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valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 2 months ago

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The ABCs of Alastor - Cum

MATURE CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI!

Table of Contents ⬴ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ⤀ AO3 | Wattpad | Quotev

Words: ~2200 TW: swearing, vaginal sex, exhibitionism (I think that's how it's called), cum, fingering

Alastor was not the kind to take his frustrations on you, especially not when he was jealous. He'd rather make the unfortunate soul who dared to hit on you feel like it was the last mistake they'd ever done. He knew it was not your fault when you gained unwanted attention, so there'd be no point in being mad at you.

But when Lucifer stepped into the Hazbin Hotel, his eyes roaming over your body as his lips briefly touched your hand, kissing it, Alastor saw red before him. If he wasn't Charlie's father, the very next moment there'd be nothing left of him apart from that ridiculously big hat of his. But he had to keep it together. So instead of throwing snarky remarks at him, he approached you, a hand tightly gripping your waist.

"And who are you?" Lucifer asked with a raised brow, his hand lingering possessively over yours as if daring Alastor to respond.

"The Radio Demon, at your service," his eyes twitched in frustration and just by the looks of it, you could tell how pissed he was.

"Never heard of you." The King of Hell dismissed him, his focus returning to you. "Now, darling, how about you show me the hotel?"

"I am sorry to inform you that (Y/n) has other business to attend right now," Alastor said through his teeth, his claws digging into your flesh at that point.

"Yeah, Dad! How about I show you the hotel?" Charlie intervened, laughing awkwardly as she pushed her father away, giving you an apologetic look. You both watched as Charlie and Vaggie led him away, the tension in the air growing heavier around you..

"Damn, Alastor... The King of Hell himself is hitting on ya girl!" Angel Dust teased, disturbing both of you from your thoughts. "I'd be careful if I were you."

His grip on you tightened further when he heard Angel mocking him, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the spider demon. He was already struggling to repress his irritation towards Lucifer's actions, and Angel's words only served to push him closer to the edge

"(Y/n)..." he said, his voice tense. "I am waiting for you in our room. We have some things to discuss." he disappeared in one of his portals, leaving you alone with Angel Dust and Husker. You took a deep breath, not even noticing you were holding it.

"You're fucked, toots." Angel chuckled.

"What? What have I done?" you asked confused as he came closer to you.

"I've seen this look before! He's jealous as fuck. He's gonna fuck your guts until you'll need assistance to walk."

Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement churning in your stomach. "I don't think it's that!"

He gently pats you on the shoulder, giving you a smirk. "We'll see 'bout that."

You sighed, mumbling under your breath as you made your way to your room, not wanting to piss him off further. A sense of excitement and nervousness filled you as Angel's words replayed in your head. Was he mad at you? But it wasn't your fault Lucifer was being touchy...

You stopped in front of your shared bedroom, taking a deep breath before you touched the doorknob. But before you could open the door yourself, it burst open, shadowy tentacles dragging you inside and throwing you on the bed, the door shutting tight behind you. As more shadows spawned to hold down your wrists and legs, Alastor stepped in front of you, slowly approaching the bed, his cane tapping the floor with every step.

He looked down at you, his face still set in the typical smile, but his eyes were full of annoyance, his clawed fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his coat.

"What was that, my dear?" He said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

"Alastor... He didn't know, alright? I think he got the message now." you said, a tentacle slowly gripping your neck, choking you slightly.

"Oh, I'm sure he got the message, my dear." Alastor knelt on the bed, his hands resting on either side of your head, trapping you under him. The tentacle around your neck continued to tighten its grip, making it harder to breathe. "But that doesn't change the fact that he was touching you, in front of everyone... in front of me." He was leaning closer to you now, his face inches away from yours.

You gasped for air as his claws traced your body, from your neck to your waist, slowly dragging the soft fabric of your clothes. "And if I'm being honest, you seemed to enjoy the attention too."

"What? No! I wasn't!" you said in defence, as the tentacles pushed you further into the bed.

Alastor's eyes narrowed as he chuckled darkly, clearly not buying your protest. "Oh, really?" His hand moved to the hem of your top, his fingers gently tugging it upward, exposing your stomach. "Because it looked like you were into it, my dear..." He said, the tip of his clawed finger now tracing the revealed skin, sending shivers down your spine. "And the fact that you didn't pull away from him, not for a moment..." He leaned even closer, his breath hot on your neck. "That tells me a lot..."

His eyes glowed in the dim light of the room, but you couldn't help the feeling of excitement in your chest, the situation was morbidly arousing and scary at the same time. "It's not true, Alastor!"

He chuckled again, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Is it not, my dear?" He continued to caress your body, his hand now moving under your skirt, his fingers tracing small patterns on your thigh. "Because you seem quite excited for someone who wasn't enjoying Lucifer's attention..." He mused a hint of mockery in his voice.

You looked away, a dark blush on your face as his hand moved dangerously close to your core, threatening to feel how wet you were already. "It isn't because of him, asshole..." you mumbled.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your response, a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. "Is that so?" He leaned in once more, his hot breath caressing your ear. "Then tell me, my dear... who exactly is making you this excited right now?" His hand moved slightly higher, the wetness drenching your panties as he slowly rubbed your core. You let out a gasp when you felt his clawed hand against you, wanting more with every move. "Is it me who got you this wet?" he asked huskily, his breath tickling the skin of your neck.

"Yes..." you whispered, fighting against the restraints that kept you in place, wanting to touch him so badly. "It's only you, Alastor! Only you can make me feel this way."

A sinister smile curled on his lips as he leaned in, his kiss a delicate contrast to the growing intensity of his touch, each stroke sending shockwaves through your body. His cock grew even harder at your words, pleasing him immensely. "Then how about we make sure he knows this too?" he whispered.

"What... What do you mean?" you sheepishly asked, afraid of what idea he might have.

"How about we let him know how good I can make you feel? Only me."

He slowly pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours, savouring every moment of anticipation. With deliberate precision, he unzipped his trousers, letting the tension hang in the air before pressing his cock against your trembling body.

He placed his microphone next to your face, and that's when it hit you - you weren't the only ones to hear the lewd sounds that were yet to come.

"Alastor? What are you doing?!"

Alastor chuckled softly, clearly enjoying your surprise response.

"I'm going to make a point, my dear. Now, be a good girl and be as loud as you can."

He pushed your panties aside, forcing his cock inside of your hole, a loud moan filling the room as he entered you completely. He stopped for a moment, wiping the small tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. "It's a good start. Good girl." he praised as he pulled out, only to slam back into you.

"Fuck~ Take it easy, Al!" you said as he thrusted a few more times inside of you.

"Oh, but my dear... You seem to like it."

His thrusts became faster, as the tentacles spread your legs further, giving him more access. You arched your back as his cock came in and out of you harshly, the sounds of your arousal and skin slapping filling the room.

"You hear this, Your Majesty?" Alastor said in a mocking tone, grabbing the microphone. "It's a special broadcast, just for you."

He threw the microphone back on the bed, leaning over you, his hips harshly meeting yours. His tongue invaded your mouth, as moans of pleasure echoed through the room, making him go faster.

"Tell him, dear!" he said between grunts. "Tell him who's making you feel so good!"

You felt more tentacles caressing your body, grabbing and running across every inch of skin they could find. A powerful wave of pleasure took over your body as one of them started to rub your clit, your mind going blank as his cock fucked you into the bed, driving you closer to your orgasm.

"Fuck! Alastor! Fuck - Fuck me!" you gasped, your eyes teary from the pleasure.

You moaned loudly as a strong orgasm hit you, leaving your body a trembling mess, the feeling of overstimulation making you lightheaded as he continued to ram into your heat. He groaned at how tight you became, but his cock continued to drag painfully across your velvet walls.

"You're... You're gonna take every single bit of my seed, dear!" he said through gritted teeth as the tentacles lifted your ass from the bed, allowing him to fuck you even deeper than before, his claws digging into your waist. His cock felt like it was going to break through you, as you dipped your nails in your palms, feeling like you were about to faint.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he spilt his cum inside of you. He stood there for a moment, his eyes shut as the pleasure left his body. His breath heavy as small droplets of sweat made his forehead glow. The tentacles left your sore body and gently allowed you to fall on the bed.

Panting, his cock still inside of you, he grabbed the microphone. "Until next broadcast, Your Majesty." he chuckled a bit, his attention returning to you. "Are you alright, my little doe?" he asked, his claws gently tracing your flustered cheek.

"You really... You really broadcasted the whole thing?" you asked, somehow less worried about it than you should've been.

"Let's just say I placed a radio in his room... As a gift. If he heard it or not... We're yet to find out." he chuckled, pulling himself out. You winced at the sudden feeling of his fingers roughly entering you, pumping your pussy a few times, the stretch feeling unbearable now.

"Alastor, please…" you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, torn between protest and longing.

"I said you're gonna take everything, dear. And I meant it!" he placed your panties back, gently patting your heat. "I want that fucker to smell me when he sees you. If the broadcast wasn't enough, of course."

You got up, and he gently helped you, a soft smile on his face this time. You buried your face into his chest, hugging him tightly as he made small circles on your back.

"Are you mad at me?" you asked.

"Absolutely not, my dear! I just needed to prove something... And I think we did a pretty good job." he praised.

The idea of having Alastor's cum inside you all day seemed exciting... until you had to walk around the hotel with the sticky fluid making a mess of your panties.

You rested your chin on your hand, trying to ignore the weird feeling between your legs, your cheeks flustered after you told Angel what happened.

"Holy shit, toots! I didn't think smiley is that freaky!" he chuckled. "But you guys didn't need the radio for the entire Pentagram City to know what you were doing."

"Wait... What?" you asked, looking at him.

"We need to talk to Charlie... These walls are thinner than they should be..." Husk mumbled, an obvious smirk on his face.

"Fuck..." you said, hiding your face in your palms. "So y'all heard it?"

"Indeed." a voice echoed behind you. You quickly turned to see Lucifer looking at you, an annoyed look on his slightly blushed face. He held a radio in his arms or... what remained of one after he probably burned it. Just when you were about to apologise for Alastor's "revolutionary idea", he entered the room, humming, seemingly in a good mood.

"Woah! You two should fuck more often... He's less creepy than usual when ya do it." Angel said, a smirk on his face.

"Indeed, my effeminate fellow." Alastor chuckled. "(Y/n) and I really had a good time... A very good one," he said, eyeing Lucifer, a mischievous grin on his face. Suddenly, he turned to completely face him, raising an eyebrow.

"The fuck is it now?" Lucifer asked.

"Oh my friend, it's nothing really. Though, I must say, it seems you found our little performance… enthralling."

Your face got bright red as you noticed the tent in Lucifer's pants. "Ah, fuck it..." you mumbled as he got all flustered too, the only sound filling the room being Angel's hysterical laughter.

Alastor approached you, a proud smile on his face. "I think we need to make a point again, dear," he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement, as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

Tags: @ratsematary @littlebluefishtail @xalygatorx @martinys-world @alastorthirsty @diffidentphantom @itsaubreyofcc @n0tmentallystable @lettuce-frog16

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stray-kaz · 2 years ago

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On Blind Faith : a Matt Murdock x reader FF : TWO

Matt walked with you out of the bar; you noticed he didn’t even bother with the cane.

“Why are you trusting me with this?” he asked you. “We’ve just met.”

You shrugged.

“Foggy trusts you, so that’s good enough for me. And you’re a lawyer not a mobster, so you know.”

He smiled faintly.

“So how did you end up with Leo Ricci? Someone who grew up with Foggy doesn’t seem the type.”

You smiled ruefully.

“A lot of girls go through a bad boy phase, Matthew. Unfortunately for me, Leo turned out to be not just a bad boy, but a bad guy. He was lovely at first, you know. He wooed me properly, showered me in chocolates and roses. But when I became pregnant with Luca, he changed, got mean. The first time he hit me, I knew I had to get out of Chicago.”

Matt’s hand gripping the folded up cane tensed at the thought of a man abusing you.

“Did you make a plan?” he asked next, struggling to maintain an even tone.

You nodded and your shoulder bumped his arm.

“I have a cop friend in Chicago. She helped get me out after Luca was born. She snuck us out of the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you leave before then?”

“We needed time to figure out where I would go and we needed Leo and his family not to suspect anything. If they realised I was planning to leave, they would have killed me, Luca or no Luca.”

The way you spoke was neutral, practiced, but Matt could hear the skip in your heartbeat and smell the fear you still had of losing your son. He turned toward you, your body’s heat map blurring like fire across his vision.

“So you came home” he prompted, after a short silence.

“So I came home. Here I have Foggy and his family, and my parents, too. Here I have people looking out for me and I’m not alone.”

“And now you have lawyers, if something were to go wrong.”

You raised your eyebrows and then remembered he couldn’t see that.

“I can’t pay you. Luca and I are living with my mom and dad, and my job doesn’t pay much.”

Matt shrugged.

“Foggy and I do a lot of pro bono work” he told you. “People pay us in chickens and cake.”

You laughed, caught off guard, and he grinned, dimples showing and weakening your knees. You stumbled a bit and he caught your wrist, propping you up with his arm.

“Thanks” you mumbled. “I could pay you in songs?”

Matt’s grin softened down to a smile and he nodded.

“Songs would be great. You sing any Stevie Wonder?”

“Why, ‘cause he’s blind?” you retorted.

“Yes” he shot back.

You snorted, amused.

“Sometimes.”

“Van Morrison?”

“I do a mean ‘Brown Eyed Girl’.”

He laughed, fingers slipping off your wrist; you instantly missed their warmth.

“You know, you don’t have to walk me all the way home.”

“It’s not safe for you to be out here on your own at night.”

“No offense, but you are blind. How could you protect me from an evil assailant?”

“No offense taken. But I can handle myself.”

You shrugged, not quite believing him. You felt safe, though, walking in the dark with this man you’d only just met.

Fifteen minutes passed and you stopped with your hand resting on a low gate that opened onto a short path leading up to the steps and front door of a skinny brownstone. A light burned yellowly under the eaves.

“This is me” you told Matt, just as the door flung wide and a harried middle aged woman stepped out, a crying baby in her arms.

“Thank goodness you’re home!” she exclaimed. “Luca has a cold and he won’t take a bottle. He only wants you.”

You glanced at Matt, whispered a hasty goodbye and thank you, and rushed up the path. Luca’s cries faded when he touched his mother’s face and Matt smiled to himself as he turned away, the image of you surrounded by flames branded in his mind.

You sat in a rocking chair by the window in your childhood bedroom, now shared with Luca. You fed him quietly in the dark room, the space illuminated only by the moon above.

Thoughts of Matt continued to swirl in your mind: how carefully he had treated you, his smile, how well his shirt fit across his shoulders and the casual strength he had displayed to keep you from falling. You wished he had let you see his eyes, blind as they were. He was the first man to show you any genuine interest since Luca’s birth, but you wondered with a wry, deprecating smile what he would think if he knew that you sometimes still leaked milk through your bras.

Luca pulled away, his milk drunk face calm and sleepy, little snuffles issuing through his nose. You lifted him and gently set him down in his crib, his arms and legs star fishing.

With a sigh, you removed your boots and padded into the adjoining bathroom to wash away your makeup, another day, another gig done.

On the other side of the city, Matt was stripping his clothes for bed, his thoughts occupied also with you. He wanted to see your tattoos, not just know they were there on your skin, part of you. He wanted to hear you sing again, talk to him again. He wanted to knock heads with Leo Ricci, he wanted to protect you. He wanted to lay you down on his bed and map out every inch of your body with his hands and maybe his mouth, too. He wanted to know how well you sang when you shattered apart.

He sighed and sank down onto the bed, leaning over to switch off the bedside lamp. The room seeped away into an even deeper darkness and he closed his eyes, giving himself over to it.

Tagging: @succsessions

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #marvel #liss writes

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light-yaers · 4 years ago

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Fools in the Darkness: Chapter Two

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: Once again I am showing off how I have zero self control when it comes to creating stable fic uploads! I simply write another chapter and then upload it immediately. I’m so sorry when this will eventually start to die down, but for now let’s enjoy the start of the story, I guess? I’m astounded at the immense love this got! Thank you all so much!

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 4k

Chapter Two

Inej returned with three glasses of whiskey. Kaz was sat opposite you at his desk, crow-headed cane secured in one of his leather gloved hands. Inej put the glasses on the desk, before picking up and handing one to you.

“Thank you,” You said politely. Despite the few weeks you’d had to acquaint yourself with the types of people that Ketterdam housed, Inej seemed different. She was a fighter, you could see that clearly, but she also seemed... soulful. Like she had a heart, bursting to the brim with kindness and care, despite the Wraith she had to become living in a place such as the Barrel.

“So, what, the Darkling took you in?” Kaz asked, impatience all over his voice. He grabbed his glass sternly, tapping the sides with his covered fingers.

“This is only the beginning of this story,” You replied.

“Well, get to it,” He said quickly.

“I told you it was a long story, Mr. Brekker. It’ll probably take us most of the night. Can your business wait that long?” You raised a brow at him knowingly. There were men such as Kaz in the Little Palace—impatient, to the point, needing answers immediately.

“Listen, Kaz,” Inej spoke up. “I have a feeling we’ve only skimmed the tip of the iceberg,”

You regarded Inej, taking in her petite frame, the glint of the knives on her body; you counted them quickly, efficiently, until you’d added up fourteen in total. Knives for days, and you’d wager a bet that she knew how to use each one to its full advantage, as if they were an extension of her body.

Kaz breathed out shallowly, shooting Inej a stare. She accepted it gracefully, not even flinching from the obvious tension that had begun to float between them.

“Your sister,” Kaz spoke, his eyes still on Inej, until he finally turned to you once more. He nodded once, sternly and quickly, but you got the message loud and clear—I’m sorry. You swallowed uncomfortably, thankful for the small comfort the tumbler of whiskey gave you as you gripped it in your hands.

“Right, where were we?”

The Little Palace, 1 Year Ago

You woke in a bright room, unrecognisable from where you’d been before—in the snow, the ice, shrouded in a darkness that the Darkling seemed to gravitate towards himself involuntarily. You looked at your hands as they shook; dirt was under your nails, dotted with dried and muddied blood—your sister was still on your very skin.

That’s when you shot up, your heartrate exploding suddenly. She wasn’t here, her body wasn’t on the floor at your feet, nor in the bed next to you. You were trapped inside four walls of creams and golds, with décor that you’d only dreamed of ever seeing.

It was unmistakable—you were in the Little Palace, the one place you’d begged the Darkling not to take you to. He’d done it anyway, after you passed out from your extreme exhaustion.

Now you started to panic, as you looked out of the grand windows of the room. A courtyard was down below, empty of people and carriages. It was still early morning by the sun placement; the palace was quiet. The Grisha lay sleeping in their rooms, the General was in his own—

You were alone.

And saints, you weren’t going to stick around. Not with your sister’s body still lying in the Fjerdan snow, waiting for wolves to find her.

You jumped out of bed, ignoring the way your muscles were screaming at you to return to the pristine sheets. Your feet were bare, and one glance at the floor showed you your shoes had been taken. What for, you didn’t know. Maybe they thought that would be enough to prevent you running.

You almost laughed, imagining the spoilt Grisha deciding to remove your boots—She won’t run with bare feet. She won’t. Little did they know, you’d run with bare feet before. And you’d easily do it again.

You tiptoed to the bedroom door, making as little noise as possible. At the last second, before your fingers curled around the handle, you decided to drop to the floor. You lay on your stomach, shoving your skull to the floor and shutting one eye—there were two feet shaped shadows under the door.

One guard, stood on watch.

This complicated things just a tad, but you were already hatching a plan by the time you stood up again. You gave yourself a few moments to stretch your poor limbs, feeling the adrenaline course through your blood and spur you forward. Without hesitation, you curled your fingers around the handle to your room, and yanked it open—

The guard whipped his hatted head around to you immediately, but he wasn’t quick enough to get into a defensive stance. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him aggressively into your room, before you twisted him round and placed him in a headlock.

The two of you flopped to the floor, but that allowed you to secure his body to the ground with your legs, wrapping them around his torso so he couldn’t wind his way out of your grip. That’s when you tugged—hard against his windpipe.

He struggled and flailed like a freshly caught fish, but you knew it wouldn’t be long until he passed out and went jelloid. You kept your grip on him tightly, keeping him glued to the ground and his neck secure between your chest and forearm, being pulled taut by your other arm.

Eventually, he stopped fighting. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, his body slipped into a state of sleep.

You left him on the bedroom floor then, opting not to take his uniform in case he woke up while you did, and left the room. You clicked the door shut behind you, before beginning a tiptoed journey through the winding corridors of the Little Palace.

Saints, if you had the time, I’m sure you’d have appreciated the décor. It was splendid; all bright whites and creams with accents of shining gold. There were golden curls on blank white walls, intricate designs of Grisha imprinted in the wallpaper and grandiose windows that let the light flood inside.

