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jadelynlace · 3 years

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ink drinker / Modern Vikings AU, Ivar x F!Reader, Chapter 3

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note & content warning: mentions of depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts; all pertaining to Ivar, not reader. mentions of therapy, medication and past history of self inflicted & blooming trauma. please read at your own risk. my messages are always, always open for anyone who may ever need a listener. anything in italics indicates a flash back. there are so many fucking feelings in this chapter that I just, am apologizing now. but there’s smut!

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It was gloomy the morning you remembered finally catching a glimpse of Ivar’s scars. Adorned and nearly smothered by him in his bed, the small snores from him somewhere draped across your skin, traveling over the plains in warm boulders. You were always drawn to the artwork on his limbs, there was always a smaller detail you missed and found within your next search but through the endless gazes you finally caught sight of the jagged white flesh. The since healed lacerations and your medical knowledge took full force of your mind. They were scars, they were healed scars, but they were scars from the straight edge of a razor blade. With such precision and such aftermath you knew they were the scars with one intent within their making. And they were there to tell you the secret horrors Ivar had not yet spoken—that there was a point where he felt his heart should no longer beat, and his lungs should no longer fill and that his life was meaningless. And that he should end it.

“Can I ask you something?” You finally find yourself mumbling; words floating through the cabin of the parked ambulance on stand by. Hvitserk’s coffee halfway through to his stomach when you peep in such a meek voice he almost coughs the molten liquid back out.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N,”

“How bad is Ivar’s depression?” And you simply ask. No foreword to the speech, no coating of sugar or dusting of fake joy. As blunt as you had been trained to voice the death of a loved one to their family. “I saw the medication in his cabinet, and I saw the scars on his wrists. I know it’s none of my business because he’s your brother, but…” and you can’t find a lie to justify it. Not ready to spill to your partner about the times Ivar had spilled into the condoms with you.

“Bad,” Hvitserk says, and just as bluntly. “He…he tried to kill himself in college. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how he’s never available Saturdays from eleven to noon, but that’s when he has therapy. I had been trying to convince him since high school to see someone, and Floki finally got through to him not too long ago,” He adds. “When I got that phone call from mom that he was in the hospital—I felt like such a failure, Y/N, because I knew it was coming and I did nothing to stop it,” Your hand goes to his wrist for a second, a quick squeeze of added support as you listen.

“Sometimes people refuse what’s good for them, Hvitty,” You start. “You should know that—how many times have we explained to someone why they should go to the hospital with us, but they still refuse?” He finally cracks a smile at that. “Do you think he’s in a better place now, mentally?”

“Either that, or he’s just stable. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ivar doesn’t like to talk about his feelings…”

“Wow Hvitserk, I had no idea,” You tease, nudging him with both your elbow and sarcastic tone as the voice on the radio fills into the cabin. Your stand by is over and the conversation is dropped as you leave the scene.

There had been instances where you think he might be ready; he might understand that the new gifting of your relationship status might help him to realize you aren’t joking when you offer to listen. You’d listen to Ivar talk until he ran out of things to say if it came to that. More times now the words perched themselves on his lips, ready to spring forwards but he keeps pulling them back. He keeps swallowing them because they’re mixed like bile and stew and far too gross, far too un-human for him to even want to try to speak them to you. And then Ivar kicks himself for drowning these demons who have started to learn to swim and he sees you in your uniform and remembers that nothing phases you. You watch open heart surgery on the television while you eat his mother’s lasagna without a care in the world or a realization that what you were doing is unusual.

“Can I talk to you?” Ivar says bluntly, sitting like a cowered dog in the living room and you’re hardly through his front door when he asks. You can feel how your head rises slowly, a quick snarky word to come back but you bite down on your tongue so roughly you can taste blood as you just look at him. You have never seen a man of his stature try to look so small, try to be so invisible. Worry comes to your face just as quickly as the next breath passes through your diaphragm and you’re on the couch before you even take your shoes off. “It’s messy,” He finally admits. Shallow and dead and you can see the broken boy that has tried to hide himself through the bulked muscles and the tattoos; the glare through his blue eyes and the curved lip.

“Most of what involves the human body is messy, Ivar,” You find yourself saying back, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. It sounds like you’re trying to tell the parent of a dead child that you know how they feel but you don’t. And you never will. But Ivar shedding this skin for you feels like you’re walking through the motions on a call, eyes from crowds of people crawling over and stuck on your every move. And every move that comes next like they’re watching a soap opera with their dinner and they’ve disconnect that what is happening is real, it’s someones life. Just like how you have to disconnect. But in this moment it’s Ivar, and you’re present.

“Like paint,” Ivar mumbles next.

“Yeah, like paint,” You repeat and there’s a smile on your lips for a second. “Ivar? You don’t do that anymore, do you?” You finally find the courage to ask.

“No,” Ivar says as he glances down at his right hand’s wrist, shoving the skin next to the sweatshirt he’s wearing as if rubbing it on the gray cotton will make those scars dissipate. “I get tattoos instead,” That causes a sick button to click in your consciousness as to why Ivar is so heavily covered from his shoulders to his ankles in artwork. How the sting of the needle dawning the creations reminded him of the blade he tried to use to make the mess of thoughts fly away. To make the demons come free through his skin and leave him with peace, if only a moment.

“What helps? What helps you stay present?” You ask. Ivar blinks far too many times, sorting through his brain for the answers as if it’s a container of memorabilia that’s so unorganized even his mother can’t stand the sight of it.

“My brothers help, sometimes,” He says. “I think about how devastated my mom would be. I think about Floki. I think about all of the people in my life who say they want me here even when my mind is trying to tell me I don’t deserve to be.”

“I want you here, Ivar.” You say back and catch how he looks at you when you admit such.

“Why? Have you seen yourself, Y/N? You could have anyone you want and you choose me…” The sentence breaks your heart but you now know the darkness the climbs between his ears. The seed planted so long ago in the depths of brown ground somewhere and you want to pull it from the mental garden. You want to rip the roots right from the soil and burn them so they never have a chance to infest any farther.

“No one makes me feel the way you do, Ivar,” Are the first words from your mouth. “You make me smile, you make me feel important—you remind me how to escape. Even on the worst possible days I can have, you bring me back to reality.” You want to tell him how he’s addicting, how there’s a quality to him you can’t articulate but always keeps you coming back. How you want to keep coming back because both your mind, and your body know it’s safe. How he was someone so mysterious from the outside but past every highly built wall is a man who is just so simply himself. “Because you’re you, Ivar. With the bachelor’s degree in calculus, and the copious amounts of tattoos, and a heart of gold that…you forget that you have,” You finally add. “You’re someone different to the rest of the world, but you’re the real Ivar around me,” You worry that the silence that over takes him is a sign of something else. A sign that you spoke too much, again, and scarred him for more than he could withstand. And then he smiles.

But you can’t understand why—why he smiles for someone like you. The one who let him design your first ever tattoo to his heart’s content. The one who has the same twisted sense of humor. The one who will bicker back and challenge him. The one who gets to see him fall apart between your legs. The one who makes him hard, and has him make those noises. The moans, the heavy panting and rasped groans as he bottoms out and moves through you. The one who gets to watch how his eyes snap shut, and his mouth drops open when you clench around him; how his entire back tenses when he’s close. How he holds you as he fills the rubber with everything he has. The man who loves your nails trailing on his skin. The man who smothers you every night that he spends with you, and every morning when you wake and he’s still there. Making you coffee and cooking you breakfast. How he knows your takeout order from your favorite places, and your work schedule. What food to have at his own apartment, and what movies he should have on demand. The spare clothes he keeps there for when you come over after work, ready to take the ambulance grime from your skin. The pads that are in his bathroom closet, the painkillers. The bottle of “girly white wine” that he won’t admit to drinking too, because it is damn good wine. The man who knows to check in with you during the day, and again to make sure you really are alright. The same man who knows if you don’t text him back, you and Hvitserk have gone knee deep into either a bullshit call, or a tragic one. As shocked as you were that he was listening to what you were saying—and taking it to heart—you were stunned that you hadn’t caught on to how obvious it was that Ivar was in love with you. Even with all of the time you spend crammed between your own thoughts.

“There’s a lot to sort through,” Ivar says again.

“That’s okay, Ivar,” You remind him, your head resting on his shoulder and you feel him shift, move his arm to encompass you as you curl against his side.

“You smell like bleach,” He softly laughs, his nose deep against your hair and you snort, reminded of the decontamination duties you were gifted from the calls today.

“Better than Hvitserk, who got puked on,” You reply. “Shower?” And you can feel Ivar nod against you.

His hands don’t move rapidly to shed your clothing, or to shed his own. There’s a certain calmness through his motions as he waits for the water to warm, slipping your polo from your shoulders, and planting his lips in its wake. Against the base of your neck, your spine, hugging your body flush against his in front of the mirror. Your eyes catch sight of his hands coming back around you, squeezing your breasts and you can’t stop the moan that crawls from your mouth. The traces of artwork on his fingers as his lips move from your neck, to the shell of your ear and graze your pulse point. There’s a push from your backside against his groin, and Ivar growls in response, humming not far after as you feel how his cock hardens the farther his hands roam.

Down your sides, your abdomen, swirling through your folds and dipping between them to catch your juices. Circling against the bundle of nerves he knows so precisely and you moan twice as loudly, and he does too as you moisten to his fingers. Your hands move to grab at him, anywhere they can and you find one hand holding his neck and the other wrapping around his length. Your nails crawl to his hair, pulling the locks down as his fingers take to moving quickly, spreading your womanhood and arousal and you suddenly can’t wait much longer to have him. And he can tell by how you whimper, whisper to him about how you want to feel him inside of you and there’s no fight anywhere on his body to try to deny the tone of your begging. Ivar’s eyes catch yours in the mirror as he finally pushes into you, the cold porcelain sink calming the heat of your skin as he bottoms out and rests his body against yours. There’s a sinful moan that comes through his lips as his eyes bore into yours, with the squeeze from your walls and warmth you spread through him and at first he can’t move, he only wants to savor it. His eyes finally close as he slips away from you, pushing in once more as your body rocks to the sink, singing back to him as the steam from the forgotten shower starts to fog against the mirror. Your name is through his lips as he moves, tattooed hands coming to find yours as he moves your body with each thrust, each timed sensation and you feel your own orgasm approaching. His mouth open on your ear, eyes screwed shut between love and ecstasy as his breath tickles down your face and you’re close now, far closer and far faster than you’ve ever been

“Ivar—” comes your voice and there’s only a hum in response, wordlessly pleading for you to let go because he’s got you, and you know that. Your knuckles white washed against his as you finish, shaking against the sink and you miss how Ivar’s eyes watch you unfold. Studying the pleasure laced in your features.

“Where, baby?” He says quickly, and you shudder as you remember he’s bare now, condom long since forgotten but there are still the small pills you swallow. Still working somewhere you know of, but the accuracy decreases when you take them irregularly—and there’s a big part of your life that calls for that to happen. The alarming lights and loud tones. But you know that you’re safe. With Ivar you’re always safe.

“Inside,” You finally say, his hips stopping to starve off the inevitable as he waits for you to be sure, as he waits to see the seriousness on your face so he knows you aren’t lying in the heat of the moment. And you have to say it again for him to start up again, remind him that you have a safety net. The sensitivity in your cunt melts as he keeps moving and you can tell another orgasm is starting to build. Ivar reaches from your hand quickly and starts his fingers against your clit, quick circles as you hear him get louder, feel his other arm move to crush you and you catch his face as he finishes. The sight searing in your vision and colliding with how he moves with you and your second release rolls through you. His seed spilling and you both moan, his lips still plastered against your ear and you can feel the shake through his whole body as he floats back down. The tense in his thighs pushing you against the counter. There’s a whimper next from him, as he stills, wrapping tightly to hold you there, like it was all a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from.

“I love you,” You hear him say against your skin and you’re right there to repeat it back to him. “You don’t have to mean it,” He then tries and you already know what he’s doing.

“I do, Ivar,” You say back, trying to make him look at you through the mirror but his eyes are still closed. He slowly slips from you, his release sticking between your thighs as he slides away and you’re only then able to turn in his arms. Reaching forwards to pull his mouth against his. “I love you. You and me Ivar, against the world,” You say and he hums at that, a small snicker not far after.

“I like how that sounds, baby,” His smile comes next, dopey and boyish as he finally looks into your eyes and understands that you don’t doubt any part of him. You love it all—the good and the bad and the evil things he may think about himself. You love them all because you know he feels the same way when it comes to you. “The hot water’s going to run out soon,” He mumbles as he holds you. And standing in the shower is not much more different, still wrapped up safely in his arms as you both feel the troubles melt down the drain.

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

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Family Reunion Part 10

{masterlist}

Warnings: Have some more angst, my friends. Some character death-as in It happened in the past TPM, some description of pain/injury, a contactless duel, brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

This got really dark towards the end, I’m sorry.

Notes I’m so sorry this took so long, I was going through some stuff and this was a real humdinger of an installment to get hung up on.

Ya’ll need to thank @aberionart for this even getting completed. If not for her art giving me the motivation to attack this beast of a chapter, it wouldn’t have gotten done. Thank you for helping me get out of my writing funk! I always love your art and how positive and supportive you are of everyone!

PADAWAN WILD

Words: 6.7k

Taglist:@and-claudia // @tararuthven // @aberionart // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol // @zabrak-show // @obi-wan-kanbonemi // @videogamesandpoorlifechoices // @justalittlecloud

<- Previous

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“Well,” a voice unlike any you’d ever heard before seared over your ears-creating a cold sense of dread that dripped down your spine like ice water. You flicked your eyes open cautiously and raised your head off of Wild’s, simultaneously pulling the young boy closer to you. “What do we have here?” It continued, echoing all around with a low, completely unnatural reverb. You couldn’t help but pick up on the way the owner of the voice pronounced the letter ‘w’-like a ‘v’ instead. It...it was similar to the way Maul used to speak after trying to teach you paecian. It was always so funny to you that speaking in his mother tongue accidentally made him develop a bit of an accent for a little while afterward. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, keeping Wild close to your front though as your gaze trailed down the ramp to observe Savage standing next to a tall creature clad all in red. They had a high forehead and black tattoos over their face in large blocks and groups. Eventually, you locked eyes with them, e/c staring into piercing, eerie blue. “Ah, you must be padawan L/n.”

“Mother Talzin, I presume?” You greeted cordially despite the agonizing urge to reach for your sabers and rid the galaxy of the witch. “I am...honored to finally meet you in person. But, if you please, I go by Y/n as I have forgone any affiliation with the Jedi.”

Mother Talzin hummed, moving unnervingly slow as she bowed her head just enough to acknowledge your confession. The strange tentacle-like pieces of cloth affixed to the back of her cloak followed the movement, slithering in the non-existent wind. “Very well, Y/n.” The Nightmother scanned you in silence after her statement, most likely trying to size you up. You kept your chin raised as you turned to face her more and pushed Wild behind you. Immediately, the witch caught the movement and her eyes zeroed in on Wild. “Ah, and who might this be?”

You swallowed and let your eyes flicker over to Savage for help but the yellow zabrak could offer none. “This is Wild.” You eventually explained.

“Your son?” The Nightmother observed though you had the slightest inclination that, though it sounded like a question, it was a statement designed to make you uncomfortable. And it was working. You nodded briefly, tongue darting out to quickly wet your lips-you were getting nervous. Mother Talzin became quiet again, now scanning over Wild who was quietly peeking out from behind you, one hand fisted into the fabric of your tunic and the other itching for one of the sabers on your hip. Evidently, he was as uncomfortable as you were. “He is a fine specimen.” You bristled, stepping to the side to shield Wild from her gaze entirely as your hand landed on your saber. Talzin looked back up at you and spoke with a wry smile, “It is a shame he is a half-blood, he would have made an excellent nightbrother.”

Over my dead body. You thought bitterly and fixed the witch with the most murderous stare you could muster. Talzin was unfazed by your offense and simply directed her attention to the other red zabrak in the cargo hold-Maul, who had sequestered himself behind boxes once more now much further into the hold. The guilt that followed your realization that he was hiding from you stung more than any blaster bolt would.

You were pulled from your misery by the sound of the force swirling and converging on one spot, ominous whispers and chants following where it went as a green mist started to fill the cargo hold. Mother Talzin, still stood at the end of the ramp was swirling her hands around a steadily forming glowing green ball of her magic. “Come,” she commanded, her voice taking on a higher reverb, “Let us fix what has been broken.” She calmly released the green ball and it glided over to Maul, bathing the cargo hold in an unsettling yellowish green as it went that had Wild clinging tighter to you as he poked his head around your waist to watch. Your hand fell to his shoulder, wrapping it in a tight grip as you followed the orb with your eyes. “Come to me.” Talzin continued. “Come to me, come to me.” The orb disappeared briefly as it weaved between crates, only trackable by the ominous green glow. “Come to me, lost one, come to me. Follow us, son of Dathomir. Follow me, lost one.Come, child of Dathomir. Follow me.” Talzin urged once more, the whispering and chanting echoing ominously back, till Maul finally began to listen. Originally shying away from the magic, he now followed it-shoving boxes aside and chasing after it like a child enchanted by an odd bug that flitted through the air.

You started to back up to give Maul more room and encouraged Wild to do the same with a hand on his shoulder. He rolled it and your hand fell away. It felt like someone had stabbed you through the chest. You froze completely, eyes glued to the half-zabrak who didn’t acknowledge you and instead kept his attention fixed on Maul as he followed Mother Talzin and Savage away.

The hangar fell silent. Neither of you moved.

You rolled your lips in, anxiously gnawing on them. You had to say something. “Wild…” you began in a soft voice.

“Don’t.” The word was whispered, barely audible, but it bombarded your ears like a barrage of blaster fire. “Just...don’t.” You had never heard your son sound more defeated.

“Alright.” You swallowed in an attempt to keep the tremble at bay. “Wild, are you okay?”

“...Yeah.” He lied and you sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Force, you’d messed up. “Okay…” you began slowly, stalling on every syllable that left you, “what do you want?”

“...” Wild shifted but continued to stare at the opposing wall. You could hear the answer he wanted to give as it floated all around you, suspended by the anxieties of the both of you. Force, you’d messed up. The truth. It mocked you. Bouncing off of the walls and around your feet-all emanating from the only other person in the room. The truth, the truth, the truth. “A duel.”

The reply caught you off guard, Wild’s thoughts and true desires disappeared in an instant which returned the both of you to that deathly still cargo hold once more. “What?” You asked, taken aback.

Wild finally turned to face you, his little red face set in the most serious expression he could muster. To you it was the perfect cross between Maul’s scowl and your glare and you did not like being on the receiving end of it. That look was meant for strangers that were too nosy for their own good. That look was a defence you had taught him. That look was not supposed to be used against you. “You joked about training earlier and then you asked me what I wanted. Well, I want to duel as part of my training for today.” The young boy asserted with crossed arms.

You blinked, regarding your son uncertainly. Wild didn’t like to duel because he could never beat you and that always frustrated him and he’d get all huffy and sulk in the farthest place from you. “Alright…” you began. You continued to size Wild up. Your son had a plan and he was determined to box you in, that much you could tell, but what that plan was was unclear. The truth. That was his goal. And suddenly you knew what he was going to do. Both he and yourself knew that you were the most open about Maul when you were preoccupied. So, in theory, if Wild could distract you with a fight he could weasel more information out of you. A good plan but not one you’d go along with. “Here.” You tossed your blue lightsaber to the boy who scrambled to catch it. “Take up position.” You commanded, switching into your teaching voice-the one you had once used on younglings during your tenure as a padawan, the one Ki-Adi had used on you, the one you loathed to use on Wild. Following your own instructions, you ignited your lightsaber, green blade bathing the cargo hold in a complimenting glow, and dipped into a slight crouch. The hilt of the saber twirled elegantly in your hand-a practiced manuever Maul had helped you perfect so you could slip between forward and reverse grips with ease. Wild faltered. Evidently, he had been prepared to argue. But, your son reacted swiftly by correcting his face and mimicking your pose though he kept his saber in front of him pointing up. “I don’t need to repeat the rules-no contact, tap out when you need to, and nothing that could endanger either of our lives. It is crucial to be aware of all that is around you in a duel and a great way to practice is by following the rules laid out during training.” You quickly rambled off the same spiel you always repeated when you and Wild dueled. “If any real injuries occur, we end the duel immediately. Understood?”

“Understood.” Wild confirmed with a firm nod.

The game began. You kept your eyes trained on your son and remained still, your only motion the infrequent twirl of your lightsaber as you gave the boy the opportunity to make the first move. He was beginning to look more and more uncertain. Still, he took a step to the right-you took a step to the left. You took another step, he did as well and thus you both began to slowly circle each other. Wild shifted his grip, slipping into the opening stance for Form II and you mimicked him-your own legs taking on a wider stance as you brought your lightsaber slightly off to your side pointing up and held between both hands. Form IV, the form you’d adapted to survive. In your training you had always favored Form V, liking the way it offered both defense and offense, but after meeting Maul you’d started to favor IV. Wild, on the other hand, was a more defensive fighter (probably because he was younger) and he relied heavily on the basics and Form III. But he was nervous-he was vulnerable. And he wasn’t going to make the first move. Noble but potentially dangerous. You moved in.

You darted forward, lightsaber swinging for his left leg as it was the most exposed. Wild moved quickie and swung his blade down to block it and you fell back. Your son was too careful-too afraid of fighting to chase your strike. It was something you were working on-you’d forgone teaching him IV for now and opted to begin V for him to encourage the introduction of more offensive moves. It was a slow process.

Spotting another opening on his right, you moved in again. Wild reacted quicker this time and met the strike with enough time and force to push you back. Good. But that left him exposed to a kick to the ribs. You brought your leg up quickly and stopped just before you made contact. “Protect your vitals, Wild.” Was your simple instruction as you moved away before he could retaliate. You were moving quicker now, feinting to the right before swooping in for his left. And Wild was beginning to loosen up-reacting more sharply as he did so. But still, “Wild, loosen up. You’re far too tense for any effective combat.” You corrected with a well aimed poke with your index finger to his kidneys. It was an attack he would’ve been able to block had he spun in time. Wild whirled around to strike at you but you were too quick, already leaping over him to continue mock-striking his sides and other exposed vitals. Wild was growing frustrated. He spun on his heel faster than anything you'd seen from him this whole time and brought the blue lightsaber down. You met the strike. He moved to the right, you matched him. He moved his blade to the left, you twirled yours to meet the strike and pushed him back. A huff slipped from him as he recovered and came at you once more. You blocked it and quickly brought your leg up-attempting to “kick” him in the side again. He took one hand off of his blade to block the strike which was a critical mistake. You spun around swiftly and caught Wild’s blade once more and began to steadily force him to back up. Locked in a stalemate with you steadily placing more of your weight in the strike and Wild perpetually collapsing under it you made your next move carefully. You snapped up, removing your weight with a quick spin of your saber that had Wild’s wrist twisting back uncomfortably. He yelped and dropped the saber. You deactivated yours and stepped away while your son assessed his wrist. “Loosen your grip next time, it will help you maneuver the blade more fluidly which, in turn, will make a move like that much more difficult for your opponent to pull off.”

Wild muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch, eyes trained on the fallen lightsaber as if he could make it combust with his mind. “Would you like to try again?” There was no verbal response from the young boy. He, instead, bent down and scooped the weapon up again-inspecting it as though he had never seen it before. He was silent for a few more seconds.

“When can I get my own lightsaber?” He finally asked and met your e/c eyes with his saffron ones. “Yours is too light. It feels like I’m holding nothing.” Too light. You knew Wild didn’t like using your blue saber-while it was the heavier of the two you weilded it was still built to be lightweight like your green one-though it wasn’t a complaint he voiced often. You shifted, your stoic, teaching oriented facade falling away for a moment. Wild was proving to be more and more like Maul as time progressed-he favored brute strength and speed despite being a defensive fighter. With a deep breath in you steadied yourself, mind flitting to the location of the lightsaber you had intended to give him-it would have been perfect for your son despite only being half of his father’s original weapon. You had rebalanced it (your pet project you used to lessen the ache in your chest when Maul’s “death” was a fresh wound). You made sure that the energy dispersion was adequate but the blade still deadly. You’d cleaned it and sealed the bottom up to remove the jagged edge left from when Kenobi sliced your love’s weapon. You’d restored it. But the kyber crystal was removed: taken out to avoid potential injury of you or your son should it decide to malfunction and placed in a hidden compartment in the bottom of your green saber.

