” She grabbed her friends hand instinctively, squeezing gently to emphasize her point. “Do you live alone? Maybe you should come stay with me so I can stop you if you try to leave at night.” She remembered how terrified she’d been when she found out she was sleepwalking, and if she hadn’t been staying with Morgan and Deirdre- with Morgan there to wake her up and stop her if things got bad, she didn’t know if she’d ever even have been able to fall asleep. She wanted to grant Ada the same comfort. “I have an extra bedroom, you’d have your own space.”
“As am I,” Alcher responded, looking at Leah with tired, but firm eyes. She motioned to the scars on her face, her arms, and left it at that. Rubbed her eyes again, trying to wipe the weariness from them. She glanced down when Leah grabbed her hand and squeezed, wholly unused to this gentle comfort. Usually it was Alcher giving the comfort, helping someone figure out how they felt, or what was bothering them. She swallowed. “I’d hate to put you out like that,” she answered, “besides, it could become dangerous. I know that more than once I’ve slept walked while changed and I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
Leah pressed her lips together, looking to the side in defeat. Point definitely taken. She shook her head at Ada’s words, disagreeing. “It wouldn’t be putting me out, not at all. It’d be like, a fun research project for me. I could even observe you in your sleep at some points to see if there are any warning signs before you start sleepwalking.” She stood up, pulling Ada up with her. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, at least not easily. “Come on, Ada. I’ll drive you to yours so you can pack up some things, and then we can get settled at my house. I really don’t see how this could go wrong.”
Leah, for her small stature, was quite determined in her stance. Alcher looked up at her as she stood, and let the small woman pull her up with her, looking down at her now, with a tired glance. “Well, if you insist,” she said, half rolling her eyes. But in reality, she was relieved. This was beginning to become a problem, and she was unsure how to help it. If Leah wanted to extend her offer, then Alcher supposed it was best to take. She reached out and grabbed Leah’s hand, her only action of agreeance to the idea, too tired, now, to fight it. “Alright,” she finally said, giving a nod. “But only if you swear to me we’ll do this safely.” And she knew she would. Besides, as Leah had said-- what could possibly go wrong? Famous last words, Alcher supposed, as they headed out of the forest. Only time would tell.
#chatzy#chatzy: leah#wickedswriting#sleepwalk it off#leah#//short but sweet :--)#what could possibly go wrong after all
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I Hear You Call My Name
Title: I Hear You Call My Name Written by: @tisfan (3023) Square: S1 Kink: Sex Magic Rating: explicit Pairing: IronStrange Triggers/warnings: barebacking Tags: anal sex, oral sex, sex magic, plot what plot Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 2,240 Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204078
Summary: Stephen needs a little extra oomph for a spell. Tony really needs to get laid more than once every two months...
“You know, when I said I was willing to help you with a magical experiment, taking a bath in some sort of herbal sauce wasn’t what I had in mind,” Tony complained. The water was tepid, the herbs were smelly, and he was naked and up to his nipples in Stephen’s tub. It was a nice tub, when the water was warm. And preferably when Stephen was in it with him.
“You need to be purified,” Stephen said again, dropping another few flowers into the water and murmuring words. Sparks of light glittered down from his fingers, limning the petals and then fizzing out with another spell.
“That might take quite a while,” Tony pointed out. “Do you have to do this, too?”
“I already did,” Stephen said. Well, that explained the floral hug hello, at least.
“When?” Because this had taken an hour already and Tony was cold and uncomfortable. And Stephen had called to ask for help and Tony was locked in a heavily perfumed embrace within ten minutes.
“I cheat,” Stephen reminded him, tapping the Eye with one long, shaky finger. “I can get all my prepwork done in only a few seconds.”
“So why aren’t you doing that for me?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Oh. Are we almost done?”
“Just a moment,” Stephen said, then he knelt by the tub. He put one hand in the water and murmured another spell.
By the time he’d finished speaking, the water was to the point of just a little uncomfortably warm, the steam fragrant as it rose off the surface.
“Kiss me,” Stephen told him.
