#all that matters is that flint is a man that met his end by the hand of john silver | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fernandopiastri28 · 15 days

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strawberry wine ~ mw2 x fa14

“Strawberry wine, and all the time we used to have. Those things I miss, but know are never coming back.”

prompts: - refusing reconciliation because they're still deeply hurt - being the other's 'right person, wrong time' - remember when they were able to keep the promises they made? *I reworded Mark's exact quote from “By silverstone i'd concluded, another year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” to “By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late”, as I've made it all that this happens over the course of 2013*

2013- China, April

“I just don’t know Fernando, I’m not quite sure that Ferrari is right for me,” It seems not matter how much convincing and pleading he attempts, Mark isn’t seeming any more keen on switching to the scuderia then he had been at the beginning of the phone call when he’d rung his longtime friend, voicing concerns about the possibility of him changing teams.

“Give it a try Mark,” Mah-k , in all their years of friendship, one thing he picked up from him was the exact way the Australian pronounced his own name, the r translating to a h. Feh-nando , not fe-r-nando.

The older man lets out a strangled sigh, slightly exasperated and seemingly at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” He admits, a quiet click of his tongue signalling the end of his sentence.

“Why not?” He can’t understand the resistance to at least try . Driving for Ferrari at a point during your career essentially cements your legacy in formula one. All the greats have done it- Schumacher, Villeneuve, Surtees, Ascari, Lauda- now himself.

Mark should be added to that list. Webber should sit right after Alonso on the list.

“Because who’s to say I’ll do anything remotely remarkable at a new team? I could completely bomb out the second I step in the car. The devil I know is better than the devil I don’t,” Alonso didn’t realise when his friend had become this complete pessimist- the kind of guy who didn’t even consider trying.

“That’s not a world champion’s mindset,” They both know he’s true. As a two time world champion himself, Fernando does have some kind of power over the other to say so- he knows first hand what it takes to be the best. “Red Bull isn’t doing you any favours, so really- how much worse could Ferrari possibly be?”

The Australian hasn’t had the best run being at Red Bull. To say he’d been bad would be an outrageous claim, and objectively untrue, but the Spaniard just knows he’s destined for better. He’s deserving of a world championship, and as long as he’s a second driver to vettel, he simply doesn’t have the car or the possibility to achieve one.

“Seb is winning the championship currently, in a red bull- that’s gotta count for something,” Fernando rolls his eyes at the mention of the young german. If he’s the reason that Mark is so resistant to leave, Fernando would happily beat some wits into him, get him onto his side in convincing the Australian to leave the team that disregards him and treats him so poorly.

“And I’m second, what is your point?” Ah perfect, he’s got him there. When he doesn’t answer, he adds on, “Just, you’ll consider?” The question is met by a short exhale from Mark, shaking over the phone call. Picking at a piece of flint that’s attached itself to his fire engine red team polo, he patiently waits for Webber to cave and agree to it.

“Yes Nando,” His voice has a sense of faith and possible hope, “I’ll consider it for you,” It’s not a ‘ I’ll sign the contract now,’

2013- Britain, June

WEBBER TAKES RAIKKONEN! From nowhere the Australian rips past the Finn, and is closing fast on Rosberg! Where did this pace come from?

Fernando watches as Mark zips ahead in front, his pace looking outstanding from the glances he catches, trying to focus on his own face- aiming to secure another win for the season.

Rosberg has turned the speed on and posts a quicker lap than Webber in that one, and is 1.35 seconds clear of the Red Bull. Not far behind Alonso is all over Raikkonen's tail... AND HE MAKES A MOVE!

Fernando catches Raikkonen at a vulnerable moment for the Finn, feeling no regret or empathy as he whips past him into third, trailing just behind Webber.

1.2 seconds now between Rosberg and Webber - the German is doing enough, and will surely win the British Grand Prix now!

The gap between him and the Australian is only getting tighter, the possibility of standing on the second step at the end of this becoming a more realistic and possible reality. For now though, he won’t allow himself to get distracted by dreaming of what he could do, he needs to focus on pushing.

Lewis Hamilton right in on Alonso as well - half a chance of a podium for Lewis despite that blowout which put him back in last place!

Shit. Being too focused on the gap between him and Webber meant he’d lost all consideration about how closely the Mercedes of Lewis had been trailing on his heels, eager to snatch up a podium finish.

NICO ROSBERG WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX! He crosses the line 0.7 seconds clear of Mark Webber, who has almost pulled off an amazing victory despite falling back to 15th after a catastrophic start to his race!

First place is no longer an achievable spot, but just as Senna’s mantra went, ‘If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you are no longer a racing driver’, he won’t allow himself to slow down just because he won’t be top step when it’s time to receive a trophy. Second or third is always better than fourth.

Webber second, Alonso third with Hamilton fourth despite the tyre blow-out which robbed him of first place early on.

It’s done now at least. He may not be first, or even second, but he’s not in Hamilton’s spot either- a blown out wheel and the lost opportunity of a race win. He’s doing better than most, and he’s willing to take that.

He stands on the third step of the podium, Mark proudly standing tall to his left, waving his sweat soaked hat high above his head. He looks proud, a grin stretched across his mouth in a tired relief. He may have not gotten first place, but he sure as hell has enough pride in his expression to seem as if he did.

Rosberg is equally as happy, an unbeatable look of elation staining his face. He pumps his hands up, showing off his golden trophy. One by one, they receive their bottles of champagne, ready to really start the celebration.

The Spaniard and Australian coat each other in sticky bubbles, while the Finn focuses his onto the crowd in front of them, raining down on the Mercedes team in particular. Pressing the spout to his lips, Fernando takes a long mouthful- the sharp champagne filling his mouth and sliding down his throat.

He makes eye contact with Mark as he does so, ‘We’ll be doing this every weekend if you make the move,’ . He reckons Mark picks up on that, but there’s an uneasy look in his eyes, withholding something from him.

When the fizz dissolves and all three men are left in sopping race suits, reeking of alcohol- it’s time for interviews. A man, wielding a microphone goes straight to Nico, interviewing him about ‘how his race had gone’, and if he thought he’d ‘win the race from the get go ,’.

While the attention isn’t on them, rather solely focused on the blond man, Mark takes his opportunity to slip into place beside the Ferrari driver, dropping his voice a few octaves and tilting his head, putting them at near the same height. “I’m not going to Ferrari, Fernando,”

No.

He’s not doing this right now.

If this is true, he doesn’t get to say this in front of a crowd of thousands of fans.

That’s not fucking fair.

“Mark,” He hisses, drawing his eyes away from the crowd to look up for the slight difference they have between their height right now. His jaw goes lax, his lips parting in shock.

“Nando,” He places his hand on the small of his back, his fingers nudging into where the suit awkwardly clings to his narrow waist. “I’m sorry,”

“Not now,” He looks away, his attention drawing to where Nico’s interview is drawing to a close, Mark will be the next to be talked to. “ Dios - why?” His throat is gluey, his accent strengthening despite how he often tried to dull it down to be easier understood.

“I couldn’t,” Mark ducks his head, shame flooding his face. Fernando doesn’t care, Webber doesn’t get to feel poorly about his decision. He’s the one who disobeyed his promise and broke trust. He’s to take responsibility for that.

2013- Germany, July

Tensions are still high between the two by the time the next grand prix approaches. Alonso avoids each attempt that Webber makes to reconcile their relationship- try to make some half arsed apology in which he’ll not even understand why Fernando is hurting like he is. He doesn’t understand how much the promise of teammates means to the Spaniard- he likely never would.

2013- Italy, September

“By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” The Spaniard feels like driving a screwdriver into his head upon hearing that over the radio, maybe step onto incoming traffic. There’s a strong urge to gouge his eyes out and then cut his ears off bubbling deep throughout his whole body. The want to go out in the most painful, gory ways.