“I told you-once I finish teaching you Form V, we’ll try and sneak onto Illum or somewhere else to find you a kyber crystal.” You informed placidly, keeping your eyes on your son. You filed away the knowledge of Maul’s saber for now. Wild grumbled under his breath again and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you like to try again?” You asked once more. He didn’t answer verbally, merely slipped into the opening stance for V this time. With an acknowledging nod, you readied your own weapon.

Wild struck first this time: darting forward with as much speed as he could muster. Instead of blocking it, you fell back and doubled around to strike at his back. But Wild had learned and fell forward causing you to stumble which gave him time to whirl around. He brought his saber down towards your leg but you blocked it. Instead of backing off like you thought he would, your son continued to press his weight down. “Good, Wild, good.” You commended in as warm a tone you could muster. “But watch your back leg because…” you spun out of the lock and mimicked his earlier strike though you stopped before you made contact. “If I was a real enemy, that would be the first thing to go for.” Wild didn’t acknowledge the instruction. He, instead, launched right into another volley of strikes. “Your wrist, sweetpea, use your wrist instead of your whole arm-it’s faster, more maneuverable, and it doesn’t take as much energy per strike.” You corrected again. There was a muttered complaint under his breath but he did correct his grip. You took the chance to lob your own series of strikes against your son. His blocking was a little sloppy but he had improved since the last time you sparred.

You were getting bored though. Without warning, you raised a hand and used the force to pull your son off balance. He hit the durasteel with a loud thump, the lightsaber clattering on the floor next to him. Almost immediately, he slammed his hands down and sat up to regard you with the most scathing scowl he could. “That’s cheating!” Wild shrieked at you.

You tilted your head and shrugged. “Your opponent will do whatever they can to gain the advantage-you must be prepared.” You explained placidly whilst inspecting the hilt of your lightsaber. “Again.” Returning your attention to the half-zabrak, you slipped into your opening stance once more. The young boy sighed exasperatedly and snatched up his fallen weapon. Your son was starting to get frustrated which told you it was almost time to take a break. “Once more and then we’ll stop.” Nothing. “Fair?” A low sigh and the igniting of the blade once more was his reply. This time, you didn’t wait for him to strike. You surged forward, aiming a strike for Wild’s neck at as slow a pace as you could manage. Wild met it and flicked you away but you were quick on the uptake and resumed. Another strike towards his leg, towards his arm, and his hip-each one deflected and reciprocated. Wild was getting better at tapping into V, relying less and less on the purely defensive tactics he always relied on. But, he was getting tired; his strikes were getting sloppy. You weren’t faring much better. A headache had formed-the two epicenters either side your skull. It was strange. There was a bizarre climbing sensation that accompanied it-like two hands clawing up either temple. You were very grateful that you decided this would be the last round as a quick nap seemed to be in order.

Wild was still on the offensive, attacking with all the strength he had but he was slowing down quick. Again, you raised your hand and pushed him away using the force. The boy sighed low in his throat-the sound bordering on a growl. But, his attacks resumed all the same. You repeated your own actions. “Stop.” The growl was more coherent this time. You both repeated. “I said stop that!” Wild snapped again, diving forward. You furrowed your brows and fell back to avoid the strike entirely. You raised your hand once more and Wild froze mid step, held in place by an invisible grip.

“Wild, are you alright?” You asked, teacher facade fading entirely as you sheathed your saber and took a step towards him. “We can call it quits if you’d like-!”

“Will you stop that?” Wild yelled and in his anger, he managed to escape your grip. The boy recovered quickly while you were left floundering, trying desperately to understand what was happening. But you weren’t fast enough. Wild set his face in a scowl, his eyes flickering a strange color for just a moment, and raised both of his hands and your back collided with the opposite wall.

You didn’t know what had happened. One minute, you and Obi Wan were stuck behind ray shields, helplessly watching the ensuing fight between Master Qui-Gon and your love, your husband, Maul, and the next, you were curling over Master Qui-Gon’s body in a fruitless attempt to urge him to cling to life while Obi Wan went for Maul. You knew what Maul was. You knew what he could do. But to see him do it?

You were trembling, eyes not straying from the two figures locked in combat. You didn’t know what you were feeling but there was a lot of it that caused an anxious swirling cyclone to manifest in the pit of your stomach. One hand curled around your barely formed bump-was that really the father of your child? The one that could kill without thought? No. You told yourself. No, that is not my Maul. That...that is Darth Maul. There was a sudden squeeze of your hand that momentarily distracted you from the fear now slowly consuming you. Qui-Gon was still fighting.

“Master Qui-Gon!” You exclaimed quietly, returning your attention to the dying man. “Master Qui-Gon, speak to me, please.” You begged the Jedi. Almost painfully, his eyelids fluttered open.

“O-Obi Wan? Where...where is Obi Wan?” He wheezed and looked around as best he could.

Tears pricked your eyes as you opened your mouth to answer. “Fighting Maul, maste-” You were cut off-your body suddenly airborne. You flew away from the fallen Jedi’s side until your back collided rather harshly with a durasteel wall on the opposite side of Qui-Gon. Pain ricocheted up your spine at the sensation as your eyes immediately tried to take in your sudden shift in surroundings. Your gaze settled on Maul and Obi Wan, the former stood with his hand outstretched towards you and his lightsaber at his side. There was an unreadable expression on his face that was dominated by concern. Rightfully so, you should think, from having practically flung you across the room. Still, it was clear that he hadn’t meant to launch you into the wall-a minor comfort in contrast to the dawning understanding that you had been so foolish. You were a traitor to your people. You were in love with a Sith.

“Mom! Mom, please! I-I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to-to throw you. I was just, just angry and I don’t know what happened. Mom?” You were brought back to reality by the frantic shaking of your shoulders, the stinging in your lower back, and the throbbing of your head. Not to mention the downright terrified tremor in Wild’s voice. Your eyes flickered open. Panicked saffron met your unfocused e/c. “Mom!” Wild exclaimed and launched forward, arms wrapping around your neck.

“Sweetpea, what happened?” You kept your voice quiet as you returned your son’s panicked hug. It was a little awkward given your current seating against a box on the floor but you voiced no complaint.

The boy pulled back and your heart broke at the sight of tears gathering in his eyes. “I-I don’t know! I just...I just got really mad and-and I wanted to...I don’t even know what I wanted and I just was going to push you like you’d been doing but-but...I threw you and you weren’t waking up!” Wild explained in a shaky voice that you could barely understand, chest heaving with barely restrained distress.

Thinking quickly, you placed one hand on his shoulder and the other went to cup the side of his face. “Hey, look at me.” You commanded in a very soft voice and an imperceptible tug to focus your son on you. “I’m alright. I’m not hurt.” You continued slowly, trying to convey that you weren’t angry or even injured. Sure, your back stung from the impact and it appeared as though it had triggered an unwanted trip back to an unpleasant memory but you knew it wasn’t Wild’s fault. “You did not hurt me, Wild.” You reassured once more whilst maintaining eye contact with the young boy. He sniffled and blinked and the gathered tears finally fell. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetpea.” You continued, now carefully wiping the tears away. Wild now refused to meet your eye but you pressed on. “And I don’t blame you. Accidents happen-I can’t tell you how many times I accidentally shoved your father when we’d spar.” He looked up at that and you sent him a smile, happy to see the curious glint replacing his previous sadness.

“Really?” He questioned in a tiny voice. You smiled a little wider-you knew you were somewhat playing into his original trap but this felt like a tidbit you could spare to tell.

“Yeah, he was always trying to teach me how to be more aggressive-in regards to dueling, mind you-and...I may or may not have gotten carried away a few times.” A wistful look darted across your face. “If he were here, he’d be embarrassed about how many trees I launched him into.”

“Trees?” Wild was brightening up now.

“Oh yes, we had a special planet we’d meet on-one far out of the Jedi’s range where we could just...be us. For a little while anyways.” You sighed. Us. “It was a beautiful planet, Wild, with lush forests and countless caves filled with glittering jewels. And the most gorgeous waterfalls I’d ever seen.” You could see it now, the planet you hadn’t dared to return to. You’d gone everywhere else alone and with Wild but that damned planet. “We met in the same spot every time-in the clearing where we’d met and we’d go running off to explore...we’d find a lake to spar next to and…” a giggle escaped you at a vague memory of Maul’s first reaction to swimming, “and I’d teach him to swim sometimes too.”

Wild laughed with you, more so out of shock that reminiscence. “He didn’t know how to swim?”

You shook your head. “He was from here, Wild. Dathomir’s not known for its swimming holes.” You explained with a comical lift of your eyebrows at the boy. “Anyways, in exchange I guess he’d teach me how to fight like him. And that meant I had to learn how to channel my anger. That meant I accidentally threw him a couple of times. It’s something you’ll learn too and if I must, I will gladly be your test dummy.” Wild huffed a laugh through his nose and you patted his face, pleased to see him calming down. You fell quiet for a moment as you observed the little lift of Wild’s smile and the scrunch of his nose that always followed a laugh. It was your smile on Maul’s face. Wild had Maul’s eye color but your eye shape. Your nose but the slight scrunch Maul would do when he spoke or smiled. He really was the perfect combination of you both even if your attributes were subtler. Wild was determined, intelligent, and protective. He was thoughtful but action-oriented as well. Calculated but not heartless. “Force, you’re so much like him.” You finally broke, not even aware that the thought had escaped you.

“Like who?” Wild asked with a slight tilt of his head-an action no doubt learned from you. Curiosity seemed to radiate from him but also an underlying keenness that told you he knew exactly who you were referring too. Clever-another one to add to the growing list.

“Your father, Wild...I...I wish he’d gotten to know you.”

“Y/n…” Maul seethed, his voice ringing in your ears though it was barely above a whisper as he stalked closer to you. His lightsaber...or rather half of his lightsaber still grasped in his hand.

You were running towards him despite the short gap between you and crashing into his chest before you knew it. “I know, Maul, I know.” Your voice was choppy, form shaky, as you wrapped your trembling arms around his torso. His hand fell on your shoulder-not quite returning the sudden embrace but gripping hard enough to make it clear he had you. “I know I shouldn’t have come-I should’ve run away as soon as that damn door opened. I’m sorry.” The zabrak was silent as his lightsaber hummed close to your ear. You continued to press your face into his robes, not acknowledging the heat close to your head. Eventually, Maul took a deep breath and released it in a sigh as he sheathed his weapon. His arms wrapped around you-one on your waist while his other brought his hand to the back of your head.

Maul pressed his face to your hair and you could feel his lips move as he spoke. “It’s alright, my light. I know.” The sound of him so gentle and understanding nearly brought you to your knees. This was your Maul-not whoever he was mere minutes ago as he battled your fellow padawan...Obi Wan...you didn’t dare let your mind dwell on the fate of him.

You held each other for a moment more, the world around you slipping away, until you became overtly aware of how your stomach brushed against his. Your baby...you had to tell him now. You pulled back till you could look him in the eyes, saffron surrounded by a ring of vermillion meeting with your e/c. “Maul, I have to tell you something.”

“He...he would’ve loved you.” You were ashamed of the way your voice broke at the admission. He would have loved Wild-that much you were certain of-if he he had gotten the chance to know him. But would either have that opportunity now? If Mother Talzin was successful in restoring Maul, would he be the same? You knew that you’d changed over the years-you’d had to for both your son’s and your own survival-but what would Maul be like? Your husband or the Sith Lord?...You supposed your distinguishing between the two the last time you’d described his father had not been unprecedented. With a deep breath in to steady yourself, you returned your attention to your son. “He would have taught you so much more. I wish you could meet him, Wild.” But...I don’t know if the Maul you meet will be the one I fell in love with.

“Mom, you...you don’t have to talk about Dad if it’s too painful.” Wild’s barely audible voice brought your attention back to the present.

“No....” Your voice was firmer than you’d expected it to be which took both you and your son aback. “No,” you tried again in a softer tone, “you...you deserve to know everything.” With a nervous swallow you continued. “Whatever you want to ask...I will answer.” There was no going back now. If the Maul that returned wasn’t the Maul you had known then maybe you could give Wild a chance to know his father through you.

Wild gaped at you for a few seconds, your offer not quite computing. “...Are...you’re serious?” He asked skeptically with wide eyes. “Actually serious?” Your only reply was a nod as you let your hands fall to your sides and you shifted to sit on your knees. He was quiet for a moment longer as the gears turned in his head-most likely searching for the right first question. “Where did Dad die?”

You swallowed again to stifle the panic. “...he...he didn’t.” Wild’s eyes widened a little further as shock overtook his face. “I...lost him on Naboo.” You scrambled to elaborate as your son fell completely silent. You weren’t even sure if he was breathing. “I thought he died but...when Savage found us...he told me that he had been sent to find him. He wanted me to help locate your father. I told him that I watched him die on Naboo.”

“What was he doing on Naboo?” Wild finally spoke after another beat had passed.

“He was...helping enforce the blockade.” You knew you were being vague but Wild was going to draw his own conclusions soon.

“The blockade?” He emphasised, referring to the blockade you’d told him Darth Maul had overseen. “What...why?”

“His master had instructed him to.”

“His master? So...Darth...did Dad work with the Sith?”

He was getting closer, that was for sure. “...Yes.”

“Was...was Darth Maul his master?”

“...No.”

“Then...I don’t know what that means.” Wild admitted, retreating inwards to mull over the newly divulged information.

With another sigh, you closed your eyes in an internal debate of whether or not you provided him with what could possibly be the key clue your son needed. It was a short lived debate though. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” You began to recall the mantra Maul had often recited to you when teaching you how to channel your own anger. “Through passion, I gain strength.” Your eyes began to sting behind your eyelids as tears of your own began to form. “Through strength, I gain power.” There was a shift-not only in the cargo hold or between you and your son but it felt like a great power was being awoken all over the red bathed planet. “Through power, I gain victory.” It shifted again, growing stronger, angrier, darker. “Through victory, my chains are broken.” The chains...the chains are the easy part...it’s what goes on in here that’s hard. Those words-some of the first coherent thoughts to spill from Maul upon you and Savage finding him suddenly rang throughout your head. What went on in Maul’s head would certainly prove the most difficult part to understand, that you were certain of. It had taken you months to even get a read on his personality when you were young. It had taken months for him to accept his feelings for you and even longer for him to accept that you returned them. It had taken years for the two of you to decide that spending the rest of your lives together was the right course of action and months for the Force to grant you one physical piece of evidence to prove the validity of your relationship. The Force had given you Wild and the promise of a life with Maul...and almost all of it had been taken away in an instant. Your lives bound to the will of the Force by chains too thick to break. “The Force shall free me.” You opened your eyes and let your gaze fall on Wild. He was staring at you with a mixture of confusion and undeniable curiosity.

“What...what was that?” He asked in a tiny voice.

“The code of the Sith.” You answered immediately, the words falling freely from you now.

“Why do you know that…?”

“A Sith taught it to me.”

“Who?”

You blinked. He was so close to figuring it out. “I have only ever met one Sith, Wild.”

“...” He said nothing, his gaze moving away from you to gaze out of the cargo hold at the red bathed planet. Wild’s jaw was tense, his hands anxiously clenching into fists only to unclench a moment later, and his eyes frantically darted from side to side as though watching a battle before him. “What…,” he turned to you, “was Dad’s name?”

Finally. You closed your eyes once more to prepare yourself for whatever was about to come. You only spoke once you opened your eyes. “Mau-” A searing pain tore through your abdomen, cutting you off in an instant. Screams clawed from your throat at the sudden sensation that felt not unlike a heated knife being stuck into the flesh above your hips and around your torso. You fell to your side, hands snaking around your lower stomach.

“What is it, Y/n?” Maul questioned, picking up on the urgent tone in your voice immediately. His hands retracted from around you to take a firm hold on your forearms.

Unable to fight the smile that clawed itself over your face, you turned your hands over to also grasp his arms, anchoring both of you in that moment. “Maul, my love, I’m-” He stiffened, eyes locking on something above your head. With a harsh shove he sent you to the floor as his hand shot for his lightsaber.

It happened in a blur-a flash of green, a choked breath, and the worst pain you’d ever felt tearing its way across your lower abdomen. It was the worst moment of your life-your love and your connection to him being severed in one fell swoop from Obi Wan Kenobi. You didn’t know if you screamed or cried. You didn’t know if you did anything else besides watch as Maul fell away, lost to some unimportant reactor shaft on Naboo. A death so unbefitting a man of such power it almost felt poetic. Unjustly poetic. Was this some form of punishment? You knew you grabbed his lightsaber, clinging to it as you prayed for death to take you as well. If the Force should decree for you to suffer a fate worse than death than it would lose you to it as well.

But you were stopped. Two hands pulled you away, you were led back to the council to await a different fate unknown to you. The last touch of your love seared into your skin as was the pain of his fatal wound.

You opened your eyes, vaguely aware of the mutterings falling from you and the cold press on your forehead. There was a firm grip on your hand and a warm weight pressed into your side. “Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.” Your voice mixed with another’s graced your ears-the mantra of the Sith being repeated over and over as the pain in your abdomen began to fade till none remained. You sat up and immediately wrapped Wild in a hug. His muttering stopped to be replaced by yours. “Wild, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You kept repeating it as your son clung to you.

“What happened?” He gasped out, grip like iron as he latched onto your arms.

“Maul.” You brought him up to eye level. “Maul’s back.” You exclaimed, already able to feel the familiar turbulent presence of your husband. “He’s back.” You began to struggle to your feet, shaky and weak as they may be.

“Mom, calm down-you’re injured.” Wild tried to drag you back down but you pulled your hand away from him.

“No, I’m not. I’m fine. Wild, we need to go. Please. He’s back.” You tried, already doing your best to march out of the cargo hold.

“Mom, hold on. What are you talking about?”

“Maul. I told you. Come on!” You were insistent, being pulled out of the ship by that commanding presence.

“Not until you tell me what my dad’s name was!” You stopped short, realization dawning on you.

Before anything could be said, a clinking sound echoed in from outside the ship causing you both to freeze. Wild immediately dropped into a defensive position, calling your blue lightsaber to him. You closed your eyes again, trying to sense what was going on. Maul’s presence was overwhelming-it crashed into you like a wall of water freshly freed from a dam. His signature was one so powerful and tumultuous that you had had little else to liken it to over the years. Where your connection with Wild was quieter and warm, the one to Maul was fiery and deceptively silent, threatening to burn you if you held onto it for too long. Force, you’d missed it. You stepped forward, eyes flying open as you did so and focused on your own presence-trying to amplify it for Maul. You had to know if he was the same man. The clinking stopped. His signature changed-a blinding glow forming to accompany the wrathful haze that always surrounded him. The clinking resumed, faster now as Maul grew closer to the ship.

You broke out in a run, darting out of the ship before Wild’s startled cry could meet your ears and rounding around the wing of it. You stopped the same time the clinking did as before you stood a red zabrak, standing a little warily on his robotic legs, whose head was crowned with ivory horns and whose eyes burned with light brighter than any star. “Maul…” You breathed out.

He straightened up, confused scowl falling away, as he spoke with a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. “My light…”

…………………………………………………..

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the-coffee-story · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 17 - Professor Tally Winchester

Winchester Hall was a beautiful, dark Victorian mansion á lá Addams Family that rested proudly upon the tallest hill around. The windows, grey with age and dust were tall and skinny and a rusted iron gate, with weathered carvings now indistinguishable rested half swallowed by dirt and uncut blades of long dry grass. The whole thing blended rather well with the crawling forest behind it.

The team was waiting by the gate, curious and giddy with half-numbed nervousness.

"Well, now I'm definitely interested," Walther commented, peeking through the towering, rusted gate. "This looks like it's haunted by at least three ghosts who died a horrible death. They never found the heads."

October laughed.

"Seriously October, imagine the Addams Family's mansion, now scale it down a little."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't wait for Morticia to pop out."

"Well, Morticia was definitely not on the phone," Violet noted.

Suddenly, the carved, dark-oak door that rested comfortably in the centre of the home's front opened, and a young man peeked out, adjusting his glasses as he took a moment to assess the situation. After a few moments passed, he noticed the team waiting by the gate, waved to wordlessly grab their attention, and quickly scuttled over.

Tally Winchester was a medium-heighted, slender and bald individual with large, wildly blue eyes behind thick glasses and a countless amount of scattered silver piercings dotted in and around his earlobe. Despite the fact that it was it had just dawned early spring, his skin was sunburnt and tanned, as if he spent most of his days somewhere lost outside. He walked with a noticable limp, and Walther didn't need to wait long for an explanation, when a prosthetic briefly appeared between his worn brown converse sneakers and faded jeans.

"Hi!" He flashed a toothy smiled at the group and opened the gate. "Great to see you, I'm Professor Tally Winchester!" He shook everyone's hands as they trickled past. The sleeves of his petrol flannel were rolled up, revealing a rather out-of-place, faded tattoo of a crawling lizard and a bunch of old scars. "You can call me Tally though."

Violet held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Violet, we talked on the phone."

"Great to meet you all!" He grinned. "Are you coming inside?"

***

"Before anyone asks, I inherited the house," Tally explained while leading them upstairs. "It's rotten and I hate it and the bills are a naked horror but I doubt I can find anything that has more capacities for a library." He opened a door. "Intrate, everyone."

"Remarkable," Doc commented.

Remarkable was indeed an understatemt. The room they'd entered was a library- with a beautiful brick fireplace and huge windows that let in the sparse afternoon sun, bookshelves brushed against the webbed ceiling and sunk into every wall. The floor was carpeted, through incredibly uncomfortable to walk on, and the furniture antique. One wall was plastered with photographs and notes.

"Nice," Walther mumbled, taking the second to once again soak in their surroundings.

Tally grinned, idly brushing aside pages and old notes compromised of incomprehensible scribbles and drawings. His teeth were somewhat crooked. "I didn't replace any of the furniture, but I did sell a chunk of the old books. There was just no space for mine." He closed the door behind them. "So anyway, you wanted to know about the cult?"

"There's been a bunch of murders in Forest Lane that were eerily similar to what it did, so yeah." Thasfield shrugged his broad shoulders. "We suspect the cult might be involved."

"Oh, I heard about that on the news!" Tally sorted the files on the table until he found what he was looking for. Then he looked up. His face was serious now. "At this point I'd like to admit I have a slightly selfish motivation in this."

"What is it?", Violet asked.

"You see..." Tally leaned against the table. "For context, I'm a history professor, but my focus is on cryptids and modern legends. Historical context, potential explanations, yada yada. A few years ago I stumbled across the legend of the Forest God."

Walther's face lit up. "Oh, I remember that story, my parents used to tell it to me when I was a kid! This one guy got lost in the woods, was found dead and after his funeral his reanimated corpse came home and his wife who loved him very, very much-" They side-eyed Violet and Coffee, who in turn glared back. "-couldn't accept that maybe it's not exactly normal that your husband's corpse is vibing around, then after a while he started killing people, then he killed her and then the neighbours buried him in an iron casket in the woods so he would stop randomly murdering people. Right?"

"You summed it up." Tally nodded.

"But who believes in that?!" Violet frowned. "I mean... it's just a legend, right? Somebody finally snapped, had a rough week or something, and people straight up believe his bullshit?"

"He came back from the dead and started murdering people, Violet," Doc commented.

She shrugged dismissively. "We've all been there."

"I don't want to meet you after a bad week," Tally remarked with mild discomfort, absentmindedly flipping through pages of notes and nonsense. "The existence of the man who allegedly became the Forest God is proven. His name was Eustace Wyndham and if you ask me he had rabies and some things were added for drama. But that's not even relevant, because the cult came almost a hundred years later." He slid around the table and opened another scattered file. "1969 they started to worship the Forest God. At first it was nothing special, you know, just the average college student nonsense." He held up an old photograph, subtle wonder in his eyes as he stared into it, before handing it to Walther. "Here, you can take a look at this! That's the entire cult. The guy in purple with the long hair is one of the founders. The other founder left in 1970 after getting a bad feeling about the whole thing. I caught him for an interview five years ago. Lovely guy, sadly died of cancer shortly after. It's a shame. You can pass the photo around! Notice how they're all wearing cow parsley wreaths. That was the flower associated with the Forest God and the flower scattered all over their murder victim's body, or rather what was left of it."