“You sure, because I have some really impure thoughts--”
Stephen’s mouth came down on his, gentle, but insistent. His lips were soft, firm, and he parted Tony’s without so much as a by your leave. Which Tony would have given him anyway. He always liked kissing Stephen. Lips moved over his, Stephen’s tongue slipped inside, and Tony moaned eagerly, pushing up and into it, his arms going around Stephen’s neck.
He could almost hear the Cloak’s offended sigh as it slithered off Stephen’s back and fanned itself out, trying to get rid of the water from the bath.
He was smiling too hard to kiss back after that.
“Are you ready?”
“You still haven’t explained what we’re doing,” Tony said. But he let Stephen give him a hand out of the tub, and a towel to dry off with. The room was warm enough, and Stephen didn’t seem to have brought in a robe. Nudity was the choice of the day, Tony supposed.
“Nuptive prayer,” Stephen told him and drew him into the bedroom. Stephen’s rooms in the Sanctuary were laid out in a circle. Bedroom to bath, bath to sacred space, sacred space to living room, living room to bedroom. Tony had supposed they’d go the other way.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Sex magic,” Stephen said. “I need-- I’m experimenting with soul-sexive energies to power certain abilities.”
“You what?”
“I need a double orgasm to power a spell, Tony,” Stephen said. “From someone, and I quote capable of intense mental, volitional and affectional energy, combined with perfect sexive and orgasmal ability.”
“And you thought of me, I’m flattered,” Tony teased.
“Well, truth, you do have one flaw that might make it difficult,” Stephen said, and he started to disrobe. “Once I light the candle and we begin, you cannot talk. And we must achieve orgasm within forty-nine seconds of each other.”
“That’s gonna be tricky without some sort of communication. Also, I hope moaning is allowed, because really, I’m not cut out for the quiet sex thing. I’m a screamer.”
“I know. Wong knows it. Hell, half the initiates know it,” Stephen said, and Tony felt his cheeks heat, just a little. He wasn’t ashamed, but-- well, it did explain the looks he’d gotten from Wong from time to time.
“You’re hilarious,” Tony told him.
“Yes, darling, I know,” Stephen said. “But we can communicate. When you get close, open and close your right hand.” he demonstrated, opening his fingers, crooked and scarred and shaking, and then making a fist, and opening it again. “If I cover your hand with mine, hold off until I let you go again. We will meet there.”
“What if we miss?” Because he’d been around for a few of Stephen’s failed magic spell attempts and they were often explosive, sometimes involved angry demons, and nothing he really wanted to face while naked and mid-coitus.
“Don’t miss,” Stephen said. “But if we do, we merely have to wait a period of time and try again.”
“Wait?” He peered at Stephen suspiciously.
“Forty-nine days. Until we can try again. Until we can have sex again.”
“At all?” Tony’s voice spiraled up. The hell he was going to wait almost two months to have sex. He hadn’t been celibate--
“Not even masturbation,” Stephen said. He tugged off his shirt and kicked aside his trousers.
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not,” Stephen said. “Don’t miss.”
“Yeah, okay, are you-- are you sure you want to do this? I might mess it up,” Tony stammered.
“I’m not going to ask someone else to help me with it,” Stephen said. “I require the necessary energy requirements.”
“Where’s the energy going?”
“Into the candle,” Stephen said. “I’ll explain the rest of it later, when we’ve achieved the double crises.”
Tony almost protested, but then decided it wasn’t going to make any more sense if he thought about it. Magic, by nature, didn’t.
Mostly.
Sometimes.
And Stephen’s hands were on him, anyway, stroking his skin. It didn’t take long to send his pulse racing, his body craving. “Was there… saffron in that herb mix,” Tony wondered, because Stephen had used it before, to increase libido.
“And fenugreek and red ginseng, and a little maca root,” Stephen said. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. For my benefit as well as yours. We’re neither of us young.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tony said. “You’re the one with grey hair.” Tony ran his fingers through it, the lines of silver at Stephen’s temples. He liked it, actually. It was sexy.
“I know.” Stephen pushed him down onto the bed. “Now… no talking.” With a flick of his finger, he lit the candle.
Tony almost said something immediately, because, well, it was Tony and he’d never been one to do things the easy way.
But Stephen was already touching him, light, shaky fingers stroking Tony’s skin. He nudged Tony over onto the bed, picking up a bottle of lube -- sometimes Tony wondered why Stephen didn’t just magic it up, and then decided he wanted to ask that question, but later -- and raised an eyebrow.