Is it seemingly an intensely dramatised reaction to a seemingly harmless statement the senior pilot made? Not in the slightest. It’s not fucking fair, Mark doesn’t get to do this to him. The Australian had promised for years that they’d be teammates eventually- even if it took their whole careers to do so.

Bringing him into the interview was beyond unfair. Clearly it had all just a joke to him, some easy fucking lie he could reassure Fernando with to get him to stop bothering him.

It’s the first that the Ferrari driver is hearing of the official news, the final verdict that had been reached. Sure, Mark had told him back on the podium in Silverstone- but hearing it over national news, it just feels far more true and official.

Up until this point, he’s allowed himself to view the possibility of the situation through rose-tinted glasses, a warm and hopeful feeling deep in his chest- the belief that he would one day be teammates with the man he considered his closest friend. Maybe Mark would change his mind, maybe he would decide at the last moment that Red Bull wasn’t for him.

Now that’s all being betrayed so he can stay driving an energy drink on wheels alongside some bratty german kid who barely looks old enough to be driving on the freeway.

Fuck you Sebastian Vettel.

Fuck you Red Bull.

Fuck you Mark Alan Webber.

2013- Singapore, September

He ignores each call the Australian tempts him with, patiently outwaiting the five rings until he can return to the aching silence of his hotel room. It’s not fun, nor is it any what pleasant. Deep down, he wants to pick up, hear even just the careful and calculated breaths of the older man- give him a chance to explain.

But what if he doesn't like what he heard? What if Mark gave him all the reasons why they wouldn’t work as teammates and it was all the things that Fernando had spent so many years ignoring because he so desperately wanted it to be perfect- he was willing to make any sacrifices just to be alongside Mark in matching bright red race suits.

So for now, he’ll just rot under the thin bleach-white sheets of his hotel bed, wishing for a different outcome to the ending he always secretly expected.

He doesn’t have to see Mark on the podium this time. He’s on the second step this time, Raikonnen in third and the Australian’s younger teammate Sebastian took an easy lead the whole time- winning by almost a landslide. Fernando refuses eye contact with the German, the man who gets to take the place of being the teammate of Mark for another year, until he will retire.

It settles in his mind for the first time that the next time he’s in this exact spot, racing in Singapore, he will no longer be racing under the humid heat and bright city lights alongside his Australian friend. This was the final time the pair would ever race on the Marina Bay Track together.

That’s a fate he’d rather not talk about.

2013- Brazil, November

In the five races after Singapore and before Brazil, Mark secures an impressive three final podiums for his last year in the sport. Alonso doesn’t. They don’t stand on the podium together past the british grand prix, and despite how betrayed he feels- it doesn’t mean that he wants Silverstone to be the last time they held those trophies above their heads together.

His wish is finally granted in the concluding race of the season, Mark’s career too. With Sebastian winning the race, his teammate stands on the step below him, and Fernando on the final step. It’s just like Silverstone all over again.

It’s the last dance for the two of them, a final chance for them to celebrate together- even when separated by Sebastian, and separated by rival teams.

It’s beyond impressive in his last races in formula 1 that he’d secured four podiums, but that was just Mark’s fashion. To go out with a bang.

2014- Abu Dhabi, November

After a whole year of stewing in slight hatred and missing of the aussie at ferrari- having Kimi Räikkönen as a teammate, who is significantly quieter and more serious then he was expecting out of his 2014 teammate- Fernando finally makes the difficult decision to change teams to McLaren.

He’ll race alongside Jenson Button, who he reckons will be a breath of fresh air- closer to Mark then the teammate he’s had this year. It had been an abysmal year for him too, only 2 podiums- China and Hungary. So he’s looking onto next year in a positive light, a new chapter of improvement for himself.

2015/2016

Jenson is only his teammate for a single year of the 2015 season. For 2016, he has Stoffel Vandoorne alongside him at McLaren and they don’t get on too well. Fernando is clearly the favoured driver- Stoffel often being instructed to let the Spaniard past him. Regardless, they remain racing for the same team for the next three years. They’re a painful few years without a single podium, still chasing that high from Brazil- stood next to Mark.

He’d had two since then, but they’d felt empty and meaningless to him, wishing he’d been dressed in red with Mark instead of Kimi. Being in orange doesn’t feel any better than that- especially without a single trophy to prove that maybe Ferrari also hadn’t been good for him.

2018, August

Fernando announces his retirement on twitter on august 14th. He posts a minute long video, thanking the sport in general and all his adoring fans over the years of his career. He does a bit near the end that showcases him in all his different team merchandise- Minardi, Renault, his first year long McLaren stint, again to Renault, Ferrari, and finally McLaren once again.

It’s a moment that he thought he would be able to avoid for a few more years. He had faith he would win a third championship- hopefully at Ferrari too. But he looks around at the grid that surrounds him, all the new and fresh talent, and he feels a lack of belonging.

There’s supposedly going to be an eighteen year old replacing him at McLaren when he leaves, there’s already a twenty one year old in Max Verstappen, and a twenty year old Lance Stroll. He just feels old.

Hamilton’s still there, so is Vettel, and a few other drivers from his prime time- but he can’t escape the feeling that his time has come, it’s time for new ventures.

Maybe he’ll continue to race under different circumstances, maybe he’ll focus more time and energy into managing- maybe he’ll just leave racing to the past, and go on with the rest of his life without it.

2020, February

Mark and him speak for the first time in a while on the phone. Mark sounds well, his voice rougher with age if anything. They’d last spoken when Fernando had announced his retirement, and the Australian had showered him in congratulations and best wishes for his further ventures. They were now on the same boat, even if the events had occurred almost eight years apart.

Mark tells him that he’s just begun managing the FIA Formula 3 champion, a seventeen year old Australian called Oscar. According to the older Australian, Oscar was possibly the biggest Alonso fan growing up- had one of his karts and a race suit. It makes him smile that he’s inspired someone who was born after his career even began.

Beyond that short call, the amount of times they talk on the phone increases as the pandemic regulations tighten, forcing everyone into home isolation. Hearing all about all these fantastic achievements Oscar is making, Fernando feels something he had lost back in 2018- the want and desire to race.

So after many conversations, emails, phone calls, meetings- Fernando Alonso officially becomes an Alpine Driver for 2021.

#f1 #formula1 #formula one #fernando alonso #mark webber #sebastian vettel #oscar piastri #2012 f1 #webbonso #webbonso wednesday

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acquaint--fate · 9 months

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Sandman

Flint Marko was what would be considered an average criminal. He grew up in a loving but poor household, an only child to a single father. Against his father's wishes, he taught himself how to steal just to get by. His dad passed when he was 17, ad that's when he moved into a bigger city for a better shot. For stealing, of course, he did not have money for a life of his own.

Though the two didn't know each other too well, Flint and another criminal named Alex O'Hearn would often team up for heists. If they were ever caught, Flint would usually take the heat for Alex. Alex had many warrants out for their arrest, so it was less risky this way. Flint would play stupid most times, leading him to lighter sentences. That didn't matter as Alex would usually break him out anyways.

One day, in an escape from the cops, Flint led the police away from Alex and their score into an Oscorp testing site. After a near successful escape from police, he ended up falling into one of the testing areas: a big pit of sand used for particle accelerator testing. The cops had officially lost him, but the sand does not allow him up. He is stuck.

After many attempts to get out, the machine turned on, further prompting his escape. He was not able to in time. He was fused with the sand particles around him, giving him and moldable and indestructible body.

He decided to use this newfound power for more criminal activities. He got away with the first few, but then he encountered one friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and his match had seemingly been met. In the chaos, alone and surrounded by the rubble of their fight, Flint admitted that he didn't really know what happened to him, and that it scared him. Spidey offered him a chance at rehabilitation, but Flint refused, slinking away in all his sandy might.