"All the victims had cow parsley in their mouth," Doc realized, dragging a hand up to rest in his soft ginger curls, staring blankly into the distance, thinking.

Tally nodded hastily. "Exactly! And now please look at what I found on my windowsill this morning!"

He limped over to the tallboy, half relying on the nearby furniture for support. Leaning down and throwing open a drawer, after a short while of sifting through papers and photographs, he took out something else. Then he held it up.

It was a wreath of cow parsley.

"That's....not good," Walther murmured after a long moment of stunned silence.

Tally nodded, twirling the flowers between his thumb and forefinger. "You get it. You know..." He leaned heavily against a dusty, worn table and heaved a small sigh. "When Wilhelm called me at first I was very sceptical of it all. I'm not a group project person, if you know what I mean. But this is just the tip of the ice berg and I have a feeling that I might be next, so I decided to work with you." He shrugged his shoulders.

While he'd been talking, Coffee had been furiously typing. He handed Tally his phone and Tally read it out loud.

" 'How about we use you as a bait?' Um... Can you...can you please explain what exactly you mean? That doesn't sound particularly safe-!"

He handed Coffee's phone back to him, paranoid he might accidentally drop it, and the detective started typing an answer, this time with significantly more determination.

Hear me out. So my idea was basically that tonight we let the killer come, but were going to be prepared. In other words, we gather a big group that's going to protect you, and we're going to arrest the murderer once he's here. What do you think?

Tally hesitated for a short moment and chewed his lip, opening his mouth to reply, then closing it again.. "I mean... I guess you have a point, sooner or later he's going to get me either way."

"I mean, let's be real, you can't run forever," Thasfield said, leaning forwards. "Even if you move, it's still going to take a while, and judging by what we know you're being pretty actively stalked, so it's quite possible he'll just follow you and then you'll be killed by a Forest God in a hotel room in Central Graytown. Which probably makes for an interesting plotline in a noir film, but we're talking real life here and I highly doubt you're so keen on landing in the morgue anytime soon. Although the Doctor is an expert at autopsies."

Doc smirked.

".........yeah," Tally admitted. He sat down on the table and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that sounds...icky but realistic." He closed his eyes took a deep breath. "Alright. Who's gonna be on this team?"

Doc's phone's rang loudly to shake up their newfound confidence, and he excused himself, stepping back into the dusty hallway to take the call.

"I mean, most of us for starters," Violet said. "But I was also thinking of grabbing Gary Fox and Wilhelm. Strength in number, you know?"

Doc eventually came back to the group. His weathered face was stricken with subtle anxiety. "Bad news."

"What is it?", Walther asked.

"Alice found her mailman by the stables."

Walther frowned. "Okay, and what's so special about that?"

"His left arm was by the stables. The rest of him was scattered across the field."

"Dear God, is he okay?"

"He's okay, but he's dead." Doc turned to Tally, lowering his voice just enough. "Can we settle on tonight?"

Tally nodded. His sunburnt face had notably paled, turning his skin a somewhat pasty yellow. "Sure. What time are y'all coming?"

"Is five o'clock alright with you?"

Tally shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

#reviews are welcome ;)#remember to listen to the song #the coffee story #rise of the forest god

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: demon!minghao x reader ⚬ word count: 3478 ⚬ warnings: blood, bodily injuries, death ⚬ genres: god i don’t even know... angst, unrealized pining and romance, weird tension, reader is just as evil as minghao?

✧✎ synopsis: three-hundred years have passed, and the second son has awoken from his slumber, waiting for a new soul to devour.

✧✎ a/n: this au was many things, and in finality, it morphed into this. usually i have a lot to say in my author’s note but today i bring you nothing! enjoy!

Three-hundred years had passed, and you knew due to the bell tower.

Its reverberations shuddered throughout the town, permeated the density of the smoke curtain which had swallowed the sky for centuries, and vibrated the very oxygen that fluttered in your lungs. It was a calling to check your mailbox, for reaching inside unveiled a folded note. At first, you glanced to your neighbour across the street, to the elderly man who lived on your right, and finally to the pig-tailed girl who’d just celebrated her fifteenth birthday on your left.

Yet they had retrieved nothing from their mailboxes exempt from a soft-spoken prayer, a testament to their gratitude that their lives had been spared. But you—you were the unholy meal.

With a sharp arrowhead of stone pressed to the skin between your shoulder blades, you were forced into the cavernous opening based midway along the mountain. It fed deep into the earth’s heart, and as a watchman pierced the spear’s tip further into your flesh, you began the cold, damp descent that would lead you to a deserved death, a death that could no longer be prevaricated.

After a painful stumbling over jagged flints and pieces of crystal, you emerged into the Blood Room, where three other contenders from the town were already aligned. There was not one look exchanged between either meal; however, you did recognize a specific helix piercing and the russet locks of Joshua, who you recently spotted dragging a body down to the ravine where the forest waterfall bubbled. Still, despite Joshua’s inept piousness, you knew he was not a meal worth being served.

A watchman approached you with a pocketknife. Splaying out your fingers, you observed calmly as he created a small incision against a distinct line travelling the length of your palm. As the dark, crimson fluid leaked from the wound, it was then collected in a glass dropper. Each watchman approached a scroll which hung from the stone. A drop of Joshua’s blood was tested first. It rolled about halfway down the sallow paper, which was impressive to say the least, indicative of even the boy’s worst transgressions.

The next possible meal had their sample beaded onto the scroll, though it had soaked up rather quickly, even before Joshua’s, and you knew their sins were pitiful and their soul was much too pentant. Similarly, the blood of the other meal drew short. You couldn’t help but think the contenders were quite pathetic.

At last the glass dropper containing your blood was being set against the paper. A slight squeeze, and the liquid bulb started its trickling. It streamed down boldly, leaving in its wake a luminous red tint that outshined even Joshua’s viscid plasma. You watched the bulb surpass one meal, then glide past the second meal, and just as you anticipated, the droplet rolled to the very end of the scroll. In fact, it began dripping onto the dust of the icy floor.

“The test concludes.” A watchman rumbled, his voice bouncing against the rock. His spear pointed toward you criminally. “Your blood runs the thickest and your heart beats the slowest. You are the unholy meal. The second son has awoken from this three-hundred-year slumber, and it is your soul he will devour so that he may be appeased and tire.”

You fought to keep an emotionless, flat face.

“Feed him well, for the weight of your blood carries more sin than purity.”

Briskly, the latter three contenders were swept away.

Joshua may have thrown his first corpse into the waterfall and watched it gush like a leaf down the black ravine, but his single body could not compare to the hundred that you’d left to float for years.

The bare bottoms of your feet were engrained with shallow cuts and stained by the powder to the numbing stone. You had not eaten or drank for over forty-eight hours, and your strength, which could often be as robust as great titanium, had seemingly dwindled to an emaciated, dried flower.

From the tales your mother relayed amongst your youth, you knew it was important to not make a face in the presence of the second son. Unlike his older brother, Jun, who would only be appeased by a meal who smiled and flaunted their guilt, Minghao chiefly adored a meal who showed no more emotion than the limestone tumbled along the mountainside. It was best to please the Demon Sons before they untied your soul from its fleshy bindings and swallowed it whole.

Or else in their next awakening, they might demand a meal of the entire village.

Minghao gestured to the garnet-coloured mat which had been lain across his bedroom floor. There were bowls of flavourful rice, steaming, clay pots filled with different soups, plates warmed by sliced bread and tin cups almost overflowing due to the plentiful wine inside.

“Hungry?” He asked, to which his soft, wispy voice was rather surprising.

Your countenance remained blank, unmoving, apart from your mouth. “Yes, I am starved.”

“Sit,” the second son invited, “I want you to be satiated and full, until you feel sleepy.”

Heeding his order, you sat cross-legged on the side of the mat opposite to the demon. His robe, embroidered with ruby lace, rippled behind his feet when he walked, and the collar’s diamond shape revealed underworldly markings which drew attention to the pale expanse of his chest. Even through the material cloaking his arms, you could faintly decipher the kohled tattoos. You had even recognized the familiar symbols chiselled into the walls during your trek to the demon’s chamber. When Minghao took his seat, he grabbed one of the black horns curling from his hair and dug his thumb into the pointed end.

“They are becoming weak,” he admitted, “I’m sure my brother’s wings are close to shattering from his broad shoulders. I’m sure the nerves are peeling and laughably brittle.” Minghao reached for a bowl, using wood chopsticks to fish the orange, tangy rice into his mouth. “You know, as first born, he is granted those wings. It’s his rite.” He lowered the bowl, a faded grin crossing his lips. “I remember, he used to embellish them with the bones of his meals, hanging their cervicals and metacarpals and pieces of their skull across each wing like a charm bracelet. But myself? It is not my meals’ bones that I save.” He shook his head, picking up another sticky rice ball.

Suddenly, the demon paused. “Are you not going to eat?”

It was difficult to speak when the interior of your mouth felt coated with chalk. Inclined by fear rather than your hunger, you reached for a bread loaf, then broke its golden crust in half, listening to the satisfactory crackle.

“I was absorbed by your pretty voice,” you spoke with not a single intonation, “forgive me.”

As you tore a piece from the warm inside and poked it into your cheek, the pottery bowl which he held broke into pieces due to the crushing grip of his hand, orange rice and clay shards spilling onto the mat. You had visibly flinched. The demon’s body trembled as he inhaled a slow, subdue breath.

“Dearest, if you ask me to lend my forgiveness, I will pierce a stake through your beating heart and pull it out onto my plate.” His teeth were claws in his mouth as he growled. “Do you understand?”

You hid your quivering, bottom lip by bringing a tin cup to your face, the slick formula of the wine flowing down your throat. It was thicker than the wine you drank at home, and there was a copper-like aftertaste that almost rendered your expression to pucker, but you remembered to keep staid.

“I understand.”

The void, starless nature to his gaze disappeared. Instead, his eyes returned to their settled oak. Allowing more wine to soak against your tongue, there was a distant familiarity to its unique flavour.

“Are there things you regret?” Minghao retrieved you from musing, and spooned some rosemary soup into his mouth.

Once more, you took another sip, swished the alcohol between your cheeks, and swallowed. The demon observed you with an intent eye. Something flashed against your memory. It was a pale face drained of its pink and lively colour. In fact, it was your husband’s face, Soonyoung’s face, right before you tipped his body over the ravine’s misty edge and into the gurgling chasm below.

He had been your last murder.

“I regret…” You began, lowering the wine, “I-I regret…”

A stutter. An emotion. An inkling of your distress.

Minghao’s grasp around the soup pot tightened and the tattoos needled into his flesh seemed to slither as though they’d been disturbed. Your mind grew stifled with obnoxious imagery. It was too much, all at once, and this dizziness spun at the centre of your cranium like a comet in orbit.

You leaned further over the wine, staring blurry at the liquid.

“I regret… I r-regret…”

Then it came to you, the underlying taste of the wine. So familiar because you should have known it better than anyone, especially considering your habitual dirty work, how often that fluid caked under your fingernails and spattered your clothing. No, it was definitely not the bones Minghao kept.

A moment later and you fainted onto the mat.

You awoke to a damp coolness folded against your forehead, and to Minghao who sat at the edge of his bed, where he had rested for three-hundred years. He removed the cloth and began dabbing it along each arch of your cheek, cleaned your jaw’s long edge, and at last wet your lips until they gleamed. Expelling a subtle breath, you kept your face as blank as possible.

“How do you feel?” He set away the cloth in order to sweep his sleight fingers down your temple.

“I’m well,” sounded your meek voice, “you have taken care of me.”

In between the black fringe that feathered the demon’s lashes, you met his eyes. Minghao’s hand slid to your throat, where his palm pressed flat against its column and his fingers curled taut with the sensation of hot steel.

He felt you gulp.

“I implore that you bathe. Rid yourself of this fabric which has been stained by wine and broth. I will leave you undergarments and a robe.” He leaned in closer to your face, and you couldn’t help but glance at his jagged teeth when he said so adoringly, “my wish is to paint you. I would like clean flesh.”

Clad in nothing but the undergarments, Minghao stood before your body, holding a wooden bowl. The inside was smeared with a rustic-coloured substance that almost bore the same consistency as honey. His chosen brush had fanned bristles, and when he stroked their wetness along your skin, it was a smooth, somewhat ticklish feeling. You found yourself enjoying it. Specifically the longer strokes, ones that began at the top of your shoulder and licked across the soft underbelly of your arm, only to gently flit away at the brittle bones in your wrist.

He decorated you in content.

As the boy lowered to his knees and illustrated unintelligible runes against your inner thigh, he was focused, sharp. Another dip into the wooden bowl, and Minghao moved to paint your other thigh. You examined the horns pushing between his hair. Without thought, you stroked your hand against one, feeling the small grooves that created every divot. The demon never stirred, but continued to paint down your leg, and you wondered if he truly hadn’t noticed your touch or perhaps quite liked the way you caressed him.

Despite the fact you were merely prey being toyed with until dinner time, when you looked at the demon who touched your skin and treated you with such reverence, you felt this unbeknownst tenderness in your heart.

As Minghao instructed you to raise a foot, he immediately stiffened.

“What is it?” You questioned flatly.

He set the bowl and brush down.

“Dearest, the soles of your feet are cut and raw. It appears worse than usual.”

You wobbled slightly, almost losing your balance. “I was shown no kindness on my journey to meet with you. Because I am your meal, I can ignore the stinging.”

“No,” Minghao shook his head and rose up, “I will wrap your feet in precious calendula leaves. The paint will dry quickly, then you can sit.”

“If I may ask one thing,” you remarked, fiddling with the sleeves of your robe, “how painful is it to have your soul devoured?”

Minghao plucked the last few calendula leaves from their flowers. The petals were rather striking, the aurora of a setting sun as you mother always described. It had been a longtime wish to see the sun one day, though considering your fate, such a dream must remain only that. The leaves swathed each foot with the help of a clear, sticky gel.

“Very painful.” The demon responded. He shifted next to you on the bed, then grabbed one of the orange flowers. “This is why we sleep so far beneath the crust, so the people do not hear the meal’s delicious screams.” He grasped your hand which had suffered a slit from the watchman’s pocketknife, and he began to rub a flower bud across the wound.

“Do you remember your last meal?” You asked, staring at Minghao rather than the skin’s miraculous healing.

The demon looked straight into your eyes as he grinned. “I do remember,” he sounded wistful, “it had been three meals, since the man I consumed in an even further past had greatly upset me.” Minghao dropped the flower, slowly interlaced his fingers with yours, squeezing.

“I had treated him well. I cleaned his cuts, I allowed him to bathe, I offered him my finest silk, and then, when we ate, I asked him what he regretted.” His hand became colder than ice. Minghao’s eyes started to widen, illuminate with a shiny madness, and when he leaned in closer your every facial muscle was begging to twitch. “He cried to me. Can you believe it? I had never been so upset. It caused me to fill with rage. He wept for forgiveness, absolution, a relief from his pain. Who am I, but a being who takes pain like a supplement? In that moment, I leapt across the dinner table and devoured him. His soul tasted like salt and alloy. I could not eat his heart, which was given to my brother. He will always eat the heart, because it so plumped full of your terrible emotion.”

The demon’s hand fit to the side of your neck, his thumb stroking along a particular vein where your pulse was thundering. “Well,” he sighed, “not your terrible emotion, but most peoples.”

In that moment, you took your deepest breath, and did not respond until you were certain that not one note of your voice would tremble. “I understand.” You placed your hand overtop the demon’s as it continued to cradle your neck, “did you paint this man too?”

“No,” Minghao shook his head, “I use my paints sparingly.”

With a soft fingertip, he began to trace a thin line he had brushed. It started at your jaw, then fell down the length of your warm neck. It dragged across your collarbone and in between your chest. Over the ribs, to your stern hip. The fingertip circled sweetly against your inner thigh a few times, and at last glided to your knee where the demon’s touch drifted away like a summer breeze.

“You are the most beautiful meal I have ever seen,” Minghao murmured, holding your gaze which threatened to water, “I was delighted to accent a body like yours, so gorgeous and strengthened by sin.”

Since your arrival at the demon’s bedroom, you knew it was vital to preserve a blank face, and yet, it came to a point where you could not restrict the whims of your emotion. A tear bled from your eye, your bottom lip started to quiver, and your brow pinched together in a wrinkle. There was fear to your gradual outbreak, but it was an infinitesimal fraction compared to your gratitude, that the second son could somehow honour you more than your own unfaithful husband, who’d been your last body discarded into the ravine.

In reality, how different were you to this demon? Year after year, the suppleness of your heart became hardened with immorality, pummelled of its empathy and completely wrung from compassion like a soaked, heavy towel. A common routine: dragging a corpse through the wildlife, your lips pursed and whistling the tune you’d overhear the pig-tailed girl humming on her front lawn. Dump the body. Return home. Peel an apple, bake a pie, and feed a slice to your next victim, watching the froth dribble from their lips as you sipped your drink and folded a leg over your thigh. But that was life under the cinder sky. It’s what kept people mad, what kept the demons fed. Either flee or have the light of your being rubbed into another dark ash.

The demon immediately turned rigid.

His spine bristled straight and the tattoos started to crawl beneath his robe, rustling like serpents who navigated the tall grass. You figured your death would be the most painful, since you had not only broken at the last minute, but soiled the significance to Minghao’s paints, casted the illusion that you were not appreciative of his gestures. In a snapping wrench, he practically tore you from the velvet blanket, dragging you to a door in his bedroom.

When it was opened, a frigid wind dusted at your face, and a slender corridor was revealed, stretching so far that it led into complete blackness. With a hand against your lower back, Minghao shoved you into the tunnel.

“Go,” he demanded, his words echoing off the stone, “go and do not turn back.”

Your voice was breathy, confused, “I don’t understand. I-I—”

“It leads to an opening at the opposite side of the mountain. You will leave, and you will never-” he gripped your chin, and his gaze intruded even the most clandestine pockets to your soul, “ever return to this town. Escape these cinder skies. I will not repeat myself.”

Before you could make sense of anything, before the door could be slammed in your face, your solace left to the rock and damp air, you slipped a hand around the demon’s neck and kissed him. His mouth was just as soft as his voice, and when he angled his head to better taste the tears that stained your lips, you felt it would be impossible to make this journey alone. The silk of his tongue brushed inside your mouth, causing your knees to tremble, therefore you gripped weakly at the demon’s hair. His sharp teeth pricked your bottom lip and it welted ever so slightly with blood.

“Come with me,” you begged, pressing your forehead to his, “please, do not go back to sleep.”

But Minghao merely giggled, and the fact that such an innocent sound could leave the chest of a demonic entity had disoriented you.

“What creature are you?” Minghao hummed, “that I can see your emotion and only want to hold you closer? Maybe it is because you are the first meal to bare no regret. You know your flesh is stitched by the sin of your own hand. Even your sweet tears. Oh! My brother would adore you! Though he would’ve devoured you by now no doubt.” He gave a gentle shove, removing you from his body.

“Will you please come find me?” You entreated.

Time was of the essence. The tenebrosity seemed to have a curl on your ligaments, tugging you backward into the tunnel.

Minghao smiled, his hand reaching out to wipe the blood from your sore lip.

“Dearest, I will come find your dark soul anywhere,” sounded his honest purr, “but I suggest you travel hastily. If I leave, I must first wake my brother, and the rage of a demon whose slumber has been interrupted... It cannot be compared to anything. I’m afraid you’ll faint again.”

Trusting that Minghao would seek you out, you began the journey down the tunnel, your hand swiping against the stone and your feet taking calculated steps. Amongst the black air, there was no concept of time. Seconds, minutes, hours, they felt ineffectual in a place where not even your own fingers or toes could be seen. Eventually, you came to a light that burned against your eyes, and emerged at the opposite side of the mountain, like Minghao promised. And as you padded into the jade forest, you felt one final vibration shake the pine needles scattered across the earth, heard some boulders from the mountainside crumble down in swirling, dry dust clouds.

Shuddering, you knew it had been the abhorrent cry of the first born son. And for once your compulsion to escape the grey skies was a real desire.

✧✎ a/n: yes.................... :) thinking that i could also make an au for jun in this universe? i will have to do some Major Thinking. i still have nothing to say! like i don’t know where this au crawled out of, but it’s Here now. it’s pretty morbid n freaky sfeheff but nonetheless i hope you liked it and as always i luv hearing ur guys TH0TS.

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen minghao #minghao scenarios #xu minghao #minghao angst #minghao fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #minghao fanfic

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missmonsters2 · 4 years

Text

About You || Part X

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Man...we finished this emotional series. I’m feeling empty ngl LOL follow me along for my next fic. It will be a 3 part Natasha x fem!reader story ;)

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII || PART IX

PART X of X

Count: 1352

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You hadn't planned to ever meet Wanda.

When you had come back from Europe because of Pietro's death, you couldn't even breathe.

You blamed her, you knew you shouldn't. It was an accident, a freak accident.

But it didn't stop the pain that Pietro was no longer alive.

You attended the funeral, in the far back to avoid attention. You saw Wanda there. You could see traces of the girl who saved you in university, but she was thinner and lifeless.

She wasn't even crying, and you hated her.

Even as all the people slowly began to leave the funeral, Wanda stayed until she was the last person there. She didn't even notice you standing in the background.

You don't know how long you stood there watching her. Hours, maybe.

But then Wanda came closer to the gravestone, dropped to her knees and wailed as she clutched Pietro's picture.

Wanda cried and cried, and you found yourself crying in the distance too.

And even with the negative feelings still, underneath the surface, all you could remember was that Pietro loved her. Wanda was the most important person in his life.

Pietro would repeatedly tell you that Wanda was special.

So the person that Pietro cherished the most was hurting, just like you.

And so, you spent days around the bridge Pietro told you about until one day you saw her there.

She was giving up, and you never thought you'd meet her in this way.

But it was a chance for you to see what Wanda was like, to try to understand Pietro.

And as you spent your days around Wanda, you were beginning to find out that she was indeed special and meant for you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"I still miss you, you know. Things may never be the same without you, but I'm not lonely or alone anymore. Because of you, I have someone to love and love me. I'll never be able to thank you enough, but I hope you can see me from where you are."

"You ready?"

Wanda looked up to see Natasha standing behind her, smiling. The day is beautiful, the sun is shining, and there's not a cloud in sight.

There's a warm breeze that passes through, and Wanda can't help but believe it's a sign from Pietro. She gets up from kneeling at his gravestone.

Today is an important day, and because Pietro cannot come, she will visit him to share the news.

"Yeah," Wanda smiles.

"Alright, let's get you married then," Natasha smiles, grabbing her friend to get back to the car.

A year has passed. Some may say Wanda is crazy to ask you to marry her only a year in, but when you know someone is meant for you, nothing ever feels fast enough.

A year filled with blissful moments, small arguments, and plentiful of making up.

Wanda doesn't want you to wait any longer, the two of you have waited long enough.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The ceremony is small, just close friends only.

The vows you made to each other make the two of you cry.

Wanda slips the custom-made ring around your finger.

The tattoo of the string never came to be as Wanda decided she liked drawing it on every day. But they've traded in the paint for rings, as Wanda got a red squabbly line engraved in the inside of their rings.

Flower petals are being thrown as the two of you kiss.

"Forever isn't even half the time I want to spend with you," you whisper against her lips.

"Forever only exists for me if it's you," Wanda whispers in return.

There are loud cheers from your friends, confetti, and petals being thrown in the air.

Wanda can't help but think it's such a beautiful day, that life is so beautiful with you.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Are you ready for our honeymoon?"

Wanda sleepily grins as she pulls you closer in bed.

"You mean our honeymoon that our friends will be attending too?"

You laugh, "Yes, but you know we'll still get plenty of alone time."

You slowly bite your lip, an action you know drives Wanda crazy.

Her hand slips under your shirt, fingers pressed against the skin between your shoulder blade as she drags her nails down lightly, enjoying your shiver.

BANG BANG

"WANDA, WE'RE HERE. STOP MAKING LOVE AND OPEN THE DOOR SO WE CAN ALL GO THE AIRPORT!"

It was Clint's muffled voice through the door that had you laughing and Wanda rolling her eyes.

She ignored it.

"Shouldn't we go get that? We don't want to be late to the airport," You remind her.

"I already checked us in, we've got some time. Clint can wait. Again."

"Did you ever decide what it is you want from me?"