Going right for the goods, are we, Tony thought really loud. Stephen probably couldn’t hear him, but supposed the expression on his face would get the point across.
Stephen rolled his eyes a little, then tapped his wrist. Tick tock, tick tock.
Tony gave a shrug, leaning back on his elbows and spreading his thighs. He knew he made a pretty picture, even without the warm, admiring look that came over Stephen’s face. Good looks were mostly a matter of good genes and ridiculous amounts of skincare. But it was nice to have all that work appreciated.
Stephen crawled on the bed after him, cradled himself in the vee of Tony’s knees, and lowered his mouth for a kiss.
Tony was happy to give them, even if he couldn’t quite stop smiling enough to kiss seriously. Stephen was often too grave, too serious, and it was one of Tony’s favorite things to do was get him to laugh when he was trying to be Great and Mighty Wizard.
The smile disappeared in an open-mouthed, silent gasp as Stephen cupped Tony’s cock, hand warm and fingers making a loose circle. Stephen knew all the tricks to get Tony wriggling and pushing up against that hand. The way Tony liked to be stroked, the twist at the top, the squeeze at the base. As soon as Tony’s hips moved, Stephen pushed Tony’s knees further apart, slithered down his body and took the head of Tony’s cock into his mouth with a single, eager movement.
His tongue lapped along the broad head, and Tony had to bite his lip to keep from swearing. How the hell was he supposed to be quiet, not tell Stephen how good this was, how amazing, how--
Tony rocked up into that soft, heated wetness, feeling Stephen’s tongue on him like a lash, swirling one way, then the other, drawing his length in.
Tony reached a hand down and touched Stephen’s cheek, feeling the way his own cock bulged in Stephen’s mouth, the way it pushed obscenely at the jaw.
God, that was hot.
Stephen didn’t -- pardon the pun -- dick around. He was going straight for the kill, sucking Tony back like a pro. He dropped one hand between his own legs, tugging himself off, and Tony leaned up on his elbows to watch. He couldn’t really see very well, but he got the idea, and Stephen’s mouth on him, combined with an active, healthy imagination--
And probably the herbs that Stephen was plying him with…
Well, Tony never really did have a huge problem with going from zero to sixty in any sort of manner.
It wasn’t long before he was closing his fist, and then opening it again.
Stephen popped off Tony’s cock with a wet slurp, gave him a sweet, knowing grin. Took Tony’s hand and drew it down Stephen’s body.
Well, Tony had played that game before, so he found the lube -- they were going to need it soon anyway, he might as well get started -- and slicked his boyfriend up, stroking him with steady, easy rhythms, watching as Stephen’s eyes glazed a little, as his jaw clenched and let go.
Perfect. You are so beautiful.
Stephen arched into it, all but shoving his cock against Tony’s hand, fucking up into that tight, slick grasp.
Tony knew Stephen probably as well as Stephen knew him. Knew the way that Stephen’s breath hitched and held when he was getting close.
Tony was tempted, briefly, to make Stephen work for it, but he also didn’t want to test Stephen’s resolve about not getting laid for almost two months, either. When he sensed Stephen was getting close, he drew back.
Stephen backed off a little and Tony flipped over, grabbing the pillows to prop himself up. Doggie style wasn’t his preferred -- Tony liked to be able to look at Stephen’s face when they made love. Riding, or face to face, but he had to admit, for sheer ability to come quickly, doggie style was easiest.
One hand on Tony’s hip, Stephen lubed him up, and then himself, hissing air between his teeth as he was already oversensitive.
The head of Stephen’s cock nudged at his entrance, and then it was burn and press and squeeze.
Tony let himself bend more in the middle until his chin was buried in pillows, until he was biting at his thumb, and--
Oh, god, there...
He couldn’t talk, and it was making everything that much more intense, that much more powerful, that much-- both better and worse, because he was having to think about keeping his mouth shut, and then the rhythm would get to him, he’d sink back onto Stephen’s cock, feel the way he was stretched and filled, and, oh, oh, god.
He clenched his fist, opened his hand again, soon, oh, Stephen, come on….