After roughly a month of contemplation and self-reflection, Flint went back to who he was. Though he never got caught, he did always get stopped. As months went by, he could feel something inside of him changing. He felt like he was losing himself more and more, becoming less human. This caused him to go to Spider-Man and ask for help, because he didn't know what was happening to him.

Spidey took him to an abandoned warehouse on the harbor, a place that has been completely cleared out an deserted for years. Spidey admitted that Flint was the first person to actually take him up on his offer, so he's kind of alone here, but he'd certainly try his best. Spidey also admitted to being somewhat of a little thief himself, needing to steal old and discarded equipment because he is unable to obtain anything new.

Using this equipment, they were able to learn that Flint was, well, dying. His body couldn't hold itself together, and was slowly becoming nothing but sand. It still clung together when Flint moved, but his body was essentially no longer any part human. Spidey assured him that it may take a while, but a cure was possible.

Over time, they are able to acquire 2 more scientists who all tried to work on a cure. Nothing they did worked, but they did not give up hope. Flint, however, had begun to feel like he wasn't even alive. He had remained in a human form to prolong his life, but his skin was starting to turn to sand uncontrollably. They were running out of time. Flint sat on a beach chair inside of an inflatable kiddie pool watching TV most of the time, as he was unable to do much else. The pool collected whatever sand falls, the chair helps preserve his energy. TV was for his enjoyment.

Finally, they made what they believe is the final cure. Flint was near his end, hardly responsive, but this cure was turning his sand into blood, meaning that it was working. They gave him the cure, and it seemed to work. He was human again, full skin and bone and muscle. Celebrations began to go around, but it did not last. Spidey noticed that their initial tests had turned back into sand. It was not a permanent solution.

Though it was devastating, Flint was not too sad about it. He could already feel it. His final request was to be let go into the ocean, to become one with the sand of the world; one with the cycle of nature and the sea. Everyone got to say their goodbyes and get their closure. Flint went out to sit out on the dock and watch the stars as he felt himself dissolve into sand for the final time.

The Sandman dies, surrounded by friends he never thought he'd get to have in a way he never imagined could happen. He is content with himself, and though he holds some regret, that is all he needs. He dies knowing that he is loved and will return to the world, and he is content.

Some of his sandy remains were bottled up like ashes in an urn. They meant a lot to everyone who knew him, and stood for all the people who would continue to join them.

#earth 390 #sandman #flint marko #character sheet

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

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ASOS; Steel and Snow: 24 BRAN II (pages 331-343)

Bran's northern roadtrip team walks and walks and walks, shares a cave with a kindly stranger to get out of the rain, and Meera retells the story of how their dads met.

The Reader has a brain fail and experiences an entirely new level of Crack.

Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them." "Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose. "Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire." "If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one." "One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled."

Meera understands how tectonics > mountains.

Oh my gosh they sound tired-drunk. You know, when you go hiking and or on long roadtrips, or you just stay up all night for sleep overs, and you hit that point where you're just so tired you might as well be drunk? yeah, that.

"-or ice and fire." "If ice can burn," oh hey sentences that sound strangely like foreshadowing.

Some days it rained, some days were windy, and once they were caught in a sleet storm so fierce that even Hodor bellowed in dismay. On the clear days, it often seemed as if they were the only living things in all the world.

The north is Australia confirmed. There were mentions in the early GoT chapters, the north is as big as the other six kingdoms combined, but with a much smaller populace. All the talk of isolation, but it's never really enough to prepare the mind for the sheer emptiness of it all.

You go on a roadtrip here, and five minutes out of a city you might not see another car for hours, between the cities and the blink-and-miss-it-towns and the farmlands it's just. The apocalypse could have happened and you wouldn't know the difference.

His father's mother's mother had been a Flint of the mountains. Old Nan once said that it was her blood in him that made Bran such a fool for climbing before his fall. She had died years and years and years before he was born, though, even before his father had been born.

I misread that, and skipped the doubling at 'mother's mother' so I thought she was Bran's grandmother for a second and... "Ned's mother died before he was born? that's a feat. ...!!! the Prophecy!!!!"

(The prophecy in this train of thought was the fun old "no man born of woman" that gets easily circumvented by C-sections and gender shenanigans and such.)

"Some nights I dream of me mother that I buried nine years past," the man said, "but when I wake, she's not come back to us." "There are dreams and dreams, my lord." "Hodor," said Hodor.

... why in the hells did I read that Hodor narration in the voice of the guy who narrated Noddy? ...omg. OMG!!! An audio book, with the full voice cast, not just one person reading the book, but a full audio drama BUT all the narration is read by someone who thinks they're narrating for a kids show. the tonal whiplash alone could kill a man. Oh no. Oh no. I can hear it in my head. 😂🤣 the crack is over nine-thousand. it's so beautiful.

...

okay, I think I'm okay now. Sorry for that.

"You could tell one," said Bran. "While we walked. Hodor likes stories about knights. I do, too." "There are no knights in the Neck," said Jojen. "Above the water," his sister corrected. "The bogs are full of dead ones, thought."

Ha. hmmm... I think I might be in a bit of a tired-drunk silly state myself actually. (it was still funny though.)

"- Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she'd told before, but we never minded if it was good story. Old stories are like old friends, she used to say. You have to visit them from time to time."

That's a good philosophy.

...that's also what I'm kinda doing now, revisiting the ASOIAF universe, but from a new angle. It's good to reread stuff, I think, even if it's from the same source and not book versus show, because knowing where it ends can change the context of the journey.

and you get to play 'spot the foreshadowing.'

"Did he have green dreams like Jojen?" "No, (...) but he could breath mud and run on leaves, and change earth to water and water to earth with no more than a whispered word.He could talk to trees and weave words and make castles appear and disappear."

Holy crap! there's a Hidden Ninja Village in the Neck!!!

"- But then he heard a roar. 'That's my father you're kicking,' howled the she-wolf." "A wolf on four legs, or two?" "Two," said Meera. "The she-wolf laid into the squires with a tourney sword, scattering them all. The crannogman was bruised and bloodied, so she took him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen. There he met her pack brothers: the wild wolf who led them, the quiet wolf beside him, and the pup who was the youngest of the four."

Ahhh, so this is the story of how Meera's dad met Lyanna and Ned?

Also I love how they just had to clarify "two legs or four" but it was done so quickly like that's a common enough thing to need clarification.

"-The crannogman saw a maid with laughing purple eyes dance with a white sword, a red snake, and the lord of griffins, and lastly with the quiet wolf... -"

Ashara Dayne!?

Honestly this entire section feels like the kind of repeating variations of a theme vibes that mark visions. Li eyes this is a retelling of their dads meeting, but it could also be a reflection of things to come.

"That was a good story. But it should have been the three nights who hurt him, not their squires. Then the little crannogman could have killed them all. The part about the ransom was stupid. And the mystery knight should win the tourney, defeating every challenger, and name the wolf maid queen of love and beauty."

Bran. No. That's not the object lesson you were supposed to take away from this.

The object lesson is that your aunt is a baddass. (I'm aware of the theory that Lyanna is the knight of the Laughing Tree. Although depending on how old Benjen was, could have been him also. with his little 'pup' height.)

To be fair, it hasn't clicked for Bran that this is a real event and not just a story Meera's heard or made up, and in stories we want maximum catharsis, but irl, ransoming the horses and armour for the knights to publicly chastise their squires for wrong doing was a master stroke, because it gets the job done in a way that's basically a win for everyone but the squires.

... Jojen and Meera can't believe Ned never told his kids how he met Howland Reed. SMH Ned.

while thinking of an oversimplified summary of the chapter and my brain suggested: 🎶Hodor will walk five hundred miles🎶 🎶and Hodor will walk five hundred more🎶 🎶just to be the man who walked a thousand miles🎶 🎶to Hold The goddamned DooOOoor🎶 which was honestly pretty rude of it.