Wanda pulls you back over her, cupping your jaw as she steals kisses that rightfully belong to her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"She's out of control, Nat!" Clint petulantly says as he glares at Wanda.

Wanda just looks outside the plane window from her aisle seat as if she has no idea what Clint is talking about.

"I was going to joke about the mile high club, but it looks like you already wore her out," Natasha jokes as she sees you sleeping soundly on Wanda's shoulder.

Wanda merely licks her lips in response.

Natasha looks at you and spots some writing on your arm.

She reads it, her heart softening as she looks at Wanda.

"Do you write messages on her arm every day?"

Wanda's ears flush red, but she nods.

Natasha sighs with a smile.

"No wonder the two of you fuck so much."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When you wake up groggily, you notice the writing on your arm right away.

Wanda must've written it when you fell asleep on the plane.

Все, что вы готовы дать

You smile at her, pulling her in for a kiss.

"God, it means everything you're willing to give. Stop leaning over me, Clint!" Natasha elbow's Clint back into his seat.

Clint coos while Wanda flushes, and you smile.

The flight is entirely too long, and checking into the hotel takes even longer.

Steve tells them to get some rest for activities later tonight, and Wanda is already excited at the prospect of locking you in your shared hotel room and participate in activities that do not include sleeping.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Do you need anything?" You ask, a little exhausted from all the lovemaking. There's still a good two hours before you have to meet up with the group again.

"Hold my hand."

You laugh, lacing your fingers around her, "I meant anything else other than me."

Wanda sleepily curls up on your shoulder, smiling as she kisses the bare skin there.

"I can't think of anything when you're around," the words vibrate against your skin, and your heart flutters.

"You seem to blame me for a lot of things," you tease.

Wanda nods, "I blame you for my happiness too."

"Wanda, I really don't have the energy for another round," the romantic words are killing you, and Wanda laughs.

It's silent again.

Wanda fiddles with the ring on your finger, smiling.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask her.

Wanda presses her cheek against your shoulder, sliding her palm against yours again until your fingers are laced with hers.

"I'm just thinking about how amazing people are. How amazing how far we've come. We can face a loss and somehow overcome that. The people we lose are irreplaceable, but we're not meant to be alone. The most wonderful part is that we get to choose to live on, have the choice to love."

You run your fingers through her hair delicately.

"You were in the dark for so long," you sigh, wishing you had been more open to meeting her earlier.

She smiles as if she can hear what you're thinking. "Yes, but I think sometimes you have to get lost in the dark to be able to appreciate the light."

You smile at her. Wanda is a beautiful human being.

"I love you," you tell her softly.

Wanda looks at you, smiling.

"I'm all about you."

#mm: my fics #series: about you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x OFC #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers au #marvel reader insert #marvel imagine #modern avengers au

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purplehairedwonder · 3 years

Text

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 8

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 3629 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nico Robin, Usopp, Sanji, Vergo Note: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

The story title is based on the Ellie Goulding song “Hearts Without Chains.”

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Robin watched as Luffy came out of the infirmary, a smile on his face as he shut the door behind him. She’d left an ear on the desk, disguised by her book, and she had to admit she was surprised by the conversation—especially that Luffy had gotten their guest (prisoner, despite what Luffy wanted) to volunteer his name. During her time with the Revolutionary Army, she’d known of many attempts by the Revolutionaries and others to learn Corazon’s real name. She filed the name Trafalgar Law away to look into later while once more marveling at her captain’s ability to read—and reach—people.

She rose from her seat and walked over to Luffy, who’d been intercepted by Usopp just outside the door.

“So, what happened?” Usopp was asking, glancing between Luffy and the closed door.

“We talked,” Luffy said, entwining his fingers behind his head. “Torao’s a good guy!”

Usopp frowned. “Torao?”

“Shishishi,” Luffy chuckled. “His name!”

Bemused, Usopp glanced at Robin, who smiled. “I believe our captain convinced Corazon to reveal his real name.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I asked,” Luffy replied as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Perhaps it was to him. Usopp sputtered, and Robin patted his shoulder.

“Usopp’s right, though.” They looked up to see Sanji emerge from the kitchen. He was still moving carefully, but he looked much better than when they’d first arrived outside the lab. “Names have power, and that guy’s been going by an alias for years. Why share something so dangerous with his enemies?”

There were a number of potential answers to that question, but Robin had a feeling it was the Luffy Effect in action.

“We’re not enemies,” Luffy said, crossing his arms and frowning.

“He tried to kill us!” Usopp protested.

“He electrocuted me,” Sanji added, lighting a cigarette.

“And we have him locked up in Seastone,” Robin felt obliged to point out.

But Luffy shook his head. “Jimbei made it sound like he took a big risk helping us at Marineford. He said that Mingo guy would be angry, but he did it anyway.”

Robin knew the rumors about Doflamingo’s abilities, his crew, and his underground operations. His cruelty and brutality. Doflamingo saw his crew as a family, with his executives being his most trusted. And he did not stand for disloyalty in his Family. She could only imagine how he might have reacted to his second-in-command helping rival pirates.

“Luffy,” she said gently, waiting for her captain’s eyes to find her, “Corazon was already infamous when we met him on Sabaody. But over the last two years, his reputation has only gotten darker. They call him the Surgeon of Death.”

She had a feeling this wouldn’t dissuade him—little tended to once Luffy had made his mind up about something or someone—but she wanted to make sure he knew anyway.

As expected, Luffy shook his head again while Usopp spluttered in the background. “He saved me.”

There had been endless speculation over the last two years about why Corazon had saved Luffy and Jimbei, ranging from an attempted coup within the Family to a secret love affair (Robin had laughed aloud when this had been floated).

As she’d sat in the infirmary waiting for Corazon to regain consciousness, she found herself watching him. From what she could work out about him, he was a few years younger than her yet had risen to the rank of second in command of the Donquixote Pirates more than half a decade earlier; how young had he been when he had joined such an infamous pirate group to rise so high at such a young age? She knew a thing or two about joining criminal organizations and the way they took advantage of children.

Corazon’s defensiveness upon waking up had been unsurprising, and she again found herself wondering why he had saved Luffy—but then she’d seen the way he’d frozen when Luffy had entered the room, the breath catching in his throat and something in his expression. And he’d given Luffy his real name.

“Luffy,” Usopp said, pulling Robin from her thoughts, “the guy he works for owns this lab where they are experimenting on kids. He’s trying to protect that.”

Luffy huffed. “I don’t know how to explain it. I can just feel it,” he said, a hand going to his chest where the scar—from Corazon’s life-saving operation—was hidden under his winter coat. “I can feel that he’s a good person. He helped me, and I think maybe I’m supposed to help him.”

Robin exchanged glances with Sanji and Usopp. They all knew Luffy’s senses when it came to people were beyond rational explanation but somehow right. Robin in particular knew the power of Luffy’s intuition, having been saved from her own darkness because he wouldn’t let her go. If that intuition was telling him that Corazon—Trafalgar Law—was similarly important and worth helping, then there wasn’t much more to argue.

That was the Luffy Effect.

“Okay,” Robin said.

Sanji and Usopp took a moment longer but also nodded grudgingly. They might not understand it, but they’d trust their captain. (But, if need be, they’d protect him, too.)

-----

Once the door shut behind Straw Hat, Law dropped his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted. His head throbbed from the hit from Zoro’s blade, and he considered getting up to look for some painkillers in the infirmary supplies but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Outside the door, he could hear the Straw Hats talking, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

As he sat there, he couldn’t stop Straw Hat’s words from playing over and over in his mind.

“Jimbei said that you’d be in trouble with that Mingo guy for helping us, and I was worried. Were you? In trouble?”

“I fail to see how that matters.”

“But you helped me anyway. And I’m grateful! So, you’re a good guy. No matter what anyone says.”

“No, I’m really not. You should listen to Nico-ya.”

“Nope, I can feel it. Right here.”

Law had no illusions about what kind of person he was. He’d joined the Donquixote Pirates as a terminally ill ten-year-old, determined to do as much damage as he could before he died, and in many ways, he’d never outgrown that broken boy with bombs on his chest. He was the second in command to one of the biggest names in the slave trade, among other morally reprehensible operations. And though he was a doctor, he’d killed more than he’d saved, the letters tattooed on his fingers a promise as much as a warning.

Perhaps worst of all, though, he’d stopped feeling anything when he killed.

He shuddered to think what Cora-san would think of the man he’d become.

And yet, Straw Hat looked at him and—impossibly—saw something worthwhile. Felt that Law was something worthwhile. Felt it in the same place Law had felt the tug that pulled him to Marineford two years earlier.

What did it mean?

What did Law do with that?

The Seastone cuffs weighed heavily on his wrists, clanking as he opened his eyes and rubbed his face through his hands. He stared up at the ceiling, the words of his nakama from before his departure ringing through his head in the wake of Straw Hat’s declaration:

“I know you spooked when I lost my arm. But it’s not your fault.”

“You’re not this person you’ve let yourself become. They might think of you as Corazon, but to us, you’re Captain.”

Two years of pushing his crew away to protect them, of doing nothing to earn their trust or affection, yet they refused to give up on him. Like Straw Hat, they looked at him and saw something worthwhile. But how could Law accept that from them after what he’d cost them?

Despite what Violet said, Law knew he was, inside and out, Doflamingo’s creature. He knew what he saw when he looked in the mirror, the marks of claiming left on his skin and the emptiness in his eyes. After what he’d lost, Law was too tired to fight it any longer.

So why did people keep looking at him like he was anything but Doflamingo’s broken doll?

Law was startled from his reverie by a loud thud from the deck of the ship. He straightened as he heard the tone of the Straw Hats’ voices change in response to whatever had happened. Punk Hazard was unfriendly territory for them and full of more hazards than they could have known about when they anchored on the island. And most things unfriendly to the Straw Hats should be friendly to Law as Joker’s second.

Law rose and made his way to the door in an attempt to hear more clearly. He was wondering at the odds of using this distraction to search for the key to his cuffs when a familiar voice responded to the Straw Hats’ demands of who he was. Law’s stomach dropped.

“—ase commander of G-5,” Vergo was saying as Law pulled open the infirmary door.

The Straw Hats looked back at him, surprised, but Law ignored them, his eyes focused on Vergo. Vergo inclined his head when Law appeared, which was not a good sign.

“Torao, you should—”

“What are you doing here, Vergo?” Law demanded over Straw Hat.

“You two know each other?” Long Nose asked, glancing between them nervously.

“Your ally?” Black Leg asked, stance turning defensive. “But he’s a Marine.”

There was no way Vergo was here to help Law. But why had he come? Doffy hadn’t wanted him to blow his cover; that the entire reason for sending Law to Punk Hazard in the first place.

“It seems Joker was right to send me to check on your allegiance, Corazon,” Vergo said, lips twisting mockingly around the title he’d once worn himself. “I’ve been warning him for years that you were disloyal, and now I find you defecting.”

Law’s eyes narrowed, and he raised his shackled wrists. “Does this look like defecting, Vergo?” he hissed. Not that it would make a difference; Law was certain Vergo didn’t actually think he had defected. “I’m a prisoner.”

Vergo smirked. “No matter. All Joker needs to know is that I found his favorite plaything standing with the very crew whose captain he betrayed Joker to save two years ago.” His expression darkened. “And don’t forget the -san, boy.”

Law flinched at being called a plaything.

“What’s going on?” Straw Hat asked, frowning between the two. Law ignored him.

“What do you think Joker will do to your crew when he hears you betrayed him again?” Vergo went on.

Law felt the color drain from his face. “You son of a bitch.”

Straw Hat turned to look directly at Law, his expression turning concerned when he saw that Law had gone pale. “Torao—”

Turning his back on Vergo was a mistake. Law’s eyes widened as Vergo drew his bamboo stick, and, as he surged forward, coated it with haki. He swung at Straw Hat’s exposed back. Straw Hat sensed him coming, but Vergo’s speed took him off-guard; Vergo swung his bamboo, and Straw Hat tried to dodge but took enough of a blow to his side that it knocked him off-balance. He yelped in surprise as Vergo swung again, sending him over the ship’s railing into the water below.

Law inhaled sharply as Long Nose and Black Leg both cursed. Long Nose turned to Black Leg.

“Stay with Robin,” he said before taking a running leap and jumping overboard after his sinking captain.

Without missing a beat, Black Leg and Nico Robin took defensive postures in front of Law. Law looked at their backs in disbelief. Why? Why would they help him?

“I have no quarrel with you,” Vergo said to them. “Step aside. This is Family business.”

Black Leg snorted in disbelief, and Nico Robin smiled in that knowing way of hers. “Donquixote Doflamingo wouldn’t want it known he has a spy so high up in the Marines. You won’t let us go.”

Vergo straightened his glasses. “You caught me. But if you step aside, I’ll make your deaths quick.”

“I don’t think so,” Black Leg replied.

Vergo frowned, clearly as confused as Law himself. “Why would you protect him? He tried to kill you.”

So Vergo saw the fight. He must have followed Law from Dressrosa, leaving right behind him. That bastard was just looking for an excuse to cut Law down and finish what he’d started on Minion Island. Had Doffy told him to come, or was Vergo acting on his own?

“Our idiot captain seems to like him,” Black Leg replied with a shrug.

Law started as Nico Robin gave him a small smile before turning back to Vergo. “And Luffy is a very good judge of character. Even if we don’t understand his reasons at first.”

Law’s breath caught in his throat.

Vergo hefted his bamboo. “So be it.”

He charged once more, swinging his bamboo at Nico Robin. Black Leg intercepted the blow with his leg. Vergo fell back and Black Leg charged in a flurry of kicks. Vergo met him blow for blow until the two stopped in the middle of the deck, legs locked. Law winced at the sound of cracking bone. Black Leg slumped, and Law momentarily regretted hitting him with Counter Shock earlier.

“Sanji-kun!” Nico Robin called, worried.

“Where’s the key to these cuffs?” Law demanded urgently as Vergo turned back toward them. He did not want to be defenseless again with Vergo bearing down on him. And he was not going to let Vergo kill Nico Robin for protecting him. Too many people had been hurt or killed protecting Law, and he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Usopp has it,” she said, glancing toward the railing.

“Great,” Law muttered.

As Vergo approached, Nico Robin summoned giant hands, creating a wall between them and Vergo. Law knew it wouldn’t hold against Vergo’s Demon Bamboo. She winced as Vergo slammed against it, the structure shaking under his strength.

“Take Black Leg-ya and get out of here,” Law told her. Hopefully, Long Nose had rescued Straw Hat by now, and they could recover on shore. Vergo would let her go, at least temporarily; he was here because of Law, after all.

She looked at him, startled. “And leave you? You’re powerless.”

“You have no reason to protect me, Nico-ya. I tried to kill your friends. I wouldn’t have stopped, either.” She winced again as the wall trembled against Vergo’s onslaught. “We may both work for Doflamingo, but Vergo wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if given the chance. And now he has the chance.” He shook his head. “Get out of here and regroup with your crew. This is Family business.”

Nico Robin opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by bamboo tearing through her wall. She cried out as the wall collapsed. Vergo met Law’s eye and smirked. Law gasped in pain and surprise as, in a flash, bamboo met his side and sent him flying into the ship’s railing. Slowly, he pushed himself upright and blinked against his spinning vision in time to see Vergo grab Nico Robin by the neck.

“Demon Child Nico Robin,” he said. “I should kill you, but I have a feeling Joker could make good use of you.”

“No thanks,” she choked out between gasps. “I have a crew.”

Vergo simply laughed—a sound that made Law’s skin crawl—and flung her across the deck. She slammed into Black Leg, who was struggling to balance with a fractured leg, and the pair were knocked into the far wall.

Law pushed himself to his feet. Vergo turned to look at him, the malice radiating from him palpable on the winter air. If Law had access to his powers, he would have no problem taking Vergo on. But with the Seastone shackles blocking him from his Fruit and draining his strength, he was as helpless in the face of Vergo’s rage now as he had been as a sick child—and they both knew it.

Vergo moved and suddenly Law’s back slammed into the wall, a haki-clad hand around his throat. Law’s feet dangled off the ground as he struggled to breathe. He grasped at Vergo’s wrist, struggling vainly to loosen the grip stealing his air.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Law.”

“Beating a terminally-ill child nearly to death wasn’t enough for you?” Law wheezed. It somehow seemed fitting that Vergo would finish the job he’d started on a winter island on the winter side of Punk Hazard. There was a feeling of things coming full circle as the snow fell around them.

“Once a traitor, always a traitor,” Vergo growled. “You’ve never been good enough for Doffy. Yet he brings you back and elevates you to his right hand.”

As darkness encroached on the edges of Law’s vision, it hit him that Vergo wasn’t simply holding a grudge about Cora-san’s betrayal. Since Law’s return to the Family nearly a decade earlier, Doffy had kept Law close, giving him no opportunities for betrayal. Holding Law’s crew hostage, he’d groomed Law—teaching him, training him, even fucking him. He did everything to make sure his ownership of Law was complete. Law had hated every moment of it—the only freedom he’d found was leaving Dressrosa on the Polar Tang with his crew on missions—but Vergo was jealous.

Law croaked out a disbelieving laugh at the realization.

Vergo frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t take you for the jealous type, Vergo.”

Vergo snarled wordlessly and tightened his grip. Law gasped, feeling what little strength he had leaving him. His lungs screamed, he was light-headed, and his eyes started to close.

Would it really be so bad if Vergo killed him now? It would end nearly a decade of hell, the daily physical and emotional torture that had beaten him down to the point of pushing his nakama away…

Law’s eyes flew open at the thought of his nakama. He couldn’t die and leave them alone to face Doffy’s retribution. He couldn’t die without them knowing how much they meant to him, that even if he’d been a poor excuse for a captain, there was no greater honor than leading them.

A sudden fire burning in his chest, Law’s gaze sharpened, and he dropped his hands from Vergo’s wrist. Vergo looked at him in confusion—clearly, he’d thought Law had been about to succumb—and Law took his moment of distraction to loop the Seastone shackles over Vergo’s neck and cross his arms to tighten them with his waning strength. Vergo didn’t have a Devil Fruit so the Seastone wouldn’t affect him, but he would feel the bite of metal into his skin.

In his current position, Law didn’t have enough strength to truly strangle Vergo, but the move was enough to startle Vergo and cause pain. Reflexively, he loosened his grip, and Law gulped in the delicious, frigid air. Letting go of Law’s neck, Vergo grabbed Law’s arms.

“Let go,” he growled.

“You can’t kill me, Vergo,” Law rasped.

Vergo regarded him through those sunglasses. “Why not?” He only had to strain a bit to speak against Law’s attempted strangulation.

“Doffy has plans for my death, and we both know it.”

The surprise was evident on Vergo’s features. “How did you know—”

Law scoffed. “You don’t think I know why they call the Ope Ope no Mi the ultimate Devil Fruit? Kill me now and Doffy will have to look for the Fruit all over again if he wants that operation.”

Law never intended to go through with the operation, but it was leverage Vergo couldn’t ignore.

“Doffy always says you’re too clever for your own good,” Vergo said, lips curling in distaste. But Law knew he had the other man; Vergo was completely devoted to Doffy, and he wouldn’t do anything to risk his master’s chance of receiving immortality.

In one sudden motion, Vergo let go of Law’s arms and grabbed the chain wrapped around his neck. He pulled it free and held the chain above his head, leaving Law dangling in midair by the wrists. Law hissed in surprise.

“Now what, Vergo-san?” Law asked, sneering the oft-demanded honorific.

“I take you back to Dressrosa, a fallen traitor,” Vergo taunted. “Doffy will finally see you for what you are—nothing better than his miserable excuse for a brother. You can watch Doffy slowly destroy your crew one by one. Maybe he’ll even make you kill some of them.” He sounded amused at the prospect. “And then he’ll make you beg to perform the Perennial Youth operation—and only then will you die, doing one useful thing in your miserable life.”

Chest clenching, Law thought of his crew. Of kind Bepo. Of goofy Shachi. Of brave Penguin. Penguin’s words came back then, sharp and pointed.

“You want to pull that, maybe you should start acting like a captain again.”

No. I won’t let that happen. He was done failing them as their captain.

His eyes flew open as Vergo’s haki-coated fist connected with his stomach. The breath left his lungs—again—and he would have curled in on himself if he wasn’t hanging in midair. Vergo let go of the chain and Law dropped to the grass of the Thousand Sunny’s deck. He looked up in time to see Vergo’s bamboo coming right for his head.

“Torao!” he heard in the distance.

Then nothing.

Next chapter

#I had an off day so have an early chapter #I really like how this chapter turned out #Caitlin's fic #Trafalgar Law #One Piece fanfic #One Piece fanfiction #One Piece

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lebromaah · 3 years

Text

Kairos (Zoe X Kayn One-Shot)

Characters originally from League of Legends

Prompt: “I rely on you, so please rely on me!’

A/N: Hey all! Felt like it was time to exercise my inner writer. Hope y’all enjoy!

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Kayn could feel his magic gradually returning to him as he and Zoe ascend the cold steel stairs of the prison ship. Getting out of the Petrium cellars was seamless, resulting in the crew remaining unaware that one of their prisoners had managed to escape. And now, with the magic hungry architecture falling further and further away from them, they can make their getaway.

They reach the middle of the dark stairwell when Zoe calls out lowly behind him.

“Kayn!”

The assassin stops in his tracks, whipping his head back towards his comate.

“I can see your tattoos!” Her wide and hopeful smile lights up the space between them. “Do you have your shadow magic now?”

Kayn looks down at his arms, both clad with his rich, dark blue tattoos. Without wasting another second, he clenches his fists and watches as he wills his shadow to cloak the surface of his hands.

“I do,” Kayn answers.

Zoe gasps at the sight, being as shocked as she was relieved. She speaks quickly, yet quietly, with anticipation. “That means my magic’s back too! We can get out of-“

WUUUUUUUR! WUUUUUUUR!

The alarm resounding above them causes adrenaline to flood through Kayn’s chest from the split second of shock. What was the dark and gloomy metal stairwell was now one flooding with brilliant red light in between each of the shrieks of the ship’s security system.

Zoe doesn’t bother to speak discreetly as she exclaims in shock, “But, how!”

Kayn’s expression scrunches in anger, as it didn’t take him long to deduce how they got ratted out. He clenches his fist and turns his face away from Zoe. In a brief moment of rage, he curses at himself in a low voice.

“I knew I should’ve taken that filthy Noxian’s head.”

Somehow, Zoe picked up on his murmuring. “Wait, you didn’t ki-”

Before Zoe could complete her question, their eyes shoot up at the sounds of armor clad boots clamoring below them, then above them. This quickly brings Kayn back from his irritation and spurs him into action.

“Zoe!”

The teen meets his intense eyes head on, confident and knowing full well what to do next.

“Got it!”

She reaches deep within, pulling her magic from her mind’s eye to weave a portal from her fingertips. It didn’t matter where it took them, so long it was anywhere near their base camp. Heck, anywhere in Ionia would be fine! She brings her magic into existence-

-only to realize there was nothing there.

Her eyes dart between the empty space meant for her portal, to her bare hands wielding no magic. “W-what?!”

She looks to Kayn for an answer, only to be met with a gaze that’s more composed, yet just as befuddled as her’s. “Is your magic still not working?”

Zoe looks down at her hands, mortified at her predicament. “No... No... No!”

The next few seconds are spent with Zoe as she tries and tries, pulls and wills, and panics all the more when her magic fails to save them.

“Why?! Why won’t my stars or portals work?!”

Before she could try to will another portal into existence, Kayn grabs her forearm, firmly, but not aggressively. “It’s this.”

Zoe brings her attention to her arm, noticing a light marking wrapping around her small wrist. It glowed pale blue when she caught sight of it before she and Kayn watched as it dims to nothingness.

“Is… is it stopping my magic?” she asks anxiously.

“It might be a spell inhibitor,” Kayn replies after studying the marking and releasing her arm. “They must’ve branded you with it to prevent you from using magic if you so happened to escape. A fail safe —at least that’s my assumption.”

Just then, they hear the doors to the stairway opening above them, and not too long after, below them. Normally the assassin would have no trouble slithering out with his own umbral mode of travel, but this time it was different: he has another person to look out for. A person, he decided, he needs with him.

Kayn could count on one hand how many rescue operations he’s partaken in. And none of them were accomplished after he obtained his ultimate weapon. Killing and leaving was his go-to method of carrying out missions, not this. To top it off, and for the first time, he took Zoe’s mobile abilities for granted. In fact, it never crossed his mind that they wouldn’t have her portals once she was freed from the Petrium prison. Did her abilities become such a commonplace for him?