Stephen’s hand came down on his, palm against the back of Tony’s knuckles. Tony nodded, reached back with his left hand, face all but planted in the pillow and tugged his cock like it was a race.
And it was, because Stephen’s steady rhythm was dissolving into excited bucking, their thighs slapping together like applause and it was so, so good, he was--
Tony spilled over, emptying himself onto the bedsheets with a breath that was not quite a moan, clenching down, and then Stephen stiffened behind him-- rhythm faltering into stillness.
Sometimes Tony couldn’t feel it, when Stephen came. He could tell, because Stephen jerked and groaned, but Tony couldn’t usually feel the actual moment of release.
This time was different, somehow. He felt Stephen’s spend, like a gush of heat and wet, and--
The candle flickered out.
Tony lifted his head, wanting to ask and not knowing if he was allowed to talk yet.
“That was supposed to happen,” Stephen said, softly, then ran his hand down Tony’s trembling, sweat-damp thigh. “That was just right. Perfect, even.”
“Did it work?” Tony wondered, his voice a little strained. Not, he told himself, because he was dreading the no sex for two months, but because he was honestly interested in his boyfriend’s magical studies.
“I think it did,” Stephen said, and he pulled out.
Ew. Tony’s thighs were almost instantly wet. It was the one thing about condoms that he liked. No mess. But sex magic; well, he imagined that it had to be done bareback. Probably some hokey voodoo shit. He’d ask Stephen about it.
Later.
“Good.” He let himself move a little to the side -- he hated laying in the wet spot, and flopped. “I’m not moving. For like, a week.”
Stephen snuggled up behind him, resting his chin on Tony’s shoulder. “Now, you getting more than six hours sleep? That’d be a real magic trick.”
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This is for the MB challenge by @somebodyalreadytookthis2
Wednesday:
A Welcomed Guest
"Nighty?"
Nightmare's eyes lit up.
"Dream!" He exclaimed looking around, unable to locate his brother in the vast expanse of darkness.
Dream, quiet as a ninja, snuck up behind Nightmare and hugged him: the smaller yelping out in surprise. Instantly Blue and Cross had their swords draw: pointing at the mysterious silhouette that had just taken their Prince captive.
"Quite the pair of freinds you've made here." Dream commented, releasing the other from the hug.
"Don't surprise me like that! I almost had a heart attack you know" Nightmare pouted, showcasing a childish ness foreign to Cross and Blue but familiar to Dream.
"Uh, Nightmare... who exactly is this?" Cross asked finally getting a closer look at the stranger.
'Wait-
How come this one prince-
But THAT ONE ALSO PRINCE?'
Cross's (nonexistent) brain seemed to short circuit.
"Oh! This is my b-"
"Hi! I'm Dream. An adventurer from the capital and Nighty's childhood friend" Dream cut off Nightmare, secretly winking at his brother.
Catching Dream's drift, Nightmare nodded: deciding to fo along with Dream's antics.
"I see. Well, looks like we should look for a way out-"
Cross was cut off by the sound of insane laughter sending shivers up his spine.
The sound of a knife scraping against a surface could be heard as an ominous green glow reflected off the pillars in the hall.
Sharing a nod, the party : Dream included, hid behind a pillar and winced. It was blinding. A strong green light seemed to emerge from what appeared to be a skeleton demon holding a knife. Honestly, it was terrifying as both Cross and Blue felt their bones lock up.
'And now we run into a demon with flashlight eyes? Man, what's next? The teleportation kid from before shows up'
Blue sighed quietly before freezing at the bone chilling voice.
"Well, well, well, looks like we have some rather noisy guests. Ones that were not welcomed here at that. Tsktsktsk..." the Flashlight eyes demon clicked his nonexistent tongue, eyes still focused away from the party.
"We cant have that can we?"
'RUN' Cross could think as the demon looked him straight in the eyes and he was blinded.
Shutting his eyes that were searing in pain: Cross turned tail and ran. He could hear the thumps of his companions footsteps beside them as they turned and twisted around the pillars of the chamber.
Only when they were in complete darkness did they stop running and collapse to catch their breath.
They could still hear the demons voice snickering and purring: "come out come out where ever you are~" or " marco~... this is the part where you yell out polo you know?"