You felt that, perhaps, the décor made up for the fact this was effectively an army base. The Grisha brought here were trained non-stop. They couldn’t leave, they didn’t have a choice. You’d heard horror stories of this place, back when you used to be safe in Novyi Zem.

“Zowa adawe,” Your neighbour had said. She was an old woman, living a quiet life on her farm. You called her Nana.

She was stern, but often times soft spoken, with her glorious Zemeni skin and gorgeous personality. When you’d found asylum after an unfortunate incident in Kerch, you and your sister had settled in her barn; parentless. She was kind, she ran the farm and let out the barn next door.

She became a grandmother figure immediately, up until the day she died.

Zowa adawe—Grisha fight. Grisha had to fight if they were sent to the Little Palace. There was no getting out it. Nana had said that your powers were beautiful, but she’d always said it with a hint of distain on her lips, as if you were running out of time.

You turned corridor after corridor, praying that no one would see you creeping around this early in the morning. All you had to do was get outside, and then you’d be able to run—run like Hell. Not stopping to look back or even worry if General Kirigan was on your tail. You’d outrun him, even if it killed you.

When you heard voices and footsteps, you flushed yourself against the corridor wall. You didn’t know where they were coming from, or who they were, but with the rags you were wearing the mud dotted over your skin, they’d know you weren’t supposed to be wandering around.

You held your breath, praying that they’d leave, that you’d get out of this fortress unscathed; and then you started moving again. The next corner you turned welcomed you into a large landing. A spiral staircase was before you to your left, only a few metres ahead of you. You lunged quickly, ducking down as not to be seen through the large windows out to the acres of land that surrounded the palace.

“You,” You stopped, swivelling round as your eyes laid upon two Grisha—one in a purple Kefta and one in white. The lady in white had yelled, but neither got into a defensive stance as you faltered backwards, constantly creeping back to the staircase as your heart threatened to bombard out of your chest. The lady in white shot her gaze down the staircase quickly, while the man in purple next to her all but looked confused.

That’s when her gaze tracked back to you once more, her jaw clenched. “Kirigan!” She boomed. You raised your hands quickly.

“Please—just—,” You pleaded in a whisper.

“Kirigan!” She yelled once more, and as the bash of doors sounded from down the stairs, you knew he’d heard loud and clear. The smack of boots ascended the spiral staircase, until the fresh face of General Kirigan hit your own. He slowed on the stairs, overseeing the commotion, before his expression softened.

He raised his hands calmly, widening his eyes in some kind of silent language, meant just for you.

“Now, just calm down,” He said calmly. You shot your gaze from the two Grisha at the end of the corridor, back to the General, before taking in your surroundings. You were blocked in from both ways; there were no doorways on your side of the grand landing.

But, there was an empty corridor, dotted with closed doors, and at the end—

A window.

It was as if Kirigan could sense the cogs in your brain whirring. As soon as your eyes lay on the window at the end of the free corridor, he began bounding up the steps. “No!” He yelled, reaching out for the flowing fabric of your blouse, but you were already running.

You pumped your arms and moved your legs as quickly as you could, storming towards the window at full pelt. Your heart was in your throat, your limbs screaming for relief, but all you could think of was your sister—alone, cold, left in the snow in a land that had never been kind to her.

That’s when you jumped, flying with all of the momentum you’d charged up from the run up, crashing straight through the window with all of your force. You ignored the sting of shattered glass as it ripped through your clothes and skin, the pain of the wood panelling breaking apart as your body slammed through the window—

And then you were falling, falling, falling—but you never hit the ground.

You brought your hands together with your eyes clamped shut, mustering your remaining energy into creating a cushion of wind to land on. It circled beneath you, spiralling around your body and stopping your free fall comfortably, until you balled your fists and the winds dissipated.

You landed in a large courtyard outside, shaking shards of glass out of your hair as you stood. You dared to look back at the mess you’d made, staring up at the broken window—

Kirigan stood above you, gazing down at you eerily.

You thought he’d be more frantic at the fact you’d just smashed through a window and were still standing. You thought he’d be rushing to get you back inside, but he wasn’t. He was calm and collected, looking at you as if he’d already worked you out completely. And that was the scariest part of this entire ordeal.

You broke into a run, not looking back as you pumped forward. You could feel his stare on your back the entire time, but you chose to ignore it—even if it all felt too easy.

Before you could make it to the tree line, you started to wane. Your limbs felt like lead, your heart felt like a bowling ball in your chest, and all of a sudden it was far too difficult to suck air into your lungs.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at your chest as you glanced around the clearing. Before your vision began to blur, the unmistakable colour of red hit you. Red and black, with hands dancing before them. A Grisha—a Heartrender.

You struggled against the obvious magic that he was using upon you to slow your heartrate, to stop your muscles working properly. That’s when a blob of black strolled up beside the Grisha, placing his arm upon his Heartrender.

“Enough, Ivan,” Kirigan said, but you could hardly hear him.

“Heartrender...” You stuttered out, as Kirigan began to approach you slowly. “Playing dirty,” You said, as the rest of you collapsed to the floor. The sky above you circled sickeningly, your vision seeing double. Kirigan stepped above you, his face distorted as you fought against the power of Ivan.

“You’ll soon learn that I’m not the enemy here,” He said softly, as he descended to one knee. He slipped his arms beneath you, before rising. You were cradled in his arms, to incapacitated to fight against him.

“Darkling,” You muttered. You would have added more, but even talking was too much to handle.

General Kirigan carried you back inside, as the doors of the palace were bolted shut by his Heartrender. There was nothing you could do—you were powerless, and you were stuck.

You didn’t fall asleep, but everything felt like a dream. The walk back inside, being carried to a room that wasn’t the one you awoke in, feeling the strength of Kirigan’s arms holding you up without as much as a grunt of exertion.

Kirigan gently dropped you into a large armchair, letting your head fall back against plush leather. He straightened himself, going to sit in a chair opposite you. He picked up a small bell from the table between you, ringing it once, before putting it back down and leaning back in his own chair.

You blinked away the double vision, trying to gain back your composure.

“It’ll ease. Ivan slowed your heart into a death state,” Kirigan said calmly. You were getting annoyed at the way his voice filled the air around you, floated into your ears smoothly. You didn’t want to listen. “That was quite a show,”

You think you scoffed, or maybe you tried too, because the corners of Kirigan’s mouth upturned ever so slightly.

“I told you not to bring me here,” Your words were slurred, almost as if you were drunk. You fought against the want to drift into a sleep, but he was right—it was easing with every passing minute.

“You never told me why,” He replied. You forced yourself to look at him, as your eyes adjusted. There weren’t two of him anymore; just one man. One man who’d dragged you here against your will, leaving your sister alone on Fjerdan soil.

“You left my sister there to rot,” You said, stronger this time. “How could you think I’d stay here when you left her?” Kirigan’s expression didn’t change, but he did look around when someone entered the room, carrying a pot of tea with two cups and saucers. The tray was placed on the table silently, before the attendant left immediately, clicking the door shut.

Kirigan poured two cups of tea, pushing one set towards you and taking one for himself. He didn’t take a sip yet.

“What do you have against the Little Palace?” He asked. You couldn’t help your scowl from devouring your entire face.

“The King hoards Grisha here like he owns them, like they owe him something. It’s a prison disguised as a lavish life. It’s no worse than the whore houses in Ketterdam,” You replied bluntly.

“Yet you were trying to get to Ravka, weren’t you?” Kirigan was quick to the mark, leaving nothing unturned.

“For my sister,” You said, clenching your jaw. “She’d be safe with the First Army,”

“And you?”

You finally looked in his eyes. They were dark, piercing your very skin, but the way they reflected the light gave them the illusion of warmth. You didn’t want to ever admit that the Darkling was a warm individual, not from the stories of his bloodline that you were taught from a young age.

“I was going to lie and stay with her. My abilities have never offered me much,” You said honestly, but you didn’t know why you were being truthful with this man. You swallowed uncomfortably, telling yourself to stop being so open.

“You killed those druskelle. You protected yourself,” He said. He was right, but you felt sick to your stomach. You saved yourself, but you couldn’t save her. You didn’t. “Your power is unrefined, unpredictable, but strong. I’ve never seen a Squaller summon a storm such as what we saw from the Ravkan border. It’s what lead us to you,”

The General finally took a sip of his tea, daintily rising the cup to his lips, before setting it down slowly on the saucer. You glanced at your own cup, wanting to take a sip too, but you couldn’t make yourself reach for it; not yet.

“We train Grisha here for the King, you’re right,” He continued, when you kept your mouth clamped shut. “But we also allow them to refine their abilities and hone their craft. This is a safe place for Grisha, when there are many out there who would try and take advantage of such power,”

“I never asked for this power,” You said quickly.

“No. But you can control it,” He replied, stronger this time. He had a smile on his face, leaning slightly forward, as if he truly wanted you to know why the Little Palace was good. “Wouldn’t you feel better? If you could truly harness your power? Bend it to your exact will?”

You swallowed once, frowning as you looked in his eyes. You wanted to say that you didn’t trust him—and never would. You wanted to splash scolding tea across his treacherous face, but you did neither.

“I’d feel better if I’d buried my sister, before you gave me a life sentence,”

Kirigan stood then, turning his back to you to stand before the window behind him. His hands were together behind his back, his chin high and shoulders broad. He wore all black, but you’d expect nothing different from a man who went by the Darkling.

He thought in depth, calmly, quietly, while you debated having some of your tea. It was steaming and warm and calling out to you. You knew it wasn’t poisoned because he’d already taken a sip, but you were still wary.

“How about a proposal?” He said then, turning back to look at you. You scoffed.

“I’d rather marry a horse than you,” You let out. It was an obvious joke, but you hadn’t expected the words to spill from your lips. Kirigan raised his brows, almost boyishly, taking you by surprise.

“We have fine horses here, I’m sure we could find you a great husband,” He hit back with. Saints forbid, he’d joked back. You hated to admit it, but your shoulders relaxed then, as a small giggle burst from within your gut. He came to sit opposite you once more, taking another sip of tea.

This time, you mimicked him. You picked up your own cup, bringing it to your lips and sipping heartily. Warm tea cascaded down your throat, bringing more strength back to your muscles.

“You train here,” Kirigan began. “You train here and learn to fully control your powerful Squaller abilities, with the help of myself,” You frowned slightly as he mentioned himself, but nevertheless let him continue. “And then, when you’re ready, I’ll... let you slip out undetected,”

That’s when you choked on your tea. You placed the cup back down on the saucer messily, spilling tea on his table.

“You’d let me out?” You stuttered. “No. No fucking way would you let that happen. I know the stories, General. The stoic man, damaged by his bloodline and his image,” As you spoke, Kirigan’s jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t let a Grisha slip out of your ranks,”

He cleared his throat slightly, straightening his shoulders. “I will, if it means you’ll let me train you first,”

You furrowed your brows at him, the cogs in your brain whirring. “Why are you so interested in my abilities? I’m no Sun Summoner, General. I can’t destroy the Fold—,”

“This isn’t about the Fold,” He interrupted you. “This is about you,” He said it with such surety that it almost took your breath away. You were silent, pondering what to say from your rapidly firing thoughts. “Squallers are never as powerful as you have proven to be,” He leaned forward on the dark wood table, coming in close to you. You were too frozen in place to move, too stubborn to back away from him. “I want to see what else you can do, with the right training,”

You stood abruptly, after he’d finished talking. You ignored the disastrous way you looked, with shards of glass still in your hair and small scratches all over your bare skin. Your feet were bad; you could tell just from the way your soles felt; but you pushed through.

“This is a deal,” You said strongly. “A proper deal—a vow,”

Kirigan stood then, too, strolling round until he was face to face with you.

“I’m a man of my word,” He said plainly, before he stuck out a strong hand. You stared at his wrist, his fingers, before slipping your own hand into his. You both shook on it, cementing the deal that he’d offered. If you felt he was lying at any moment, you wouldn’t hesitate to break out of the Little Palace and slip through his fingers.

“Fine,” You said, pulling your hand from his grasp. He looked down at you with an air of knowledge, but his eyes showed you something else; a softness, excitement, sadness. It was so intense that you simply had to look away.

“Your sister,” He said then, causing you to flinch as you scowled back at him. “Men have already been sent to the border to collect her,” He said it so plainly that you were sure he was making it up, but your heart panged as he kept talking. “They’ll bring her here in two days’ time. She will have a proper burial,”

You could have cried, if your body wasn’t on fire. You would have screamed and sobbed if you weren’t stood in front of someone such as General Kirigan. In this world, crying was always a weakness. Emotions were meant to be felt in private. Pain was only to be felt behind closed doors. You wouldn’t give up that ingrained way of life so quickly, as much as you wanted to collapse on the floor when you thought of your sister.

You tried to find the words to say something in response to General Kirigan, but nothing came out. All you could muster was a curt nod, to which he reciprocated with his own.

“Rest. Eat. Drink. You have today to recuperate,” He said sternly.

“Before the Grisha here eat me alive,” You whispered. Kirigan let out the smallest huff.

“Show them your power, and they’ll leave you be,” He said, before his hand curled around your forearm tightly. You gasped at his touch, expecting it to be cold, dark, hostile—but he was just a man. He was just... a fucking man.

With eyes and a nose and a mouth. With shining hair and stubble and broad shoulders. With hips that dipped to his thighs and knees that met his calves.

It was scary, to say the least. You knew what this man was capable of. You knew what he could do, but instead he promised you freedom. He promised to train you, to bury your sister, to keep you safe here while he could.

But that didn’t mean you trusted him. That didn’t mean you weren’t wary—

If only you’d stayed this on edge, this untrusting. Maybe things would have been different.

Tag list: @callitdreamland @bxnnywxtts @elleatrixlestrange @stargirl76 @tartiflvtte @musicconversedance @eprilin @luminous-99 @brynthebulldozer @katedrexel @blackbirddaredevil23 @auggie2000 @not-so-quite-human @notawritergettingtherethough @thinkingth0ts @gabbien @tarkanelima-blog @astrosmayhem

I’m sorry if your tag doesn’t work-- I don’t know why they do that sometimes!

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dootdootwriting · 3 years ago

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hi howdy! here's my part for the holiday writing collab hosted by @xiaosmoon !! i hope you all enjoy :D

ugly sweater party with kaeya; gn reader; no warnings apply

Today would be your third time attending the Knights of Favonius Official Ugly Sweater Party. Or it would be, if your boyfriend hadn't been in charge of laundry over the weekend, and if he hadn't accidentally shrunk your sweater to about four sizes too small. But hey, at least now if he gave in and got a pet, you could put it on them.

"So, what's the plan now?" You asked, shuffling through your wardrobe. This would be the fifth time today you'd frantically pushed through everything in it, searching for something that could pass as an ugly sweater. All four previous times had been to no avail, and, looking at the pile of discarded clothes all over your bedroom floor, you assumed that the fifth time would be as well.

"Tape a drawing of Diluc's face to an otherwise perfectly normal sweater?" Kaeya suggested from his perch on your bed. He was wearing possibly the most eyeburning sweater known to man: the words "HO HO HO" embroidered in bright red against dark green, with candy canes scattered all over. The craftsmanship on the sweater itself was incredible, but it certainly qualified as ugly.

"You would do that. Unfortunately he's not going to be there to witness your mockery this time."

"A shame, really. We should invite him!"

You threw a sock at him and he laughed, flinging it off his face and back onto the floor.

"You know I'm looking for an actual answer, right? Amber would never let me hear the end of it if I showed up without an ugly sweater."

"True, and while I would love to see that, I can sympathize with you, and I love you, and so I will offer assistance."

"Oh, joy."

Kaeya leapt off the bed and dragged you off the floor onto your feet. "Today, my dear, we are going on an adventure to find the ugliest sweater possible."

"Will it take longer than three hours? Because we have to get to Favonius HQ in three hours."

"Well, hopefully not. We'll see."

It did not, in fact, take longer than three hours - at least, not to find the sweater. Displayed brightly in one of the abundant shops of mondstadt, the perfect sweater sat on a mannequin. It was black, knitted, with little embroidered animals and the words "HAPPY PAWLIDAYS" in alternating red and white letters on the front.

"Now this," said Kaeya, taking his time to admire the sweater, "is beautiful. Almost prettier than you, though I think you just barely take the cake here."

"You are insufferable," you said, teasing, "and in any case, the store is closed. We must have come too late."

"Well then why on earth would they keep the lights on?"

"To get people to buy it tomorrow? It seems like a horrible plan though."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to find some way around it then."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

It wasn't long after you asked that Kaeya grinned, winked, and promptly kicked the door in.

"WE'RE GOING TO STEAL IT?"

"We're going to borrow it. I'll give it back tomorrow and apologize for the lock breaking. Let's just hope nobody takes advantage of it."

And with that, Kaeya grabbed your hand, dragged you inside, and grabbed the sweater off its display.

"Here. Look, it's a perfect fit - go on, now, we don't have much time."

"Kaeya, this is insane."

"Yes, exactly, an insanely good plan. Come on, the party's in an hour. If we want to be early, now's the time to go."

If you said this whole ordeal hadn't made you fall just the tiniest bit more in love with him, you'd be lying. You ran through the streets with him, failing to suppress your laughter, still holding hands from when he dragged you into the shop. The Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius was right up ahead, and once you got there, Amber ran out to greet you, clad in her homemade baron bunny sweater.

"Hey, you wore a new one this year!"

"Yeah, Kaeya shrunk my old one," you said, pausing to catch your breath. "I'm definitely not letting him near the laundry again."

"Well, I like this one better if I'm being honest. Now come on! We have an ugly sweater party to get to!"

Kaeya pulled you in for a quick side hug and laughed, still breathing heavily from running. "She's right, you know. Now that your problem is fixed, let's go have fun."

#WOO ITS DONE #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #holiday writing collab!#genshin x reader #kaeya #gi kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya genshin #reader insert #gn!reader #kaeya fluff #kaeya fic #kaeya written

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xneens · 4 years ago

Text

thank u, next (ft. loki)

Warnings: angst, swearing, jealousy, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: A new team member in the group shakes things up for the super soldier.

Or: In which Steve casts you aside for a Carter only to regret his decision when he sees you with the God of Mischief.

"Yeet."

Swiveling your chair, you saw the empty pint of ice cream hit garbage can, bouncing off the rim and dropping on the floor with a light thump. You looked at Tony, shaking your head. "You've been hanging out with Peter too much."

"Why, thank you." Tony replied, smirking at you. "So, tell me, you sexy vixen, how do you feel with Thor bringing Loki? You were quiet during the whole argument that almost ended with Barton ripping out his eye."

You shrugged, the heels Tony had bought earlier drawing your attention to your feet. "I'm fine. I don't really care, I mean, I wasn't with you guys when New York happened so I don't really think I get to have an opinion about whether the mind-controlled God of Lies gets a spot in the team."

"You realize your on the team, right? I'm pretty sure your opinion matters especially with the mass murderer joining." Tony replied, accidentally hitting himself with the candy cane in his hands. "I really thought you were going to side with Cap on this one. You always do."

It wasn't a secret that Steve Rogers wasn't completely on board with the plan. That was pushing it; in other words: Steve Rogers despised the plan. If he could kill it, he would've. When Thor had proposed the plan to bring Loki on the team (a punishment from Odin himself)—trying to convince everyone he was "good" now—less than a handful had let him continue speaking. The rest wanted to riot. You had just sat there, a smirk on your face as you watched the six of them fight with each other while Fury shook his head, looking like a disappointed father.

When everyone had came to an agreement on Loki's trial period, there had been pages of rules on what he was restricted on doing including magic and stabbing. Of course, it was very specific so even the God of Mischief couldn't find a loophole. Maybe he could if he tried, which he probably will.

Clicking your tongue, you shrugged, ignoring the little pang in your chest. "Not on this. I'm smart enough to see that there's more reward than risk to have Loki on the team. For example: he's not bad to look at."

Tony choked on his candy cane, coughing up a large piece. With wide eyes, he studied you in silence, trying to figure out if you had been joking. "Are you serious? We should bring you to Helen so you can get your head checked. There's a chance you might have a concussion from the last mission."

"You have eyes, you can see how regal he is despite not genuinely being born royal. And those cheekbones..." you trailed off, biting your lip at Loki's handsome features. Tony raised an eyebrow, slowly shaking his head. "Not that his perfect bone structure justifies all the people he's killed. I'm just very observant being an avenger and all."

"Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, yeah, sure." Tony mumbled, leaning back on his chair, his eyes narrowing after your confession. "Ms. Natalia Romanoff didn't get the chance to tell me what happened between you and old Capsicle."