“I’m so sorry…”

The defeat in her words pulls Kayn away from his racing thoughts, bringing his attention back to the discouraged mage.

“You were right before; I’m completely defenseless when I don’t have my magic.” She balls her fists against the top of her thighs, her frustration slowly simmering to a boil. “The one and only time in days that my magic would actually help us, I don’t have it… I’m so sorry.”

In the year that Kayn has come to know Zoe, he could only remember one time he saw her so dispirited. Maybe twice, if he counted his little near death experience in Ixtal. At first, he scrutinized her positivity as innocence and naïveté. Sometimes even now, that’s absolutely the case.

It took time, it took experience, and it took learning, but Kayn realized that joy is but what is reaped from a confident soul. Now, to him, Zoe is the sun, and it’s only natural she would react with unstoppable glee and charm to the obstacles she encountered, whether they be good or bad.

Therefore, seeing her on her knees, her head lowered, and eyes shut tight in defeat made Kayn feel so… wrong. If that’s the right word. He recalled a similar feeling a while ago when she was disconsolate, and even now, it still felt so unnatural. Her countenance suddenly became so human, serving as a reminder that even the hosts of the Aspects were still entirely made of flesh.

Seeing her so dejected ignites a fire in Kayn’s spirit. He’d give anything to see her smile again - to have confidence in herself again. She messed up before, but he has too. Overtime, he realized he relied on her to make up for his worse mistakes. Or perhaps that mistake, which nearly led to his demise from what was Rhaast the Darkin.

That’s part of being human too, he guessed.

Kayn was never the type of guy to cheer people up, (that’s Zoe’s line of work) but he knew what he could do for her now. And that’s to be dependable.

To be her sun.

Kayn begins unholstering his blade, starting at the top to undo its buckles. The voices and footsteps grow closer to them, making Zoe’s chest tighten in response. She knew full well she put Kayn in this position. If she never strayed away from the camp, she wouldn’t have been captured. If she were more careful, she could’ve avoided that trap. If she were stronger, she wouldn’t need Kayn to come save her—

—she wouldn’t have become a burden.

“Have you forgotten who you're talking to?”

The sudden chill rolls down her spine, prompting Zoe to look up. She finds that Kayn’s blue, steel blade is unsheathed, it’s surface leaking with hungry shadow magic, ready to reap.

“I’m the leader of the Order of Shadow, protégé of former leader, Zed, and head of the Force of Gall in the Tri-Forces against the invasion of Noxus. I’m Sheida Kayn, and I’m not to be trifled with.”

Zoe is left agape as the dark assassin begins to take on his true form: the tattoos around his wrists begin to spread up his arms, then to his chest. His dark, tan skin grows pale and cold with deadly magic. Goosebumps ripples across her arms and her legs, causing her to shiver without realizing it.

“Over this past year, you offered your abilities to my cause, asking for nothing but my friendship in return. You saved my life from the being that was Rhaast, thus helping me forge my destiny to become who I am now.”

Using his blade, Kayn stoops up from his spot on the ground before taking his place in front of the breath taken Zoe. His back was to her now, each muscle flexing from his bold and tall posture as his tattoos begin to ink onto his shoulder blades. His hair had freed itself from his band, it’s substance becoming more like streams of conjury than strands of hair. With that, it hovers away from his body, giving Zoe an opportunity to glance at his form. It wasn’t the first time she has, and it surely won’t be the last. But at this moment, it felt different somehow, and before she could find out why, Kayn continues.

“What I’m saying is… I’ve come to rely on your strength, Zoe... So please...“

In a swift motion, Kayn parts his legs shoulder width apart, swinging his blade to his left side as he turns his head to the side lock his eyes with her behind him.

“...rely on me too!” He proclaims assuredly.

Zoe is left dumbfounded.

Just... what could she say to such bold words—to this born leader who’s begging her to put her faith in him? Just… why is he in any position to try to put on airs for her when she already knows how strong and capable he is?

Feeling lost, she brings her eyes away from Kayn’s face, not feeling quite ready to meet his gaze. Consequently, and within seconds, she drifts her attention to his strong form, noting his wide, sculpted shoulders, his broad, tall back, and his slender, yet masculine hips. The assassin’s dominant arm is clenched beside him as he grips his scythe, letting her catch a long glance of his tattoo clad triceps in their full, lean glory. There was no doubt, to Zoe that is, that Sheida Kayn is truly the most beautiful, yet most deadly man to behold.

And then, there was his gaze. Zoe finally brings herself to meet the boy’s stare. She could only see his left eye, as Kayn only turned his head halfway to meet her eyes, but it was all she needed to know why this was different. Even though she’s new to this “blue” version of Kayn, each time she saw him take this form, he only came off as cold, silent, and unfeeling. Almost like a true shadow following the will if it’s caster with no need to become feral on its own.

But this time, it’s different.

His consistently icy, cloudy, and nonexistent stare is now furrowed with grit, and hot with fierce determination. Kayn didn’t need to say anymore; Zoe understood.

This perfect killer means what he says. His aura steams with the ambition to prove it to her, even if he appeared mostly calm and collected: he was going to help her, despite the fact they’re about to be collapsed on from both sides. Despite the fact only one of them could fight. Despite the fact he told her before all this he would choose to complete his mission over saving her life if such a predicament came to be.

Overall, Zoe discovers the paradox of a cold killer who can boil over in passion. This edgy, cold boy could feel so much more than she gave him credit for. He was human, and could care for her as much, if not more, than himself. It’s no wonder, the hopeless teen concludes, she felt the way she did for him.

#Zoyn Oneshot #My writing #Zoyn #Zoe x kayn #the aspect of zaun #kairos means the propitious moment for decision and action #Just FYI

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slutforsatoru · 3 years

Note

Hi! For the death note ask game: 16, 20 and 24 please!

Hello dafneror!

16. who do you believe is the smartest character?

I’d have to say it’s a tie between Near and L. Light is tactful but a lot of his victories happened because of pure luck.

20. did Light deserve to die at the end?

He got what was coming to him. Whether he deserved it or not, I’m not sure. Honestly I feel like Ryuk put him out of his misery, not saying that’s canon, it’s just my opinion. Even if Light had won at the end, that wouldn’t be the end of law enforcement chasing after him. He’d be doing that until he died.

24. any headcannons you want to share?

B has a raven tattoo on the right side of his waist and a dagger tattoo on his back between his shoulder blades.

When they were at Wammy’s, Mello and Matt used to play Super Mario Kart together. Sometimes Near would play too but he had to take turns & share a controller with Mello. Mello’s main is Peach, Near’s is Yoshi, and Matt’s is Donkey Kong Jr.

L cannot stand the taste of shredded coconut. The texture of it makes him gag.

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

Text

Guardians of the Creatures; AU! Queen x reader Prologue

*Author’s note*

Hey gang I know this year has been INSANE but I am here to tell you all that I’ve now got my next upcoming Halloween FIC series ready at the helm. Now it’ll be slightly similar to my last Hallowqueen fic series (it being in 2nd person POV after this chapter), with some differences.

Now then I wish to give credit to @kinole009x for allowing me to use the same physical appearance that they made for our beloved Deacy in their fabulous series “NEVERMORE” (which you ALL should check out if you haven’t read it. Trust me, you will LOVE IT!!).

Now Idk when the next chapter will be up cause work is REALLY starting to pile up on me now. But I promise this fic series WILL go on, I won’t abandon it after this. I’ve got plans for this series. Enjoy my lovelies and I hope you all enjoy this new HALLOWQUEEN series :)

Warnings: Blood, dark magic, evil witches and wizards, close-to-death experience.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@dancingcoolcat

@kinole009x

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@klausidiot

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I……Am the eyes of the world. I can see the past—and the future. Chaos, and darkness. The end of the world, and the rebirth of it. My people have been around since the beginning of time itself. But with the birth of so many creatures, my kind couldn’t survive. Except for me. Who am I you might ask? It is I—Freddie Mercury, who witnessed the rise of creatures, and men.

I’ve seen the world continuously trying to survive with the rise of each new species of the world. And it is here that I have seen a darkness of which no one would ever see before.

Look into my eyes—and trust in me.

There are many dangerous creatures that live within our world. For a certain time period there were were-creatures, Elves, faes, goblins, dragons, mer-people, and all those creatures you would believe to be in your fairy tales and mythologies. But the most dangerous creature of the time wasn’t man.

But Witches. Warlocks. And Sorcerers.

I’ve seen generations of these creatures slaughtering and imprisoning other creatures. And breaking the mythical creatures ancient laws.

And then—one fateful night. I saw our world place our hopes into the hands of two people, the like of which—no one would ever suspect.

*3rd Person POV*

Flying through the dark midnight sky was a cloaked figure and in his arms he held a young woman close to his chest. He dove down as fast as he could to the ground knowing full well that he couldn’t continue flying anymore, not with the woman now starting to cough out blood.

When he finally reached the ground, he picked up the woman and gently set her down on the ground.

“Lumos.” He softly whispered. His hand soon made a light, about the size of a star, appear in his hand. His pale skin could only be compared to the white glow of the moon, while his long jet black hair framed his face and his black eyebrows arched with both fear and concerned for the woman that lay beneath him.

As he shined the light upon the young woman he could now see that blood had now stained her once pink lips. Her sclera was now starting to bleed red and she was coughing out even more blood.

“Serafina. Oh my darling Serafina please hold on.” He pleaded softly as he cupped the side of her cheek. Piercing through the air was a maniacal female laugh. Thinking quickly he made the light from his hand vanish and he covered both himself and Serafina with his black cloak.

High above the air riding on their own brooms a swarm of witches were flying over the air. One of them in particular had curly madded hair (that almost resembled a lion’s mane), she wore a long black dress that was a mix of fabric but also leather that made a corset-like shape around her midriff. She took the lead alongside five witches and four wizards.

All of them wearing black and baring a snake tattoo along their necks.

“They’re not here cousin!” hissed a ginger haired witch.

“Keep searching for them. They’re around here somewhere. That spell I gave her will buy us some time to catch up to them. There’s no way he’d leave her behind.” She cackled softly before flying on ahead with the eight other witches and wizards following her.

Once the coast was clear, the young wizard removed his cloak from the two of them and he slowly picked up Serafina.

“We’re gonna have to travel by foot. I’m sorry my love.”

“John.” She croaked out before suddenly coughing out more blood.

“Shh, shh, shh. Save your strength my love.” He soothed her as he rested her head against his shoulder so that he could press his head against hers. He trudged on through the thick forest, all the while his love continuously coughing out more blood.

He knew that if he didn’t at least find a way to slow down the curse that had been bestowed upon her, she would continue to bleed out internally until she died.

After walking for god knows how long, he set her down in a decent sized thicket. He gave her his cloak and lay down some twigs, grass and leaves before muttering out a quick spell to make them into a pillow. He lay her head on the pillow and stroked her dark hair out of her face.

“I’ll be back my love, I’m going to find some ingredients to slowdown her curse.” He went to stand up but Serafina grabbed his hand and weakly said.

“Don’t…….go……John.” he looked down at her with sympathy and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.” He covered her up more with his cloak then casted a protection charm around her, in case either the witches or anything else dangerous were to come by.

John raced through the woods hoping to find some familiar herbs that could hopefully be brewed up. He searched and searched but he wasn’t having any luck, and he could hear every now and then the haunting piercing manically laugh of the head witch leading the hunt for them.

It wasn’t until finally when he arrived by a small creek and he had found the perfect healing herb for his love. To some it was known as Athelas plant but in the common tongue it was called Kingsfoil. A weed but it had healing properties.

He took out his wand and shifted it into a small knife and went to cut the root, when he heard a strange sound coming from the creek. A hypnotic, siren-like song soon began to echo through the air. John turned towards the creek and was shocked to suddenly see a hand burst out from the water.

Slowly a body began to rise up over the water. The body was pure water at first until it finally dissolved and morph into an actual human skin. The man that now stood before John was handsome. Beyond handsome actually.

Almost as if he had been carved by the Gods himself. His wild, untamed blonde hair shone under the full moon’s light, and his hypnotic deep blue eyes stared right at John curiously. But when John took a closer look and saw the long claw-like nails, the gills along his neck (that almost looked like deep scars), and the fact that his eyes were inhuman with how they were just pure blue and white, he realized just what this man was.

This was a Nokk. A water spirit said to be a handsome man that is known to lure women and children to their deaths by either singing or playing a sweet song before drowning them. They are also known to be shapeshifters going between a handsome man, or a beautiful white horse. Tempting all that see him in his horse form to ride him before sending them to a watery grave.

Little did he know that while staring at the Nokk, he soon felt a long sword blade slide right down his neck. Thankfully it wasn’t the actual blade of the sword itself, it lay flat against his neck but it still sent fear through him.

“What do we have here? A wizard caught off his guard?” a soft, honey-like voice spoke with a sternness to it.

“Please, I mean no harm. My Serafina needs help.” At hearing that name, the Nokk’s eyes went from defensive and anger to concern and worry.

“Serafina you said?” the voice behind John spoke.

“Yes. Please I don’t have much time, I need to get this Athelas to her. She’ll die without it!” John then whipped out his wand and turned the sword blade into a stick.

He quickly turned around and held his wand at the attack only to soon find out that his ‘attacker’ wasn’t who he thought it was.

This man had curly hair that resembled an animal of some kind, but unlike the witch they were hiding from, his hair was tamed and well kept. John also took notice of the man’s attire and the ears that stuck out from his hair. It was then he realized just who this person was.

“You—you’re an Elf.” the Elf closed his eyes and did a faint nod as he hummed, a hum that sounded like the faint wind.

“Brian May. High Elf Lord of the West. We were also told of your arrival by a friend of ours. He can help her.”

“Just who is your friend?”

“I can sense your hesitance.” Brian spoke.

“Of course I’m hesitant! We’re being hunted by our own cult! My love is dying and I’m sitting here in the dark forest with an Elf and a Nokk!” the Nokk lowly growled that’s when Brian lifted his hand and said.

“Quilda Roger, quilda.” The Nokk named Roger softened his growls but continued to glare at John. “As you’ve said we don’t have much time. Please allow us to help you heal her. And take her to our friend who is a healer.”

“I thought Elves were known to be the best healers?” John asked.

“We are. But by the time we would reach my kingdom it’ll be too late to save her. Our friend is the closest for he lives in the Black forest.” Not being given much choice, John agreed and led both Brian and Roger to where his love was.

Serafina continued to wheeze out her breaths and occasionally coughing up more blood. And either it must’ve been the curse having a side effect, or due to the pressure on her brain, she saw this blinding light coming up towards her.

She turned and there she saw a horse running up towards her and the glowing figure rode on top of the magnificent creature. Skillfully it unmounted from the horse before walking towards her. Finally she could see a man who was too ethereal to look upon.

His tall lean frame, the pale skin, and the halo of curls almost made him look like an angel. His piercing blue eyes stared right down at her, almost as if they were piercing her very soul. He knelt down before her and whispered with what sounded like the sweetest honey-like voice she had heard (that could only be compared to her love John’s voice).

“Serafina. im Brian. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad.” After hearing this beautiful language coming out of this man’s mouth, Serafina turned her head back upwards to the sky as she softly began coughing again.

John soon came in with a small brewing bowl and was currently stirring up the brew. Brian knelt down beside Serafina softly calling out her name once again as he touched her head.

“This curse is strong.” John finished stirring up the brew and gently took his love’s head and lifted it up, with Brian’s help, and he gently poured the Athelas brew down her throat. “She won’t last for much longer. We need to get her to Freddie now.”

John picked her up bridal style and the two of them walked towards Roger as Brian said.

“The five witches are still out there searching for you both further in the woods. The four wizards however, I do not know where they have gone.” John gently placed her on top of Roger’s back and steadied her.

“Thank you for your help. But I can take it from here.”

“Roger and I are the fastest together, I’ll take her.” Brian said.

“No. I won’t leave her!”

“You will take the safest road down the river. Once you reach the end, you will go East and soon you will arrive at our friend’s hut.” Brian explained to John the fastest route he could take.

“But what if they find you? Or worse what if this Nokk betrays you and takes my beloved away? I know of what his kind does to women and children!”

“I understand your concern for her. But she is in the safest of hands John Deacon. Roger will ensure that they can’t reach us.” Roger turned to face John. His ears bent back slightly and he gave the young wizard a bow of his head. “A Nokk’s name is powerful. He will not harm her.”

John faces Roger and in his horse form he gave the young wizard a small huff before lightly nodding his head.

“As you wish.” Brian softly smiled and hopped onto Roger’s back, sitting behind Serafina so that she now had support to lie back on. “I’m trusting you both with my heart. Ride hard and run swift. Do not let them catch her.”

“Noro lim mellon, Noro lim!” Brian spoke to Roger in Elvish tongue, soon Roger took off running deeper into the forest.

As he watched with a heavy heart, John prayed to Merlin above that Serafina would be safe and healed in time.

Running with the speed of mercury, Roger ran across the woods in almost a blur. Brian holding tightly to his friend’s long white mane while keeping an arm wrapped around Serafina so that she wouldn’t fall out. But soon he heard a whooshing sound and through the trees and when he turned right he soon saw one of the four male wizards flying just a few feet beside them.

He looked to the left and he saw that a blonde witch was also flying beside them, the two of them flying closer and closer to Roger’s body hoping to pin him so they could claim their prize. But never doubt the speed of a Nokk in horse form.

Roger ran faster but as he turned into a clear opening in the woods, that’s when the rest of the scouting party descended.

“HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! WE’VE GOT THEM NOW! TEAR THE BEAST DOWN! KILL THE ELVISH FILTH! BUT LEAVE THE GIRL ALIVE. For now. HAHAHAHA!!!” the leading witch cackled manically. Brian turned to the witches and wizards behind and saw one of them take out their wands and fire an attack. He shielded Serafina with his body from the blast that sent an excruciating pain all over his body.

His bite his lip to try and hold back his screams that desperately wanted to come out. He gripped Roger’s mane tighter as his friend ran faster through the woods. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he tried to lose them through the trees, the party still kept on their tail.

When they came across an open meadow, the witch party now had them surrounded like wolves taking down their prey. Brian was almost certain that they were about to die right then and there. But when he saw the crazed woman extend her arm out towards Serafina, it was then Roger took over.

Using his long whip-like horse tail, he whipped the woman across the face and sent her back several feet right off her broom. He repeated the technic with the other wizards and witches that were too close for comfort, allowing him to take off even faster than he had ever ran before in his life.

Two of the witches flew back towards their sister witch and helped her up.

“That filthy mongrel. HE COULD’VE KILLED ME!! I’ll get him. I will kill him and wear his skin like a coat!” the woman cried out as she got back on her broom and took off flying with her sisters following behind her.

Roger soon got them into a thicker part of the woods where the trees were lower and more condensed together. He swiftly turned around every other tree to try and confuse the party that followed behind him and it worked. For some they had to regroup high above the trees just to get out of the condensed area, and others they ended up flying off their brooms cause of the low hanging branches.

Roger leapt over a log and ran down a hill which led to a small river-like creek. He ran across the water till he came onto the other side of the creek. He stopped and turned around to face the witches as he huffed and panted heavily.

“Well done Roger, well done.” Brian praised his friend as he too looked at the incoming party. However once they came to the shoreline of the creek, they found that they couldn’t cross it.

Almost as if there was higher magic blocking them from coming any closer to their targets.

“Give up the traitors, filthy Elf and mindless brute!” the leading witch snarled. Roger let out a loud roar as he reared high into the air while Brian revealed his sword and held it in the air.

“If you want her, come and claim her!” he challenged the party. All nine of them soon took out their wands and all together they fired at the forcefield that kept them from getting any closer.

The forcefield held for as long as it could but it was starting to break. When they noticed the forcefield beginning to break, the party slowly moved forward across the water.

Unbeknownst to them, Brian’s eyes shifted as he stared at the water while softly began to chant in Elvish a spell that had been put up for only him and Freddie to speak out since they were both ancient creatures of old.

Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer;

Rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Kuruni!

Nîn o Chithaeglir lasto beth daer;

Rimmo nîn Bruinen dan in Kuruni!

The water slowly began to rise and once Brian finished the chant, the wizards stopped their attack as they suddenly heard a rush of water. Soon storming down from further up river was a tsunami-like wave.

Fearing for their lives, the witches and wizards hopped on their broomsticks and took off flying, but the rushing water was right on their tail. If you would look closely, you would notice that the shapes that were forming in the water were dozens of snakes, all slithering outward towards the witches.

Just before any of them thought they were in the clear, one by one they were each swallowed by the raging waters and taken downstream.

Brian and Roger stood satisfied over the boulder but that’s when they heard the fain wheezing coming out of Serafina’s mouth. Brian took Serafina off of Roger’s back and lay her down on the ground. Her face now almost completely red from bleeding internally, tear streams of blood stained around her eyes, and her eyes were almost devoid of any life.

“Serafina, no! Serafina don’t give in. Not now!” pleaded Brian as he gently shook her. But with one last croak out of her mouth, she went still.

Roger threw his head back and whinnied out a desperate neigh for help as Brian held her in his arms.

‘What grace has given me. Let it pass to her, let her be spared. Save her.’ Brian prayed in his head.

“Someone call my name?” a voice echoed through the air. Both Brian and Roger looked around when the voice spoke again, “You two honestly call yourselves the fastest team? Even I have ran across the world at least three times faster than that.”

“Freddie.” Brian said.

“How quaint to see you again Brian. It’s been—what 200 years since we last met?”

“187 actually.”

“And Roger, my big strong, handsome Nokk how’s the clan doing?” Roger huffed softly and a soft chuckle rang through the air. “That’s good. Don’t want those nasty other wannabes to let them reign supreme over you. Other than me of course.”

“Please Freddie, we need your help. She’s dying.”

“I know. Which is why I’ve already brewed up the proper counter curse for her. Give her to me now, her partner is running himself ragged wanting to see her already.” Appearing from the bottom of the boulder was a large snake tail.

Brian picked Serafina up and placed her body down along the snakes coils. Slowly they wrapped around her until almost her whole body was covered.

“Go now, make sure those nasty witches are dead. I won’t have them interfere any longer.” Then almost as quick as lightning, the snake coils disappeared deep within the forest. Brian looked towards the forest and prayed.

“By the light of the Valor, please let her be saved.”

“She will be.” A soft, raspy voice spoke to him. He looked up and saw that Roger was now in back in his human Nokk form. “She has to be. I’ll be dammed if after we ran all the way here just for her to die like this.”

“And you’re sure it’s not because of your feelings for her?”

“It’s not like that and you know it! The first women to not fall for my charm even when so many married women have fallen for me, Serafina she—she’s special.” Roger said. “Now c’mon. You heard the naga, we have to see whether that crazed bitch and her lackies are dead or if they somehow survived the spell.” Brian nodded and soon the two of them took off running downstream.

In a quaint little hut, the snake coils soon lifted Serafina into the hut and they set her down along the floor.

“Serafina. Oh Merlin’s beard she’s—she can’t be…..” John pleaded.

“Not yet John dear, now quiet I need to concentrate on the spell.” Freddie’s voice soon spoke up. Soon coming down from the ceiling was a man with long pitch black hair, his dark tanned skin glistened amongst the candle light, but what would catch your eyes were the dark green and yellow scales all over his arms, chest, neck and even dotting around his face.

His lower half would be twice as shocking for there wasn’t human legs, no his lower half was pure snake. Dark green with hidden yellow scales. He also had deep brown eyes with the traditional snake pupil.

Slowly he lowered himself down before the witch, his snake-like tongue flickering out so he could get a read on her. She was practically knocking on death’s doorstep. He soon stood face to face over the young witch. His tongue flicked across her bloodstained lips as he hummed gravely.

��The world still has big plans for you my dear. You and your darling lover.” He then raised his hand and forced her mouth open before hissing out in a language that was unknown to John.

It sounded pure snake-like and it was terrifying to listen to. It sent a cold shiver up John’s spine. Freddie’s voice turned almost ghostly as he continued to chant out this unknown spell and soon he let out a low, threatening hiss as he opened his mouth wider and wider revealing not only the overbite, but the other rows of snake teeth in his mouth.