#a storm of swords #steel and snow #a song of ice and fire #bran stark #a chapter a day reading #asos #asoiaf

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the-valianter-valkyriest · 1 year

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"I do wonder," idle words and idle hands, sorting through some chests that'd been left in disarray by They know who (though he's betting his food on higgsbury, the dolt), "If you were to be given one final death, one grand exit before the curtains fall, what kind of death would it be?" words lightly said, drawled out in boredom. He was rarely the type to indulge in such frivolous questions. What-if's and what have you were, in his opinion, an utter waste of time. But the fridges were stocked and so were the chests, and so he kept talking, only sparing the Valkyrie a glance before returning to his task, "And do try to be a little more creative than just a 'noble death in battle' or of the same cut of cloth, if you'd please."

The gentle clattering of chests and the rhythmic scraping of sharpening flint had been the only sound that rung around the camp for a little while… Wigfrid hadn't necessarily been opposed to keeping it that way. Though it was strange for it to be this silent- their little campsite abandoned as everyone went about their tasks elsewhere- it felt almost homely, in a way.

She hadn't been opposed to allowing Maxwell his piece- letting him do… well, whatever it was he'd been doing, without probing his mind on the whats and whys.

A touch oddly, though, it seemed as if he couldn't say the same… A bit of a rarity to be certain. Her eyes flickered from her spear to his face, but the man stayed focused on the task before him, sparing her his gaze.

The question… Well, it was a strange one to be certain. Strange coming from him, anyways… Since when was the last time he ever bothered himself about those dark and darling little fantasies that lurked at the back of her mind? In fact- were she not mistaken- he was the first to sneer and chide at the very notion.

Had she more time to think on it, perhaps she would have called him out on as much… But his little addendum tacked onto the end of his query- the brief flickering of her gaze- pulled a humored chuff from behind her half parted lips, and the skepticism was all but forgotten.

"Yöu wöund me, Maxwell. Cutting öff thy dear ally beföre her sölilöquy's due? För shame."

She chortled again, perhaps daring a roll of her eyes- not as though he was looking to catch it. She'd considered it… Considered diving back into the same spiel she's treated the rest- honor, nobility, the taste of blood and victory, etcetera.

But… Well, she always sort of knew that would never have the same effect on him it did the rest. Maxwell- the man he was- had that nasty habit of peeking beyond the veil, didn't he?

Typically she strayed from indulging him… But, ah, when the air was warm and the camp was empty… What did it really matter, this once?

Besides… She was due for a monologue anyways.

"What I wöuld want öut öf death… I suppöse I cöuld always stay within the realm öf öne's expectatiöns… Sömething exhilarating… Sömething that tests me- truly makes me wörk för it… But, really, all öf that is… secöndary, I suppöse yöu cöuld say, tö my biggest inclinatiön."

… But how to phrase it… From the twisting of her expression, it seemed as if she struggled for a while to find the right words.

"I wish tö… matter. Döes that make much sense? Perhaps nöt… nöt ön its öwn… A living being- whöever they may be- matters för as löng as they are alive, yes? Sö löng as they've needs tö be met, thöughts tö be heard- wills öf their öwn tö attend tö… But that little truth öf life falters önce death is bröught intö the picture. Bödies- tö möst, anyways- are irrelevant… Söuls irrelevant… Whö they önce belönged tö, irrelevant… And tö die that way… tö fade weakly, whimpering öff intö öbscurity…"

She pulled a face- as though the wind had snuck some bitter taste between her teeth.

"Eugh… I dö nöt care för it. All öf the greats- in whatever subject they find themselves great in, art, war, elsewise- even in death, they remain… Tö die in bödy, yet live in mind… Ah, I suppöse when I put it like that, it söunds a bit cöntradictöry… But I can think öf nö better way tö place it…"

"… Sö löng as that need is met, I think the rest öf it is secöndary… Nöt- öf cöurse- that I'd ever turn my back ön my öwn principles! But they're möre… preferential. At the end öf the day, an hönörable duel is a förmality, really; a föölprööf manner öf reserving a seat at the table I've already earned aböut twelve times över, by this pöint."

Far more than twelve… Far more… But, for him, she'd be humble about it.

"I wöuld prefer sömething… exciting… Sömething intense. Where- when the darkness beföre the light finally cradles me- I can knöw with absölute certainty I was as valöröus as I cöuld pössibly be… I'd like tö have a little pride in my öwn death, yes? But… sö löng as I mean sömething… sömething wörth meaning tö my friends… I believe I wöuld be quite alright with that…"

And then, she fell silent again at last, pondering her own words as if she hadn't been the one to speak them… Marveling them- turning them over in her mind.

And then- in the blink of an eye- that solemn introspection was gone. Or perhaps, simply buried… as was typical of her.

"And what öf thee, Maxwell? In what manner wöuld yöu like tö leave? Ör are yöu still töö sentimental töwards the escapelessness öf yöur öld kingdöm tö cönsider it?"

#wigfrid; the valiant #maxwell; the forgiven mage #ask #'he wasn't planning anything‚ but it was a lie to say‚ if he were‚ he wouldn't attempt some warning'#- tumblr user shadowedmagic‚ november 1st‚ 2022 #shadowedmagic

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expectos-writings · 2 years

Text

Meant to be part 3 (Otto Octavius x reader)

Word count: 3970

Rating: G (FLUFF FINALLY)

Summary: Things between you and Otto become clear during your stay at Happy’s appartement

(A/n: so this whole series was supposed to be a 2k word one-shot. then this happened. Fluff if you make it to the end ahahahah enjoy this final part!

Unbeknownst to you, Otto pondered over the same questions you had asked yourself in the sanctum while on his way to Happy’s place. Was it really this version of you that was his soulmate? In this universe? And the age-gap… you were so much younger than him and you could get so much better than this tentacled monster. And how about when he had to go back to his universe? Could he declare his love for a woman he maybe would never see again?

Then there was another part of him that just wanted to make the most of his time with you. The selfish part saying he could always take you with him to his universe. A voice in his head saying it all didn’t matter, he just had to chase his happiness.

He let these voices battle it out in his head on the ride over. The consensus of the voices was that he first had to figure out if you were really his soulmate. Should be easy, right? He just had to check your wrist, if you had his name on your wrist you had to be his soulmate. He also kept thinking about you, feeling an undeniable pull in your direction. Whether it be wishful thinking or not, he thought he caught you looking at him a few times as well.

His affection and attraction towards you had grown with the minute after you met. He couldn’t place why, but everything about you intrigued him. The way you keep yourself cool and collected in the most challenging situations, the way you helped your friends no questions asked, the way you accepted all the people in the dungeon as they were without asking intruding questions or weird looks in their direction.

Then he remembered your question from earlier. You asked if he had a family too, back in his universe. Why would you be interested in that? And why were you in such a hurry to cover to a simple tattoo on your wrist? Tattoos were for showing off, right? Unless… His mind kept him occupied until they arrived at the appartement. He was fantasizing about what would happen now. Was his name on your wrist the reason for you covering it up? If so, did you not want him?

But he never became insecure. The voices in his head telling him to find out if it was really you and then just make you his were overpowering his own thoughts. Even with his actuators being restrained by Peters Bluetooth system, the blue light emitted from them showed a glimpse of red now.

The ride was silent, Peter and May rode in the front while Otto, Norman, Curt, Flint and Max rode in the back of the van. No words were exchanged as everyone was weighing their own options, getting ready for whatever would happen next in the apartment.

You heard the lock of the door twist and immediately you stood up, ready to welcome the new guests in the house. Peter walked up front with Norman, Otto, Max and Flint following, Kurt had opted to stay in the car for the time being. When Otto walked in the room you felt your heart flutter. Damnit! Were you really catching feelings for him already? The way his determined gaze looked around the room was mesmerizing, this man knew exactly what he wanted. If only you could figure out what that was.