After catching their breath, the party shared a silent message: we're not going back there. And so they continued forward in silence: scared of the demon finding them. Well, everyone exept Dream who had only retreated only due to his brothers insistence and visible distress.
After a while they came aCross an odd looking lamp. It seemed to glow from the inside but the light only came out in golden blocks of light. 'Strange indeed'
That's when caught the sound of an oddly familiar tune coming up from infront of him. One that a cirtain trader had been humming a while back.
Smiling softly to himself, Dream followed the others as the sound got louder and they came across more lamps: some hanging from the ceiling by long chains and others just placed on the ground.
Eventually the say a gentle and welcoming soft light emerge from what appeared to be a stall, a wierd but oddly catchy song coming from it.
The stall was simple with a pink bar saying 'WELCOME TO INK'S SHOP', Ink presumably the skeleton monster sitting at the table with his head reasted on his hand and looking at the party smugly.
Cross couldn't help but gasp.
"Aren't you that potion seller I brought from a while back?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows what really happened off screen" the trader shrugged out of habit, a small smile of relief unseen as his eyelights eyes Dream from the corner of his eye.
'Thank stars that brawny idiot wasn't dead yet'
"So, is there anything I could do for you? Maybe a potion, a charm? Maybe even my mystery box of useful items?" Ink asked, putting on a fake sellers voice cause Dream to snicker silently.
Ink count help but smile and secretly wink at the brute before getting on with the matter at hand.
"I- I cant help bit be curious of what's in the mysterious box of useful items. You swear that whatever's in there will come in handy right?" Cross asked, eyeing the grinning trader suspiciously.
"If course! I guarantee it!" Ink perked up.
'..Of course we're getting something so vague.' Blue smirked in amusement before his eye focused on the trader. There was something rather... intriguing about this 'Ink'.
Ink tensed up, blushing slightly in embarrassment as Blue stared at him. Of course he knew who Blue was, after all: you and your freinds wouldn't stop yelling about him.
Ink carefully placed a rather large pouch infront on Cross. After Cross had reluctantly given Ink the required gold, He took the pouch and opened it. Only to gasp in shock.
Cross turned away from his party, shoulders hunched as Ink watched in amusement.
Cross turned around suddenly, a pair of Ray-Ban visors taped to his skull. His smile was wide and full of child like excitement as he posed, showing off the glasses that only reflected the light coming off Ink's shop.
It was cute in a way: Ink found himself understanding why almost everyone seemed to adore the monochrome skeleton.
Dream couldn't help the genuine smile playing on his lips. Watching Cross do his wierd happy dance reminded his of how he would be as a child. Blue's reaction portraying Nighty's reaction at the time.
Dream knew instantly that this Blue character and himself would get along.
After calming down, Cross pulled out similar glasses to his own and distributed them among his party.
As he did, he couldn't help but pause as he gave Dream his pair. The other seemed strong, Cross couldn't help himself as he started analysing the others well toned (nonexistent) muscles. A few more bench presses and Cross was sure Dream would be ripped. Buff even.
Dream turned and started talking with Blue. He could feel Cross examining him as a light heat was apparent on his face. Blue noticed this instantly as a the strangely contagious heat grew on his cheekbones.
After putting on their glasses, they all thanked Ink: Dream giving the smaller a wink and earning a rainbow blush.
They all dreaded what was coming up. According to Ink, the exit to the chamber was in the direction they had come from: the direction of the demon.
___________________________________________
Dream was pumped. He couldn't wait to snap that demons neck. His anticipation for a good fight could be seen from miles away as they once again heard the sound of a knife scraping.
'This is going to be good' Dream could already feel the adrenaline tingling up his bones and sending a pleasurable shock through them.
Soon enough, they could make out the familiar glow of the demon. Putting on and securing their sunglasses, they prepared for the battle.
___________________________________________
Killer smirked. It seems that the prey had once again entered the lions den: this time of their own volition. It was hillarious.
He steadied his knife as he prepared to strike- grin maliciously wide. It was then that someone clocked him right on the jaw. Stumbling back a little, Killer looked at which one of these insects thought he was a lion and attacked him.
His eyes widened as he saw it was none other than the kidnapped prince himself. 'Did he get out of that cell on his own?' He thought before shrugging it off.