At first John thought his love was about to be swallowed alive by this monster, but just before he could grab his wand, a red smoke shot out of his love’s mouth and entered inside Freddie. The naga was actually swallowing the curse!

John watched with both terror yet fascination as the naga devoured the very curse that had poisoned his love. Freddie placed his hands beside Serafina’s head as he continued to swallow the curse. Once the last bit of it was swallowed, Freddie lurched back and with a gasp, Serafina woke up.

“My love?” John asked.

“My heart.” She whispered. John happily smiled and the two young lovers embraced each other.

“I thought I had lost you.” John whispered in her ear as he stroked his fingers through her hair.

“I thought I was gone too. But you saved me my love.”

“I didn’t do it alone though.” That’s when he turned towards Freddie and once Serafina got a good look at her savior, she jumped back. “It’s alright my love, it’s okay. He won’t hurt us.”

“It’s you.” she whispered in awe. John looked at Serafina confused. Freddie hummed with interest at the young witch.

“So you remember me?”

“Remember him? My love what does he mean?”

“All will be explained young John. Just know that you have a special witch by your side.” John leaned his forehead against his love’s and whispered to her.

“I know. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Their noses gently brushed up against each other’s lovingly.

“Since you recall our first encounter, I’m sure you’ll also remember Serafina that the world needs you. Both of you. Now more than ever.” The young witch and wizard looked at each other perplexed.

“That’s always puzzled me. What do you mean the world needs us?” Serafina asked. Freddie looked out of his hut and said.

“I have seen the world shift, burn and rebuild itself time and time again. But with what your people are doing, I fear the world may finally burn and not rebuild itself in a peaceful light.”

“We know. That’s why we left. We couldn’t stand along with what they believed in. Now we’re marked for death.” John said grimly as he took his love’s hand in his. She placed her hand on top of his and the two stared at each other solemnly.

“Which is why I have seen a potential future for all of us. But for that to happen, it needs you two as the star attractions.”

“What do you mean?” asked Serafina.

Thus…….I began to tell them of a future that I had seen. A world where all creatures and deities large and small alike could be free, equal, and at peace. But in order for that world to come to pass, we were gonna need one more star.

And that my darlings, is where you come in.

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cats-obsessions · 4 years

Text

Mark Your Love in Ink

A geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier has always known he has a soulmate. The ink of tattoos have been appearing on his skin since he was born. He spends his whole life wondering who they are, what they'll be like. When he's eighteen, he gets a tattoo to let them know he exists, but there's no response. Three years later, Jaskier begins to wonder if he'll ever meet them at all. Funny how fate has a way of bringing people together.

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

Jaskier always knew. There was not a second of his life that he hadn’t known he had a soulmate. He was born with the silhouette of a wolf on his ribs. At first, it looked like a blotched birthmark, but after a few years, the shape became clearer. His parents had wondered if he was cursed, but after a visit to an herbalist and a pellar, it was clear it was just a tattoo- the mark of a soulmate.

Something about the purposeful act of marking one’s skin was transferred through the bond. Other things like piercing and scars weren’t shared. Most say that’s because damage is rarely chosen, but who really knows?

Not everyone has a soulmate, but some do- people scattered across the world that their souls are bound to. No amount of space or time can separate them, nor can simple magic remove the bond. Its furiously romantic, at least Jaskier had always thought so.

It was entrenched in their society; people going as far back in time as tattoos themselves wrote of marking themselves when they came of age in hopes of finding another meant for them by fate itself.

The ink appearing across his skin over time sparked as much curiosity as excitement. There were questions, whispered between his parents when they thought he couldn’t hear, musings and worries. Why were the marks appearing at such a young age? What kind of scallion would have all these tattoos? Do they not know they affect someone else? Will he be able to get a job with his markings? Jaskier always rolled his eyes at that one.

They made him cover up, shoved him in turtle necks and long-sleeved shirts even through the sweltering summers. The more he got, the more ashamed his parents became, but Jaskier only felt more of a thrill. They were beautiful, too- tastefully placed and clearly done by good artists. Though he was always most fond of the wolf, he loved each of them: a large arch-griffon showed up on his bicep in middle school, some Latin quote on his chest his senior year, the skull of something very inhuman on his calf in college- a leshen, he thinks.

There weren’t too many, and they seemed to revolve around the fantastical world of monsters and myth- the types of things that were rare in this world. They still existed, but humans had driven many innocent creatures to extinction.

That was another point of contention with his parents, though most things were. It wasn’t a surprise when Jaskier left at the age of sixteen, flying across the continent and enrolling in Oxenfurt University. Two years later was when he got his first tattoo- he thought of himself as pretty clever for it, too.

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It’s late autumn when Geralt sees it.

He wakes up late, the wind howling outside against the rickety windows of his apartment. He had dealt with a drowner problem the night before. Of course, the contractor he was working for said it was only a few when it ended up being at least a dozen. And of course, he was underpaid again. But it was work. The results of it, though, left him exhausted and sore from the unexpected battle. He stumbles into the little, dimly lit bathroom to take a shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he does so.

Stark black lines stand out against his pale skin below the wolf on his ribs. It’s a phone number. Above it are the little words “call me” embellished with a heart.

Fuck.

He feels like he’s on fire, that hot sensation in his cheeks he’d recognize as blush- if he could blush. Which he can’t, right? But there’s panic, too. How could this possibly be?! Witchers don’t have soulmates. Fuck, most people don’t think witchers have souls! And look at him, he’s given this person more than enough ink against their will. That thought makes him sick. Almost as sick as the thought of having a soulmate.

He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t get another tattoo to offer an explanation or anything. He just ignores it, which isn’t that hard to do, really. It’s not in a terribly visible place, and if he keeps his eyes away from the mirror when he showers, he almost forgets about it. But he still feels it; every time he remembers it, it’s like fire burning a hole in his side, taunting him, reminding him someone out there is waiting for a prince charming, and he’s what they got.

---

Three years pass like that, Geralt ignoring the tattoos that pop up on his body from time to time, none of which cover the phone number. The other tattoos aren’t bad- even beautiful. He gets a set of flowers on his shoulder blade, lovely and shaded perfectly; a set of oddly specific music notes appear on his foot, though he doesn’t know what song they’re from; a songbird on his arm, adding to his collection perfectly; his favorite is a small minimalistic portrait of a wolf surrounded by yellow flowers that appears on his wrist one summer.

Late at night when he’s alone with his thoughts, Geralt lets himself imagine that they got that because of him- because of the first wolf tattoo he got. He lets himself think maybe they think of him fondly, associate the wolf with him, and chose to put that tattoo in such a visible place for him.

It’s not true, though, and he knows it.

Even if it were true, they would change their mind if they knew him- knew what he is.

He gets a contract to clear out the warehouses on the edge of the city, deep within the less savory parts of town. Here, humans are more likely a danger than monsters, but still, some do stalk the streets, especially late at night.

The man that hired him said he didn’t know what beasts laid in his warehouse, simply that a worker had turned up dead with what looked like scratch marks, time of death estimated around midnight. Blind jobs were always the worst. If the man died at midnight, Geralt will have to wait until then to approach as some creatures only transformed or showed themselves deep into the night.

He decides to kill time at a local bar in preparation. He has never been here before, some odd little college bar, but the food smells good and they have alcohol; nothing else matters.

He sits by himself, running through his list of things he needs to do this week as he waits for his food- maybe he should buy Roach a new toy if this pays well… his eyes shift to wander around the room and take note of the patrons. They’re the usual, grungy broke college kids and people with drinking problems. There’s an alarming overlap between the groups. Then, his eyes shift to where a single musician is setting up for live music.

He looks young; soft hair frames his boyish face with big blue eyes. He’s bright: bright smile, bright eyes, bright clothing- he wears a denim jacket with far too many buttons and patches stuck to it, a colorful floral T-shirt underneath, too tight black jeans, and are those white converse hand-painted with yet more flowers. The kids are still doing that?

Yet, as he begins to sing, Geralt can’t help but keep glancing at him. A song or two go by; his voice is lovely, deeper than he had expected, and it gets harder and harder to look away. It’s a ballad that really captures the witcher’s attention. It’s sad and lonesome, singing about longing for love. Something about it weighs heavy on his heart.

“They say love is mankind’s greatest joy/

But what if I can never find you?”

When the waitress comes by with his food, Geralt finds he doesn’t even glance at her, somehow transfixed by the young man’s singing. His singing is magical. Of course, Geralt knows it’s not literally magical, but it has been a long time since he’s felt drawn to someone like this- if ever.

The song ends and the singer shifts to something more upbeat, some attempted crowd-pleaser, and Geralt shakes the feeling off. He returns his focus to his meal, scrolling through mindless nothings on his phone.

When Jaskier finishes his last set, only a few claps can be heard throughout the bar. One asshole says a little too loudly “He’s finally done!”. He sighs in defeat, but this isn’t exactly the live music kinda bar. It’s… actually gross. The floors are awfully sticky. If only he could get a spot in one of the better venues in town, then maybe he could get a break. But music is competitive here.

None of that matters when his eyes lock on the mysterious and gorgeous man brooding in the corner of the bar. He seems to be the strong silent type, sitting alone with his food and an empty beer. He has long white hair, pulled half up. T-shirt under, leather jacket, and are those biker boots? He looks like trouble- no, he looks like danger and heartbreak, and exactly what Jaskier needs in his life.

The musician snags two beers off a waitress’s platter, ignoring her fussing as he moves in closer toward the man.

“As a musician, patrons are typically supposed to offer me free drinks, but I figured I’d make an exception this once.” He says, placing the darker beer in front of the man, hoping he got his preferences right.

He seems to ponder it for a moment, breathtaking golden eyes assessing the beer, then Jaskier. Finally, the man accepts it, taking a long drink before scooting his basket of French fries towards Jaskier “Would the starving artist like a fry?” His voice is deep and gravely and perfect.

“Who said I was starving?” He grins, though he does take a fry, quite happily.

The man ‘Hm’s at him, thoughtful, yet somehow playful “Must be if you’re playing in a dump like this.”

“Fair enough,” Jaskier smiles- or, continues to smile. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

His companion doesn’t reply immediately, eventually responding “Geralt.”

“So, Geralt, you know I’m a starving artist. What do you do?”

That seems to entertain him as Geralt quirks an eyebrow at him, a sly smirk on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier scrunches his eyebrows together “That’s why I’m asking?”

Geralt huffs amusedly “Call it security.”

“For shitty bars?”

“No.”

Jaskier fakes a pout, fluttering his eyelashes “Aw, and I had already been planning to come back to see you.” He watches as Geralt rolls his eyes- his golden… cat eyes. In the dim lighting of the bar, his pupils had been big enough to seem round, but Jaskier notices them contract slightly, forming something more adjacent to slivers. And suddenly, it makes sense. His hair, the medallion around his neck, the brooding- the musician gasps “You’re a witcher!” he says, almost giddy with excitement.

There’s nothing meek about Geralt in the slightest. Yet, for a moment he looks as though he wants to crawl under the table. It doesn’t bother Jaskier, though, who is nearly grinning ear to ear “Oh, how wonderful! Tell me everything,” he demands, leaning farther across the table.

Geralt gazes at him quizzically, actually surprised by his reaction “Not really supposed to share details with strangers.”

“Ah, you probably don’t want to talk about work, anyways. Perhaps another time,” he adds slyly. The witcher does not offer to redirect the conversation, seemingly content with his silence. Though, he doesn’t object when Jaskier snags more of his fries. The musician goes as far as leaning across the table to dip them in the little container of ketchup Geralt has sitting in front of him. That’s when he notices the squiggly outlines of black on Geralt’s arm, just barely showing under the cusp of his sleeve.

“Oh, you have tattoos,” Jaskier points out cheerily.

He had expected Geralt to offer to show him, but he only gets an affirmative “Hm,”

“I love tattoos!” he pushes “I only have a few myself, but I always want more. They’re addictive, you know. Can I see them?”

“Fine.” Geralt says as if it were a burden, but he sees him smirk, however subtle. Ah, so Jaskier chose the right topic, after all.

He watches a little too closely as Geralt shucks off the leather jacket. At first, Jaskier focuses on his muscles- gods he’s muscular. It almost looks like he’s going to rip his shirt, the way the fabric strains as he pushes off his jacket. But then, with his arms showing, Jaskier’s eyes freeze on the tattoos- the familiar arch-Griffin, his wolf with flowers, the swallow. Jaskier’s tattoos. And suddenly he feels like he can’t think, can’t process what’s going on. The sound of the bar patrons in the background all but drowns out to the pounding of his heartbeat.

Jaskier opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He closes it, then tries again. “Why didn’t you call me, you prick?!” Jaskier exclaims, nearly jumping over the table with the way he’s out of his seat in an instant, the chair making a loud squeak against the hard floor as a result. A few people turn to look at them, but he doesn’t notice.

He thought his plan was foolproof, thought for sure that his soulmate would call, and when they didn’t, the tattoos stopped too. It was the worst feeling Jaskier had ever experienced. He doesn’t know how long or how much he cried. He thought they might have died!

“Do you know I had to pay a hundred dollars to keep that phone number last time I switched phone providers? Just in case you called!” Jaskier fusses, though that really probably shouldn’t be what he’s most concerned about right now.

“What are you talking about?” Geralt asks, voice suddenly cold and harsh.

Jaskier rushes to push his jacket sleeves up, hands shaking with anticipation. However, when his tattoos, and heart, are finally bared to the witcher, he recoils.

“We’re soulmates, bounded by fate!” Jaskier beams, hoping his excitement will rub off on the other man. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

The words are flat and dull, said as though they weren’t crushing. Jaskier tries not to take it personally. A lot of people are frightened when they meet their soulmate. And- well, Geralt’s a witcher. They’re notorious for being loners.

Still, he pushes. “Come on, we’re connected for a reason.”

“No, we’re not” Geralt barks back with a frown. He’s on his feet in an instant, digging through his wallet and throwing down some bills on the table. He’s tall. Oh, heavens he’s even taller than Jaskier, only by a little, but his broadness makes it more obvious. Jaskier barely has time to register what’s happening before the witcher is walking away from him, strides heavy, confident, and broody. Of course, he got the broody one.

He doesn’t let his soulmate’s negativity deter him, though. Jaskier throws his guitar over his shoulder and scuttles after Geralt.

The cold night air should be refreshing. It should help him clear his mind but hearing the boy’s hurried footsteps and thundering heart behind him does little to calm Geralt. It had been fine, just a bit of non-committal flirting and a free beer until tattoos came into play. He hadn’t thought anything of it when Jaskier asked to see; it wasn’t the first time he’d had someone ask. He never expected to meet his ‘soulmate’ and especially not some college kid in a dive bar. If the adrenaline coming off Jaskier in tidal waves is anything to go by, he wasn’t expecting this either.

Speaking of the devil, Jaskier catches up with him, speaking much faster than before, all nerves and pent up energy. “Look, I’m not proposing to you right here and now. Hell, I’m not even asking you to hop back to my apartment for a celebratory romp- not that I would be opposed, regardless of the tattoos, but- oh, shit, you could be straight. Gods. I know it might be a lot. But we’re connected!”

“It’s just haphazard, faulty magic. Some people claim to see the future by sniffing cheese. Do you believe everything they say, too?” Geralt tries to reason with him- or with himself. He isn’t quite sure which one needs convincing more.

“I’m just asking to get to know you. As friends.”

“No. I don’t do friends.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve spent my whole life wondering who you are. I- gods it all makes sense now. You’re a witcher. You must be quite a bit older than me. I was born with a tattoo: the little wolf. My whole life I knew I had a soulmate, and all I ever wanted was to meet you, and now you’re pushing me away?!” his voice cracks on the last word, and Geralt feels the guilt shoot straight to his gut. “Just give me a chance.”

Geralt stops in his tracks, turning to face Jaskier. The sudden movement has the man tripping over his feet to come to a halt. “I’m sorry,” Geralt says finally.

Jaskier gawks at him, confusion evident on his face.

“If I had known, I would’ve never gotten all these tattoos. I’m sorry.” He reiterates “That must have been rough.”

“Is that why you stopped getting them after I got one?” Jaskier murmurs. The way he looks at Geralt with those round eyes makes his stomach churning. It’s like he can communicate every emotion so clearly through a glance- pain, hurt, hope… Geralt nods, and the rawness of the moment is gone in an instant, replaced by Jaskier’s confident prattling once more.

“While I admit, most people don’t start seeing tattoos until they’re in high school at the earliest, I never resented them. I adore them- really. I suppose I’m quite fortunate. You have fantastic taste in tattoos.” He grins

That makes Geralt smile, just in the slightest, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “I’m not the kind of person someone like you wants to be around.”

“But I do.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me. I want to change that. That’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt breathes in deeply, holding it in for a second before releasing and allowing the tension in his shoulders to subside. It's his habitual method of getting ahold of his stress, but it has the inadvertent effect of inundating him with Jaskier’s scent; he smells like flowers, a combination of some cologne and his naturally sweet smell, something Geralt wishes he didn’t notice.

What options does he really have? He’s already marked up the boy’s skin. What kind of man just walks away from that? He gets the feeling that if he did, it wouldn’t be the last he would see of Jaskier- seems like a persistent bugger. Maybe one conversation would sate his curiosity enough to drive him away.

Finally, he speaks “I have two hours, then I have to go to work. What did you have in mind?” Before Jaskier can open his mouth, he adds “Somewhere public.”

“Of course, of course- I would never threaten your honor.” Jaskier chuckles, “I know a place not too far from here that serves boozy milkshakes,” he offers.

“Fine.”

#geraskier #geralion #geralt x jaskier #soulmates au #tattoos #oh gosh I hope the read more button works #fic #geraskier fic #fic rec #fluff #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my stuff #tattoo au

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lady-of-all-cards · 4 years

Text

Ikemen Revolution: Alternate Ending (Zero)

One-Shot Statictis: Pages: 8 Word Count: 3485 Characters: 19253 Characters (without spaces): 15886 (This is a lot longer than I originally anticipated, but I wanted it to both make sense for people who don’t mind spoilers, but still want to read, and also give context to those who have already gone through Zero’s route.)

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Characters: Lancelot Kingsley, Edgar Bright, Zero, Harr Silver, Loki Genetta, Amon Jabberwock, Dalim “Dum” Tweedle, Alice the Second. Pairings: Zero (Ikemen Revolution)/Main Character Summary: Hazy sky blue eyes, clouded over with magic, facing off against bottemless jade-green eyes. The Jack versus the Ace, and the King as their witness, only one would walk out with his life, the other would die as the King’s one true protector.

Notes: SPOILERS!This is an alternate universe ending based on Zero’s main route. If you don’t want the main points of Zero’s route being spoiled, don’t read this. I highly recommend downloading the game if you already haven’t and experiencing Zero’s route for yourself.

“I will stop your plans to rule Cradle, even if it costs me my life!” Lancelot swore, his eyes glowing crimson in the dim lighting of the room. However, he stumbled back, drawing his sheathed scabbard, just barely repelling the dagger that had been flung at him out of nowhere. He looked to the entrance, only to find a blank-eyed Zero standing there. “You-- why?”

“Even failed experiments sometimes have their uses.” Amon smirked in Zero’s silence. “Zero, kill the traitor Lancelot!”

“Yes, sir.” He muttered at the command as he and Lancelot both drew their sabers. Only the cold, ruthless sound of scraping metal cut through the silence.

“So, Zero, you’ve fallen into Amon’s hands.” No response. “If you stand between me and Amon, I will show you no mercy.” Again, no response. Verbally anyway, as Zero had darted toward without hesitation.

“Stop, Zero!” Alice screamed from where she stood. The sound of her voice made him freeze on the spot, arm still raised and poised to reach its target.

“Alice?” Edgar and Alice had been listening in on their conversation from behind a pillar, but there was no way she could have stayed hidden any longer.

“King Lancelot isn’t the enemy, can’t you see?” She begged, stepping forward, but Edgar was quick to dart in front of her protectively.

“That’s not good, Zero.” Though she was feeling frantic, Edgar sounded perfectly calm as he stepped forward. “The Ace of Hearts can’t turn his blade on his King.”

“Edgar, what are you doing here?” Lancelot demanded, looking to him, but Edgar’s gaze remained on Zero as he answered.

“If my student is going down the wrong path, it is my job as his teacher to correct him.” Edgar gracefully slid his sword from its sheath as he stepped in front of Lancelot. “I await your orders, King Lancelot.”

“How much of the situation are you aware of?” Lancelot asked in response, looking at his trio of enemies over Edgar’s shoulder.

“The leader of the Magic Tower plots to take control of Cradle, and our King will do whatever it takes to stop him, as far as I understand it.” He spoke smoothly, not even glancing at him.

“Yes, that’s basically the gist of it. So--” Lancelot pointed the tip of his sword over Edgar’s shoulder at Amon. Edgar glared determindly at it’s tip as his King gave his command. “As the King of Hearts, I command you! Arrest Amon Jabberwock, leader of the Magic Tower, for plotting to take over Cradle.” Edgar smirked, turning his gaze back on his enemies.

“Yes, sir.”

“You think one extra ally will be enough to stop me?” Amon growled, stepping back between Zero and Dalim. “Kill everyone but Alice!”

“As you command.” Dalim purred, but still, Zero remained silent. Alice’s breath caught in her throat as the tension mounted.

And then Zero made the first move. Leaping into action, he swung his sword toward Lancelot with expert precision.

“Whoa there, King Lancelot’s not your opponent.” Edgar’s voice was light and airy, but it grew dark as he continued. “I am.” Raising his saber, Edgar stepped in and blocked Zero’s blade with his own.

“Out of the way.” Zero sneered blankly, pushing against Edgar’s defense.

“Come now. Is that any way to talk to your teacher?” His cheery tone was back, teasing his dear student once again. They both pulled away, and then clashed again, initiating a heated sword battle. Before, during their sparring match, they looked like they were having fun, but now... the teacher-student match she was watching now was a life or death battle, and as she watched with bated breath, she noticed slight swelling a short distance away from them...

The blast of magic shot toward Lancelot too fast for Alice to stop it, but Lancelot immediately summoned his own blast of red light and the two magic spells cancelled each other out.

“So, Dalim, the time has come for us to clash.” Lancelot spoke, turning properly towards his opponent, standing between him and Alice.

“Looks that way. I am a scholar at heart, so I’m not great at this sort of thing, but I will see my idea of justice carried out.” Dalim’s magic clashed fiercely with Lancelot’s once again, and Alice wanted to lend her support, but with both battles raging, she just couldn’t get close enough, and they were exchanging magic spells so quickly that there was no way she could step in with her power.

“Isn’t being a passiver observer the best? So entertaining.” While her attention was focused on the two waging wars, the man in the differently coloured robe had snuck up right beside her. “Once those two are taken care of, it’ll be your turn, Alice.”

“And what do you plan to do with me?” Her shaky voice asked as she stepped away from him.

“Don’t you know?” He smirked, taking a step forward for every step she took back. “We will use you in our experiments until you’re nothing but a dried up husk.”

“Just-- what are you researching?” She probed, looking around for help, even though she knew none would come.

“The power to break spells. That power is a threat to my ambitions. I need to make sure nothing can get in my way when I use magic to invade the Land of Reason. So, first, I need to understand what it is that gives you the ability to break spells.” It was an incredibly bold and selfish ambition. “Your sacrifice will lay the foundations of our future. You should be honoured.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I won’t let you get away with any of that!” Alice finally snapped.

“I look forward to seeing how long that defiance will last before you break.” She clenched her hands into fists as he sneered in her face, but just then, she caught sight of someone from the corner of her eyes. A figure hiding behind a pillar was pointing a glowing Magic Crystal at Edgar.

“No!”

“Alice?” Edgar gasped in shock as she rushed to where they were fighting, shattering the magic before it could do any harm.

“Why you--” Amon growled. “How dare you get in the way! Zero! Teach Alice a lesson! Make her hurt until she doesn’t have the strength to fight back!”

“Yes, sir.” Zero responded mindlessly, batting Edgar’s sword to the side, kicking him in the gut.

“Edgar!” Alice gasped as Edgar lost his balance, but Zero was already darting towards her. But she wasn’t going to give up and Zero. Pushing her fear aside, she spread her arms wide as Zero raised his sword. And he froze in place.

“What are you doing?” He muttered in a low growl.

“You have to remember! You are Zero, the Ace of Hearts!” Alice declared, staring him down.