When he sees you, he stops for a minute. You give a small wave and a ‘hi’, but he just furrows his brows and looks away. Fuck, had you misinterpreted things?

‘I’ll be in the back room with Norman working on the new chip, it shouldn’t take too long!’ Peter called out before heading over to the side room. Max and Flint moved to the living room, Flint sat down as Max started up the tv while they were chatting away.

You stood at the entrance to the back door, listening to Peter explaining to Norman what was going on.

‘So, the inhibitor chip was designed to protect his higher brain functions from the AI but, as you can see, the chip is fried.’

You look in Otto’s direction, he was staring at the tv from a distance, his back turned to you. His coat was still on, but you could see the chip in question peek out above it. It kind of resembled a broken light bulb.

‘So, in stead of him being in control of the arms, the arms are now in control of him. Which explains why he is so miserable all the time…’ Peter continued. You felt pity for the man. So, some horrible accident happened while he was trying to provide a sustainable energy source for the world, then these tentacles were fused to his body AND he didn’t even have full control of his mind all the time? You could only hope Peter and Norman could indeed fix his situation that quickly.

You wanted to help, but there was nothing much that could be done. You were an expert in computers, sure, but not in human anatomy. There was no way you could help Peter and Norman with the chip. Max and Flint were sitting on the couch, drinking soda you had set ready on the table and talking to each other. At first you wanted to join them, but you also did not want to disturb them.

Your eyes moved back to Otto, who was just standing there. Occasionally, he muttered something under his breath. It looked like he was talking to someone, or something. It was probably the AI generated voices in his head. You could only guess what they were talking about. But at the same time, you did want to get to know him a bit better. You tapped the actuator around his waist gently to get his attention. Despite your efforts to make it a gentle movement, it still startled him and he turned around.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you I just…’ you stopped for a moment to rephrase, his intense gaze caught you off guard. ‘would you want something to drink?’

He looks confused. Like he had not expected such hospitality. The actuators keep convincing him that this new chip would make him weaker. That you were all scheming against him. That you were not his friends. And that, especially if you were his soulmate, you should’ve done something too to try and stop Peter from making this new chip. But you didn’t, that put you on their side. And right now, the actuators were in control.

He looked down at the ground, and you were sure he was just ignoring you. You felt slightly hurt, and you were about to turn around, when he finally responded.

‘Yes, a drink would be nice.’ It came out as a whisper, as if he was ashamed to admit it. You cracked a smile at his nervous behaviour, not thinking much of it.

‘Well, what can I get you?’ You ask while moving back behind the kitchen board.

‘Just some water will be fine, dear.’ He says, the nickname slipping out again without him even noticing it, but you did. Your heart fluttered, but your mind kept telling you it was just a habit of his. He says that to anyone, you’re not special. You turn on the water and fill a glass for him before handing it to him.

His eyes met yours as he said a small ‘thank you’, and for a minute you see his expression softening, and you take it as an invitation to keep talking to him.

‘So, are you excited about finally getting those voices in your head to quiet down?’ your question was blunt, but it was the only thing you could think about at the moment. Peter and Norman were working silently in the room next door, and you were wondering if they may be close to a break through.

‘I can’t even remember what it felt like before.’ He answers honestly, looking down at his glass. His brows furrowed again trying to remember what it was like before, but it felt like a dream you can’t quite remember.

‘So, you don’t have a soulmate mark in this universe? I could have sworn that wasn’t just a tattoo on your wrist.’ Otto throws at you. His question matches the boldness you just expressed, and his expression seemed a bit darker too. He awaited your answer in anticipation, his expression unreadable.

‘Yeah, well, we do. I just…’

‘You were allowed to ask us about our lives, seems only fair you tell us, or at least me, a bit about your lives, right?’

Your eyes widen, you had never expected him to be so blunt about this. You never had the time to think about what to say to this. Otto watches with amusement, quirking up one eyebrow as he watches you struggle to form a sentence.

‘I just never had the time to really commit to the whole soulmate thing.’ You say. It was a lame excuse, trying to hide the fact that you had only just found out it was him. you wanted to tell him, just not now, with everyone around. Maybe later on, if only you could take him apart. This lie also covered the fact that you were too stubborn to admit to yourself that you really wanted to find your soulmate, no matter how much you had told yourself it wasn’t such a big deal.

Otto saw you were lying but didn’t call you out. The voices in his head were getting louder, calling him an idiot for letting your remark just sit there. Telling him to just grab your arm and check your wrist. Or even just bluntly ask you. He tried to fight them off, but they only became more insistent. They were just plain rude. He wanted to brush your words off, but the AI got in the way of his words.

‘Your soulmate isn’t that important to you, then?’ He intended it as a question, but it came out as a snap. Your face hardened, not expecting this jab at all. You were just trying to make some small talk, had you done something wrong? You know the actuators make him grumpy, but you weren’t sure if this too was a side effect of that or not.

You decide it would be best for you to leave. ‘No, it is, I just don’t like it being taken for granted.’ You spat back, then you walked off to the room you were staying in.

‘Shit’. Otto muttered to himself. Why did he say that? You never meant any harm, why would he make such an assumption about you if he barely knew you. The voices in his head were talking back at him, saying you deserved it for not helping him and letting Peter and Norman create the chip. But somewhere in the back of his mind he heard his own voice, telling him he fucked up. Telling him if he didn’t apologize to you, he might have fucked up his ultimate shot at happiness. And for what? For four stupid arms attached to his back who wanted to gain more control.

‘WE GOT IT’ Peter shouted, snatching up the chip from the fabricator and running into the living room.

‘Y/n! A little help please?’

The moment you heard him shout you stopped in your tracks, having almost reached your room. You walked toward the counter again. Peter was already halfway up the stairs.

‘Can you send him up, please?’ Peter asks. You silently tap the screen, watching as the actuators move up so Ottos head is level with Peter, so the latter had the best possible access to doc Ocks’ neck.

But then the tentacles took over again, feeling panicked and attacked, lashing out like a cornered wild animal. You listened to the empty threats coming from Otto, and you were now sure it was the actuators who had made the jab at you, not Otto.

It took some wrestling, but at the end Peter got the chip on. Otto gave everyone a small heart attack when he shut down for about 20 seconds before his body rebooted, the AI system now completely out of him mind. He was back in control. You clicked the screen again, giving him back control of the actuators and watched as he lowered himself down to ground level.

The first person he saw was Norman, his old friend. His face lit up in a smile, and this was the first genuine smile you’d seen from him. It was not like the small smile he’d given any of you earlier. He looked liberated.

Then he turned to Peter to have a moment, and you realized your place. You decide to give them some more privacy by moving to the living room, turning on the tv to relax a bit more. By the time you look away from the screen it had gone dark outside, and the house was quiet. You had some time to think about everything for yourself. How much has changed now without the AI? Does Otto still remember everything you talked about? What is his opinion in relation to you and your possible soulmate-ship? What about the age gap?

You felt tired, looking at the clock you see 1 am staring back at you. You decide to head to bed. When you opened the door leading to the bedrooms you almost got scared to death. Right on the other side was Otto, who looked just as tired as you did but he was heading towards the living room.

‘Otto, jeez. Why are you still up? Something wrong?’ You ask, trying to make some light small talk.

‘No, nothings wrong I just,’ you see something is bothering him, so you take him to the kitchen, pouring him another glass of water and setting it in front of him. ‘without the actuators talking to me all the time I finally had some time to think for myself.’ Otto starts, taking a sip from his glass. ‘I believe what the actuators were saying to you this afternoon was right.’

Oh, this was rich. What a terrible start. You should’ve just gone to bed. But before you could say anything to retaliate or walk away Otto continues.

‘But this is probably because you haven’t met them yet, am I correct?’ he asks. You look at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he really is going where you think he is going with this comment.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ You say, eying him curiously.