Rolling your eyes, you spun around in your chair, facing away from the nosy billionaire. "There's not that much to tell. We talked, we liked each other, then the sun came up and reality set in as the form of Sharon Carter. It didn't take long for him to ditch me to go for Peggy's niece. Anyways, been there, done that. People change."

"You're not the same girl I met." Tony stated. "On that note, Rogers' old brain is still defrosting and he's getting older so I don't think he knows how stupid he is...yet."

"And I'm not going to wait for him to find out." you muttered, a loud sound coming from the big yard. Looking through the garage window, you saw the blinding light before two figures in different colored capes appeared, the blinding light ruining the fresh-cut grass. Beaming at Tony, you got up. "Want to plan a party with me?"

"You say that like I'd have the ability to say no. Tonight?" Tony replied, grinning at thought of loud electronic dance music and booze.

Getting up, the stilettos clicked on the floor, your perfect pedicure peeking through the hole. Smiling, you walked towards the door. "Well, we are in the presence of two Gods. I think it's only fair we celebrate like it."

"I'm putting Party in the USA on the track-list!"

Rushing to the lawn where the rest of the team gathered, your mood was lightened by the sight of the golden haired retriever in disguised as a jacked God. Ignoring the others, you threw yourself at Thor, the God of Thunder catching you, arms tightening around your body. You let out a breathless laugh, momentarily forgetting your idiotic plan to avoid Steve. "Thor!"

Thor guffawed, lifting you off the ground, shouting your name in glee before letting you breathe again. "My favorite avenger! Miss me?"

"Duh." you responded, glancing at Loki, who had magically changed into an all-black suit, his shoulder length raven-colored hair slicked back. His eyes narrowed slightly at the team who had defeated him. He looked even better in person. "So, that's Loki."

Natasha spoke up before either Asgardian could. She stepped closer, observing him with you. "Not sure. He isn't as smug as before—"

"And he's missing those horrendous reindeer horns he was wearing." Clint chimed in, crossing his arms. His hate for Loki—which had increased when he found out the man who once controlled him was coming to the team—was almost as deep as Steve's. "He looks like a witch in that black suit."

Thor snickered, releasing Loki from the handcuffs that held him. "As you all know, my adopted brother's punishment from Father is to help Earth's Mightiest Heroes. Loki understands all the rules, and he will so follow them accordingly. Isn't that right, brother?"

Loki rolled his eyes, sighing before reluctantly nodding. "Yes, I will."

"Let me make this clear, Loki." Steve stepped up, Sharon right behind him, face composed. You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at the couple. "If you break one rule, no matter how small, you will be sent back to Asgard and face Odin's alternate punishment. Just so you're clear, we won't hesitate to send you back."

The God of Mischief smirked, feeling smug knowing he could push the super soldier's buttons. "Of course, Captain. I wouldn't dream of breaking the rules enforced."

Everyone could sense the sarcasm and mockery in his voice, all of them tensing. Thor sighed, clapping his brother on the back, the force making Loki take a steps forward. "Come on, brother. I'll show you your quarters before you get punched by Lady Natasha."

Without waiting for Loki to answer, Thor practically pulled Loki's arm off, pulling him towards the building, crossing the ruined lawn that Tony would bitch about later. Everyone followed them, staying a few feet back, wary of the new team member. You noticed Steve stealing glances at you, quickly moving away from Sharon's side and made his way to you.

Without being too obvious, you squeezed your way between Bruce and Natasha, snaking your arms between there's, hoping it would give Steve the impression not to talk to you. Ever. Natasha threw you a sympathetic smile, squeezing your wrist while Bruce raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.

Thor continued talking about the new compound, leading his brother to the entrance while pointing out installments that would've seemed impressive to a simple "midgardian."

He might've unconsciously murdered people but he kinda thicc.

At that exact moment, Loki turned around, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. His smirk grew, glancing between you and Steve before turning back. It had been so quick that you weren't sure it even happened. The group scattered as soon as they stepped a foot inside; Bruce heading to the lab, Steve following him while Sharon split and headed up to Medbay, Natasha hitting the gym with Clint, leaving you alone with Thor and Loki.

Unfortunately, Thor's room had been across yours, the empty room next to yours becoming Loki's so both a spy and a god could keep an eye on the trickster. Both Tony and Steve had fought on that, Steve concerned about your safety while Tony argued back, telling him you could keep yourself safe. If not, Thor was there. That had angered you; Steve didn't think you were capable of fighting off Loki if it came to it, and that made you roll your eyes at him, exiting the room.

"...and this will be your quarters. Decorate it any way you want, just no magic." Thor continued, reaching the area of your rooms. It was a big arc, the area looking like a semi-circle with three doors spaced evenly out. "My chambers is across Lady Y/N's, so we won't have any problems. She's a smart one, brother. Anything else to add, Sunshine?"

You ignored the nickname, eyes narrowing at the black-suited man. "There's a party tonight 'celebrating' the addition to the team. It starts at 8 so don't be late or else Tony will have your head. Also, if you wake me up before seven in the morning, watch your back 'cause I hold grudges."

Giving Thor a smile, you head to your room, closing the door with a sigh. On the other side, you heard Loki chuckle once. "I like her."

"She's serious. She almost ripped my heart out the one time I accidentally woke her from her slumber." Thor added, the clap on his brother's back loud. "Get ready for the party, Loki."

Loki had been forced in his room by his brother, the door closing after him. He listened carefully, hearing you plop on your bed. He bit back a smirk, a plan unfolding in his brain. With a swift gesture of a finger, the room had been decorated, the hideous white theme changing into an exact copy of Loki's bedroom in Asgard.

The day went by fast as you wasted it away planning the party with Tony, who had, in no way, helped. You had ran off to your room once the people Tony had hired came, setting up everything in the main room. As you walked to the three-bedroom wing, you saw Steve rocking back and forth in front of your door, his hands in his pocket while Thor gushed about his flying hammer.

Relief washed over his face as soon as he spotted you, and you almost turned around, wishing you had gone to Natasha's room to get ready.

Steve called out your name, abruptly ending his conversation with Thor. As you walked closer, you could see the concern etched on his face. "Hey, are you okay?"

Thor watched your reaction, your face fighting the urge to make a face at America's sweetheart. Maneuvering your body, you slid between the two men to get to your room. "I'm fun-fucking-tastic. Thor, remind Loki about the party. I didn't spend the whole day with Tony for Loki to miss his own party."

"I'll be there, darling." Loki chimed in, his head poking out of his bedroom. Everyone turned to look at him, seeing the not-so-subtle wink he gave you.

Ignoring Steve's clenched fists, you moved past them, entering your room. Before closing the door, you said, "Tony requests the presence of all three of you, by the way. There's no way you're getting out of this. See you at 8!"

With a sighed of relief, you closed the door in Steve's face, the loud slam cutting off whatever he was about to interject. He could talk to Sharon about whatever shit he was dealing with, the girl he chose. You were no longer someone he could vent to after the shit he pulled, leading you on before leaving for Sharon Carter. It was then that you came to the decision to not love so easily.

Getting ready for the party took longer than you thought it would, the hot shower burning your skin to the point your skin started to redden. Your mind wandered to Loki, curios about the wink. Maybe it was his way of messing with people, a loophole that had not been included in the agreement. Realizing how inappropriate it was to think about the God while showering, you quickly turned the water off and stepped out.

Knowing Natasha, she's be disappointed if you didn't dress up like your inner slut, the one that got fucked up in Tokyo, and the petty hoe who would do everything to make Steve Rogers regret his decision. Well, you weren't going to let your sestra down.

The sultry, tight red dress was almost too short to be considered decent. With it's low cropped top, your tits we're begging for attention, the bra non-existent. Your new motto: protect the city, free the titties. The matching red stilettos would've been a pain if you hadn't started wearing them so early in your life. You let your hair down, running hand through it before slapping some natural makeup on your face, trying not to look desperate for attention.

It was around 8:15 when you finally finished, already exhausted by the amount of work you had to put on for others, but mostly for yourself. Either Tony or Natasha would come barreling through your door if you were going to be any later. Rushing, you took a quick look in the mirror before opening your door, nearly bumping into the God of Mischief.

He was dressed in a black buttoned-downed dress shirt with matching dress pants. Like before, his hair was slicked back, the shoulder length, raven hair looking silky and sexy. You both eye each other, eyes appreciating the sight in front of them. It wasn't until you finally met his eyes that he cleared his throat, a smug smile covering half his face.

"Would you mind accompanying me to the party, Lady Y/N? My brother is an idiot and cannot give a proper tour with his minuscule organ that he calls a brain. As of that, I do not know where this celebration is held." Loki explained, holding out his arm, waiting for you to take it. He raised an eyebrow while you hesitated. "If not, I could just follow you and everyone would assume I'm planning to have your head."

"Jesus Christ, you and Thor are so fucking dramatic." you grumbled, taking Loki's arm, your arm snaking around his. "Must run in the family, huh?"

"I'm adopted."

"I don't care."

Loki darkly chuckled, feeling your warm body against his, letting himself grow closer, enough that he could feel more of you but not enough that you would've noticed. "I sincerely hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you look rather ravishing, darling."

"Have you ever thought of cutting your hair?" you replied, loving the way Loki's smug expression wavered—probably expecting a compliment—before composing himself. "You'd look less like Johnny Depp from Pirates of the Caribbean."

"I don't understand." Loki said, leading you towards the elevator. For someone who claimed they didn't know where they were headed, he had the sense of knowing where everything was.

You waved the pop culture reference away, pushing the elevator button. "You wouldn't. Is Thor already at the party?"

"I'm quite positive."

The rest of the walk to the main room was quiet, neither of you making small talk as you led him. More like, he led you. You were suspicious he had stayed back and faked not knowing the compound in order to mess with you. But you waved that thought away, focus on getting distracting yourself from Steve.

You could hear the party before seeing it, the big room had been half full, not too much, not too little, yet you had been surprised considering how extra Tony could be. Letting go of Loki's arm, you walked to the bar where Natasha was sipping a glass of whiskey, ignoring the rest of the party. She pulled out a bottle of gin as you arrived, raising an eyebrow at your accompanied date.

"Before you say anything, he didn't know where the party was so he asked me to guide him. Nicely if I might add." you said, pushing back the bottle, settling on a bottle of water instead.

Natasha smirked, watching Loki interact with his brother, a frown deepening on his face. "He knows where everything is, Thor gave him the whole tour while you were with Tony. Can't believe you took the bait."

"Ugh." you grumbled, wishing you could forget about tomorrow and drown your problems in alcohol but the last hangover nearly killed you.

"Stevie doesn't look to happy with you showing up with Loki." Natasha noticed, the smirk widening as she watched Steve's glare grew more lethal as Loki's grin got bigger. "This is so much better than America's Next Top Models fails. Do you wanna bet that one of them will punch the other before the party is over?"

"Daddy, chill." you mimicked, turning to see how enraged old Capsicle is. But with the blonde besides him, looking up him in both wonder and worry, he had no right to be angry at Loki for attending a party that had been thrown for him, despite the many people he murdered—while being controlled. "He can't seriously still be sour about Loki joining."

The redhead giggled, a little drunk from the amount of alcohol she already consumed. "I don't think that's what he's so broody about, not anymore at least. He was smiling until he saw you on Loki's arm."

"Ain't my fault he chose Peggy's niece over me, meaning he doesn't get to be jealous whether Loki is my date or a walker for these killer stilettos." you muttered, secretly loving and hating the jealousy that oozed out of Steve Rogers. Even his blonde date had noticed. "Look at these heels, aren't they gorgeous?"

"Almost as gorgeous as you." Natasha replied, winking just before she drowned the rest of her drink. She winced a little at the taste.

"How many of those have you had?" you wondered, eyeing the spy. After the worst hangover of both your lives, Natasha had made you swear to never let her get that drunk again. Although with the rate she was going, you feared you had been too late.

She shrugged, taking your bottle of water. "Four. Oh, look, here comes Steve."

Before you could ditch, Steve leaned against the counter, his blue buttoned down shirt matching his blue eyes. Natasha not-so-subtly walked to the other side of the bar, motioning for Bruce to keep her company, although knowing her, she'd listen to every word.

"Rogers," you greeted coldly, looking everywhere but him. He tensed at your cold greeting, the frown looking permanently pressed on his face. "Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah."

Lie.

"Good."

You sat there for a good two minutes before he cleared his throat, shifting his weight nervously from one foot onto the other. Steve coughed in his fist. "So...living near Loki isn't too much trouble, is it? He causing any trouble, yet?"

"Sweet as an angel." you replied sarcastically, wishing you were anywhere but here. Loki caught your eye, raising a hand to wave and the group that had been brave enough to be near him, gasped in shock, the noises audible across the room. Their reactions made you chuckle.

Steve cleared his throat, this time louder. "Would you like to dance?"

"Ask your girlfriend." you fired back, satisfied by the hurt on his face. After the stunt he pulled, leading you on only to stomp of your heart, you wanted to be selfish and make him suffer just a little bit. Thankful, Loki came to your rescue.

Ignoring Steve, he held out his arm once again, a smile playing on his lips as he took in the tense situation between you and Steve. But before he could utter a single word, Sharon decided it was the perfect time to come looking for Steve. She assessed the situation, awkwardly noting Loki's presence.

"Er, hello." Sharon said, standing in false bravery. She wouldn't admit it, but she was afraid of the God of Mischief.

Loki gave her a curt nod and held out a hand to you instead, easily fitting yours in his. He murmured your name, softly kissing your knuckles. "Would you like to dance? This is the first song that came on that has not made me want to tear my ears off."

"Why, yes, I would." you agreed with a grin, moving your body close to Loki as you reached the unofficial dance floor, everyone's eyes on the both of you, with shock and slight fear. You would've cackled at their reactions—and it looked like Loki wanted to, too—if you hadn't been raised with manners. "Thank you."

Loki raised an eyebrow, surprised by the words. "For what, if I may ask?"

"Saving me back there. I don't need that kind of drama in my life. Not anymore." you explained, drinking in the warmth of his arm wrapping around your waist as you both slowly swayed to the slow song.

The raven-haired God smiled—not the smug smirk he wore, but a genuine one that Thor hadn't seen his brother wear for a few years now. "My pleasure. A lady like you deserves someone who'll give her his undivided attention. Any suitor would be lucky to have a tenth of your attention."

A coping mechanism: you rolled your eyes but you couldn't help the small smile that forced itself on you lips. You bit it back, hoping no one had noticed.

Loki had. And he meant every word he said.

By the end of the night, you found yourself naked, against the wall and legs wrapped around Loki's waist. Lips crashed against one another, soft kisses trailing down necks, leaving little love marks that would surely be dark. But at the moment, you didn't care. Not when Loki whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he took you from behind, above, underneath, and even on the side. You had both been teasing each other at the party and now you had given in, no matter the consequences.

—

Annoyed Steve had missed the date he had asked you on, you walked up to his room, heels clicking. You had waited for him for over two hours, texted him and getting no replies, leaving the restaurant with the humiliation of being stood up.

But as you neared his door, you heard crying. But it wasn't Steve. Peeking inside, you saw Sharon. Pretty, talented Sharon. Her eyes were red, tears steaming down her cheeks while Steve hugged her shoulders, resting his chin on her head as he comforted her. Jealousy and hurt knocked the breath out of you.

You waited.

And waited.

And it happened. Leaning in slowly, he kissed her. Softly, like he had kissed you. And she kissed him back, finding comfort in the kiss.

Heart breaking in two, you left, leaving the door open. The couple broke their kiss long enough to see you walk away through the slit of the door. Steve hung just head, feeling terrible. But Sharon had helped him as he had. This time, they hadn't stopped at kissing, forgetting the girl who had her heart broken by the man who claimed he would never hurt her.

Steve knew it was over between you two, but he could focus his attention on caring as much as he wanted to when Sharon kept kissing him. He did try to apologize only to learn you had went to visit Thor in Asgard, leaving him to feel sorry for himself and his decisions. Yet, he still found temporary comfort in Sharon's arms.

—

You woke to the warmth of Loki's arms around you. Opening your eyes, you found yourself tangled limbs with the God of Lies, your hair a mess, a hand over his chest and a leg over his waist. Your cheek rested on the crook of his neck, fitting perfectly as if he was made for you.

"Good morning." Loki whispered, stroking your hair with one hand, the other softly massaging your thigh. "Sleep well?"

Nuzzling into his neck, you snorted at the irony. "Don't know, considering we didn't do much sleeping."

Loki chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on your head. "Touché. It would only be fair of me to apologize for the love marks I left on your soft skin last night. Forgive me but I could not help myself."

Gasping, you jumped up, looking at the vanity mirror across your bed to find your collarbone, neck, and the top of your breast covered in Loki's hickeys. He looked rather proud of himself than sorry. "Loki!"

"Please note my apologies are genuine when they are directed towards you. Although, I have to admit, I'm quite proud of myself. It's my best art." Loki announced, bringing himself up on his elbows, eyes ravaging your naked flesh, littered with his marks.

Noticing the difference between your bodies, you quickly turned around to see the reflections had been right; Loki's body remained unmarked. "I swear to god I left hickeys and bite marks all over you last night."

"You tried but got rather mad when my skin healed itself." Loki explained, pulling you back in his warm arms. The soft gesture surprised you, the whole situation coming into light. You had slept with Thor's murderous brother. Loki read your thoughts. "Don't be like that, love. What what I can remember, you enjoyed yourself last night quite immensely. If it will make you feel better, I can show all the love bites you made the night before."

Thankful you hadn't drank anything last night, you had been so happy to not wake up with a hangover and Loki. Turning to face him, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

With a smirk, his chest gleamed green for a second before it uncovered layers and layers of hickeys, and reddening bite marks. It was identical to yours. You gasped in shocked while Loki stared at you in amusement, his arms tightening. "You did a little bit of damage. I'm proud."

"Holy shit—" you were cut off by Thor and Steve bursting into your room, the sudden motion making you cover up your naked chest with a shriek. The two men's jaws dropped as they took in the scene, Loki's bare chest covered with the evidence from last night, his arms wrapped around you while you stared at them with wide eyes. "Knock, goddamnit!"

Both of them stood in silence, their brains not processing what was in front of them. Steve's eyes had mirrored yours from when you caught him kissing Sharon, eyes watering, you could see his heart breaking just by making eye contact. But at that moment, you couldn't find yourself to care, not with Loki's arms around you.

"What—" Thor began.

Loki smirked, kissing your bare shoulder. "Hello, brother."

next >

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #loki #loki x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x sharon carter #marvel #captain america #angst #jealousy #chris evans x reader

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blueheartedmayor · 2 years ago

Note

Random slightly shivers from his cold hand and follows along as he shows her around. She quietly pays attention, making a mental note of each room.

This place is big for one person. Not nearly as insane as the Manor, though. Feels way cozier, at least.

She looks toward the room he’s referring to, then back toward the adorable corgi sitting nearby. Her eyes light up and she grins at Damien.

“Aww, that wouldn’t be so bad. He’s a cutie! But if you think I should, then I’ll do just that.”

As he finishes speaking, she looks at her suitcase and beelines to her room. She sets it inside by the door and immediately goes back to him, waving her hand and smiling.

“It’s fine. Unpacking can wait. And yes, I think a chat would be nice.”

I should just tell him. If it were me, I’d wanna know who’s staying with me.

She hesitates, then looks him in the eye.

“I feel I should be honest with you, for starters. I know Wilford didn’t tell you much about me. But you’re the mayor and, more importantly, you’re letting me stay here…”

She knows she’s stalling, so she clears her throat and speaks bluntly.

“I’m currently on parole. I tried to pull off a museum heist a couple years ago, got caught, and chose to make amends by staying in prison longer than I could have.”

She fidgets a bit but forces herself to keep looking at him.

“…I really don’t want to go back yet, but if you want me to leave, I’ll respect your decision. I just…thought I should tell you.”

Please don’t kick me out, please, please, please…

@the-crypt-of-randomness

One would be hard-pressed to find somewhere like the Manor, or even the supposed Labyrinth. As far as Random could tell, this was an ordinary apartment. For one person, it was the perfect size. With a guest, it felt like there would be enough space without feeling anyone was stepping over any 'boundaries'.

"Let's just say that he isn't a chewer of shoes, but a thief of them. It will save you some headaches searching for them."

Once Random moved toward the guest bedroom, Damien had only turned to return to the living room when he heard footsteps indicating her job was being postponed to later. It made sense, he realised, as it would help break the ice better than a pause between interactions. She was nervous - if Wilford had put him on the spot at three in the morning, he can't imagine how the conversation went on her end - and it was showing as clear as day. They only made it as far as the doorway before her tone changed to something more akin to worry.

True to Wilford's word, Damien knew nothing, and he didn't try to hide the traces of surprise as she explained her situation. It was unfortunate he didn't have his cane with him, but he made do by loosely folding his arms and giving her a sympathetic smile.