The boss told him not to kill the prince: he never said anything about hurting him.
"Well, well, who would have thought the beloved first prince would pack quite the punch" Killer mocked spitting out some purple substance.
Dream grinned as he attacked once more: the battle between the two commencing as the others just sat on the sidelines and watched. Not like they could do anything to interfere in such an intense battle.
Nightmare's eyes turned cyan as he drew back away from the group silently. Hiding behind a pillar somewhat close to the others he whispered an order before going back to the others: eyelights purple and an expression of confusion apparent on his face.
Killer pulled back as he tilted his head like an animal listening. "Gosh, dangit. And I was having soo much fun too. Well, looks like I gotta book my way out of here. Duty calls" the demon shrugged before disappearing with a pop.
Dream growled angrily as he yelled "COME BACK AND FIGHT ME COWARD! MY HONOUR HAS BEEN TARNISHED!"
Cross sighed in relief as he noticed a chest bot to far off from them. Motioning to the others as Nightmare calmed down he newly revealed to be brother, he approached the chest excitedly: wondering what loot he will get this time.
He opened it: only to find a black crown similar to the many he had found before.
"AGAIN!" Cross yelled in annoyance before tossing the crown behind him. Blue snickered as he explained the many crowns they had come across to Dream who couldn't help chuckling in response.
Nightmare's eyelights glazed over as he picked up the crown and put it in his inventory. He had a gut feeling that he may be needing it later.
___________________________________________
"Hi there"
The party jumped the the sudden voice: Dream luckily held back by Nightmare before he could instinctively punch whatever had just surprised him. Blue sighed. 'I knew I shouldn't have jinxed it'
"What the hell are you doing here kid?"
Criss asked eyeing the monochrome kid- Core was it?- from before.
"Just here to help you find your way" they shrugged before pointing at a rather short door. "Go through there and you'll find yourself on the second floor if the castle"
Nightmare and Dream looked at the child as though they were insane. Cross and Blue sighed before opening the small door, crouching and going inside: Nightmare and Dream hastily following after.
___________________________________________
"We need bait" Cross's voice echoed through the now empty and purple splattered hall. Thank God Dream was on their side.
"Yeah... but what?" Dream asked, shaking his hands in a attempt to get the purple substance off it. Blue watched in amusement as Nightmare hesitantly popped up: "ummm- how about cookies?"
Cross looked at Nightmare quizzically.
"And how do you know that?"
"I dont know... just had a feeling" Nightmare mumbled as Cross and Dream looked at each other before shrugging.
"And where do you suppose we get a cookie?"
"There" Blue said using his thumb to point down the hall at a familiar wooden stall.
Everyone stood there: mouth agape before collecting themselves. Cross had tears in his eyes as he knew he would have to say goodbye to some more of his beloved gold. That's when Nightmare gently pat his back and approached Ink: using his very own money to be a cookie from the trader.
And so the waiting game started. The party deciding to hide in a corner and rest up: some taking a cat nap. Nightmare got up and motioned towards a corner. "I need to use the restroom" he said, cheeks purple in embarrassment. Everyone nodded, allowing the prince some privacy.
As he turned the corner, Cross focused back on the cookie intently: waiting for the Demon King to take his bait. That's when he heard a quiet shuffle of shoes. He saw a demon: crown glistening on its head as ot approached the cookie.
Cross was in shock: the Demon King had actually taken the bait! Snapping out of his shock he tackled the Demon King down, the Demong King scowling in surprise.
'How did they know?'
Cross ended up ontop of the Demon King in a rather suggestive position that brought a blush to both the Kings and his own face.
Growling in annoyance, the Demon King poofed into thin air: teleporting elsewhere.
Nightmare came back from his rest stop before noticing everyones (who was awake) expression.
"Well, that's enough of a break" Cross perked up. "We're almost at the throne room according to Ink, so let's get this show on the road!"
____________________________________________
(My first animation/gif. In other words: sh#t.)
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#mb week challenge#moon blossom au challenge#moon blossom au#wednesday: a welcomed guest#its wednesday my dudes#undertale au#my first gif#Why the hell is each part of this challenge fic soo long-#might as well just make a whole book on it#@somebodyalreadytookthis2
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