‘Well, whoever it is should be a very lucky person, you are very kind, darling.’ He says casually, taking another sip of his drink.

You feel your heart sink. He really is not it, is he? You feel yourself starting to tear up a bit.

‘Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s late, I should head to bed.’ You say as a lame excuse to get out of there, though you were actually getting tired too.

‘Wait up a minute, I want to apologize for earlie-’ Otto grabs you by the wrist as you turn to walk away. You want to hear him out, but you also felt hurt. You turn around when he stops mid sentence, his eyes are focused on something else.

‘What’s the matter?’ you ask, not even bothering to follow his gaze.

You probably should have though.

He holds your wrist up higher, and you stare at the exposed name on it.

‘Did you know?’ he asks, searching your eyes for any indication of you lying.

‘… Yes.’ You say reluctantly, feeling embarrassed. He looks so shocked. Either he hadn’t figured it out yet on his part, or it really isn’t him. Either way this was not how you planned this to go. Not that you had a plan, but this wasn’t it.

The silence that followed hung thickly in the air, neither of you knowing what to say. Your heart dropped, seeing his still shocked expression.

‘I’m sorry, I should go…’ you say. You tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes, but it was hard. Rejection was hard, especially when it came from the man who you thought to be your soulmate.

‘No, please, I have a question.’ He says. You stop in your tracks, having broken free of his grip just then. You were two steps away from him, you turn to look back at him.

‘What do you want to know?’ The burning in your eyes becomes a bit more bearable, just looking at him. He too looked vulnerable, and it put you at ease. His brows were furrowed in thought, the gears of his brain turning fast to try and make sense of what was happening, if any of this was real. Without the tentacles his mind was much clearer, and the practical part of his brain knew he had to be sure if it really was you or not.

‘How long have you had that name on your wrist?’ He didn’t want to say ‘my name’, not yet. He would feel humiliated if it turns out the corresponding names on your wrists were just a coincidence and he’d made a fool of himself. But your age looked about right to what was on his wrist, and the name was also correct. He had to shoot his shot, no matter what you’d say next.

‘This morning it was still a number.’ You breathe out, your heart is beating out of your chest by now.

‘And what was that number?’ Otto was sure his mind was about to explode, his heartbeat speeding up. Please, he thought, convinced if this checked out, you were actually his soulmate.

You hesitate for a moment, though you’re not sure why. You’ve dreamt of this moment ever since the number showed up on your wrist, even if you were reluctant to admit it due to the age difference. You wanted nothing more than to find them and be with them. Could this really be the person you were looking for?

’43.’ You say at last, your ears ringing with adrenaline. You were nailed to the spot under Ottos’ intense gaze, his brown eyes immobilizing you. His expression doesn’t change, the gears in his head still turning. You are looking in his eyes, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

Then he figures it out. You were really the person he had been looking for.

You were his soulmate.

It snaps in his mind and before you register what is happening, he takes one big step towards you, grabbing you by the arms and pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft and gentle, not wanting to startle you. You quickly unfreeze and place your hands on his chest. For a moment he thinks you were going to push him away, and he was about to break the kiss and step back. But in stead you grab the lapels of his coat and pull him closer, reciprocating the kiss and putting all your pent up emotions into it.

You both had been looking forward to this for so long. His hands move to your back to hold you closer to him, and your hands move up to his neck, placing one arm to rest on his shoulder while the other scratches his neck softly.

And everything fell into place. this was where you were both meant to be. As the need for air grows you break the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another. For a moment everything was just perfect. You both were sure now that you were each others’ soulmates.

Your head was still in the clouds when Otto pulled back from your embrace, gently lifting your hands from his neck. He was reluctant to let you go, but the doubts in his mind were overshadowing the joy of the moment. You were a bit surprised by this, looking him in his eyes. His brows furrowed again, and he looked a bit… sad?

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have overstepped like that… it’s not my place.’ he tries to walk away from you while muttering his apology. Now it was your turn to stop him.

‘What do you mean? Otto, we’re soulmates! I tried to find you for some time now. We could at least give this a shot, right?’. He has his head down to avoid your gaze. You were so much younger than him, he felt like you were out of his league by all accounts.

‘Don’t you want to be with someone who is more around your age? You can get so much better than…’ he gestures around to himself and his actuators ‘than this.’

As he says this the actuators start chirping at him. They may have no control over his mind, but they sure had minds of their own, and they were not about to let Otto give up this easily. You chuckle at the way they are poking at him to chirp some sense into him.

As Otto gets distracted arguing with his actuators, you take a step towards him and place your hand on his arm. His turns to look at you, startled you’d even dare come that close with all the actuator up and looming around his head. His brown eyes look down into your eyes, surprise and curiosity visible on his face.

‘I know we just met but, you’re my soulmate, and I really want to give this a try. That is, of course, if you’ll let me in.’ hope sparks in your eyes as he cracks a smile at your words. His hopeful expression warms your heart. You could really see yourself loving this man.

He hesitates a bit too long and his actuators give his back a nudge towards you, his arms instinctively moving forward to steady himself but landing at your waist instead.

‘I think your friends agree with me.’ You smile up at him, and he smiles back. He still is a bit hesitant about making a move, so you grab the hair on the back of hid head and pull him back down for another kiss. This time he fully leans into it, grabbing onto your waist to pull you in as close as possible.

He deepens the kiss, and you let him in without wasting a moment. Everything felt right with this moment. Your hands roam his broad chest, your hands move to shift off his coat, the actuator helping you pull it all the way off. His hands kneed at your waist and hips, the need to be closer becoming more apparent. But it has also been a long day. Both of you were really tired and just satisfied with how things were at the moment.

There was only one loose string for tonight, you could worry about the different universes tomorrow.

‘Uhm, if you want, you could stay in my room tonight? I mean, I have a double bed and I imagine that would be much more comfortable than the spare mattress on the ground, especially with your…’ you motioned at the tentacles on his back. ‘with all respect of course, and if you don’t want to that is fine too! I don’t want to push you to-’ your rambling was cut off when Otto pressed a soft kiss against your lips. Your mind was racing like some school girl in love, it felt weird to have your head spinning like this.

‘I’d like that very much, darling.’ He says. You take his hand in yours as you both head towards your room to get ready for bed. The domesticity of the moment filling you both with joy.

#otto octavius x reader #otto octavius x you #doc ock x reader #doc ock x you #alfred molina

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bibliocratic · 3 years

Text

litany An exploration on endings. Or: all the ways it could have gone wrong and right.

jonmartin, spoilers for 200, content warnings in the tags

This is not what she thought victory would feel like.

Basira’s fingers tense and smart with overexerted aching when she stops to stretch them out. There is a geography of broken blood-vessels under the bruising that lies puddle-splotched over her hands which scrabble and claw talon-bent at the rubble. They are scored with scratches and tears where her exposed and dust-ruined skin has snagged on fractured brickwork.

She uncovers a foot first, as she pushes up and over the twisted mental of a window frame with an exhausted clatter. A trainer, the white doused with mud, the trailing laces caked stiff and russet. More heaving and hauling, her breath purging from her faster now – maybe, maybe, maybe, but she has lived too long now to believe in miracles. Overturning a fire-blasted section of what could have been once part of the imperious and grand stone stairwell, she reveals the leg the trainer is attached to, pulverised and off-angled by the weight of the collapse, the fabric of it drenched in soot. She peels back a cascade of plasterboard with a grunt, and there is a twisted pelvis, shattered ribs caved in under an acrid-smelling jumper. She’s not surprised at the dull punch of revelation, when she digs out hunched shoulders, coils of hair turned grey-white like swans’ down with the dust.