"I don't know what you've heard about me, Random, but I'm not a man who judges someone solely on their past. Being on parole is proof that you have been trying to show you are a better person who shows remorse over their actions. I do appreciate you telling me this, and in return I want to reassure you that I'm not going to ask you to leave. You are here on a break based on recent events that Wilford vaguely alluded to, and so you shall stay for the few days."

There was a brief pause as he glanced across the room toward the kitchen, then back to Random. "I'll not have someone stressed out after only arriving. What will you have to drink - tea? Coffee? A fizzy beverage of some sort? We can sit and chat, if that will help with the stress you're feeling."

#thecryptofrandomness #on the tablet #v; keeping the egos in check

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thesapphictimelady · 3 years ago

Text

Sacred Purity

A/N: Hi guys! This is my current project, Sacred Purity! I'm super excited for you guys to read this first part! Based off the feedback I receive, I do plan to continue it when I have time this summer!

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Lesbian relationship, sex in a church, domme/sub relationship, I will poke fun at the church a lot in this, spanking, blackmail

Characters: Wilhemina Venable and OC

Word key:

Theotokos: The mother of god

Kyrie Eleison: Greek "Lord have Mercy"

“God cleanse me a sinner, have mercy on me.” Sister Anastasia crossed herself and bent at the waist to kiss the face of the Theotokos. The thick perfume of the incense surrounded her as she ventured further into the chapel and took her place in the pews. Mother Superior rose to begin Matins, and Sister Anastasia took one last look around the chapel to check that all the candles had been lit. Her eyes were drawn to the furthest pew, where a woman dressed entirely in purple sat. Sister Anastasia looked at the woman curiously.

“Sister Anastasia,”

Sister Anastasia quickly turned to face the front after a sharp elbow hit her ribcage, but not before she made eye contact with the purple woman. The woman winked at her, and Sister Anastasia flushed.

Mother Superior began to sing, and Sister Anastasia tried her best to follow along, but above her sisters’ familiar voices, there was a new voice. The purple woman. Her voice was low, almost gravelly but still lovely.

“Kyrie Eleison, Kyrie Eleison, Kyrie Eleison,” Sister Anastasia nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized that the purple woman had snuck into the pew behind her and now sang directly into her ear. The thick carpeting of the chapel had disguised the click of the woman’s cane.

“It’s a lovely service,” the woman purred in her ear. Sister Anastasia nodded faintly, and a leather glove brushed the bit of her neck that her veil didn’t cover. After what felt like an eternity, the hand withdrew, and the pew creaked as the woman stood up.

Sister Anastasia let out her breath and set her face in her hands.

“Sister, are you alright?”

She lifted her face to offer Sister Agnes a weak smile. “Just a bit tired, Sister Agnes,” she whispered, “I think I’m going to go lie down.”

Sister Agnes nodded, “I’ll pray for you, sister.”

With a tight smile, she rose from the pew and slowly exited the chapel. Once she had left, she picked up her skirts and began to chase after the flash of purple that had disappeared around the corner

“Ma’am? Excuse me! Ma’am?!”

The purple woman stopped suddenly, causing Sister Anastasia to crash into her.

She turned to face her, “Oh, hello, mother.”

“M-mother?” Sister Anastasia picked herself up and dusted off her habit “Oh no, it’s sister.”

“Oh? And here I was thinking you were the Mother Superior I’m meant to be meeting with.”

“Afraid not Miss. I’m Sister Anastasia.” she offered her hand to the purple woman.

“Is Mother Superior in the ten-year plan?” the woman asked, ignoring Sister Anastasia’s hand.

“I-no. No Miss....”

“Venable. Ms. Venable.”

“No, Ms. Venable, it is not in the ten-year plan.”

“A shame,” Ms. Venable looked her up and down and smirked. There was something almost predatory in her eyes that made Sister Anastasia’s breath catch. “But perhaps it’s for the best.” “I-”

“Now,” Ms. Venable interrupted, “I didn’t come just for the music.”

“Did you have an appointment, Ms. Venable?”

“Yes, I told you. I’m meant to be meeting with Mother Superior.”

“She’s still in Matins. But I can take you to her office if you want?”

“That would be acceptable.” Ms. Venable’s tongue darted from her mouth to moisten her lips. Sister Anastasia flushed at the sudden thought of those purple lips on her neck.

“R-right this way Ms. Venable.” Sister Anastasia led her down the narrow hallway.

“From my conversation with Mother Superior, I understand you need a security system.” Ms. Venable said, cane tapping in time with every step.

“Yes, we had a break-in last week. They stole the gold candlesticks from the chapel.”

“How unfortunate.” Ms. Venable murmured. “When was the convent built?”

“1883, but we did have wiring put in more recently when we began using the space again. I joined the convent shortly after the wiring went in, about 5 years ago.”

“You’ve been living surrounded by history,” Ms. Venable said, pausing to face Sister Anastasia. “History and beautiful women.”

Sister Anastasia blushed hard. “Beautiful women, Ms. Venable?”

“Don’t try to deny it, Sister Anastasia,” Ms. Venable said, leaning in so that her lips brushed her ear.

“I-I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Oh sweet innocent sister Anastasia, I know you aren’t so innocent.” Ms. Venable purred, running the tip of her tongue along the shell of her ear before pulling away.

Sister Anastasia braced herself against the wall, knees trembling. Ms. Venable pointed a gloved finger towards the corner.

“You see, my dear, there have been security cameras since the wiring went in. All that needed to be done was to switch control to my company and now I can see all the footage these cameras have picked up. Such a naughty little nun you are, Sister Anastasia!” Ms. Venable gave her a predatory grin, her eyes dark as she continued, “What would the Theotokos say if she had seen you last week, kneeling in the chapel with your hand under your skirts?”

“You...you saw that?” Sister Anastasia whispered.

“Of course I did silly girl. Why else would I be here today? The security footage has been streaming directly to my office for my viewing pleasure. What a surprise it was to see you kneeling before the icon of the Theotokos.” Ms. Venable smirked and reached a gloved hand to cup Sister Anastasia’s face.

Sister Anastasia jerked away from her gloved hand and slid down the wall onto the floor.

“Why me? Surely there’s another Sister here who...who touches herself.”

“A devout nun touching herself? No, Sister Anastasia, you’re the only one I’ve seen. And I have cameras everywhere.”

Sister Anastasia put her face in her hands. “Please, please don’t tell Mother Superior. The convent is my home! I have nowhere else to go.”

Ms. Venable stared down at her, crumpled on the floor before she tapped her cane against the tile. “Follow me.”

Sister Anastasia wiped her face and stood, following Ms. Venable down the narrow hallway until they reached a bedroom.

“I believe this is your bedroom, Sister Anastasia.” Ms. Venable said, opening the door and stepping in. “It is lovely to see it in person rather than over the cameras.”

Sister Anastasia’s eyes widened and her cheeks turned red. “Y-you were watching my bedroom?”

Ms. Venable settled herself onto the bed and sighed. “Yes, do try to keep up.” she leaned her cane against the edge of the bed and lifted her skirts. “If you do exactly as I say, I won’t tell Mother Superior about what a slutty nun you are.”

#venable x oc #venable smut #original character #wilhemina venable

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monotonous-minutia · 3 years ago

Text

Benvenuto Cellini in 300 lines or fewer

for the lovely and incredibly patient @notyouraveragejulie, as requested! Happy Cellini-versary! took me long enough, but decided to get it done today to honor the occasion :)

Act I Scene I

Balducci’s house

Balducci: Teresa what are you doing looking out the window I told you never to look out the window. Besides I need you to listen to my rant. Can you BELIEVE what the Pope has just told me? He’s hired that delinquent Cellini to make his new statue instead of Fieramosca. I just can’t wrap my head around it.

Teresa: Maybe you could if it wasn’t so big.

Balducci: What?

Teresa: Nothing.

(Balducci exits)

Teresa: Ugh FINALLY I hate listening to his rants. )goes back to look out the window)

Masqueraders outside: LALALALA IT’S CARNIVAL THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR

(Balducci comes back and sees Teresa at the window)

Balducci: TERESA WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT STAYING AWAY FROM THE WINDOW what is even going on down there? I bet it’s that Cellini whipping everyone into a frenzy. Ugh, Carnival. (exits again)

Teresa: (goes to the window and is immediately showered with flowers) I don’t care what my dad says, hanging out by the window is fun. I love flowers. Oh hey, a note from Cellini! What? He’s coming here? Oh, that’ll be risky. But hey, dad’s out of the house, what could go wrong? Y’know, it’s kinda hard, dealing with all this—feeling like I have to listen to my dad, but wanting to indulge in the affections of my beloved. When I’m older, old like my parents, maybe I’ll be responsible, but right now I’m young, and I deserve to have some fun! Girls just wanna have fun!

Cellini: (appearing at the window) TERESA MY BELOVED

Teresa: Cellini, I love you, but it’s too dangerous for you to be here. What if my dad catches us?

Cellini: But look, it’s carnival, and it’s so gay! And I mean that like happy, but y’know, it’s pretty gay too. Besides, I love you. Why do you turn me away?

Teresa: Well, I just got done singing this empowering feminist aria, but unfortunately reality hits and I remember that it’s 1532 and I basically have no rights, so it’s best for you to forget me and move on.

Fieramosca: (sneaking in carrying a huge bouquet) The best way to a woman’s heart is with a cool sneak-in plan and a bunch of flowers. Hang on, is that Cellini talking to my Teresa?

Cellini: How am I supposed to just leave you behind? Let you be forced into the arms of that Fieramosca?

Teresa: I’d rather die than marry Fieramosca!

Fieramosca: …I just came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.

Cellini: Okay, so, how about this: Come to the new opera Cassandro is presenting tomorrow night. While your dad is distracted, my apprentice and I will sneak over disguised as friars and spirit you away! We’ll go to Florence and live happily ever after! Nothing could possibly go wrong!

Fieramosca: Hmm, interesting plan. It would be a shame if someone were to...interfere.

Teresa: Sounds foolproof. But hang on, my dad is coming back. You have to hide!

(Cellini hides behind the door. Fieramosca hides in Teresa’s bedroom. Balducci somes back.)

Balducci: Teresa, what are you up to? Are you talking to people? How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not allowed to have a life?

Teresa: (distracting him so Cellini can sneak out) DAD THERE’S A MAN IN MY BEDROOM

Balducci: What??? Let me see!

(Balducci goes into Teresa's bedroom and comes out dragging Fieramosca) I can’t believe this! This is so inappropriate, Fieramosca, how dare you?

Fieramosca: No, wait, let me explain! I just came to visit! Cellini is the real rascal!

Teresa: Oh the poor man is raving mad.

Balducci: I will not stand for this! Servants, come here! Let’s teach this seducer a lesson!

Servants: OH YEAAAHHHHH LET’S STICK HIM IN THE FOUNTAIN

Fieramosca: NO WAIT

Teresa: This is the best thing ever.

Act I Scene II

Piazza Colonna

Cellini: I can’t wait to elope with Teresa!

(A bunch of Cellini’s friends and students come in)

Chorus: LALALALALA LET’S GET SLOSHED

Cellini: Yes, but for god’s sake none of those ridiculous drinking songs. Let’s sing about the glory of metal-workers!

Everyone: YEAH GLORY TO THE METAL-WORKERS!! WE’RE THE BEST WE WORK WITH METAL THAT SPARKLES LIKE JEWELS AND RIPPLES LIKE FLOWERS AND IS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN BOTH OF THOSE PUT TOGETHER

Bernardino: Alright folks, let’s drink up!

Innkeeper: Sorry lads, not until you pay your tab.

Cellini: Okay who’s got the cash? …nobody? Well this is a nice little pickle we’ve gotten ourselves into.

Ascanio: (enters carrying a bag of money) ASCANIO TO THE RESCUE

Everybody: YEAHHH VIVA ASCANIO

Ascanio: Okay hold your horses folks, before you spend this money, you have to realize where it’s coming from. It’s a down payment on that statue you’re supposed to build. Cellini, remember you promised the Pope you’d make that statue?

Cellini: Ugh, don’t remind me.

Ascanio: It’s literally my job to remind you.

Cellini: Fiiiiine I promise I’ll finish the statue.

Ascanio: Okay, cool. Here’s the money.

Cellini: Here you go, you troublesome little man, now give us our drinks.

(He gives the Innkeeper the money.)

Cellini: Okay, now that we all have had our libations, let’s talk revenge. You know that guy Balducci who’s always disrespecting me and trying to keep me away from my girlfriend? Well, I have a plan for Carnival where we can humiliate him in front of everyone as payback!

Everyone else: Sounds like a great time! We’re in.

Everyone: Yeah!! A curse on that guy! And while you’re at it, honor to the metal-workers again!!

Ascanio: That’s such a bop where’d it come from?

Cellini: We made it up while you were gone.

Ascanio: I always miss the fun stuff.

(they all leave to get ready; Fieramosca, who was eavesdropping, comes out into the open)

Fieramosca: Ugh, look at them all, plotting against my future!

Pompeo: (entering) Hey boo! What's with the long face?

Fieramosca: Alas, Pompeo, my only friend! What a week it's been! First off, I got an impromptu and very much unwanted bath at Balducci’s yesterday. And as if that weren’t enough, now Cellini and his apprentice are going to abduct my girl!

Pompeo: That’s actually not a bad idea.

Fieramosca: What do you mean?? You want him to steal Teresa from me?

Pompeo: No, the getting in disguise and abducting her part! Why don’t WE just don those same disguises and get her ourselves?

Fieramosca: Ohhh, I get it! What a great idea! Although I must admit, I am a little scared of what Cellini might do if he catches me in the act.

Pompeo: What you think he’s actually going to stab somebody? Here, let’s practice sword fighting so you’re prepared if he does try to pull anything funny.

Fieramosca: Good idea! (they practice sword fighting) HA LOOK AT ME, WHO WOULD EVER DARE CHALLENGE ME, ALL Y’ALL PEASANTS GET OUT OF MY WAY, I’M THE ROUGHEST TOUGHEST GUY YOU EVER DID SEE. Oh, Teresa, I wish you could know just how much my heart burns for you! I’ll be damned if I let that rascal Cellini come between us.

(They leave to get ready. Balducci enters with Teresa as the Piazza begins to fill with people)

Balducci: Well, Teresa, I hope you’re happy. I’ve decided to suffer through this vulgar comedy so you can stop nagging me about not letting you go to Carnival.

Teresa: I’ll never forget your sacrifice, dad. (Come to think, it DOES make me feel a little guilty to be running away from home...is it fair to leave him all by himself?)

Cellini and Ascanio: (dressed as monks) Quickly and quietly, let’s get down to business! The plot is about to start!

Chorus or Troupers: COME, GOOD PEOPLE OF ROME!! COME AND SEE OUR SHOW!!

People: THIS IS SO MUCH FUN CARNIVAL IS AWESOME

Troupers: Let the show begin! (They start a pantomime featuring a parody of Balducci and the Pope)

Balducci: What fresh nonsense is this?

Teresa: Uhhh maybe we should go?

People: SHUT UP AND WATCH THE SHOW

Balducci: You know what? I’m going to suffer through this whole thing and then go tell the Pope how you’re all mocking him! Because he and I talk all the time I guess.

People: WE SAID SHUT UP JUST WATCH THE SHOW

Cellini: Ascanio, can you see Teresa?

Ascanio: Nope but I see someone else trying to interfere with our plans!

People: HAHAHA WATCH THE SHOW THIS IS SO FUNNY LOOK AT HARLEQUIN LOOK AT THE OLD MAN HAHAHA

Balducci: I’M GOING TO TELL ON ALL OF YOU

Teresa: Dad, stop, you’re just riling them up!

Balducci: THAT’S IT I’VE HAD ENOUGH COME GET A TASTE OF MY WRATH (he runs onstage wielding his cane)

People: HAHAHA THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER

Fieramosca: Come on, Pompeo, let’s sneak over and grab Teresa!

Cellini: Come on, Ascanio, let’s sneak over and grab Teresa!

Fieramosca: Teresa, it’s me! Come with me!

Cellini: Teresa, it’s me! Come with me!

Teresa: ??? I don’t know who is who!

Cellini: Come with me!

Fieramosca: Come with me!

Teresa: You know, when I imagined myself falling in love, I never thought I’d have two fake monks vying for my attention.

Ascanio: WE’VE BEEN HAD YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS (starts chasing Fieramosca)

Cellini: Get out of my way! Cut it out! (He and Pompeo fight; Cellini stabs Pompeo.)

Pompeo: Oh, I’m dead! (He dies.)

People: OMG SOMEBODY DIED CALL 911 I CAN’T BELIEVE A MONK JUST KILLED A GUY WHAT KIND OF WORLD DO WE LIVE IN

Fieramosca: OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST KILLED MY BOYFRIEND

Teresa: OMG CELLINI

Balducci: OMG A DEAD MAN TERESA WHERE ARE YOU

Cellini: OMG I’M REALLY IN TROUBLE NOW

Ascanio: Well, that happened.

(General chaos ensues; Cellini’s students help him escape. Amidst the mayhem Balducci bumps into Fieramosca, and, thanks to his white monk costume, mistakes him for the murderer)

Balducci: I FOUND HIM I FOUND THE MURDERER

Fieramosca: ...are you telling me this is the second time in as many days I’m being accused of something that Cellini did?

Ascanio: Come on, Teresa, let’s get out of here!

Teresa: You don’t have to tell me twice! (They both run off.)

Act II Scene I

Cellini’s workshop

Teresa: Oh my gosh what a catastrophe! I hope Cellini is okay!

Ascanio: Have faith! My master is not one to let a silly little murder accusation get him down. I mean, he did actually kill the guy, but I’m sure it will all work itself out. Have faith!

Teresa: Let’s pray for his safe return! (She and Ascanio sing a very pretty prayer; Cellini busts into the workshop)

Cellini: HONEY I’M HOME

Teresa and Ascanio: OMG YAYY YOU’RE ALIVE

Cellini: It was a close call! Everyone was running after me with daggers and calling out for my blood! I thought for sure I was done for, but I managed to evade the crowd and find a place to hide, but passed clean out in the process. It was just my fortune that as I came to my senses, as group of white monks were walking past! I joined their procession and no one was the wiser. God led them right to you!

Teresa: OMG that’s such a harrowing adventure! I’ve got goosebumps.

Ascanio: And you’re sure this is 100% accurate, with no embellishments?

Cellini: What do you take me for? Now, come on, we’ve got to get out of here before they come after us again.

Ascanio: Whoops, they’re already here.

Balducci: Cellini, you scoundrel, abductor, murderer, and general all-around-annoying person! Relinquish my daughter. It’s time for her to unite with her husband, Fieramosca.

Cellini: OVER MY DEAD BODY

Ascanio: Don’t give them any ideas!

Balducci: Come on, Fieramosca, claim your bride!

Teresa: DAD NOOOOO

Fieramosca: Uh...I don’t want to cause a scene…

(The Pope enters with his retinue)

Everybody: OH SHI--OH DEAR IT’S THE POPE

Pope: Rise, rise, my children! Relish in my holiness, but don’t hurt yourselves.

Balducci and Fieramosca: Oh your Holiness, please grant us your assistance! That rascal Cellini has tarnished Teresa’s honor.

Cellini: Come on, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.

Pope: Well well, well, Cellini, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten in trouble with me, is it? For example, where’s my statue? The one I commissioned you to make?

Cellini: Well...it’s not quite done yet.

Pope: Are you saying I should find someone else to cast the statue instead?

Cellini: WHAT?? HOW DARE YOU!! SOMEONE ELSE CAST M STATUE?? I’D RATHER DIE THAN SEE SOME AMETURE DARE TO PUT THEIR GRUBBY LITTLE FINGERS ON MY MASTERWORK

Everyone else: Are you seriously yelling at the Pope????

Pope: Arrest this man!

Cellini: YOU ARREST ME AND I WILL DESTROY THIS MODEL RIGHT HERE THEN NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO FINISH THE STATUE! NOBODY!! NOBODY!!

Pope: How dare you threaten me? What’s it going to take to calm you down?

Cellini: I want full forgiveness for all my crimes up till this point. Wipe my record clean.

Pope: Fine, fine.

Cellini: ALSO I want Teresa.

Balducci and Fieramosca: WHAT??? Your Holiness can’t possibly be considering this.

Cellini: I ALSO want more time to finish the statue.

Pope: …you know my weakness for art; fine, fine, I can’t really say no.

Balducci and Fieramosca: What audacity! But we’ll see who has the last laugh.

Teresa: Oh, what a fateful day!

Ascanio: Look at my master, he’s so clever and devious!

Pope: Okay, Cellini, here’s the deal. Finish the statue by tomorrow, and you’ll get all that you asked for. If you can’t finish it in time, you’ll be hanged.