“I am--”

“The Zero I love would never use his sword to do harm!” Her voice was laced with both pain and hope, and behind Zero, Edgar was pulling his deprived body towards his fallen sword.

“What are you-- talking about--” Zero’s wavering voice asked as he gritted his teeth.

“Oh, geez--” Edgar chuckled, one arm wrapped around his bruising midsection as the other loosely gripped his saber. “You must be the most troublesome student ever!” Zero gasped in response, but he was still too late to react as Edgar ran over and hit Zero with a merciless roundhouse kick. Once he was on the floor, Edgar held the tip of his sword to Zero’s throat. “Zero, why do you wield your blade?”

“Why?” Zero questioned, still trying to process what happened.

“Is it to kill? To destroy? No, that’s not your reason. You have always given great thought to what you can do with just that one sword. You’ve suffered and struggled desperately to carve out a place to belong and to get people to accept you. And you swore that you would use the power you gained by doing that to protect others.”

“I--”

“Your sword has saved countless people. Your sword is the sword of justice! As your teacher, I have always been so proud of you for that.”

“Mm--”

“You are my pride and joy, the best student in the world. It doesn’t matter if you’ve lost your memories, or are being controlled. You are still the Zero I know. So, think about the reason you wield that blade once more. Is Alice really the person you should be pointing your sword at?”

“I-- Mm--”

“Zero, what are you doing? Take care of the Jack of Hearts and Alice this instant!” Amon commanded coldly, his voice echoing.

“I’m not-- I want to-- protect-- protect something-- something that’s important to me--” his breathing ragged. Zero doubled over in anguish, and something tumbled out of his trouser pocket. The earing! “Mm-- Alice--” She gasped, looking back at Zero, “Alice--”

“Zero! I’m right here! Please, come back to me!” Zero’s face contorted in pain as he struggled to take a step towards her. Just then, she saw an ominous light swelling on the edge of her field of vision

“Puppets don’t need freewill! Have you forgotten the lesson I hammered into your body?!” Amon sneered, and suddenly, Zero’s sword was left to clatter to the ground as he clutched at the tattoo on his neck, screaming in pain.

“Zero?!” Alice screamed in confusion, but the tattoo continued to glow, and Zero continued to cry in pain. “Zero, hang in there!” She wished with all her might, but the light that was hurting Zero didn’t fade.

“What did you do to him, Amon?” Edgar demanded, turning a sharp, cruel gaze on the robed leader.

“That tattoo is proof that he is property of the Magic Tower, and therefore belongs to me. Everyone associated with the Magic Tower had one, but Zero’s tattoo is extra special. That tattoo ink was made with crushed up Magic Crystals. So, I can use it to make him suffer like this.” Another pulse of magic brought Zero to his knees as a scream left his throat. “The moment you try to use that sword on me, Zero’s life is forfeit.”

“Uh--” Edgar’s gasp made Amon smirk, and the way his body froze before stumbling back made him chuckle darkly.

“You-- you’re absolutely evil!” Alice screamed in anguish. By this point, Zero was laid on his side, crying as he clawed at his neck so hard with his nails that he was beginning to bleed.

“It’s none of your business what I do with my property. Zero has been trained this way since he was just a babe.” He turned his attention to Zero, “If you want the pain to stop, then you will end these two!” She couldn’t let Zero suffer any longer. She grabbed hold of the hand that he was using to scratch his skin and placed her other palm over the tattoo.

“Mm-- Alice?” Zero whimpered.

“Remember what I promised you? If you have to scratch something, scratch my hand instead of your neck.”

“L-let go--”

“I won’t!” She snapped determinedly, ignoring the fingertips that dug lightly into the back of her hand. The faint stab of pain was nothing compared to what Zero must have been feeling. “Zero, you’ve already suffered enough. More than enough. Now, let me take on any other pain that comes your way.”

“S-stop--” his breathing was strained and sweat covered his forehead, but he grit his teeth instead of digging into her hand.

“Zero, you knew from the start what fighting against the Magic Tower would mean. You knew what it would do to you, yet you still chose to protect me. Thank you. Thank you for always protecting me.” She spoke earnestly.

“Alice--”

“What are you doing, Zero?! If I can’t use you, then I might as well kill you!” The most broken and horrific scream left Zero as he writhed on the ground. It seemed to shake the whole tower, but Alice still held his pain-racked, sobbing body as tightly as she could.

“Don’t worry, Zero.” She whispered, hugging him even tighter. “I’m going to protect you this time! I will keep you safe!” When she willed it with all her might, the light coming from his tattoo burst apart. The Magic Crystal lost its luster.

“What?!” Amon screeched, looking from the dead stone in his hand, to the quivering body of Zero and finally to Alice. Zero’s breathing gradually became stable again.

“Alice, thank you.” He whispered, his face setting determinedly.

“Zero?” She asked, looking at him in relief and concern. After he had finally caught his breath, Zero stood up. He picked up his sword from the floor and glared at Amon with clear-sky eyes, sparking with the light of the sun.

“I’m sorry about all that.” He spoke, addressing Edgar and Alice. “But you don’t have to worry any more.” He showed Alice a bright smile that was as full of confidence and strength as when they first met. “I promise that I will keep you safe!”

“Oh--” Alice gasped in relief. He was finally back! Sword in hand, Zero stood beside Edgar.

“Don’t you have something you want to say to me, too?” Edgar smiled, as relieved as Alice to have him back.

“Uh-- I’m sorry.” It seemed like it physically pained Zero to say it. He really, truly was back to react like that, react like his old self, towards Edgar.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” Edgar responded in a cheery tone. “When we get back to headquarters, you can make it up to me by being my servant for a week.”

“And this is why I never ask you for favours.” Zero responded in a long-suffering tone, but an amused smile tugged at the corner’s of Zero’s mouth despite his words.

“Why you-- You’re awfully brazen for something that’s not even human!” Amon hissed at Zero, but the Ace stared him down with a straightforward gaze.

“My origin is certainly different from most people’s. I was created in this tower and treated like a puppet. But now I have a teacher who taught me the way of the sword. I have a king who accepts me. And I have a woman, Alice, who taught me what it means to be happy.”

“Zero--” Alice breathed.

“When I ventured into the outside world, I met all kinds of people and learned all kinds of things. I became more than a prototype. I became human. And so, for as long as I am alive, I will wield my blade for the people who helped make me a real person.” Taking a deep breath, Zero exchanged a look with Edgar. “I am now Zero, the Ace of Hearts!” His shout acting as a signal, the two of them swung their swords at Amon in unison.

“Lord Amon!” Dalim cried, and before their blades could make contact, Dalim leapt between the two fighting factions, sending Edgar and Zero flying backwards with a gust of magic wind.

Alice’s gaze snapped to Lancelot, who was leaning breathlessly against a wall, and their eyes locked. His face was pale, his lips drained of all colour, and he was struggling to even stand.

“Are you okay?!” She gasped.

“Yes. Dalim must be worse off than me. He should be well past his limit by now--” Alice looked over to Dalim as Lancelot spoke.

“Dalim! Forget about Lancelot! Use all the magic you have left to blow them away!” Amon ordered.

“As you-- command.” Dalim groaned.

“Wait! If you make him keep fighting, he’ll die!” Alice gasped, looking between Amon and Dalim.

“Huh? Are you worried about me? You truly are a kind lady. But you mustn’t forget that I am a villain.” From the depths of his hood, his eyes glowed brighter than ever before, and an instant later, a wild gust of wind blew through the hall, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“You okay?” A new voice and strong arm supported her when she started to fall backwards. She looked up with a start and met the gaze of a single, grey eye.

“Harr! You’re okay!” Alice gasped in relief.

“Yes.”

“That’s because Harr has me!” Loki said cheerily from behind his teacher.

“Loki!”

“I contacted Loki as soon as they locked us up.” Harr explained.

“And wasn’t I a big help?” Loki smirked triumphantly.

“Yes, you were. Thank you.” Struggling against the wind, Lancelot came over to them.

“We don’t have time to stand around and chat.” Lancelot spoke as the whirlwind that had Dalim at its center was growing stronger by the moment. Alice started to step forward, but Zero held up a hand to stop her from the other side of the room.

“It’s too dangerous, Alice! Stay back!”

“But--”

“It’ll be okay, just stay there!” She closed her mouth, giving him a curt nod. “Edgar. I’m going in. You stand down.”

“You think you can win?” Edgar asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Yes.” Was Zero’s firm response.

“Well, okay then.”

Flashing Alice a quick smile, Zero started walking toward Dalim. Edgar, meanwhile, hurried over to their side.

“Don’t worry. Just trust in Zero.” Edgar reassured.

“I do.” She responded, her tone filled with hope and belief in Zero and his goal. He promised that he would come back, so she knew it would be okay. It just had to be.

Inside the wild storm winds, Zero quietly readied his sword.

“This ends now, Dalim.” Zero spoke, gripping his sword tighter.

“Yes. Will your justice prevail?” Dalim’s eyes glowed brighter as the colour grew deeper. “Or will mine? Time to settle this once and for all!”

Surrounded by a blinding light, wild winds whipped around all presences in the room. The tower shook and parts of the ceiling began to crumble from the force of the magic.

“Lancelot!” Harr called through the thick, dust-filled air.

“Yeah!” The King responded, and with their combined magic, they shielded them from the falling debris, but at the center of the storm, light and dust kept the fate of the men inside hidden from them.

Chunks of the crumbling ceiling buried the floor, and finally, the light began to fade, and the dust began to settle, but she still couldn’t make out either of their figures.

“Zero--” she breathed. The blood drained from her face as she tried to go to the pile of rubble, but Edgar held her back.

“No! It’s too dangerous!” He snapped.

“But--”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” He said, but he didn’t sound so sure himself. It was okay. It was all going to be okay. Zero was fine. He was alive.

“Zero--” she breathed again, her voice broken and shaken. “Zero!” She screamed, tears beginning to stream down her face as she leaned heavily into Edgar, who held her close to his chest.

But there was no response...

Once the room was clear enough to see the floor, Edgar gently pushed Alice away from him, letting Harr take her hand as he stepped beyond the protective barrier the wizards upheld. His steps were cautious, and he looked closely, before his whole body stiffened, frozen in time.

“Zero...?” His voice was full of panic, shaken as his pace increased. “Zero!?” He called, kneeling by a pile of rubble and roughly beginning to pull the fallen stone off of the crushed body beneath...

The remaining rocks began to float as Loki’s tear-filled eyes glowed crimson, but Edgar didn’t pay mind to it. He couldn’t! He took Zero’s bloodied body in his arms, stroking the blood-matted hair from his face, but it didn’t rouse the Ace from his slumber. Edgar didn’t want to, but he slowly trailed his shaking hand to Zero’s neck, pressing against where a beating pulse should have been.

“Edgar?” Alice’s voice was quivering, begging the Jack to tell her Zero was fine, that he was okay, but all Edgar had to do was turn around. He had tried to keep his smile, but the grief over his expression was enough- the knife that drove into their hearts. The shaking of his head twisted it, and Alice screamed in denial, falling to her knees.

The Ace lay in the arms of his teacher, who held him close. One’s heart beating wildly, forcing tears to drop onto the fallen student, to force a strangled choke from his throat. The other’s had stopped, never to beat, felled in service of his King and country.

The whole of Cradle mourned the death of the most honest and trustworthy Ace of Hearts to ever grace their presence, and that day forevermore was used to celebrate his life, and strangely, the hearts of those in the Land of Reason also felt heavy, and pain graced their eyes and throats, on the day a great human, a great man, was taken by an evil plot to rule over the universes in tyranny...

#lancelot kingsley #edgar bright #zero (ikemen revolution)#harr silver #loki genetta #amon jabberwock #dalim dum tweedle #alice the second

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the-yancied-piper · 4 years

Text

twig.

Summary: Eric never seemed okay after his father visited. He also never wanted to talk about it. Yancy decides to find out why.

Notes: AU in which Eric Derekson is at Happy Trails, probably due to some terrible shit his dad had him framed him for (*coughs* basically my brain needed an excuse to put Yancy and Eric in the same setting so they can be SIBLINGS and also SOFT)

Words: 2,267

Pairings: none, but Yancy has unofficially adopted Eric

Warnings: verbal abuse; implied abuse (including Yancy); yelling; cursing; mentions of death

Tag list: @dorks-in-fiction @thunderstruck-owl-gal @ambigiousgelpens @beth-bunkus @a-tempest-in-a-teapot @thegirlwhoescapedgallifrey19

AO3 link: Read it here!

* * * * *

Third Sunday. Visitation Day. Most of the inmates had somebody to see. Some of them didn’t.

Technically, Yancy didn’t need to be at a booth. He knew nobody was coming for him. And Gerald, the notoriously sympathetic prison guard, knew that technically the inmates weren’t allowed at a booth unless somebody was already there to talk to them. But Yancy had insisted that he thought someone might come today, I haven’t seen my aunt in ages, and youse can never be too sure, and Gerald knew in his heart that Yancy’s aunt wouldn’t come, and that just crushed his little heart even more. How could he say no?

So Yancy sat in his booth, staring at the glass pane in front of him. The phone to his right hung on the wall, untouched. Gerald was too easy to exploit. He didn’t even have an aunt.

Ignoring the odd feeling in his chest at the collective hum of his friends laughing into their phones, flirting with their partners, and the occasional “I love you too”s, Yancy sat and tried to listen to the conversation happening five feet to his left.

“—didn’t mean it, I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really—please—please let me talk. I—“

Eric’s thin voice quavered through the air, sounding as if it couldn’t quite get enough buoyancy to carry itself all the way to Yancy’s ears. He furrowed his brow.

Eric had only had a visitor twice since he’d arrived, but both those times, Yancy recalled, he’d gotten oddly quiet. After his first visit, he hadn’t wanted to look anyone in the eye. The second time, Yancy had casually asked who was visiting him and the kid nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d stammered out something about how happy he was to see his dad and gave a halting laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. Then he didn’t talk for three days. Yancy had filed that away in the ever-growing list of Things He Weren’t Too Sure He Liked About the Old Man. Now, he took note of the anxious voice in the adjacent booth.

“I know, dad. I know. Please— I know it was my f—” Eric kept halting, interrupted frequently by a crackly burst of static that rose and fell in pitch like a jagged line. His dad was yelling something, but Yancy couldn’t tell what. Furtively glancing around to make sure no eyes were on him, he carefully scooted his chair a few inches to the left.

Eric’s sentences were incomplete and nearly incoherent, full of pleas and apologies. He seemed to be growing increasingly more breathless. Yancy could hear the wince in his voice every time that sharp burst came through the phone. He could just barely make out the words “disgrace” and “pathetic”. His fists clenched. He quietly moved another half foot, and the crackle took shape:

“—day goes by where I don’t wonder where the hell I went wrong with you … never did a goddamn useful thing for me or ma … brothers would be ashamed to look at you and your … waste of time and energy, you ungrateful tard, no you let me talk … never listened to me, never could just fucking listen … your own fuckin’ fault you’re here, you piece of—”

Eric’s halted breaths started to sound more like sobs, and Yancy decided he had heard just about enough. He shot up from his chair and started to move toward Eric when Gerald stepped in front of him.

“Hey, where do you think you’re goin’? I don’t mean to be too stern, but visitations are one-on-one, personal business.”

Yancy’s jaw twitched. “Don’tcha hear what’s happenin’? Look at Twig. Look at ‘im! He’s shakin’ like a… twig!” He pointed at Eric, whose reedy body was quaking with either fear or repressed sobs. It was hard to tell, but it didn’t matter. Yancy could see the man on the other side now, his face red and his mustached lip curled into a snarl.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just interrupt people’s precious time with their loved ones,” Gerald protested, putting an arm out. “That’s just not in our rules and it’s very rude, besides.”

“Listen to what’s happenin’! Does he look like he’s enjoyin’ his ‘precious time’ with that asshole? Huh!?”

“It’s not anybody’s business what people talk about in their private conversations—“

“It’s my business, and that bastard ain’t makin’ nothing private. Twig. Twig! Four-Eyes!” Yancy shouted, trying to get Eric’s attention. The teen seemed paralyzed, transfixed on his dad’s furious face, his lips quivering but releasing no sound.

“Hey now, keep your voice—hey—”

“Eric!”

Eric flinched and his head snapped to Yancy. “I—I, um,” he began to stammer, his eyes flitting back and forth between his tattooed friend and his father.

“Yancy, you need to step back now,” Gerald said, getting visibly frustrated.

“Eric, hang up that phone,” said Yancy. “Hang up.”

“B-but, I—we’re—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Yancy, step back.”

“What’s he gonna do ta you? He can’t do nothin’. You hang up that phone.”

“I…”

“Yancy.”

Mr. Derekson pounded his side of the glass with his fist and Eric jumped and whimpered. “Listen to me when I’m talking to you, you little…”

Yancy felt a hand applying force to his chest and he slapped it away, marching forward. He snatched the phone from Eric’s white-knuckled grip and pressed it to his mouth, locking eyes with that bastard. “I’m the warden,” he growled through gritted teeth. “And your time is up.”

“Wh— you can’t do that, I’m talking to my son—”

Yancy slammed the phone into the receiver, still staring Eric’s father dead in the eye. His arm had protectively wrapped around Eric’s shoulder, and he gently squeezed it. “C’mon, Twig. C’mon.”

Derek Derekson’s mouth worked uselessly for a few moments, and his tomato face turned even redder. Suddenly he began shouting expletives so loud, Yancy could hear him through the glass and he was certain the rest of the prisoners could too. He felt Eric trembling under his hand. “Hey. Let’s go. I know you got workin’ legs. Let’s go.”

Eric tried to breathe, and got out of his chair. The two of them made to leave when they were halted by a distinctly not-Gerald prison guard with a stern expression.

“You, sir, have violated Happy Trails’ visitation policy,” she said, pointing a finger in Yancy’s face, “and you hurt Gerald’s feelings. You are receiving an official reprimand—”

“Hey, hey!” Yancy got in the guard’s face and pointed right back at her. “I violated nothin’, and youse ain’t givin’ me no reprimands, y’hear?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Yancy yelled. “The only one violatin’ anything here is that fuckface violatin’ Twig’s sanity, and if any of youse had half a brain, that bastard would be in here and my lil’ bro would be out in the world livin’ a normal and happy life! You hear me? Fuck your reprimands. Let’s go, Twig.” He shouldered roughly past the guards, Eric in tow, ignoring the startled and curious heads that had turned in their direction.

No words were exchanged on their way to the exercise yard. Yancy only heard Eric’s laboured breathing and thought of every way he could string Derek up from the rafters of a twenty-story apartment.

The yard was mostly empty, save for two men speaking in hushed tones off to the side, and a few security guards dotting the perimeter. Many of the inmates were still having their visits, and those who weren’t opted to sleep in their cells. Yancy found a bench and sat Eric down. He saw tear tracks on the kid’s face and thought of Jimmy punching Derek through a brick wall. He kept his arm around his shoulder.

They sat for an unspecified time while Eric breathed, and breathed. Yancy knew better than to keep track, or to try to force him to talk before he was ready.

Sobs turned to gasps, and gasps to pants. Eventually, Eric let out a long, slow exhale. A deep breath, and another. He still trembled slightly, like a blade of grass just brushed by a breeze.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Eric said finally. “Sorry I didn’t hang up.”

“Youse got nothin’ to be sorry about.” Yancy kept his voice soft. “I got a bit riled up in there, but it wasn’t ‘cause o’ you.” He turned to look at Eric’s face. “How you doin’?”

Eric was silent for a few beats, his eyes fixed on nothing in the distance. “I don’t know.”

“Hey. I told you I wouldn’t let nobody hurt you as long as you’re here. Remember that?”

A few more beats. “Yeah.”

“That includes your asshole dad. He don’t have to be in here to hurt you, and I don’t have to be out there to stop him from hurtin’ you. And… you don’t have to be out there either.”

“H-huh?”

“To stop him, I mean. You can hang up.”

Eric opened his mouth to protest and Yancy squeezed his shoulder.

“Yes, you can. That ain’t against no rules. You can always hang up. An’ if you can’t, just gimme a shout. I’ll hang up for you.”

Eric took another deep breath. “Thank you.”

“Don’ mention it.”

They sat in silence. Yancy removed his arm and clasped his hands in front of him, absentmindedly tracing his tattoos and staring at the fence on the far end of the yard. He tried and failed not to think of what he’d heard Derek say, and the desperate way Eric fumbled to find words in the face of his rage. Pathetic. Waste of time and energy. Your own fuckin’ fault. Where had he heard those words before? he thought bitterly. He knew that rage. He knew that fear. He knew the way those words wormed their way into the deepest, most animal parts of the brain and coiled tightly around the ribs, the way they could poison a person from the inside out. He swallowed and calmed himself by thinking of Derek getting run over by a Jeep, repeatedly. The Jeep, in his mind’s eye, just happened to be situated around himself.

“Hey, uh…” Yancy ventured after a few moments. “Your dad. He always talk to you like that?”

Eric stared at his own hands. “Not—not all the time, but. Sometimes. A lot. Yeah.”

Yancy nodded and ran a tongue along his teeth.

“B-but,” Eric scrambled, “he’s not—we’re both.” A breath. “He lost everything too. Not just me. And I’m—I’m—he’s not in jail. I’m here. And he’s not. And everything’s really, really hard. B-because of me.”

“Hey, now. Hey.” Yancy didn’t think anything was Eric’s fault for a damn second, and he blinked and saw his hands around that fat, veiny neck, squeezing—he blinked again, forcing himself to speak through the ringing in his ears. “You know what I think about all that.”

He didn’t, actually. Yancy had puzzled some pieces together and figured the kid’s narcissistic dad was to blame for most of what had happened to his family, but he’d refrained from shoving Eric into that reality. The first step was just trying to get him to see that he wasn’t as terrible and worthless as his dad had convinced him he was. He knew it would take more than his own opinion to change his mind, but hell. He had to do something.

Eric cleared his throat. “Hey, um… when… you were yelling at security,” he ventured. “Did—I thought—it sounded like you said… brother...” He faltered.

Fuck. Yancy felt himself tense. He had said that, hadn’t he?

“L-little brother,” Eric supplied.

“You, ah… you misheard.”

“Oh.”

Fuck. He scrambled to correct himself. “It was lil bro, if we’re gettin’ technical.” He turned to look at Eric, thin as a reed—twig. His Twig, who was currently blinking back tears. Yancy felt his brain fumble. He was supposed to make him feel at home, like family, and he was screwing it up. Your fault. Pathetic.

“I miss my brothers so much,” Eric whispered, and Yancy’s brain shut up for a moment. Eric removed his glasses and pressed his fingers into his eyes. “I’ve never missed anyone so badly in my life.”

Yancy swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat without permission. He watched Eric run a hand down his face and put his glasses back on.

“But—Merrick was the nicest,” he continued. “I remember once… Sterick and Therick had put firecrackers in a dead mouse and set it off just to scare me. I got yelled at for it, cause they—they ran off, and there were bloodstains on my clean overalls, and… Merrick helped me clean up the mess. He never blamed me for anything, or blew up any rodents. He just helped me clean up. He washed my clothes for me. He swept up the barn. He did things like that a… a lot.”

Eric looked at Yancy for the first time since they’d come outside. “You—you’re a lot like Merrick. I think you’d like him lots.”

Yancy rubbed his neck and looked away, choosing to stare intently at a blade of grass. “Ah, I don’t… I don’t think I can match up to any o’ your brothers. Well. Some of ‘em, maybe. But,” he chuckled, “I’m just a regular scumbag lookin’ out for a lil’ twig who’d snap in two if someone weren’t watchin’ him.”

A silence.

Then a soft, “Thank you, Yance.”

“Anytime, Twig.”

And he meant it.

#summary: my brain thought 'yancy and eric found family au' and went hog wild #yancy #eric derekson #ahwm #my writing #11 07 2019 #prison brothers au

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ascottywrites · 5 years

Text

The Steter List --Tails

After I realized that the last post was getting pretty long (what does that say about me?) I decided to split it up into two parts Sterek and Steter, so that it’s easier to deal with and not as possibly overwhelming...here’s that Steter half!

--Steter a.k.a Stiles Stilinski/ Peter Hale--

*a.k.a. The ship that makes me rethink life

Something Powerful Between Your Thighs by Bunnywest (Complete: 4/4| 18,595) --Steter/ --Biker!Peter

Someone’s actually replied.Fuck.