Martin is obviously dead. She hopes it was quick, fears it was not. His body lying stringless is curved around something, clutching it to him with his bruised and broken fingers. It takes many minutes of labouring, her spine seizing with complaint, sweat pooling at her brow and under her arms, but eventually she reveals Martin’s tender quarry, bundled up against his chest, blood-soaked from a wound long congealed. His own long and bloody fingers clenched and moored into the weft of Martin’s jumper.

She doesn’t need to check his pulse. She is cursed with enough sentiment to do so anyway. Crouching for a moment in the thick of the settling devastation, the fug of dust coating her nostrils, before she murmurs ‘I’m sorry’.

As she stands, she takes off her coat to lay it over them respectfully, the only shroud she can offer.

When her voice is composed, its cracks flattened out, she shouts the others over to tell them to stop searching.

The knife does not go in easily. There is force behind its thrust, a manic wave-shock of hysteric intent, and Jon’s lips part in a gasp as skin and sinew and flesh split. The noise wrenched from Martin is soiled with ruin, tremulous and saw-toothed, and he will never be able to forgive himself.

Jon’s eyes close. Peace of a sort granted to Magnus’ last and most beleaguered of Archivists.

And then they open. All of them, like the unfolding back of petals during blossoming, a meadow’s expanse of sight flowering on his face.

“No,” Martin whispers, the refusal almost lost over the tumult of the building around them. He pulls the knife out, and it drips onto the floor, making damp the material of his trousers. “No, nononononono.”

The wound presses together like lips, and then it is gone.

“I think it’s too late for that, Martin,” the Archivist says in that calm and reasoned voice of his.

It is a surreal, poorly-rendered mirror of before. A way the record of the world has slipped, juddered aground in a repeat. For all they have both changed, outgrown the casings of the people they were, for all they have endured both together and apart, it is a sick homecoming of sorts to stand again a second time round at the entrance to his hospital ward.

She’s brought supermarket flowers bunched in plastic, the last of a bad crop and too late to get the freshest, the stalks of baby’s breath drooping, the petals on the carnations mottled slightly and past their glory days. Jon lies submerged in sleep, the focal point in a placid storm of machines and wires. This coma chemically induced with no inkling of the supernatural, a last-ditch effort by the doctors to reduce the swelling on his brain. To give the body a chance to heal from the damage sustained during the collapse, his frame bludgeoned and punctured like a shrike-caught mouse, the smoke that has snarled like brambles in his lungs. The almost comically neat wound punched into his chest, nicking his heart.

She hopes his sleep is dreamless.

It takes him weeks to wake up.

“… Georgie?” he finally gasps out on an otherwise uneventful Thursday. His vocals are ribbed and scored with smoke damage. He’s sluggish as he blinks and turns and groans at the complaint of his body around him. “What – er?”

“Hey Jon,” she replies. “Good to have you back with us.”

She lets him acclimatise. Without his glasses, he squints and peers owlishly, like an inquisitive bird, absorbed by the novelty of his environment, the mundanity; the hospital-blue curtain that’s been pulled back around his bed, missing a few rungs and so hanging lopsided in places. The wilting flowers on the side table. The IV needles threaded into his arms.

“Did it work?” he asks finally.

“We think so.”

Georgie doesn’t add more. The conversation is one she knew they’d have, but it still feels like stepping out on frozen water. She is waiting for it to give beneath him, for the drop and drown in the unmoored cold.

His relief muddies in increments. His brow crinkling with a frown, glancing around again at the other beds. Their occupants dredged up and out and recovering from their private terrors, bringing the lessons of their landscape with them.

“Where - ?”

He looks up at her. The ice cracking.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Jon,” she says.

“We made it. L-look, see, we’re – I don’t know where we are exactly, b-but that doesn’t matter, does it, because we’re together, yeah? We’re together and that’s… that’s what we promised.”

The blood is drying on his trembling fingertips, the crevices of his palm, and it flakes off like decaying leaf-fall. The front of his clothes is clogged and sodden, the slick slow to harden. The weight in his arms is making his shoulders scream but he can’t let go.

“We – we did it,” he repeats hollowly. Desperately. “We did it, s-so you can come back now. You can come back. Together, you promised.”

The winds of this new world blow as cold as the old one did, and it is Martin’s only reply.

“It’s for the best, Martin,” the Archivist says.

“Shut up,” his furious watcher snarls. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t play st – Like him! Like he would! Using his voice.”

“It’s my voice. It’s me, Martin.”

Martin doesn’t respond to that. Their arguments are cyclical as roundabouts. He tells Martin he loves him. Martin tells him to fuck off.

The place where Jonah Magnus met his End, crumpled up on the dais of the Panopticon, has been cleared of blood. It distressed Martin to look upon, as evidence of his ascension rather than his capacity for brutality, so the servitors saw to its removal. The body he gifted to the mulch of the bone gardens, and the wailing growths flourished beautifully with the nutrients it bore.

The screams beyond the walls of the Panopticon cut off faster as he hastens them towards the End. He observes a world in its twilight. There is still torment, and it is unendurable and unfair but it will end under his reign, for good and for ever, and he will ensure that there is no more.

“You don’t have to stay,” the Archivist says. Considered. Gentle. “I know… seeing me like this is not what you wanted. I want us to be together while it ends, but I won’t force you.”

“And how is it any better out there?”

“It’s not,” he admits. “Here, I can keep you safe. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Well, you fucked up there then,” Martin snaps.

His anger is righteous and flint-spark, makes barriers that almost waylay his grieving. He looks at him, and for a moment, his gaze shakes. He will see nothing less than he expects to see, a man, unkempt from travel, a bit grubby. Coarse hands he has held, lines he has attempted to smooth. In many ways, this makes it worse.

Martin turns away, and the Archivist lets him go.

He needs time and they have more than enough of it now.

He is inconsolable when they dig them out. A horrible, anguished keening like he’s being struck, a gasping that violently gags and stoppers in his chest. His face twisted, blotching, his eyes swollen, and the picture he makes is ugly, rent-open, decimated, bawling into the body he’s crushed up against him. Rag-doll limbed. Ashen.

They can’t make him let go. His cries transform and degrade into wails, garbled wordless, the horizon of language lost. They aren’t even sure if he knows they’re there. The sound pouring out of him is frenzied, delirious and anguished by surviving the unsurvivable alone. He fades hoarse through the ruin he has made of his throat and then he just weeps into Jon’s chest, and still he will not let go.

Melanie’s the one that stops him using the knife the first time. Wrestling it from his grip more out of surprise than shock at Georgie’s shout, and her anger is poisoned with her panic, throwing it to one side and hearing it clatter, snarling that I’m not going to fucking bury both of you, you hear me, don’t even think about it, fuck you, you think this is what he would have wanted, you think we want to lose you too?

Martin doesn’t reply.

They are not fast enough to stop him the second time he tries.

There are two men, strangers to these parts, who moved into the village from elsewhere like seeds caught on breeze. They plant their roots in uneasy soil. They talk to no one, versed in polite but guarded pleasantries, their greeting smiles to-the-point and weathered like coastal walls to withstand even the most inquisitive of questioners.

The one who is tall has the pared-down appearance of someone who has lost a lot of weight through some wasting that gnaws upon him. A gauntness that accentuates the furrows and gulleys and crags of his face, worsens the snow-stark white of his hair. The one who is short has been formed naturally sharp in features, although the brown of his eyes is mellow, prone to distance and otherwise unremarkable. The rumour mill, that tumbles in cycles of chatter that rolls from suspicious to musing, supposes some great and devastating fire to account for the injuries on his hands and the exposed skin of his face and neck, the pocked divots like scattered spark burns, ragged scars from shrapnel of some kind.

The one who is short limps on a sturdy walking stick, fashioned from an oak branch divorced from its tree in a storm. Any travel ventured upon is slow and demonstrably an effort. His free hand clasped in the hand of the one who is tall, who decks himself in layers even in the mildest of weathers, whose eyes are biting as hailstones, awashed grey and framed with bruising as though his dreams are rarely kind.