Cellini: Fine!

Balducci and Fieramosca: He’s on the brink of ruin! We’ll see who wins this one!

Teresa: He’s doomed, alas! There’s nothing left for me in this world! Luckily I'm not going to end my life based on this notion like most operatic heroines, but I still feel dread in my heart!

Cellini: I’ve got to win this!

Ascanio: Come one boss you’re the best you got this!!!!

Act II Scene II

Cellini’s Foundry

Ascanio: TRALALALALALA….idk what I’m feeling...I’m happy, then I’m sad, then I’m crying, then I’m laughing, then I’m singing! Must be the hormones. Or the stress...our little bronze boy is finally getting finished today! But there’s a lot on the line. On one hand, I’m all scared that we’ll fail and my poor master will be hanged; on the other hand I can’t help laughing over how ridiculous the whole situation is...I mean, did you SEE the way my master stood up to the Pope?? Anyway, I better start getting ready. Tralalala! (He exits)

Cellini: What have I gotten myself into? How did I expect to finish this statue on time? All of Rome has its eyes on me

Ascanio: *Hamilton chorus voice* history has its eyes on youuuu

Cellini: What?

Ascanio: Nothing. I’m not here.

Cellini: Ah, why can’t I be a simple shepherd, whiling my life peacefully away in the mountains?

Chorus outside: Oooh!! here’s a grim old sea shanty

Cellini: I wish they’d stop! Nothing good ever happens when they sing that song!

Ascanio: (coming back) Not that song again!

Cellini: Take heart! We’re like sailors ourselves, but our sea is made of metal! Let’s get to work!

Fieramosca: NOT SO FAST!! I demand justice! Cellini, I challenge you to a duel! No need for all those sword-fighting lessons to go to waste.

Cellini: Someone finally grew a pair, eh? Fine, let’s duel right here.

Fieramosca: Not here! If I kill you in your own place, I’m a murderer. Meet me behind St. Anthony’s cloister.

Cellini: I’ll see you there!

(Fieramosca leaves; Teresa enters)

Ascanio: Here’s your sword, boss!

Teresa: Omg Cellini are you going to a duel??

Cellini: Relax, it’s just Fieramosca. (exit with Ascanio.)

Teresa: What if it’s an ambush????

Cellini’s workers (storming in) THAT’S IT WE’RE GOING ON STRIKE THESE WORKING CONDITIONS SUCK

Teresa: Oh heavens! What’s this ruckus? Come on, folks, just wait for Cellini to come back and talk about it!

Workers: NOPE WE’RE OUTTA HERE

(Fieramosca walks in)

Teresa: OMG FIERAMOSCA IS BACK WITHOUT CELLINI THAT MEANS CELLINI IS DEAD HE KILLED CELLINI (faints)

Workers: YOU KILLED OUR BOSS???

Fieramosca: What? No! Geez, this really is not my week. I’m just here to offer you the raise Cellini won’t give you.

Workers: NOPE WE’RE LOYAL TO CELLINI FORGET WHAT WE JUST SAID GET OUTTA HERE YOU RASCAL

Cellini: (coming back) What’s going on?

Teresa: (awake) OMG YOU’RE ALIVE

Cellini: ...was that ever in question? Oh, hey, Fieramosca, you’re just in time to help build the statue! Here’s an apron, get to work.

Fieramosca: What? I--

Everyone else: Get to work, or you’ll be taking another impromptu bath, but this time it’ll be in a sea of molten metal!

Fieramosca: YIKES! Okay, lead the way.

Everyone: COME ON LADS LET’S GET TO WORK

(the workers and Fieramosca head to the forge. Balducci enters with the Pope.)

Balducci: Teresa! What are you doing here?

Teresa: Uh, funny story.

Pope: So, Cellini, is my statue done yet?

Cellini: Nope, but it will be very soon.

Balducci: We’ll see about that.

Pope: You better be right.

Fieramosca: (running in) We need more metal for the statue!

Cellini: What, are you messing up my statue?? Let me go see (he runs to the forge)

Balducci: Fieramosca? What are you doing wearing an apron?

Fieramosca: Would you believe me if I said I got a new job?

Cellini: (coming back) Haha nothing to see here! Everything is going according to plan! We just need a bit more metal, that’s all, no biggie.

Workers: Just one problem: There is no more metal. And the fire’s going out. If we don’t get more metal in there quick, the whole thing will be ruined!

Balducci: Well, well, well, looks like I’m winning!

Cellini: NO THIS IS NOT THE END I REFUSE TO GIVE UP! Everyone, just grab anything metal and throw it in there!

Workers: What?? Even all your old work?

Cellini: I SAID EVERYTHING DIDN’T I

(Cellini, the workers, and Ascanio all start grabbing metal things and throwing them into the furnace)

Teresa: I can’t handle this stress!!

Pope: I can’t believe the nerve of this guy! Is it possible he could actually succeed?

(An explosion comes from the forge)

Cellini: OMG THIS IS IT I’M DONE FOR

Workers: WOOHOO WE DID IT LONG LIVE CELLINI

Cellini: We did it??

Workers: VICTORY! VICTORY!! LOOK AT THE STATUE ISN'T IT AMAZING

Fieramosca: CELLINI WE DID IT HOW ABOUT A HUG

Cellini: ...how about no

Pope: Well, Cellini, I didn't think I was going to be able to say this, but you made good on your word. I officially pardon your sins, and bless your marriage to Teresa. (He leaves.)

Cellini: YAYY TERESA

Teresa: YAYY CELLINI

Everyone: VICTORY!! LONG LIVE CELLINI!! IMMORTAL GLORY! GLORY TO THE METAL-WORKERS!!!!

The End

#Benvenuto Cellini #abbreviated operas #Hector Berlioz #Léon de Wailly #Henri Auguste Barbier #opera #opera tag

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shortyisweird9 · 4 years ago

Text

'Lonely ghost serie'

Chek and heartache- part III

Tw⚠️:swearing, referring of dark themes such as suicide attempt and mental illness.

The morning rays hit your eyes gently, tangible by their warmth,as you forced yourself from another dream of nothing but blank.

You groaned as your cat,Didi, comes running towards you: purring, meowing and chirping in pure happiness. You knew the reason she does this; your previous cat, Martha or Dildo- your roommate Sergiu called her that because of her dickish attitude with him- used to do this everytime so the little one, Didi, just followed her mother's lead.

Everytime she does that is like a small needle stabs at your heart especially when just 2 weeks passed since Martha died of old age- the black cat was adopted when she was senior, abused and malnourished, your heart knew you couldn't leave her to be laid to rest like a nothing. You adopted her, she bit you and you petted her, she hissed you hugged her, you did everything you could think of to show love even brush her fur with a wet toothbrush end to mimic sweet kisses coming from her mom. The cat soon realized that and started living again. Cautious of your other 3 roommates, cuddly with you.

Anyway, you got sidetracked with reminiscing. You heard your friends in the kitchen, Sabrina throwing away the take out boxes and Sergiu preparing some tea, probably to calm his stomach after all the spicy curry he ate last night.

You fixed the oversized white t-shirt and pull the marine blue shorts out of your bottoms, Didi already waiting you by the door.

You all, Sabrina,Sergiu,Ace and you, live in a quaint apartment, turned from campus housing, right next to one of the malls of the city. It had two small bathrooms, a living room , three petite bedrooms ,a tiny kitchen, a rounded balcony and a hallway. It was much smaller than your family home but it was in a central zone where your family home was outside the city's boundaries. You chose it not only because you wanted to spare your family from driving you to university but also because you needed your freedom, your space. Your parents were very understanding of that.

-Y/n e trează? ( "Is Y/n awake?") Ace asked as he sipped on his black cofee.

Without, he would pretty much be a grumpy hedgehog with spiky tealish mohawk. And who wouldn't love that?

-Nu încă, ah! Uite-o! ("Not yet,ah! There she is") Sabrina exclaimed, getting up to hug you and leaving the smoking tea cup by the window.

"Hello." You said ,voice grungy and eyes shut from the light.

You felt the warm hands of your Arabic friend on your face filled with moles and couple of marks from recently popped pimples, you let yourself be engrossed into it ,the touch starvation you carry like a cross chosing for you.

You hear her laugh, she always had a pretty laugh and a prettier smile . She was the beauty of the group, with big puffy sand yellow curls, brown skin with red undertones and black eyes who glow in pure happiness. She was stunning and a sweetheart with an obsession on the colour red and butterflies.

"Someone is needy." Ace teased.

"Shut up or I will staple those hair triangles on your scalp. "

You wanted to say something better but Sabrina then started massaging your lower face in a circular manner with her thumb. You knew you couldn't do anything anymore except melt.

-Anyway ,unde e Sergiu? ("Anyway, where is Sergiu?")

-Ți-o făcut ceai, cane e pervaz. S-o dus până sus să o ajute pe Florentina.("He made you tea, the cup is on the windowsill. He went upstairs to help Florentina.") He said, taking another sip of his cup.

-Ooooh, Florentina. You two began as Ace shook his head in amusement.

You and Sabrina were known to be ruthless in your teasing of the guitarist with long brown locks and beard.

Florentina was a crush of his, a freshman in the University of Arts who played the violin beautifully. Small,with olive skin, long red hair keept in a 1960s hairstyle and green petite with a triangular shaped face. She was a sweetie with a love for fantasy book ,autumn and ferrets.

-Oh, yeah?

-Dup, iubitul ei se mută cu ea. ("Yup, her boyfriend moves in with her")

-Oh.

Ace sucked in his lip ,his face filled with disappointment just like theirs now.

-That sucks.

-Numai spune,Sabrina.("You don't say,Sabrina")

Just then, the door clicked shut. Sergiu is back, this will be awkward.

-Ce vă uitați așa la mine?("Why are you looking at me like that?")

Neither of them could properly looked into the warm brown eyes of the man whose glow seemed to fade a bit, Sergiu was a stubborn man who shut his feelings deep inside, only through his song you could tell he was suffering. Just like you, I suppose.

-Am auzit...("We heard...")

You bit your lips as your long fingers played with each other, twisting and tugging while your nerves grew. Last thing you wanted was another fight where you all force the man to open up. He had suicidal tendencies, sometimes he came too close to actually do it but you were there and you needed to be there now too, even if he doesn't like being taking care of.

Sergiu rolled his eyes at you, his heart hurt from how rigid your posture was, eyes were worried about him but also scared, teeth grinding themselves not out of anger but out of care and fear.

He knew you hated arguments and shouts with dying passion. You always cried when someone raised their voice in less than friendly manner, you hated this reaction of complete terror, you hated looking weak but now you hated letting your friend burn himself because of an unfortunate love triangle. So you swallowed your nerves and braved on, it's about him ,not you.

Sergiu wanted to protect you all from this negativity, especially you and Ace. You had a big event to organise , Ace's sex reassignment surgery is coming up soon. You both have your own problems to dwell ,you didn't need to have him as one too.

However somewhere in his head, a voice telling him that he was wrong ,that voice that took the shape of you in the night of July.

You were crying, your grey hoodie wet from the rain as you cling desperately to him, not daring to move.

He was the reason why you crying, why you yelled profanities our of worry for what he was about to do. He...He tried to throw himself off a bridge ,the same bridge you two first shared your kiss.

That dark episode still irked your minds in the darker moments, late in the night nothing but your mind to keep you company and that's torture in itself.

You thought you could help him, change whatever hurts him and make it go away. That was your biggest mistake, you can't change a person that's not your duty , your duty was to support them through tough times and help them see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. A duty you solemnly swore to uphold even if he didn't liked you to. There's no fucking way you let him do that again,not if you can be there for him. Like he was always there for you, your big guardian with a guitar that spews flames in shape of songs.

-Y/n..

-Te rog, Sergiu. Nu ascunde. ("Please, Sergiu. Don't hide.")

Your eyes were desperate for him to talk it out in any shape or form. They implore for him to vent, to not hid between fake lies like " I am okay" or "I'm fine."

-Bine,bine. Tu ești șefa. ("Fine,fine. You're the boss.")

————————————————————

They talked and talked and cried and laughed and cried again. A never ending circle of venting ,small earthquakes which instead of fracturing the friendship , it onlyakes it stronger as it should.

-Te simți mai bine?("You feeling better?") Your voice ran timidly on the top of your apartment building, watching over the brutalist styled architecture.

-Un pic, doare știi dar asta îmi arată cât de îndrăgostit sunt de ea. Iubirea adevărată pentru mine nu se referă doar la a iubi doar dacă te iubește reciproc, nu , să iubești fără să forțezi persoană să te iubească înapoi. Să îi porți de grijă, să o protejezi, să o ajuți fără să fi un egoist, fără să te aștepți să fi iubit înapoi. ("A little, it hurts you know but this shows how much I love her. True love for me doesn't mean to love just so they will love you back, no, to love someone without forcing them to love you back. To care for them, to protect them, to help them without being an egotistic, to love without expecting to be loved back.")

-Poetic.

He laughed at that , starring at the setting sun ,his lit cigar forgotten fumed between his painted fingers. His hair blown gently by the wind , he looked like a masterpiece.

-Scuze..pentru tot.("Sorry...for everything. ")

-N-ai de ce. Mi-ai făcut chec până la urmă așa că balanța eternă este restabilită.("You don't have a reason to be. You made me chek in the end and thus the eternal balance is restored.") You joked, munching quietly on the piece of cake, his jacket keeping you warm.

-Haha. Cine ar fi crezut că checul are fi o gustare bună când îți dai vent.("Haha. Who would have thought that chek will be a good snack when you vent.")

Indeed, who would have thought of that but one who cried in the sore days filled with heart ache.

————————————————————

Hey,guys!💖

Hope you like the third part of the serie, I wanted to focus on "your life" and your friends backgrounds this time. The translations are not 100% word to word but enought to give you context.

Anyway, I hope you like it. Stay safe!

Tagged 💗💗:@moolujk @gaysludge @simonsbluee @yoyoanaria @cherry-piee @magenta-skyline @yikesyikesyikes95

#corpse husband x reader #fanfic #hopefully not cringy #lonely ghost serie

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bridgyrose · 4 years ago

Text

Ruby: *wincing as she walked out of the bedroom, using a cane to help keep her balance* So, what’s the plan?

Jaune: You are going to rest while the rest of us go talk to Professor Lionheart to gather a bit more information.

Ruby: I can walk-

Qrow: *getting up from the couch* After what happened to you, you need to rest.

Ruby: When did you get here?

Qrow: I was following you guys to make sure you didnt get into any trouble. Unfortunately, I seemed to be a bit late with intervening with Tyrian.

Ruby: *sighing* Right…

Qrow: If it makes you feel better, Nora and Cinder have asked to stay back with you while you rest.

Ruby: I dont want to rest! I want to go out with you guys! This is my mission too!

Qrow: And you can barely stand right now.

Cinder: *putting a hand on Ruby’s shoulder* If you rest now-

Ruby: *jerking away* You stay away from me.

Cinder: *pulling back* Right…

Ruby: *sighing and walking out* I need some fresh air…

Jaune: *watching Ruby walk off* It’s not your fault Cinder. After everything you told us, I think she’s just having a hard time with it.

Cinder: *sitting down and sighing* I know. Once you guys get back, I’m going to take a long walk.

Jaune: *nodding and walking off with Qrow and Ren* In that case, we’ll pick up a bit of supplies that we need.

#ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #cinder fall #qrow branwen #jaune arc #Enby cinder #Enby!cinder #Enby cinder au #Enby!cinder au #rwby #skits

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

ooh haunted house and hayride? or maybe... haunted hayride? is that even a thing haha

3. Haunted House + 25. Hayride

from autumn fic prompts here

i am in SUCH a fall/halloween mood!!!! it’s getting chilly already where i am baby, im ready. this is loosely based on a haunted hayride attraction that was popular back in my hometown (thought it might actually be more widespread). unfortunately i was too much of a wimp to ever do it so im going off of my 15 year old sister’s account of it :/

-----------------------------------------

“If you get scared, you can hold my hand,” Newton says.

He extends his right hand out to Hermann and wriggles his fingers. Hermann turns away with a snort, tucking one of his own mittened hands into the pocket of his parka. “Mm. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I’m just saying,” Newton says. “I’m here if you need me.”

Hermann wonders whether Newton is being facetious, or if he’s managed to completely delude himself into thinking he’s the braver of the two of them. Because, arguably, he’s not—at least not in anything beyond the real world. (Hermann will begrudgingly admit many of Newton’s actions during the final days of the war, though incredibly foolish, were also quite brave.) Newton cowers behind his popcorn bucket when he drags Hermann to see horror films at the cinema; he shrieks at jumpscares, ghostly faces in windows, slasher killers stalking their victims; once, he watched a YouTube playthrough of some zombie video game, and showed up at Hermann’s bedroom five out of seven nights the following week to ask him to check to make sure the front door was locked, or if he heard that noise, or if Hermann was the one who left that hall light on and not an undead intruder who was probably hiding in the linen closet waiting to massacre them… “I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermann says, sarcastically.

The problem is that Newton hates being afraid of things. As a result, he feels the constant need to reaffirm to Hermann—and probably himself—that he’s not afraid of anything. It’s why the small octopus-shaped bowl on the entranceway bookcase in their flat is overflowing with movie ticket stubs from horror movies, and currently, why they’re in line for a Haunted Hayride.

“Do you realize we’re the only people above twenty years old here?” Hermann says.

“Young people know how to have fun,” Newton says with a smile. Hermann’s idea of a fun Friday night is taking a bath with a mystery novel and a glass of wine. He does not consider standing in the cold around a bunch of hormone-fueled and PDA-happy teenagers to be very fun. Newton’s added presence isn’t really helping much. “You know I worked a part time job at a haunted house when I was a teenager?”

“Did you scare people?” Hermann says.

“Nah,” Newton says. “I worked the fog machine. Hey, look, we’re up next.”

The line for the hayride has wound them through a Styrofoam-tombstone cemetery, “The Field of Terror” (dead corn stalks and angry-looking scarecrows swaying in the breeze), and now finally a small pumpkin patch. It’s too dark to see ahead where their ride will take them. “Tickets, please?” a vampire asks them in a hokey Transylvanian accent.

“Sick costume, man,” Newton says. He holds out his ticket, which has a little Jack-O-Lantern grinning away on it. Hermann does the same.

“You may…enter,” the vampire says, and steps aside with a whoosh of his cape.

“I should be a vampire for Halloween this year,” Newton says, as he helps Hermann up a few rickety wooden stairs to the tractor hitch they’ll be riding on, and then over to a terribly uncomfortable bale of hay. “But like, a cool vampire. Not a dumb Dracula one. Like Lost Boys. Did I make you watch Lost Boys?”

“Yes, Newton,” Hermann sighs. “You made me watch Lost Boys. And Lost Boys 2. And Lost Boys 3.”

“It’s insane how uncultured you were before I met you,” Newton says.

“I don’t want to talk about Lost Boys anymore,” Hermann says.

“Fine,” Newton says. He turns and begins squinting into the field ahead of them. “I wonder how this is going to go down? Like, are people going to try and drag us off? No, I don’t think that’s legal. Or maybe—”

Someone in an intensely gory zombie costume, holding a bloodstained, bladeless chainsaw, suddenly leaps out from below at Newton; Newton shrieks and lands on the wooden bed of the hitch. A group of teenagers seated a little further down from them begin laughing. “That is so uncool,” Newton says, as the zombie continues to gleefully wave their chainsaw around. “I could’ve, like, fallen off or something. I could’ve really hurt myself.”

“Get up off the bloody floor already,” Hermann sighs, and raps his cane against Newton’s boot.

Newton, to his surprise, stares at him in something like genuine hurt. Hermann feels a pang of guilt. He quickly puts on a show of rolling his eyes to offset it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you alright?”

Newton dusts hay off his pumpkin-patterned sweater and sits back next to Hermann with an affronted sniff, though he does shoot a wary glance back down below. Looking for more zombies, Hermann presumes. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s cool.”

The ride is jerky, uncomfortable, and—more likely than not—not very structurally sound. They pass through the rest of the pumpkin patch, where more scarecrows (these, animated) stalk them, and wave scythes; a large, fog-shrouded tunnel where hidden speakers play clattering chains and wails, and the occasional ghostly white hand grabs onto the edge of the tractor hitch; more zombies, more vampires, even a mad scientist’s lab, which does manage to rouse a burst of laughter from Hermann. He could imagine Newton being very much at home in it—in fact, it very nearly does resemble his half of their old Hong Kong laboratory. “I rather feel like I’m having deja-vu,” he whispers to Newton, watching a short man in a white lab coat plug wires into a monster on his dissection table.

Newton nearly jumps a mile into the air the second Hermann opens his mouth. “Gimme a warning next time!”