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest (Complete: 21/21| 54,900) --Steter

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Wild Card by Bunnywest for Rainy182 (Complete: 1/1| 10,799) --Steter

It's courting season, and for Omega Stiles, that means he has a month to choose who he's going to spend his heat with. He didn't think he'd have many suitors to choose from, but apparently he was wrong. It's a good thing he has Derek's uncle Peter to guide him.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum (Complete: 1/1| 24,501) --Steter/ Tattooed!Peter

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

smoke & bone (mistletoe & fang) by rightsidethru (Complete: 1/1| 3,075) --Steter

Deaton once told Stiles to be that spark. He never fully explained what that meant, however. (It was intentional.)

Lie to me (I like them pretty and white) by orphan_account (Complete: 8/8| 12,577) --Steter

Fact number one: Only true mates can have kids together.Fact number two: Peter had a mate, who was pregnant with twins when he died in the fire.

When Stiles tells him he’s pregnant, he... well, it doesn't really go according to plan.

Stiles wakes up in the hospital. He’s alone, a packed overnight bag beside him brought by his dad probably... and he doesn’t really have a reason to stay, so he grabs it and runs.

/look at end notes for TWs/

*I still think this one is a cute little ditty.

Til Death by Bunnywest (Complete: 10/10| 50,770) --Steter

"How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks.

“Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is.

“He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her.

The camps……aren’t camps.

Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

*I'm not really a fan of female!Stiles, no particular reason, just not my cuppa. But this one I enjoyed all the way to the end! Intro to Ethics by thegirlnamedcove (Complete: 8/8| 18,061) --Steter

"The universe isn’t wrong about this stuff, the soulmate spell is ironclad, and that means you know this is going to work out. That’s something people don’t get with friends, or dating around.”

“Sure, people say that,” Stiles gestured at the mark where his arm was now stretched out along the back of the couch, “but we don’t actually have any way of knowing. None of us signed up for this. The Ancestors just decided to bestow it upon us and we all have to live with it. Maybe it’s not magic compatibility after all, maybe people just learn to live with one another because everyone around them is telling them to.”

In Sickness and in Fire by wynnebat for Green (Complete: 1/1| 7,320) --Steter

After a fight with an alpha from a rival pack, Stiles begins to turn. It doesn't go as expected.

*Despite the villan-esque portrayal and the Satan in a V-neck tag, there is a large part of me that believes that if Resurrected!Peter got the opportunity he would be that guy you want to have your back. Puppies and Programming by Bunnywest (Complete: 12/12| 17,012) --Steter

Stiles is rich, successful, and lonely.

Buying a Halebot Personal Support Bot seems like a great idea. A human-like robot that can read and respond to his desires and is perfectly sexually compatible, and doubles as a bodyguard? Sign him the fuck up. And it's perfect, at first. But then the P3Tr develops a glitch. Feelings.

Gentleman 'verse by Bunnywest (on-going series) --Steter

Stiles is an omega who just wants to be courted properly, and needs someone to help him though his upcoming heat.

Peter's the alpha who thinks he'd quite like to help out.

Things don't quite go as planned, but they still work out exactly as they should.

*Is it obvious that I have a special appreciation for Bunnywest?... Like is it too noticeable? Ha!

Worn Out Shoes by moonstalker24 (Complete: 28/28| 96,763) --Steter

When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

*I found this origionally for the Accidental Baby Aquisition tag. ...I love that tag.

Falling In, Not Through by Julibean19 for Mysenia (Complete: 10/10| 49,898) --Steter

“You need to help me,” Stiles says eventually. He’s still in too much pain to move off the floor, but he’s picked up a stray feather, twirling it between two fingers with a look of pure terror on his face. Peter nods immediately, eager and willing to be involved in whatever this is.

Peter’s eyes flick between the feather spinning between Stiles’ fingers and the harsh angle of the bend of his wings above his shoulders. He doesn’t look like any picture of an angel Peter has ever seen. There should be an elegant swooping curve there, neat little rows of white or gold or silver, pointed tips flung far out from Stiles’ body and a halo above his head. If Stiles is an angel, the myths are all wrong.

In which Stiles finds that he has wings and Peter finds that a pack doesn't always need to be made up of wolves.

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday (Complete: 1/1| 13,000) --Steter

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams by Irukashi_Narukib (wip: 39/?| 47,481) --Steter

Stiles thinks no one is listening, so he just... stops talking. It's just like that asshole Peter to refuse to take the hint.

Rewriting the future by Synesthetic (Complete: 28/28| 106,631) --Steter

Two days before their planned bonding, alpha Derek Hale runs away with his secret beta girlfriend, leaving Stiles heartbroken. With the demands of his omega physiology forcing him to bond with someone before his first heat, Derek's uncle Peter steps in and offers a solution.

A Darkness Follows by havok2cat (Complete: 9/9| 41,994) --Steter

Stiles serves his community service at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. He's assigned to a mysterious patient and finds himself quickly becoming obsessed.

Reluctant Allies With Benefits by veterization (Complete: 8/8| 93,217) --Steter

Peter suggests he and Stiles start having no strings attached sex. It's that simple. No, really, it totally is. Stiles will make sure of it.

as you are by veterization (Complete: 1/1| 34,093) --Steter

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Took the Words Right Out of my Mouth (Must've Been When You Where Kissing Me) by stellewrites (Complete: 1/1| 6,008) --Steter

"Maybe he’s genuinely flirting, but he’s just pretty bad at it. Like, pulling your pigtails kind of thing?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Look, if you’re not going to help, I’m going to hang up, ok?”

“You asked for my opinion!” Scott laughed.

“Yeah, yeah…” AKA, Stiles works at a diner and has a love/hate relationship with the flirty Alpha that comes in almost daily with his pack.

Winding Roads to Flowering Fields by Tahlruil (ongoing series) --Steter

#steter #stiles stilinski #omega!stiles #regency #fae #zombie apocolypse au #teenwolf #teen wolf #fanfiction #ao3fic #peter hale #supernatural a/b/o #a/b/o #alpha!peter hale #ficrec #10/10 would reccomend #recommendations

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jawnjendes · 4 years

Text

bonus: why is their luck in a deeply sad moment? | shawn mendes

some type of au idk man, shawn x goth ex gf

WARNING: there is talk of death and suicide in this chapter. read at your own risk.

AN: i cant squeeze this into the next big fic nor can i fit it into shawn meets bc everyone hated it so its a bonus in the gg story lmao also im starying the Next Big Fic in a few days :)

masterlist | annalise’s playlist

2026.

"Sometimes I think about the what ifs," Ann said, “but I like where I am. I like what I’ve made for myself.”

Shawn had to invite her over to his house a second time, because the first time left him with many questions unanswered. He couldn’t be mad at what she said, though. He was in the same boat; he liked the life he made. You know, without the crushing loss and run in with the supernatural.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he told her, and he really meant it. “I’m glad we were able to successfully do our own things straight after breaking up.”

“Nothing like filling the void in your heart with work!” Ann replied with a giggle. She moved a strand of hair behind her ear, and that’s when Shawn noticed something.

He took her hand and noticed a tattoo on the side of her middle finger: The Triforce.

“You got inked?” he asked, impressed.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she replied, grabbing her sleeve to roll it up.

There was a sword on her inner arm. It was varying in shades of blue, and it also had the Triforce on it. Shawn recognized it as the Master Sword from the Legend of Zelda games.

“All this is is proof that I’m a nerd,” Ann said as she rolled her sleeve back down. “I notice you have some more ink also… and that you still wear shirts half buttoned.” She pointed to his chest.

Her finger poked the exposed skin. It shouldn’t have been as tingly as it was. Shawn smiled and placed his hand over his chest.

“More than just that,” he told her. “But I can’t show you all of them.”

Maybe it was a little risky to say that. Shawn would have taken it back if Ann’s cheeks hadn’t gone a shade of pink.

“I could say the same thing…”

Shawn quickly came to learn just how many tattoos Ann had gotten over the years. A snake and tombstones on her other arm. Feather on her collarbone, roses on her shoulder. A quote reading, “...but I’m not anymore” with stars around it on her ribcage. Something on her wrist that Shawn didn’t catch because he was busy pressing his lips to her hips and taking off her pants, where he found another tattoo. “Lucky you.” He certainly felt it.

Everything about their time together was so familiar, so easy and almost home-like. Ann’s skin touching his. Her lips perfectly molding over his. The quiet, needy gasps they both released into the bedroom. It was like going back in time, and they were in Shawn’s Toronto apartment instead of his multimillion dollar condo in LA. It was soft and slow, despite Shawn pinning Ann’s arms above her head. He didn’t outgrow that particular move, and she still seemed to like it.

Shawn had never been happier to have been on a break more than now. Most one night stands in the past began and ended very quickly, because he was on tour or in between interviews or on a break for one day. This was one person that he didn’t want to leave behind. They lied down, sweaty and dazed, facing each other. It was silent, but not awkward. Everything had a nice haze around it.

That was also when Shawn finally made out what the tattoo on Ann’s wrist was. He picked his head up in confusion.

“Is… are those torches?” he asked. “Upside down? Just like mine… and are those my initials?”

It was simple line art, less intricate than his own. Torches in an X, with “SM” right below them. Shawn has been floored many times, and this was no exception.

Ann picked her head up as well. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Shawn looked down at his chest, his torches were exactly the same, sans the initials. He wanted to give Ann the benefit of the doubt, that this wasn’t some creepy fangirl thing. Some of his one night stands ended up like that, and it wasn’t exactly easy to forget.

“It’s for a friend of mine,” Ann explained, sitting up and covering her front with the blanket. She took note of the look on Shawn’s face. “Keeping someone’s light on beyond death, remember? I assume yours is for someone too.”

They were both sitting up now, and Shawn relaxed. However, he only relaxed a little bit because now it was time to get deep.

“Mine’s for Brian. He died last year.”

Ann’s face fell. “No. Brian, your best friend? Brian, the one who constantly took the piss outta me?”

He nodded. “He was… there was an accident. Flight of stairs. Instantly killed.” It was all lies, but no human would understand.

A hand went over his, squeezing. “I’m so sorry. He just, he just fell down some stairs?”

“A lot of stairs. I don’t know I guess he was running or something. There was no way to save him. People in the house heard the crash, but by the time they found him - when I found him - it was too late.” He had told this version many times, enough times to where he could almost believe it himself.

“Fuck, man. That’s… that’s fucking terrible,” Ann said sympathetically. “But I seriously can’t believe you just told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because now I have to tell you that mine is for Stella. Those are her initials.”

Stella Martinez. Now Shawn felt a little stupid… but surprised, and he was met with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t believe it for a second, but it fully processed in his head, and his heart began to break.

“Stella from college? Stella, who was your literal opposite and also your best friend?”

Ann solemnly nodded. Then she looked down. “She… she killed herself.”

Shawn was stunned into silence, the tightness in his chest only intensifying. The entire time he knew Stella, she was always so positive and bubbly. She was the opposite of suicidal. That’s why it was such a shock… and so sad. Oh god, who was going to tell Camila?

“When did Brian go to the other side?” Ann asked after a moment.

“A year ago last month,” Shawn replied. “And Stella?”

Ann raised an eyebrow. “Two years ago last month...”

It was a strange coincidence, but still upsetting. Both Shawn and Ann lost their best friends at the same time of the year. The urge to spill everything was thick in the air. Still, neither of them said anything for a while.

Instead, Ann reached down to the floor to pick up her clothes. Shawn’s eyes were stuck on her and that was when he spotted another word on her back. Nightmare. Small font, right shoulder blade, surrounded by a cluster of skulls. Then, he realized what she was doing.

“Are you leaving?”

She looked up, bra in hand. She was quiet as she put it back on.

“No. No, I’m not going anywhere.”

And she crawled back into bed. She made the point to keep a distance from Shawn, who was still naked. He was on his side, looking at the woman before him. Only Ann could have sex with him and bring up the subject of death. That brought a new point to mind.

“How do you enjoy death?” he asked. “I think I’ve asked you this before, but after losing someone and attending their funeral, I’m having a hard time understanding your perspective.”

Ann took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t enjoy the act of dying. People die every day in horrible ways. People mourn and fall into depression because of death. That’s not something to enjoy.”

“So what’s your deal with it?”

“I’m just embracing the face that it’s inevitable. I do that for myself. I will die eventually, or tomorrow-”

Shawn made a face; he didn’t like that thought.

“It doesn’t make it any easier when someone I know goes,” Ann continued. “You’d think with all the research I’ve done it would be. The ones we love leave this mortal plane, and all they leave is their absence. And that alone is a lot to process.”

“What’s the hardest part?”

“The what if’s.”

Shawn asked because he really wanted to know more about what happened to Stella. He had to know the things that led up to the tragedy, mostly because he knew Camila would ask for details, even if they were hard to hear.

He figured he should spill his side first.

“The last thing I said to Brian was to get the hell out of my room,” he began. “We were fighting, fighting over something so fucking stupid, and I was so pissed at him. That was our last interaction. He fell down the stairs because he was trying to find me in this big huge mansion…”

Ann sat up a little bit, hand over her chest. “Here?”

“Oh no, not here. I was staying at a friend’s house in London for a work thing. Place was huge, easy to get lost in,” Shawn clarified. “Brian, Andrew, all of them were leaving back to Toronto and I didn’t want to go just yet. Part of it was because I was still pissed. Maybe if I had run into him first before he fell… If I hadn’t kicked him out of my room a few nights prior… If I was less of an asshole…”

“Maybe you would have slipped on the stairs,” Ann told him. “Maybe you guys would have had an even bigger argument later that would have ended your friendship. There’s no way to tell, and sometimes that’s what sucks the most.”

Huh. Most people tell him not to dwell on it. No wonder Ann was a shrink now.

“Losing someone is one of the hardest things we, as humans, have to face,” she said. “It’s not easy in the slightest. Besides, the grieving period takes about three to five years, so you - we - are still in the beginning stages of it. Thinking about the what ifs, what you want to change, what you wish you could say to Brian - all of that is normal.”

The two of them let those words settle for a moment. Shawn’s eyes were a little misty, and redirecting the topic was probably not going to help. But he laid his stuff out on the table.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?”

“Your what ifs?”

Ann paused, looking around the room. “What if I had put my Master’s to use and noticed the goddamn signs?”

Shawn watched her, hoping she would at least return the eye contact.

“I’m an expert in this shit,” she said. “I have the years of school, the degrees, and the licenses for detecting things like this. I only figured it out the moment her dad called me.”

“How do you detect when someone is suicidal?”

“In her case, she was elated. When someone makes that decision, they reach a state of euphoria because they know their pain is about to end.”

“But Stella was always-”

“Believe me, I know. I hadn’t talked to her since graduating in Toronto, so I thought she hadn’t changed at all. But I would see on her social media, she just moved back to her parents’ house in Florida, and she hinted that she wasn’t happy about it.”

As if Shawn couldn’t take another blow. Come to think of it, he never heard much about Stella’s home life. He didn’t even think that it could be a negative place for her.

“I was in Jacksonville for work,” Ann continued, “so I hit her up, and we met up for lunch. We talked for about an hour, and she said that I was always a good friend and college wife and that she’ll always love me. And my stone hearted ass just said ‘cool, you don’t suck’ and that was that. A month later, she’s as blue as the pills she took.”

“Ooo…” Shawn sighed, cringing at that mental image. Sweet, warm hearted Stella cold and lifeless. Call it morbid, awful thinking, but Shawn wished Brian looked like that in death instead of the bloody mess he turned out to be.

“Yeah. And her parents had her embalmed and put in an airtight casket, but that’s a whole other rant.” Ann waved it off and lied back down.

Shawn didn’t know what else to do except lie down as well. While sharing the stories of how their friends died, he couldn’t help but feel just a little bit closer to Ann. The first time they met, it took fighting tooth and nail to get her to open up. Now, Shawn felt okay silently reached for her hand, and tenderly holding it in his.

Both of them winded up at the same awards show. Both lost their best friends. Both got the same type of tattoo to honor them. Neither of them anticipated meeting again. This couldn’t be a coincidence.

_______

goth gf taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @someoneunimportantxx @goldenmndes @calyumthomas @shawnsunflower @shawnvvmendes @parkeraul @havethetimeeofyourlifee @chillingbythesea @wronglanemendes @softmendesss @peruvian-bae @theprivatewritings

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x oc #shawn x goth gf #if yall r pissedt abt brian #it had already been establishedt #i made my bed imma fukin lie in it

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

Not Exactly A Classic Dame (5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (platonic friendship between Steve x OFC)

Warnings: Language, otherwise none this Chapter, but later

Bucky Master List / Main Master List

CHAPTER 5

Cassidy slipped her feet into three inch black heels just as a knock came at the door. She checked herself in the mirror one final time before going to answer. The dark red wiggle dress with the neck line that dropped just off her shoulders fit like a glove. Her black hair fell in loose waves. She considered the retro curls, but she would prefer no pins in the way should Bucky want to run his hands in her hair.

She opened the door. He mouth went dry and panties went wet.

Bucky stood, waiting. He wore a black suit, fitting sinfully well. The top two buttons of the pewter tone shirt remained undone. His hair hung loose, but he’d put effort into its styling. His trim beard, too, had been neatly groomed. Cas breathed in the delicious scent of him.

A devilish grin crossed his face. “Damn, woman. I’m not sure I want to take you out in public looking that gorgeous.”

“Oh no, soldier.” Cas ran her hand down the lapel of his jacket. “We have reservations.”

“I may have to break someone’s arm if they get too close. You are just irresistible.” Bucky’s strong hands gripped her hips. His mouth ghosted over her jaw, near her ear.

“I think it’s more likely that I’ll have to beat the women off,” She pitched her head enough to capture his lips. He drank in her kiss, tongues dancing. Finally, he pulled away with a groan and nip of her lower lip.

“You know, cell phones and the internet are cool and all.” Bucky traced his thumb over her red lush lip, a wicked grin on his face. “But being able to kiss these red lips, and not make a mess, that’s best invention I've seen.”

Cas giggled. “I’ll take your word for it. So, I’m all dressed up as requested. Where are we going?”

“You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

When he led her to the roof, to the waiting helicopter, Cas bounced on her toes. “Really?”

“Yep.” Bucky opened the door and helped her in.

As he secured her harness, Cassidy looked around. “Where’s the pilot?”

He winked. “Right here, doll.”

Her lips formed a little ‘oh’ shape. And he laughed before jogging around to hop in the pilot’s seat. She watched him handled the controls like a master. As they flew to the city, he stole sideways glances at the smile on her face as he tipped the chopper so she could get a better view of the river. The sun was just beginning dip low in the sky, spreading amazing shadows across the approaching New York City skyline.

Soon they came close to a glass tower. The top few floors shone with lights of soft blues and greens. Cassidy’s hand dug into his thigh in excitement. “Is that where we’re headed?”

“Stark recommended it.” Bucky chuckled. “He’s even letting us use his designated parking space.”

A tall platinum blonde hostess led them to a table for two near the window. She did a fine job of only visually eating up Bucky once. Still, Cas wrapped her arm in his and leaned into him a bit possessively. Holding the chair out for her, Bucky’s fingertips brushed across the tattoo on her shoulder blade. A shiver danced across her skin.

A lithe young man stepped up to the table just as Bucky got comfortable. “Good evening. I’m Ian and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Would you care to start with a drink, or a bottle of wine?”

Bucky arched a brow towards Cas.

“What do you have in bourbons?”

“We have an Elijah Craig Barrell, special edition, a very unique Old Forester.”

“The 1920?” She grinned.

“Yes.”

“I’ll have that. A double. Neat.”

“Very well.” Ian turned towards Bucky, who’s eyes remained locked on his date, face straight but eyes smiling.

“Same as the lady.”

Cas thanked the waiter, but her eyes never left Bucky’s. When the guy was out of ear shot she whispered, “Is it just me, or do all the people who work here look like they’ve stepped off the set of an underwear commercial, all wane and glamorously svelte?”

A devilish grin spread across his face. “You mean like prettied up tooth picks that I could snap with my right hand?”

“Exactly like that.” Cas giggled.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Bucky said straight faced.

“Liar.”

“Swear it. I can’t keep my eyes off you, Doll.” He shifted a little closer. “Supposed to be the best view in the city, and I could care less.”

Bucky let her pick the dinners, since ‘you did such fine job with the drinks’. As they waited, conversation stayed in the realm of innocent talk of work peppered with fun flirting. He listened to Cassidy joke about chasing down an impossible bit of intel for ‘the boss’ all day.

Cas saw Bucky’s attention shift. His posture changed. She remained the same, consciously. However when she took a sip, she breathed out a question so quietly only his enhanced senses would hear. “What’s wrong?”

His sharp blue eyes darted around the room a moment longer before he sighed. Bucky took her hand in his. “Nothing. Old habits.”

“If you’re sure.” He nodded. Cassidy smiled and pushed back in her chair. “Okay. I’m going to the ladies room before dinner comes.”

A few minutes later, Cas stepped out of the bathroom to see a man in the same suit worn by all the wait staff. He seemed to be leaving the men’s room. Only this guy was thick, like an ex-football player, and it caught her attention. She walked down the short hall to the dining room with a bit more purpose.

Glancing over her shoulder, his right fist bashed into the side of her head.

An involuntary cry escaped her mouth, muffled by a meaty hand. Dazed, pain flaring, Cassidy clawed at the hand and kicked out. Another man grabbed at her legs, she thrashed. One foot made contact. He grunted, his fist driving into her side. Doubled over, they picked her up and moved her to the freight elevator.

Cas felt the bite of zip ties around her wrist as one of the men slapped tape over her mouth, smelling sharp and chemical. She fought to stay calm, not to panic. One of the men grumbled low, “We have the Soldier’s woman.”

Shit. Bucky.

A woman dressed like the hostesses stopped at the table, inquiring about their service. Bucky smiled and said it was great. She prattled on about the view, some award the restaurant received, and about the time she began telling him about the chef’s pedigree Bucky had enough.

His focus drifted. Then he heard it, muffled and distant, but a cry. Sharp eyes darted around, noting the three men watching him. He stood up, brushing past the talkative woman. “Excuse me.”

Quick strides led him to the empty hall to the restrooms. He never paused, pushing open the women’s door. Inside a woman freshened her make up in the small lounge jumped at his entrance. Beyond, he pushed open the doors to all the empty stalls. Fuck.

Back out in the hall Bucky’s senses kicked into overdrive. He noticed a fresh scuff on the wall. Bending down, he picked up a small black tip of a high heel. Fear kicked him in the gut. It was covered in fresh blood. Fuck. Fuck.

Think. He’s had a line of sight to the door. They didn’t go that way. Kitchens. As took the corner at a near run, he practically ran into the hostesses that sat them. He caught her before she fell backwards against a giant table with a big stone sculpture on it. Wait. Bucky looked at the busy kitchen door.

“Is there a freight elevator?”

“What? Why would –“

“For all these art displays. A freight elevator.” Bucky shook her.

“The hall, by the bathrooms, behind the wood panels.” She stammered.

Bucky rushed back, seeing the metal tab handle and nearly ripped the door off the wall. The display showed it was halfway down. He ran to the lobby, where all the elevators showed ground floor. Dammit. He hit the emergency exit door, jumping down the stairs a flight at a time.

Panic pushed him forward, moving impossibly fast. Hitting the bottom floor, Buck crashed through the door marked Load Dock. A black van disappeared around the corner. His feet moved before his brain.

A sedan hit him hard. Bucky crashed into the concrete wall, debris flying. Pain flared, feeding the fury. He leapt forward, left fist crashing through the car window. He jerked the driver out, throwing him into the same wall with a sickening crunch.

Moving fast, Bucky chased the van down the street.

In the distance he saw it swerve and hit another car before careening into a building.

He pushed harder.

The back of the van popped open, Cas leaping out. She made it three steps before a pursuing man grabbed her by the hair, throwing her to the ground hard. Bucky saw her shoulders and head bounce off the pavement. The bastard grabbed her hair again. She grasped the guy’s forearms and brought her knee up, bashing it into his face. He fell back. An other man reached for her, but she kicked out catching his knee, bending it sideways.

Wasting no time, Cas scrambled up running – straight towards Buck.

Four more steps and Bucky passed her, grabbing the one with the bloodied nose in his left hand and kicking the one on the ground in the head. He spared a glance for Cassidy, seeing her eyes roll back and body hit the ground. The man’s neck broke.