“Before I speak?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, okay?” Newton says.

Newton is jumpy the entire car-ride home, eyes continuously darting up into the rear view mirror, to the backseat, over at Hermann, and when they make it back to their flat, he locks the deadbolt and the chain on their front door. “Who do you think followed us?” Hermann says. “Frankenstein’s bloody monster?”

“Just taking precautions,” Newton says. He darts over to the window by their couch and peers out of it, then checks the lock on that, too.

“We live on the fourth floor,” Hermann reminds him. “Frankly, if someone manages to climb in through that, I’d be impressed. Oh, come on, Newton—” he starts, when Newton doesn’t so much as crack a smile, “Let’s put something on the telly. Whatever you’d like. We could watch one of those cooking programs you—”

“I think I’m just gonna brush my teeth and go to bed,” Newton says.

This, it turns out, is a lie. Hardly an hour later, while Hermann relaxes in bed with the mystery novel Newton so cruelly kept him from enjoying in the bath this evening, there’s a little knock on his door; in slips Newton, wearing green boxers and an oversized TU Berlin sweatshirt.

“I was wondering where that went,” Hermann remarks mildly. “Can I help you?’

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Newton says, in a very, very small voice.

Hermann smiles, and slips off his glasses. “If you’d like,” he says.

Newton shuts the light off while Hermann makes room for him. He takes happily to the left side of the bed, and even more happily to pillowing himself against Hermann’s chest, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. “Just for tonight,” he mumbles, as Hermann strokes back his unruly hair. “I’m not scared, though. That’s not why.”

“Of course you’re not,” Hermann tells him kindly. Truthfully, this is why Hermann can put up with the annoyances of double-checking the locks, shutting linen closet lights off, assuring Newton at four in the morning he hasn’t heard a thing: it almost always ends with Newton in his bed, which Hermann doesn’t think can be termed an annoyance in any universe.

“I just thought you might be,” Newton says.

“How terribly considerate of you,” Hermann says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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dietraumerei · 4 years ago

Text

Femslash February 3: Book

AO3 Collection | Thank you to @ineffable-wives-central for the prompt list!

Crowley is finally writing Aziraphale into one of her books.

Rated G, mention of minor injury.

Set in my Bike Girls human AU, but all you need to really know for this story is:

- Crowley is a (among other things) romance novelist - Aziraphale is autistic - They are both just complete lesbian disasters. (I came up with the AU for whumptober after all...)

Anna ducked her head, hiding her face from the others, for she was sure she was blushing a deep red. She fussed with the edge of her apron, and forced her hands to be still; it wouldn't do to fidget so obviously.

William Yoder! Oh, he was kind and handsome, a good man. His harnesses were the best in the state, and his business was secure, something for them to build a life on. And he was kind. To everyone, but especially to her, she sometimes thought.

“Tea's up,” came Aziraphale's call from the kitchen. “Shall I bring you a mug?”

Crowley smiled at her screen, pleased with the last few hours' work. “Nah, I need to move around.” She pushed her office chair back and hoiked herself out of it. An unfortunate incident in a friend's garden involving mud, a chicken, and a copy of Luther's 95 theses had resulted in her wrenching her ankle something awful. Keeping it tightly wrapped up and generally taking it easy was all that seemed to be needed, at least. And, from time to time, actually walking on it – well, limping.

(The rest of the time Crowley cheerfully scooted around in her office chair until Aziraphale rolled her eyes.)

“Good work?” Aziraphale asked, greeting her with a kiss and a fragrant mug.

“Very good,” Crowley said, leaning against the counter. “Anna's pretty well in love by now, just got to artificially separate them based on the thinnest of excuses, and bring them back together with a convenient carriage accident.”

Aziraphale gloated, for she was finally getting her dearest wish – Crowley was writing her into one of her Amish romance novels. Anna, in addition to sharing initials, had some of Aziraphale's looks, her stims and – eventually – the broken wrist that had lead to her and Crowley meeting and falling in love.

“Good girl,” she approved.

“Me or Anna?” Crowley asked, bemused.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and sipped her tea, going over to sit at the table. “Oh, Anathema asked me to cover for her at the shop tomorrow, she and Newt got given tickets to a matinee in London. Want me to pick up tea from the chippy on the way home?”

“Mmm, probably for the best,” Crowley said. “I'll have the leftover pad thai for lunch, not like there's really enough for two.” She stretched a little, and scratched her leg thoughtfully. “Can you pick up a little cream too, please? I want to make scones.”

“I'll swing by the Tesco,” Aziraphale promised, and smiled at her. “Ankle all right?”

“Still attached,” Crowley said cheerfully. “It really is, though.” She stretched her leg out, foot up on a spare chair, and smiled in satisfaction. “We should go for a walk later.”

“You just want to show off your cane,” Aziraphale said dryly. “But all right, darling, a short one.”

Plans settled, Aziraphale enjoyed her tea, and the homey conversation. The homey everything, wonderfully intimate. She'd spent last night in her flat, revelling in solitude – to say nothing of tidying her bedroom a bit – and would spend tonight with Crowley in her bed. Perhaps making love, perhaps not; they'd see how the wind blew. And tomorrow Crowley would write more of her book, and Aziraphale would get to read it first and try to catch all the references – flattering and otherwise – to herself, and it would be lovely.

Their evening was all Aziraphale could have wanted and more. She made a quick tea; her spag bol wasn't exactly going to win prizes, but it was hearty and good and filling. They went for a walk together around their pretty little neighbourhood, Crowley showing off her snake-headed cane and Aziraphale pausing to chat with one of the bookshop regulars. Then back home to cuddle in the living room, Crowley with her phone and Aziraphale with her book.

She helped re-wrap Crowley's ankle after a shower (goodness knew they had enough medical gear on hand to outfit a small field hospital at this point), and they snuggled down for some lazy kissing and caressing. Not quite sex, but – intimacy, Aziraphale decided, as she traced a fingertip around Crowley's nipple and watched it harden. Simple, lovely intimacy.

“Do you like your Amish avatar?” Crowley asked, for Aziraphale had read over what she'd written that day.

“Yes! I can't wait to read more. Will it be very thrilling?”

“Incredibly so,” Crowley promised, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Did I get your stims and stuff right?”

“Oh, love. Yes, of course. You know my tells as well as I do now,” Aziraphale assured her, rubbing Crowley's belly. “I wonder if anyone else will figure out that she's autistic?”

“I need to write some straight romance. I mean, not-Amish,” Crowley grumbled. “Write an autistic heroine for real, you know?” She nosed Aziraphale's collarbone. “Write how she's interesting and funny and cute, and how she falls in love, and how someone falls in love with her?”

“Oh, honey. That would be amazing.” Aziraphale gave her a little hug. “Have you ever written lesbian romance?”

Crowley shook her head. “There's not as much market,” she admitted. “And I don't know...I like having that be personal, y'know? If I got the right idea, I guess I'd pitch it, but taking a step away from my real life...I feel freer?”

“I don't know exactly, but I think I understand,” Aziraphale said after a moment of thinking. “And anyway, you're the one writing, you should do as you like.” She grinned and tapped the edge of the bandage where it wrapped around Crowley's calf. “Although I have noticed that your characters are a bit disaster-y.”

“Well, yeah. Gotta put all that first-hand medical knowledge to use!” Crowley said cheerfully, and Aziraphale laughed and snuggled closer, and Crowley pulled the duvet up to cover them, and turned the lights off, and they kissed in the warm darkness, happy, ordinary, impossibly content and in love.

#good omens #ineffable femslash february #ineffable wives #my fic

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callboxkat · 4 years ago

Text

Infinitesimal (part 57)

Author’s note: Happy Monday! Sorry for the delay on this. I was trying to decide which direction I wanted to take one of the scenes.

Warnings: arguing, fear, sleep deprivation, illness and injury mention, hospital mention, food mention, nsfw mention, crude humor, stalking mention, Remus, Logan is Stressed

Word count: 4300

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

“Are… you okay?” Virgil asked warily. Logan was acting very strangely.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the human had even heard. He just lay there on the floor, unmoving. Then, finally, he responded, his voice an indistinct mumble.

“Mmm. Tired.”

Virgil glanced at his companions. Emile and Patton both looked much more concerned than afraid at this point, although it was clear that they were far from relaxed.

He frowned, turning back as the human’s breathing deepened, and a quiet snore came from his direction. Had he actually just fallen asleep on the living room floor, in the middle of their conversation?

“Logan?” Emile asked hesitantly.

The human didn’t respond.

“Great,” Virgil muttered, eyeing him.

Patton sat up a bit, releasing one of Virgil’s hands to rub at his own shadowed eyes. “Is he okay?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“He’s just sleeping,” Virgil said.

“No… no, I know. I meant… Roman. Is Roman okay?”

“Logan said he’d be home in a day or two,” Emile said. “It sounds like he’ll be fine.”

Patton sniffled. “Just… Logan seemed….”

Virgil glanced at the human again, then gave Patton a reassuring look. Leave it to Patton to care about a human, of all things. “Let’s focus on you. We can’t do anything about Roman. Are you feeling better?”

Patton took a second, then hesitantly nodded. He took a shuddering breath and let it out. “It’s gone,” he said, glancing towards where Emile lay. Virgil realized he must have been talking about the box.

“It is. And I won’t let him, or anyone else, put it back. I swear.” The promise felt bitter on his tongue—he’d made it before, and hadn’t been able to keep it when it mattered. At least he’d gotten Patton out as fast as he could; and his friend was, at least physically, okay; but that didn’t change the fact that he never should have been put in the box in the first place

Patton, the sweet guy he was, didn’t bring up Virgil’s failure, and instead only nodded again. Maybe he just needed to believe that Virgil could protect him.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Virgil asked. Patton looked exhausted, between the stress of everything and his lack of rest the night before. “We can go back over to Em, and you can lie down.”

“…You?”

Virgil closed his eyes momentarily, sighing. “I don’t think I can sleep with Logan here, to be honest, even if I tried. I’ll sleep later, though, I promise.”

Patton nodded absently, and Virgil grabbed his crutch. He led his friend back to their bed at Emile’s side, and Patton lay down. Virgil waited for him to get comfortable, then went to grab some food from the supplies the humans had provided. Judging by the fact that Logan had just passed out on the floor, they probably weren’t getting lunch for a while; and they hadn’t had breakfast, either.

When he returned, he handed some of the dried fruit he’d grabbed to his brother, keeping the rest for himself. Patton was either already asleep or close to it, so Virgil decided to wait on giving him his share.

“Thanks,” Emile murmured.

Virgil gave him an acknowledging glance, then moved to sit on Patton’s other side.

Logan hadn’t moved.

Virgil sat back and took a bite of dried mango, his eyes on the still form on the floor.

…

Logan woke to the sound of knocking. He turned his head to the side, scrunching his eyes shut, then opened them, confused. Something was wrong. He wasn’t in his bed: the surface he lay on was far too hard. As if that wasn’t confusing enough, the ceiling above him lacked its usual star stickers. He wasn’t even in his bedroom.

“Am I on the floor?” he asked himself.

“Yes,” a voice informed him.

He looked up. Two small figures watched him from the table opposite him. Virgil and Emile.

“Are you going to get the door?” Virgil asked. “They’re going to wake up Patton.”

Logan blinked, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. He glanced at the clock, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He must have been out for nearly two hours, although he didn’t actually remember falling asleep. Clearly, he hadn’t made it to his bed. That fact, even as tired as he was, surprised him. Normally, he had a very difficult time sleeping anywhere other than his own bed. The fact that he had managed to do so in the middle of the floor was… telling.

He turned back to Virgil, and started to get to his feet. “Um… yes, of course I’ll get it.”

“Don’t let them in here,” Virgil said, as if that needed stating.

Logan simply nodded absently, straightened his clothes—he desperately needed to change into something other than pajamas—and walked to the door of the apartment. He smoothed down his hair, adjusted his glasses, and opened it.

His landlord, Joan, stood there, wearing an evergreen-colored beanie that almost but didn’t quite match their sweater. Their eyes flicked to Logan’s own atypical outfit before resting on his face.

“Hey, Logan. Merry Christmas,” they said, holding out a pair of candy canes with a slightly awkward smile. “I’m a day early, but I figured nobody would want to be bothered tomorrow. Plus, it’s never a bad time for candy canes.”

“Thanks,” Logan said, accepting the presents. Each candy cane had a curly green ribbon tied around it. They tickled where they brushed against his hand.

Joan shifted, watching as Logan briefly stepped away to set the candy on the counter. “Uh, while I’m here… I guess there’s not point pretending I’m not… well, curious isn’t exactly the right word. Worried, I guess. Can I ask what happened last night? I saw an ambulance, or something, I think; and I thought I saw you outside with them. Is everything okay?” They glanced around the kitchen, and Logan was silently glad that it was impossible to see into the living room from this angle.

Logan folded his arms, glancing down. He’d expected the question. “Roman had an asthma attack last night, and I had to call the paramedics. He’s in the hospital now. I came home to get some of his belongings for him. I’m sorry if the ambulance disturbed you.”

Joan looked shocked, their eyebrows nearly disappearing under their beanie. “Oh, f—my gosh; that’s terrible!”

Logan gestured around the kitchen. “They didn’t damage anything, I assure you.” He paused, then, remembering the box of polished rocks that Roman had knocked down, and the fact that he had slipped and fallen on some of them. “There might be some scratches on the floor of one of the bedrooms, but that’s it.”

“Logan—no, that’s not why I’m here. I don’t care if they punched a hole in the wall. Is Roman okay?”

Logan took a deep breath, steadying himself. “He should be. They got him stabilized. He’s going to spend the next day or two in the hospital, though, just to be safe.”

Joan grimaced. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Agreed. I’m sure he’d rather be home.”

“I’d hate to spend Christmas in the hospital. Please give him my best, will you?”

Logan glanced away. He didn’t care much about Christmas, personally; but he knew that Roman was fond of the holiday. “Of course.”

“At least it sounds like he’ll be okay. That’s good news. Is there anything I can do for you guys?”

Logan paused. “I don’t believe so.”

“Okay. Well, I’m here for you. If you think of anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Joan.”

Joan lingered for a moment, nodded to themself, and stepped back. “Have a good day,” they offered, smiling sympathetically before walking away, presumably to deliver more candy canes.

…

After Joan left, Logan wandered back towards the middle of the kitchen, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He took a second to reset, let out a long sigh, and strode over to the cabinets. He put together a quick lunch for himself and the “mouse-men”—just toast with jam, nothing fancy—since they hadn’t gotten to eat earlier.

He carried the “mouse-men” their portions of the meal, and set the dishes down as quietly as he could. Still, Patton stirred, earning him an unhappy look from Virgil.

“Sorry,” Logan mouthed. It seemed he couldn’t do anything right.

Emile looked at him with what seemed to be a sympathetic expression, although it was entirely possible that he imagined it. Logan simply straightened back up and crept out of the room, hopefully without disturbing them any further.

Alone again, Logan took the chance to hop in the shower, get dressed, and brush his teeth. By the time he was ready to gather the supplies he’d promised Roman, he felt much more like himself.

Roman’s backpack was perfect for the job, after Logan had removed its usual contents and stacked them neatly on the desk. He put in Roman’s favorite blanket first, folded and rolled up at the bottom, followed by his wallet, which he zipped up in the front pouch. He grabbed one of his pillows next, which he left to the side of the backpack, and then moved to Roman’s dresser for his hairbrush, eye mask, toothbrush and toothpaste, and a pair of fluffy socks, among other items. He left Roman’s phone on the charger for the moment, but he snatched the earbuds that had been knocked to the floor.

Logan was still figuring out how best to fit everything in the backpack when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. He frowned, setting down the hairbrush he was holding. Had Joan returned for some reason?

He walked down the hall and into the kitchen, pausing by the doorway into the living room to offer a placating gesture to the “mouse-men”. Then, he strode to the door, straightened his glasses, and opened it.

The grinning young man who stood there was decidedly not Joan.

“Finally!” he said. “This’s gotta be like the tenth time I’ve stopped by! I was starting to think you’d never answer!”

The man at the door had familiar, curly dark hair, freckled brown skin, and rich brown eyes. He looked practically just like Roman, except with double-pierced ears, crooked front teeth, and the beginnings of a mustache and beard. He also had a patch of hair just above his forehead which grew white, in stark contrast to the rest of his nearly-black hair. Poliosis, Logan absently registered, or possibly vitiligo. Bleach didn’t seem likely, given the asymmetrical shape and precise edges.

Logan stared at the man for a second, processing, then said, “…You must be Remus.”

The young man—Remus—quirked an eyebrow teasingly. “Oh, you’ve heard of me?” His voice was also very similar to Roman’s; but it was slightly more nasal, a difference which Logan suspected was purposeful. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Logan at the door, so he must have known that Roman had a roommate.

“I know of you,” Logan confirmed. He looked the visitor up and down. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t a guy come see his brother for Christmas?”

“Well… of course; but why come here, rather than see your parents? I thought…” Logan trailed off, unsure how much Roman would want him to say here. He really didn’t know much about the animosity in Roman’s family. Was it one-sided? How much did it involve Remus, if at all? Would Roman want his brother here? He didn’t know much about his roommate’s twin, other than the fact that he existed, of course. And that he had apparently decided to show up on their doorstep, unannounced, for Christmas.

“Ah, they suck,” Remus was saying. “I mean, Roman’s pretty lame, but he’s not like that.”

Logan was unsure how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

“Anyway, where is that dork?” He giggled, seemingly unable to contain himself. “You know, dork, like a whale—”

“He’s not here,” Logan interrupted, before Remus could finish that sentence.

Remus tilted his head comically far, like a dog listening. “Why not?”

“He’s… preoccupied,” Logan settled on.

Remus squinted, straightening up, and bobbed forward onto his tiptoes before settling back on his heels. “You’re lying,” he declared. “Is he here? Tell him the attractive brother is here!” He tried to look around Logan, without much success. “Rooooman! Stop making your roomie lie for you! That’s not nice! Come out, come out, come out!”

Logan sighed, adjusting his grip on the door. “Please lower your volume. Roman is not present to hear you, but you will disturb the neighbors.” And the “mouse-men”, but even stressed and sleep deprived, Logan knew better than to mention them.

Remus pouted; but he did stop shouting, which was appreciated.

“How did you even find this apartment?” Logan asked. “I was under the impression that Roman hadn’t shared its location with his family.”

Remus waggled his eyebrows, his slightly off-kilter grin returning. “You’d be surprised what a little internet stalking can turn up.”

Logan frowned. “…Ah.”

“What’s your name, by the way? Kinda unfair that you know mine and I don’t know yours.”

“It’s Logan.”

“Ooh, like a nerdy Wolverine.”

“…I suppose.”

“So, are you going to drag Roman out here for me, Nerdy Wolverine? I came all the way out here to see him!”

Logan hovered uncertainly, trying to decide what to do. “Remus… would you mind waiting here for a moment? I’d like to call your brother.”

“Can’t I wait inside?” he asked, pouting. “It’s boring out here, and I really have to pee. I promise I won’t break anything, no matter how fun it looks to smash.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know you, and I’d like to speak with Roman first.”

Remus sighed, tugging on one of his earlobes. “Fine, go ahead.”

Logan closed the door, locked it just in case (Remus seemed… rather odd), then went to Roman’s room, where his roommate’s phone sat on the nightstand. He typed in the passcode, which Roman had given him at the hospital, and dialed his own number.

It rang a few times.

“Hmm?” a sleepy, breathy voice answered. “Lo?”

“Hi, Roman. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he responded. Logan heard him shift, and the beeping of the heart monitor in the background. “You… coming back… soon?”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll be back in a little while, I’m just getting the stuff you asked for together. But Roman, I wanted to ask you…” He sighed. “Well, Remus is here.”

“…Remus?”

“Yes. He showed up at our apartment, looking for you. I’m not sure what to tell him.”

Roman was silent for a moment.

Logan tapped his fingers on his leg. “Also, I just wanted to check—he’s not… violent, is he? His behavior so far is somewhat concerning.”

“No,” Roman said quickly, clearing his throat. “No, he’s not… he’s just… weird, like that…. He doesn’t… have much… of a filter.”

That was reassuring, but Roman still hadn’t said what he actually wanted Logan to do about his brother’s presence.

“Should I ask him to leave?”

“Um… wh… why’s he there?”

“He said he wanted to see you for Christmas.”

“Why?”

“Because he is your brother, I would assume, and it’s common for families to want to get together to celebrate holidays such as this one. Do you have a preference for what I should tell him? I understand if you don’t wish to see him, and I will follow whatever your decision is.”

Roman coughed away from the phone, then returned. “Did he… did he say… why he’s… not….?” He trailed off

“Why he’s here, and not with your parents?” Logan suggested, not wanting Roman to overexert himself.

Roman made an affirmative noise.

“He, ah, he claimed that your parents quote, ‘suck’.” Logan glanced towards the open bedroom door. “In the interest of honesty I should tell you he also said that you were ‘lame’, but, quote, ‘not like that’. He did not explain what he meant by ‘like that’.”

Roman didn’t respond, although Logan could still hear his breathing. There was a quiet thump.

“Roman?” Logan asked, raising his voice slightly.

There was a shuffling noise. “Mm, sorry,” he mumbled.

“What would you like me to do about Remus?”

There was another long silence, and Logan was about to ask if Roman was still there, when he finally responded, “Later.”

“You’ll tell me your answer later, or you’ll see him later? I apologize, but I really do need an answer now; he’s waiting at the door as we speak.”

“See ’im.”

Logan looked down at the floor, where several members of Roman’s rock collection still lay scattered. “I’ll have to tell him about your asthma attack, in that case—is that alright? I’m unsure of any course of action to avoid that. Unless you want me to keep him away until you come home.”

“Mm… ’kay.”

“Okay. I’ll ask for his contact information so we can tell him when you’re ready to see him. I’m on my way with your things.”

“S’you,” Roman mumbled.

“I’ll be seeing you, too. Get some sleep.” Logan ended the call, slipped the phone in his pocket, put the charger in Roman’s backpack, and brought that and the pillow back to the kitchen.

He set the items on the counter, then reluctantly turned to the apartment door. He was sure an uncomfortable conversation waited just beyond it. Not wanting to put it off longer than necessary, Logan strode over to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

Remus was sitting on the hallway floor, his legs spread out, on his phone. He looked up as the door opened.

“Specs, you came back for me!”

“I did.”

“So? What’s the scoop? Can I come see Mr. Too-Cool-to-Answer-the-Door?”

Logan sighed. There was no good way to have this conversation, he supposed. He might as well just get on with it. “Remus… there’s something you need to know.”

Remus’s manic grin slipped. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Logan said. “It’s… well, Roman really isn’t here. He’s in the hospital.”

Remus’s eyes widened, and he got to his feet. “He’s what?”

“He had an asthma attack last night. He should be fine, but he’s in the hospital now, and he’ll stay there at least until tomorrow, possibly the day after.”

Remus’s mouth was agape.

“I didn’t mean to spring this on you—I didn’t have Roman’s permission to tell you before.”

Remus’s expression hardened. “I want to see him.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to until later—"

“No, no, no, no. I want to see him now. Take me to see him. He’s my brother; you don’t get to tell me I can’t see him!”

“Remus, he’s asleep right now. He didn’t get any rest last night, and he’s quite exhausted with everything going on. I doubt he’s up to having visitors.”

Remus glared for a moment, then deflated. “You’re going to see him,” he pointed out, folding his arms. His eyes flicked to the counter behind Logan, where Roman’s backpack sat.

“…I am,” he confirmed. “To drop off some things he requested, no more.”

Remus was tugging at some loose threads in his jacket sleeve, still clearly agitated.

“I told Roman I’d collect your contact information. That way I can text you when he’s ready to see you.”

Remus had already created a new hole in his jacket, although the jacket had quite a few others to match. “Fine,” he said. He tapped a few things on his phone and thrusted it at Logan, who fumbled to take it. The screen was cracked in several places, a few bits of glass missing from one side. The page to create a new contact was pulled up. Logan silently typed in his information and handed the phone back, then passed over Roman’s as well, for Remus to put in his own information.

“I’ve got Roman’s cell at the moment,” Logan informed him, as Remus turned it over to inspect the Aladdin phone case, “but I’ll text you from mine later.”

Remus frowned. “Why’ve you got his phone?”

“He has mine. Our departure from the apartment was rather… hurried, this morning, and his phone was left behind.”

“Hm.” Remus typed in his info. “Well, as long as somebody texts me. Or I’m coming back here and breaking the door down.”

Logan took the phone back. “I don’t doubt it.”

“…You did say he’s okay, right?”

Logan slipped the phone in his pocket. “Yes. They got him stabilized. They simply want to keep him overnight to monitor him. He’s on oxygen, and he’s in no state to be running any marathons, but he will be fine.”

Remus let out a long breath. “Good.”

“Has he had attacks like this before?” Logan asked. “That put him in the hospital?”

“Hmph. Well, there was one when we were like ten or eleven. His face turned purple.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Wow… that’s… unideal.”

“I called him Grape for like two years after that,” Remus shared matter-of-factly. “He called me Stinkbug for revenge.”

“Oh.” Logan glanced at the time on Roman’s phone. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I really should be going. Roman will be expecting me.”

Remus shifted where he stood. “Sure, yeah, overstaying welcomes and stuff, but can I come in first? I still really, really have to pee, and I feel like my d*ck’s going to explode, or just pop off or something, and that would be tragic, really, because then what are my boyfriends and I supposed to do?”

Logan blinked, unimpressed.

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I really do have to pee though. Please? It’ll take like two minutes, tops. Pinkie promise.”

He offered his pinkie finger, which Logan didn’t take. He debated for a long moment, thinking of the “mouse-men”, then reluctantly gestured him in. “Fine, come with me. The bathroom’s this way.” He stepped back, allowing Remus into the apartment and hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

Remus bounced in, glancing around. He whistled. “Ooh, nice digs!”

“The bathroom’s just this way.” Logan led him down the hall, more or less shuttling him along so that he didn’t get a chance to look too closely at anything—or rather, at one room in particular.

“Ooh, I get an escort? What are you hiding in here, a meth lab or something? A sex dungeon?” He squinted. “Or is it a mad scientist lair? You look like a mad scientist.”

Logan made an effort not to look towards the living room. “I simply don’t make a habit of letting near strangers wander about my apartment, whether or not they be related to my roommate. I don’t mean any offense.” He stopped outside the bathroom door and gestured for Remus to go inside.

Remus hopped in, turning around to grin at Logan. “Hope you hid the sex toys!”

Logan frowned as the door thudded shut in his face.

…

Logan slipped Roman’s backpack over his shoulders, and picked up the pillow. He was almost ready to leave, although there was one more thing he needed to do first.

Still carrying Roman’s things, Logan stepped into the living room. All three “mouse-men” were awake now, and they watched him as he approached. Patton leaned on Virgil’s shoulder, who sat beside his brother’s bed.

“So… who was that?” Virgil asked, his tone pointed. He was clearly angry but trying to hide it, although Logan doubted it was for his sake.

“Roman’s brother,” Logan said. “Remus.”

“Since when does he have a brother?”

“I’ve never met him before,” Logan explained. “It didn’t seem relevant to mention someone who I didn’t personally know or expect to meet.”

“So you just let someone you’ve never even met wander around in here, where they could have seen us? Even after last night?”

Logan winced. “I was with him the entire time. I wouldn’t have let him come in here.”

“What, were you going to body-slam him if he tried? Drag him out and hope he didn’t wonder what was in here you were so desperate to keep him from seeing?” He glanced at Patton as he finished, and let out a frustrated breath, forcing himself to relax.

Logan sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Virgil,” Emile murmured.

“What? You were just as scared as I was.”

“Maybe, but….” His next words were too quiet for Logan to make out. Logan just stood there as they whispered to each other, hugging Roman’s pillow to his chest and looking vaguely towards the window. Finally, Virgil shook his head, looking away, apparently persuaded to stop arguing for the moment.

Meanwhile, Patton yawned. “You—you brought a p-pillow this time,” he said hesitantly.

Logan blinked, and then realized that Patton was trying to make a joke. He forced a small smile to his lips as he turned back to the “mouse-man”. “I did,” he confirmed. The smile faded. “It’s for Roman; I’m just about to bring him some of his belongings, to hopefully make his stay in the hospital more comfortable.”

“Are you okay?” Patton asked.

Logan swallowed. “Yes, I’m quite alright. I apologize for earlier. That was….” He shook his head, looking down at the pillow in his arms. “I’m sorry if I made any of you uncomfortable. It was unintentional.”

A few seconds passed.

“Th… thank you for not letting them see us.”

Logan glanced up, surprised. It was Emile who had spoken, seeming nervous, but determined. “What?”

“The people last night, and… and Remus, was his name? Thank you for not letting them see us.”

“Of course. I know that you three have a vested interest in being secretive.”

“Still, I…” Emile glanced at Virgil, then back at Logan. “I know you didn’t have to do, um, any of this for us. So thank you.”

Logan could only nod.

“…Say hi to Roman for me?” Emile asked.

“Me too,” Patton murmured from where he sat against Virgil.

It was probably a testament to how tired and stressed he still felt, with the weight of everything going on, that Logan could have sworn he felt tears pricking at his eyes.

“I will.”

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elizabethemerald · 4 years ago

Text

Nightmares and Phantom Pains

@vibing-with-trashy-trolls, @theworsttrollhunter, @rockymountainvixen

Here’s another, these kids have so much Trauma, story. Hope you either enjoy or it breaks your heart!

Please Reblog!

AO3

Jim sat bolt upright, his chest heaving. His hand flew to cover his heart as another shooting pain blasted through him. Each breath came in short pained gasps, his vision whiting out for a moment as the pain became almost more than he could stand.

He stumbled from his bed, pulling his shirt over his head one handed. He expected to see a dull red glow on his chest, and feared the glow would be yellow instead, but there was nothing. He bumped into the doorway as he tripped into the bathroom. With another pained gasp he fumbled for the light.

Jim closed his eyes tight for a moment, as the bright light swamped his senses. When he was able to crack them open his eyes were drawn immediately to the scar on his chest. The circle where the amulet had sat, the jagged mark of the shard that he had pushed into his heart. Their magic was gone, but the scar they left remained.

He rubbed the scar slowly, now he could see it wasn’t glowing. He wasn’t about to lose his will and be forced to hurt those he cared about. It still hurt, the shooting pain a shadow of what he had gone through but extreme enough now to still take his breath away, however he was still in control. He leaned closer to the mirror to examine the scar when he caught a hint of movement in the reflection.

Jim whirled, a snarl on his lips, his fingers bared as if he still had claws. Then he froze.

“Claire?” Jim whispered softly. “What are you doing awake?”

Claire smiled at him, though her smile appeared forced and the corners of her eyes were pinched.

“I imagine the same thing you are.” Claire’s voice was strained. And now that Jim could look at her more closely he could see she held her arms tight to her chest as she sat on the lip of the bathtub. He knelt down next to her, a grimace of pain flashing across his face.

“Your arms are hurting again?”

Claire nodded, her jaw clenched, her eyes squeezed shut.

“It had got better for a while there, but after...everything… they’ve started hurting again.”

“I’m sorry Claire-” Jim paused, glancing at the light switch that he had turned on when he entered. “Why were you sitting in the dark?”

Claire’s smile was a little less forced for a second.

“Please. The shadows hold no secrets from me.”

To emphasize her point the shadows in the room swirled around her, covering and obscuring her completely. When they receded, her body rocked forward, her arms pressed even tighter to her chest, as a hiss of pain forced its way past her gritted teeth.

Before either could say anything more a thump from their bedroom brought them both to their feet.

“Claire? JIM!” A voice called from the bedroom.

“We’re in here, Toby!” They said at the same time.

After a moment Toby limped heavily into the room. He took in the two of them for a moment as he leaned heavily on the doorframe.

“Hey Tobes.” “Hey TP.” Jim and Claire said right after each other.

“Hey Jimbo. Claire-bear.” Toby replied. He looked at them again. His eyes moving quickly, taking in Jim’s hand still rubbing absently at his scar and Claire’s arms still tightly crossed over her chest. “Bad pain day?”

They both nodded, unnecessarily.

“Let’s go down stairs. Maybe some hot chocolate will help.” Toby said. He pushed off the wall while Jim helped Claire rise. Jim was very careful not to touch her arms. Toby met them in the hall way, a cane in his hand.

“Your knee acting up too?” Jim asked, the three of them slowly making their way down the stairs.

Toby nodded. “Turns out all that gravity manipulation isn’t good on the ol’ joints. Your mom thinks it’s early on set arthritis.”

Jim grunted, either in acknowledgement or in pain as he pressed his hand to his chest again. Toby’s cane slipped on the stairs causing him to jostle Claire. She hissed in pain but helped steady him before he fell.

The three of them finally made it downstairs to the living room. Steve and Krel were sleeping on the couch, so they walked as softly as they could to the kitchen. Claire noticed Steve was mumbling something in his sleep but she couldn’t make out what.

When they were all in the kitchen Jim immediately pulled an ice pack out of the freezer to put on his still bare chest. Toby filled up the electric kettle and turned it on. Claire took the ice pack from Jim, wrapped it in a towel, then handed it back to him. Then she took over the sink, letting the cold water run over her hands and arms.

“Oh Toby, don’t use water, we can make better hot chocolate with milk.” Jim said.

“The water’s not for the hot chocolate.” Toby pulled a rubber bottle out from under the sink. “Dr. L’s been keeping this here for me, since I’ve been spending so much time here, while you were...away.”

Jim set to warming up the milk one handed, the other keeping the ice pack pressed to his chest. Claire started humming to herself quietly as the cold water ran over her arms. When the kettle was boiled, Toby filled the hot water bottle and pressed it gently to his knee.

Over their quiet sounds in the kitchen they could hear Steve’s mumbling reaching a fever pitch. Claire turned off the water when he started shouting in his sleep.

“No. Lancelot!” He shouted, his limbs flailing as he tried to fight whatever plagued him in his dreams. “No!”

His final scream brought him bolt up right, startling Krel from his sleep as well. The trio were at his side immediately. He panted, his eyes wild, as he took them in. His fists were up like he was about to punch one of them. Though when he recognized them he tried to bluster his way out. It was Jim who put his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“We have nightmares too.” Jim said, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Come on, we were just making some hot chocolate.”

Krel stood as well and followed them back into the kitchen. He dragged the blanket he had been using off the couch and kept it wrapped around himself. He patted Steve on the shoulder as they walked.

“Do you want to talk about it, blond oaf?” He asked. Steve just shook his head, but looked thankful.

As Jim set out mugs of cocoa for each of them, he rubbed his hand down his face.

“I wonder if there is some magical cure for...well, all of this.” He gestured to the collection of sleepy teens in his kitchen.

“Hmm. Maybe Douxie knows something.” Claire murmured more to herself.

She put out her hand and the shadows in the dim kitchen leapt to her command, coalescing into a sphere at her fingertips. She winced, and grit her teeth, before breathing softly onto the shadow ball.

“Hisirdoux.” She said to the orb. The magic swirled through with purple streaks before flashing dimly blue. In the orb in her hands Douxie’s face appeared, his face smooshed into a pillow. He opened one eye, before squinting it shut again, his face lit by a blue light.

“Claire?” He mumbled.

“Hey Teach.” Claire replied.

“Mmm. Archie what time is it?” Douxie muttered to the side of what they could see in the orb.

“It is currently five in the morning.” Archie’s annoyed voice could be heard.

“So that means it’s only two in the morning in Arcadia.” Douxie sat up, quickly rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“There are no world ending emergencies right now.” She clarified quickly. “We were just hoping for some advice.”

Douxie yawned and stretched. “Of course. I’m at your service. Who all is there?”

Claire tossed the shadow orb to the wall then spread her hands apart. The orb hovered close to the wall then changed and grew until it was the same size and basic shape as a decent flat screen TV. Douxie mimicked the same motion and they could suddenly see more of the room he was in.

Both Krel and Steve raised their eyebrows as they saw that Douxie apparently slept in just a pair of loose sweat pants. Claire had to cover her mouth to keep her giggle from escaping.

“Hello Jim. And uh, company.” Douxie said. “So what has you all up at this hour, if not an end of the world crisis?”

Jim waved to Douxie, then gestured to the scar on his chest. “Well, this thing woke me up with shooting pain.”

“I’ve got magical trauma from dark magic and nightmares.” Claire said.

“Nightmares here too.” Steve said softly, feeling more comfortable opening up with everyone else doing it to.

“Same here.” Krel said. Steve glanced at him in surprise before refocusing on Douxie.

Douxie opened his mouth to respond when Toby spoke over him.

“Repeated and extreme gravitational shifts have caused all of the cartilage in my knees and hips to break down, leaving me with severe joint pain.”

Douxie paused his face thoughtful for a moment. “I didn’t realize that was a consequence of gravity manipulation.”

“Yeah, neither did I!” Toby said, his arms crossed.

“We were hoping you might know a spell or something that might help us?” Claire said.

“Unfortunately, no. If there were some magical cure for 900 years of barely acknowledged trauma, I definitely would have found it.” He hesitated, glancing aside. Archie came and sat on his lap as he ran his hands through his long hair. “It’s as my master- uh as Merlin always used to say; ‘Magic is not a permissible shortcut to hard work.’”

He sighed, his head drooping to his chest. Archie stood to push his head against his wizard’s chin. They could barely hear the dragon-cat purring as he tried to comfort Douxie.

“As far as I’m aware the only solution to your nightmares and phantom pains is hard work. Therapy. Maybe medication. Addressing the trauma and growing from it.” He stood up moving away from the view of everyone in the kitchen though he kept talking. “I can however write up some small spells or potions that you will be able to make, Claire. They will help ease the pain, hold your nightmares at bay, something to help you on that path to recovery.”

He reappeared a few seconds later with a book in his hands. Krel stopped examining the shadowy window Claire had created to stare open mouthed as Douxie’s sweats slipped a little further down his hips.

“I know it’s not a lot, but it will help in small ways, and maybe make dealing with all of this a little easier for all of you.” Douxie said as he thumbed through the book.

Claire grimaced, the strain of keeping the communication scry open, already adding to the pain in her body. She wasn’t sure she could cast another spell tonight.

“What is happening?” A small voice said.

“Oh sorry for waking you Nari.” Douxie said, facing to his left away from what the others could see. “The Trollhunters in Arcadia called for some magical advice.”

Nari jumped up onto Douxie’s bed, landing on all fours on the bed and walking across the bed to look at the Trollhunters. She tilted her head from side to the other, her antlers rocking back and forth as her bright eyes stared at them.

“You are being troubled by your pain and fears.” She said, it wasn’t a question, but they all nodded anyway. “Claire of the shadow magic, if you can stand to make a small portal, my magic may provide some relief for you. At least enough so that you can return to sleep.”

Claire grit her teeth, one hand grabbing Jim’s arm, as the other started to cast one of her portals. She squeezed Jim’s arm, and Toby stepped to put his hand on her back. A soft growl came from her as the whirling portal took shape.

As soon as the portal opened, Nari jumped forward, and moved her hands together, creating a green glowing ball. She passed it through the small portal and it came out into the Lake House kitchen.

There was a collective sigh of relief from all the kids there. The tension dropped from Claire’s shoulders and her face lost it’s pinched look. Jim set his ice pack on the counter as he took a shuttering breath of relief. Toby set his hot water bottle in the sink and leaned his cane against the counter.

“Hey Teach, I’ll call you later to get those spells from you.” Claire said, her voice suddenly heavy with exhaustion. The portal cut out as soon as Nari’s magic orb passed through and the communication scry cut out before she had even finished speaking.

Krel and Steve both dragged their feet back to the couch, the green orb following them. Jim grabbed a few more blankets out of the hall closet, then slumped to the ground next to them. Claire and Toby curled up under the blankets with him. In was but the work of a moment, before all five of them fell back asleep. Their pain, gone, for now. Their nightmares, held at bay. A restful sleep found each of them. It wouldn’t remove the long road filled with hard work that was ahead of each of them, but at least for one night, they could sleep until dawn undisturbed.

In the morning Barbara Lake came down stairs to find a pile of five teenagers all asleep under the soft light of a glowing green orb, that faded away to nothing in the morning light.

#jim lake junior #claire nunez #toby domzalski #jlaireby #steve palchuk #krel tarron #hisirdoux casperan #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #wizards spoilers #writing emerald

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 14/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Basira Hussain Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary: Martin tells Tim everything that’s happened to him and Jon, and about the fear entities that now inhabit this dimension.

Read above at AO3 or read here below!

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Damn.” Tim stood up and looked down at Jon lying on the bed, where he and Martin had just deposited him. “He is really out of it.”

“Yeah. That—that happens.” Martin decided it was a little cool in the bedroom, and pulled the blanket over Jon. When he looked up again, Tim was staring at him in a very specific way that he decided to ignore. “Thanks for helping me get him back here.”

“Well, you definitely weren’t getting any help from him. So… are we still doing this?��

“Yeah.” Martin took one last look at Jon; at least he still looked peaceful. “Let’s, um—let’s go to the sitting room. Can I get you some tea? Or—”

“No.” Tim shook his head as they made their way back out of the bedroom. “Can I ask—are we doing this now because Jon is knocked out?”

“No,” Martin said immediately, then thought a little more. “Well—mostly no.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means—” Martin tried to think of the best way to say it. “Look, he knows we have to tell you. I just don’t get the feeling he—I think it’s better if I do it.”

“Better for who?”

“I—” Martin sighed. “Look—we can wait until he wakes up, if you want.”

“Nope.” Tim sat on the couch and turned to Martin. “That’s all right.”

Martin grabbed the chair from Jon’s desk and brought it over to face Tim. As he did so, he realized he’d thought through how to tell certain parts of the story quite a lot, but others not nearly as much. One thing he hadn’t really thought about at all was how to start.

“Are you sure you don’t want tea?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Fine. Ok—ok. So.” He took a deep breath. “Five years ago—about—we all started working in the archives together. Sasha applied for the head archivist job and she got it; she asked you and Jon to take assistant positions, and I interviewed for the third one and—well, Sasha gave me a chance. Right?”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Right…”

“And since then—I mean, we’ve done, like—pretty normal archive stuff. And sure, the Institute is a bit off, like—the stuff people want us to store for them and the research and all that, but it’s been fine, right?”

“Um…”

“I mean compared to what’s been happening since—since Jon and I disappeared.”

“Yeah, ok. I’ll give that to you.” Tim continued to look at him expectantly.

“Ok. Ok. Well—it happened a different way, too. Some—somewhere else.”

“Ok.” Tim sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

“And look—no matter how I tell this—it’s not going to make sense until I really get it all out. So—”

“I’m listening.”

“Right. It’s just that it’s—”

“Martin.”

“Ok. So five years ago, in this—other place, we all started working in the archives. Only—only Sasha wasn’t the head archivist, Jon was.”

Tim shifted his weight on the couch, but didn’t uncross his arms. “You know he applied for the position? I’m not supposed to—no one knows I know that, actually. Not even Jon.”

“Huh.” Martin hadn’t been aware. “I mean—I didn’t know either, but that makes sense.”

“Does it? We all knew Sasha was applying, and she was way more qualified. Nothing against Jon, just—objectively, she was.”

“I mean that it makes sense given—well, ok, we’ll get to that. So you know the people here that started coming in to talk to us—the interviews and the—the statements, the written ones—the thing is, there, that was what we did. It was what we’d always done at the Magnus Institute, in the archives. The written statements, they went back years. Like, two hundred years and then some from before the Institute existed. And we researched them and filed them and we all just—it was normal.”

Tim was listening, which was all Martin could ask.

“So we—we didn’t necessarily believe all of them—though maybe we did more than we said—but then—Jane Prentiss happened.”

Martin told him everything he could remember about it, everything that he could organize into sentences, and Tim’s expression stayed almost the same the entire time. He realized Tim was still trying to decide what to make of it when he got to the part about Sasha being replaced, because even after hearing about what happened to him and Jon with the worms, that was really the first time Tim’s face changed.

“Wait.” Tim finally interrupted him. “This—this happened, or—”

“Yes,” Martin said, “and I know, it doesn’t make sense yet—”

“But—this happened to you? Us? Sasha?”

“Yes.”

“When, though? When you—disappeared, or—”

“No. That happened at the end. Just—”

“Ok. Ok—but Sasha, she—she changed? She became this—”

“No. She—she was replaced. Sasha—” He didn’t like thinking about it now any more than he ever had. “Sasha died. She was gone. And none of us knew.”

“But if none of us knew—”

“Well, that’s not entirely true, Melanie knew, sort of. And then later Jon figured it out, but—well, there’s more. Just—just listen.”

“Does this come back to—to now, though?”

“Yes. In the end, it—it will.”

Martin took another breath and continued; Tim seemed much more invested now than he had been initially, and that unfortunately made it a little harder to tell the story. He eventually got to the part about Tim and what happened to Danny.

“Wait.” As soon as Tim realized where it was going, he leaned forward, uncrossing his arms. “Start over again.”

So Martin started over again, and this time he got all the way through to the end before Tim interrupted him.

“Why Danny? Why would that happen to him?”

Martin shrugged, then regretted it as he realized what a casual gesture it was. “I don’t know. It’s not really clear why—why anyone.”

“But what did he do? Why?”

“Tim, he didn’t do anything. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Why didn’t I stop it, though? Did I say why I didn’t at least stop him from going back? I mean, he came to me.”

“Tim—” Martin stood up from his chair and sat next to Tim on the couch. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have.”

“But if this happened—this happened?”

“Yes. It happened.”

“I would have known something wasn’t right. He came to me. How hard would it have been to—to just stay up with him?”

“Tim, that’s not how they work.”

“They. The—the fears?”

“Yes. And the people and the—things—that serve them.” Martin ran a hand over his face before continuing. “They manipulate you. They—they trap you. Like they trapped all of us at the Institute.”

“So you said. So what—I just let it go? I went to work at the Institute but then just forgot about it?”

“No. Not at all. Actually, after that, you—well, ok.” He told Tim everything he’d learned about the Unknowing, everything that Basira and later Jon had told him about it.

“Good,” Tim said, after Martin told him how it had ended. “At least I knew how to go out, anyway.”

Martin cringed as the memory of cleaning out Tim’s desk after Peter Lukas took over the Institute hit him all over again. Tim might have seen it, or maybe he didn’t, but either way he sat back on the couch again and seemed to collect himself.

“Go on. I still don’t know where this is all going. And you still haven’t said anything about why Elias was doing all this. Why he was trapping everyone into working at the Institute for the—the Eye?”

“Yeah. Right. Well—he wasn’t. Not really.” Martin continued the story, explaining how he had done his best to try to protect everyone after Peter had taken over the Institute, but ultimately hadn’t done anything at all except fall into another trap. He explained how Jon had woken up and his abilities had been stronger, how Jon had done everything he could to keep everyone safe and to prevent any further rituals—but in the end, that too had all been a manipulation. He told Tim how he and Jon had learned that Jonah Magnus had been operating through the successive heads of the Magnus Institute.

“So—Elias, then—”

“We never met him. Not really.”

“Ok—go on. So Jon came after you, and then what?”

“We left. We went as far away as we could get quickly.”

“You and Jon—together?”

Martin had left out some of the more personal details of the story, but Tim had read between the lines. Martin nodded.

“Fair enough. Go on.”

“Well—it wasn’t far enough. Jonah knew where we were—”

“Well, yeah—”

Martin sighed. “—and he used Jon to trigger an apocalypse. It turned out that everything Jon had been doing—all the avatars he’d confronted, all the things he’d done to try to save us, the rituals he’d been trying to stop—they’d all marked him. He’d been marked by every single entity, and Jonah used that to start an apocalypse. He unleashed all the fears.”

“What?”

“Like—the world ended. It was just fear. Everywhere. People were trapped in these domains and they couldn’t leave them and they just lived their fear. And the Eye—watched it all. Through Jonah.”

“What? I’m sorry, I just—”

“Literally the end of the world. I can’t really say it any differently. Like there was one where everything was on fire, and another one that was just a giant carousel but—well, never mind that—and oh god, once we had to jump off the side of a cliff—”

“All right, I’ll just—accept that, I guess?—I did not think that was where this was going—but ok, how did you say Jon started this exactly?”

“He didn’t. Jonah did.”

“Ok but—he used Jon—how?”

“He sent a statement. And Jon read it. He still needed to do that. Obviously we didn’t know it was from him—we thought Basira sent it—”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Yeah, well.”

“And you didn’t stop him?”

“I wasn’t there. Just—for a moment. I told you, they always had this way of—”

“Never mind. But I still don’t get it. You said this all happened. So… why are we here?”

“It didn’t happen here. It happened—I’m getting there.”

He skipped most of the journey through the apocalypse; he picked up again when they got back to London and reunited with Melanie and Georgie. He explained how they had found Jonah, and how Jon had realized he had the option to take over the apocalypse in Jonah’s place.

“And—what?” Tim asked. “End it?”

“No.” Martin shook his head. “He couldn’t do that. We weren’t sure what he could do exactly, but he knew he couldn’t do that. He could maybe—shift things around. Maybe make it not so bad for—for some people. For a while.” He deliberately didn’t explain exactly what that meant, and very deliberately left out the other option Jon had eventually arrived at.

“So—did he?”

“Not—not then. We didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye on—that.”

Tim nodded.

Martin decided to skip some other details too. “Well—not long after, Annabelle Cane—”

“The—the spider person?”

“Yeah. She told us about another way. A way that we could end it. By—by letting the fears out.”

“Out? Out where?”

“There was a—a crack. A gap. Um—between dimensions. That place—where all this happened—it turns out it was just one of who knows how many realities.”

“Ok. Why would she tell you that, though? Didn’t they like it there?”

“She said—she said at the time that, eventually, that whole world was doomed. In the end, the—well, Death—the fear of Death—would kill everything, and the entities would remain alone with nothing left to—to feed them. And obviously she didn’t want that.”

“Oh.” Martin could see that the wheels in Tim’s head were starting to turn; he’d have to pick up the pace a little bit more if he wanted to tell it himself.

“So—we voted.”

“You voted.”

“Yeah. And we voted to let them out. To end it.”

“Right. Ok—makes sense, I guess, but—what did that mean? I guess you would get rid of them, but—then where would they go?”

Martin paused a moment. “We—we didn’t know. We talked about it a lot but in the end—we couldn’t know, and we knew the people in that place were suffering. And the other option was Jon taking over. Given that he couldn’t stop it, that didn’t seem like it should be a real option to—to most of us. Well, some of us.”

Tim glanced back in the direction of the bedroom. “I can see that. Ok—so you voted to let them out. Did you?”

Martin considered what he should say; he opted for the short version. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“And what happened? Did the apocalypse end?”

“Jon says it did.”

“What—what does that mean?”

“Jon and I—we—we ended up here.”

“Here? What do you mean?” Tim narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Martin.

“Jon and I ended up here. On the—in front of the Institute. And you found us. Eventually. After a couple of months, I’m guessing.”

Tim didn’t move for about thirty seconds, then his eyes went wide and he jumped up from the couch.

“No. No no no no—”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to the Jon and Martin that were here, then? Where did they—”

“We’re them, too. It’s really hard to—”

“Wait. Did they—the—fears, the entities, whatever you call them—did they come here too?”

“Yes.” Martin looked down at his feet.

“And that’s why all this—no. No. Did you—did you know? Did you know they would end up here?”

“I told you we didn’t.”

“You didn’t know what would happen and you all just decided to send them on out? Like a big goddamn gift to—to—”

“We didn’t know. And—” Martin took a breath. “We didn’t all decide that. Jon—Jon didn’t want to.”

“But he let you. And anyway, it doesn’t count if he only didn’t want to because he got to be some kind of—what, apocalypse god?”

“It wasn’t like that that.”

“All right, what was it like then? Explain.”

“He didn’t really want to do it. It was—he would have—”

“I would have ended it.” Martin on the couch, and Tim in front of it, both turned their head toward the hallway where Jon was now standing.

Tim answered faster than Martin could. “Martin said you couldn’t end it.”

“I couldn’t make it go away. There were other ways to end it.”

“Jon—”

“Don’t protect me, Martin. Not—like that.”

Martin looked at Tim’s face again; he was deep in thought.

“It was your decision, then?” he finally asked Jon.

“Yes.”

“Why did you let them out?”

Martin interrupted. “I told you, we voted, and—”

“Martin,” Jon said gently, and Martin stopped.

Tim waited.

“I tried to keep them there, but I didn’t—I didn’t plan for everything. And in the end, there were—sacrifices I wasn’t willing to make. That I still wouldn’t make.” He met Martin’s eyes, and Tim also turned slowly back to Martin.

“Jesus Christ.”

Martin continued to hold Jon’s eyes, but he could see Tim furiously typing into his phone next to him. For the first time ever, he vaguely wished that he could know what Jon was thinking. It would have almost been worth it.

“Jon—”

“It’s all right.” He was still speaking in the same soft voice. “It really is. It was time. But I am—I am going to have a cigarette.” Jon walked out to the balcony, and a few moments later the faint smell of smoke wafted in through the door. Everything felt like it had slowed down for Martin; Tim seemed able to move at an impossibly fast pace as he answered his phone and started shouting into it.

“Just—just come over here,” he was saying, as Martin began to make sense of his words. “No, you need to hear this from them, there’s no way I can—well if they’re closing the place, it sounds like you have to leave. No, just come straight here. Sasha—no, believe me, none of it matters. None of it. Just leave.”

He hung up his phone and looked blankly at Martin for a moment; he started to say something, but then shook his head and held out a finger toward Martin.

“No. No, there are some things I need to hear from him.” He started out toward the balcony, and Martin stood up.

“Tim—leave him alone. He’s—”

“It’s fine,” Jon called into the flat. “I’ll—I’ll talk to him. It’s ok.”

“Damn right, you’ll talk to me. I need to—” One of them closed the door to the balcony and Martin could only hear Tim’s general intonations; he could barely hear Jon at all. In a moment he gave up trying to listen, and sat down on the couch. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and tried not to have too many thoughts for the moment; he didn’t open them again until he heard an anxious knocking at the front door.

“Come in,” he shouted, and Sasha opened the door just wide enough to poke her head in; once she saw Martin, she walked in and closed it behind her.

“Tim said I should—” She stopped as she focused on Martin’s face over the back of the couch. “Martin, are you all right?”

“No,” he answered.

“Look, I’ve—” she came around to the other side of the couch and set her bag on the coffee table as she sat down. “They’ve closed the entire Institute while they’re investigating the—I just have no idea what to do right now. Tim called, and he’s been sending messages since then, but to be honest I don’t understand any of them. I’m lost.”

“Yeah.” Martin nodded, then dropped his forehead into his hand. “I just told Tim about—everything.”

“I gathered that,” Sasha said. “He seems—upset.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.”

“That’s him outside with Jon?”

“Yeah.”

“Hang on.” Sasha walked to the back door that led to the balcony and opened it. “Tim, I’m—”

“Oh god. Sasha. Oh shit.” Clearly whatever they had been discussing had not calmed Tim down at all. “We are so fucked.”

“Tim, I can see you are upset, but—”

“No. Upset does not even begin to describe what I am right now. I am—I am leaving. I need to leave.” He walked toward the front door.

Sasha started to follow him. “Tim—”

“Let him go,” Jon said.

“Fuck off,” Tim said, then turned to Martin. “You too. Screw both of you. Sasha, just—call. Call later.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said, sighing. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but—”

“No,” Jon said, “he’s right to be angry.”

“Do you—think you can tell me whatever you told him?” Sasha asked.

“I can tell you,” Jon said, and then looked to Martin. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he said again. “How are you feeling? You were pretty out of it.”

“I’m—I’m all right, actually.” Jon took a seat next to Martin on the couch, and picked up his hand. “You don’t have to stay here for this. If you—”

“Yes, I do.”

Jon nodded. Sasha went to sit on the chair Martin had brought over earlier, and Martin protested. “No, Sasha—I can sit there—you can—”

“No, stay there.” Sasha smiled weakly. “I’ll be fine here.”

It wasn’t quite like listening to a statement—Martin could have interrupted if he’d wanted to—but Jon’s voice held that same contradictory combination of emotion and detachment it always had when he’d been reading a statement. The end result was that he seemed to explain everything twice as well in half the time that Martin had, and Sasha had remained drawn in and silent until the end.

“Tim should have heard it from you,” Martin mumbled, while Sasha took a moment.

“No,” Jon said. “I think—I think Tim needed to hear it from you, actually.”

Martin started to ask him what he meant, but Sasha broke her silence.

“So—now what?”

“Wait,” Martin said. “Aren’t you mad?”

“I’m—” Sasha considered. She looked tired, maybe in shock, but not angry. “I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, this—sucks—but… I don’t know. What would I have done? I mean—” She laughed awkwardly. “I guess I would have died—”

Martin flinched.

“No—no, I’m sorry. I just meant—I really don’t know how to deal with this—there weren’t any right answers, were there?”

“If there were, I never chose them.” Jon absentmindedly reached for Martin’s hand again, and looked at him briefly when Martin held on to it harder than expected.

“I mean, I know why Tim’s angry,” Sasha continued. “But in the end, you—you really did save all those people.”

“I’m not sure I’d say—”

“But you did,” Sasha said. “Yes, they went through something awful, and I’m sure they were worse for it, but—their lives still had value. They still wanted to live, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Martin said.

“And here—I know it’s already cost a lot—but we still have a chance. Don’t we?”

Neither of them answered her.

“Fine, but—I have to believe we do,” Sasha said. “I mean, Jon—even the—the Eye—it can’t see into other dimensions, right? And the Web probably—probably didn’t really anticipate all of this, right?”

“No,” Jon said. “It doesn’t work like that. At least not for the Eye.”

“So maybe—just maybe—things are different enough here that—I need to think.” Sasha pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment. “Jon, I imagine you still have some—influence over this situation?”

Martin looked at him, and Jon nodded. “Some. Yes.”

“How exactly do you plan on using it?”

“I don’t know,” Jon replied. “One way or another, I don’t—I need to make sure they don’t get out again.”

“Understood.” Sasha continued to press her hand to her mouth. “But we have time, right? Some, at least?”

Jon nodded again. “Yes. Of—of course.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand again.

“All right. Give me—give me a day or so just to—to really absorb all this. Then we’ll talk it out. Tim—oh, hang on.” She checked her phone, and scrolled down through a few messages that had gone unchecked while she’d been listening to Jon. “He says he’s going to visit Danny.”

“Good,” Jon said.

“Anyway, he’ll come around.” She thought a little bit more. “And I guess we should tell Melanie, and—and Elias.”

Jon stiffened. “Do you really think he—”

“After what he went through today, he—he deserves to know.”

Jon didn’t exactly relax. “Yes, fine. All right.”

“Will you two be all right if I go? Just—like I said, to gather my thoughts?”

For some reason they were both looking at Martin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be all right.”

“I’m glad you told us,” Sasha said, standing to grab her bag from the table. “I know that took a lot. And Tim—he really will come around.”

Jon walked with her over to the door and she said something quietly that Martin couldn't hear; then she left, and Martin crumbled into the couch.

***

“Come to bed.”

Martin, who had been doing his best to bury himself between the cushions and the back of the couch ever since Sasha left, turned over to face Jon. “I can sleep out here tonight, if you want.”

Jon knelt to be at eye level with him. “Why would I want that?”

“I don’t know.”

Jon sighed and crossed his legs to sit on the floor. “Martin—what did you think would happen when we told them?”

“I don’t—I mean, of course Tim is mad, but—Ok, I guess I really wasn’t actually thinking about how they would react at all. I just thought it would be better to have it out. That it would feel better.”

“Does it?”

“Obviously not.”

Jon nodded, and reached out to touch Martin’s face. His touch was comforting, which Martin had somehow not been expecting.

“I mean, Tim was bad—but at least it felt—”

“It felt right. That he was angry.”

“Maybe. It’s just that when I was telling it to him, and I was hearing myself say it—I’d really forgotten how bad it was. I mean, I hadn’t forgotten, but—I guess I’m not living it anymore. And that’s not fair. It’s not fair to the other Sasha and the other Tim and everyone else we left behind. I just guess I feel—”

“Guilty.”

“Hm.” Martin closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Jon’s hand. “And then Sasha—it’s like she just didn’t get it. I mean, no—I think she got it. She heard all of it and I think she believed it, but she should have been angry? At least—a little.”

“She still might be. They both have a lot to process.”

“Sure, but—she was so optimistic. She just doesn’t know. She never felt—”

“She just said what you’ve said.”

“I know. And when I heard her say it—it made me wonder if that’s how you think about me when I… I mean—we were both there, but you went through so much more than I did. I felt—I felt sorry for her.”

“Martin,” Jon said, “I have never once felt sorry for you. Worried, or—or sad, or—but no, never pity.”

Martin opened his eyes to look at Jon again.

“Are you mad that I told them?”

“No. I told you I understood. It was time.”

Martin sat up, and Jon moved to sit next to him.

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“Go to bed,” Jon answered.

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Jon touched his leg. “We let Sasha think. She tells Melanie and Georgie and—Elias, and Tim makes up his mind about what he wants to do.”

“And then what?”

“We talk.”

“Jon—” Martin sighed. “I don’t want to push, but—how does this all end up different from before?”

Jon pulled his hand back. “I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t.”

They sat a little while longer, until Jon stood up and held a hand out for Martin. “Let’s go to bed.”

“All right.”

“Wait,” Jon said, after Martin got up. “Would you—would you eat something first? I didn’t want to interrupt you earlier. I thought you could use a moment.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You know, Martin—you are a bit of a hypocrite.”

“Yeah, I know.” He put his arm around Jon’s shoulders and kissed his head, and was briefly pulled back in his memories to the day he’d cut his hair for him. That was all he wanted; just that—or, well, a future where some days got to be like that one.

Why was that so much to ask for?

“But I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jon answered.

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