They re-painted the outer walls of their house last summer, when the temperature wallowed sticky and dense and glorious. The tree in their garden has fruited its first pears, few and stunted but a start that promises better crops come next year.

There is the hope that the strangers are happy.

If they are, it remains nobody’s business but their own.

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

Wilbur’s Hair Salon (The Ashes of Yourself Blurb)

The Ashes of Yourself Masterlist

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: getting overwhelmed, swearing

Word count: 2,958

(A/N): this is a lil longer than I expected it to be (longer than the actual chapter I released today oop). Anyways, this could be read without having to read my Ashes of Yourself series, all you have to know is that Philza and Technoblade are absent a lot leaving Wilbur to raise Tommy and the reader and the reader is a blaze hybrid

You frowned at yourself in the mirror, running your hands through your long hair in distaste, the flames tickling your hands. The shears on the bathroom counter sat there taunting you, daring you to take them and cut off all of your hair. The broken water faucet in the sink dripped endlessly, reminding you of what happened when it first started dripping. The small charcoal spot on the back of your hand reminded you of how painful touching water was.

You hated every aspect of your hair; the way it tickled your neck, the way it kept getting in your face, how people kept mistaking you for a girl, it was just so frustrating. You absolutely hated how fast your hair grew, one day you cut it close to your scalp and a week later it’s already at your shoulders! Your hair was the bane of your existence at the moment.

You tried countless hairstyles ranging from buns to fancy updos, all of them proved to be useless in the end when you lost control of your emotions and the hair ties and bobby pins burnt to a crisp. You knew from experience that cutting your hair was useless, and so was shoving it all under a beanie you stole from Wilbur, so you gave up and let it grow out. That was a month ago and your hair now reached your lower back.

Your frustration was growing by the second. The flames on your head flickered wildly and smoke plumed from the strands. You knew that in order to cut your hair you had to relax so that it was tangible, you knew that, but you just couldn’t relax.

You snatched the shears off from the counter with one hand and gathered all of your hair in your other. The shears were positioned around your hair and without hesitation, you snapped the shears closed. Like you were expecting, the shears only swished through the flames and left them untouched. In a fit of frustration, you repeatedly closed the shears around your hair. The sharp edges did nothing to the length.

You only paused when you felt something drip onto your forehead. In confusion, you looked at the mirror only to see the previously ivory white iron replaced with glowing oranges and reds. Bits were dripping off from the tool and onto your face. The flames thrashed in your grip, desperate to be unleashed and burn everything in this room to mere ashes.

Molten tears pricked your eyes as you glared at the hair in your hand, frustrated blaze-like growls rumbling the back of your throat. You knew that if you let this fester any longer, the house would catch on fire (again). You closed your eyes and took deep breaths in an attempt to steady yourself.

It worked slightly for a few moments, the flames now calmly flickering and your hands at their normal temperature, however you could still feel the irritation gnawing on the deepest corners of your mind.

You put down the cooled down and misshapen shears on the bathroom counter, wiped off the liquid iron from your forehead, and ripped open the door in search for the brother closest to you in age: Tommy.

He wasn’t that hard to find; all you had to do was follow the music to his room. Without knocking, you opened his door and stared at him. He sat up on his bed and looked at you in offence, “oi, what the fuck?! What if I was changing or something? You-”

“Wanna commit arson?”

He paused and launched himself off from his bed, “I’m down for some arson, but what’s the occasion?”

You led him down the stairs and towards the door, “ I’m mad at everything right now and I don’t want to burn down the house.”

Just as you both were about to leave the house, someone clearing their throat sounded behind you. Your hand froze over the doorknob and you swore to yourself under your breath. Wilbur grabbed both of your shoulders and spun you both around. He was in his pajamas, rage peeking through his sleep clouded eyes.

“Where do you two think you’re going at this time of night?” Despite only being nineteen years old, he has already perfected the angry dad voice.

“(Y/n) and I were just going out for a walk, big man. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, “no you two weren’t. You were gonna go burn some shit again weren’t you?”

“What does it matter to you where we go? Where we go is none of your business.” You ripped your shoulder out of his grasp and glared at him. You could feel your hair starting to flicker in anger.

He matched your glare with as much, if not more, intensity, “Dad put me in charge, so it’s actually all of my business to know where you’re going at midnight.”

“Just leave us the fuck alone, Wilbur. You have no idea how much I need this.”

“Listen Wilbur,” Tommy said warily after feeling the heat radiating off from your body, “(y/n) just needs to get their mind off from things. I wasn’t gonna actually let them commit arson again.”

This made Wilbur pause. Normally Tommy would back you up in arguments but now the oldest could feel the slight urgency in the blond’s voice. He looked back at you and saw that you were quite literally about to combust. He could hear the small blaze noises that you were making as pitch black irises and pale yellow sclera glared at him. Small plumes of smoke were rising from your figure and dissipating into the air the second it met with the ceiling.

Wilbur then sighed and grabbed his coat, a sword, and, to your surprise, two pairs of flint and steel. “C’mon then,” he gestured to the front door, “let’s go. But only trees this time, got it?” Despite his exasperation and exhaustion with basically raising two preteens that thrived off from arson, he smiled slightly when he saw both of them perk up. They were his youngest siblings and he wanted nothing more than to see them happy.

After finding a lone tree and clearing it of any potential animals and mobs, the siblings lit it on fire. The feeling of finally releasing some pent up anger and frustration was slightly relieving. Though some of your frustration remained, you felt a little more at ease.

Wilbur led both you and Tommy away from the burning tree and sat down on top of a grassy hill, lighting torches to prevent any mobs from sneaking up on you three. The siblings sat in comfortable silence as they watched the flickering flames cut through the darkness of the night. Tommy’s and Wilbur’s faces were lit up in a dull orange hue.

Eventually, you leaned your head on Wilbur’s shoulder tiredly and yawned loudly. The brunet chuckled to himself and moved to wrap his arms around both of his siblings, pulling them close to his side. You sighed in content and nuzzled your face closer to his side. The blaze of the tree had died down to mere embers and charcoal remains.

“...Why don’t we go inside before we all fall asleep out here.” Wilbur nudged both of you gently and helped you stand up.

“I don’t need help, arsehole,” Tommy protested, but did nothing to stop Wilbur from helping him up. “I,” he cut himself off with a large yawn. You, seeing this, yawned yourself.

“Sure,” Wilbur chuckled and put a steadying hand on yours and Tommy’s shoulders, steering you back towards the house. The siblings walked back into the house where, instead of letting you both go to your separate rooms, Wilbur plopped you both onto the couch and sat between the both of you. He once again wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you both close to his body.

“The fuck are you doing, Wil?” Tommy protested, weakly trying to push himself away from his older brother.

Wilbur tightened his grip and slumped down onto the couch, making himself comfortable. “This calls for sibling cuddle time. It’s been a while since we’ve done this anyway.”

“There’s a reason why we haven’t done this in a while,” Tommy complained, “we’re too old for this shit.”

“So you want to-” Wilbur’s snarky remark was interrupted by a soft snore coming from his side. He and Tommy stopped arguing and looked over to (y/n). The blaze hybrid’s lips were slightly parted as they snored peacefully, unconsciously nuzzling into Wilbur’s old t-shirt and moving to wrap an arm across Wilbur’s midsection. Their hand landed on Tommy’s long sleeve shirt and gripped it lightly.

“What the fuck, (y/n).”

“Tommy I swear to the gods if you wake them up I will make you do all of the chores for a week.”

Tommy grumbled to himself before he reluctantly leaned his head against Wilbur’s side and putting his hand over (y/n)’s, “fine, but I’m only staying because I don’t want to do your fucking chores again.”

“Mhm, now go to sleep, Toms, it’s getting late.”

Tommy fell silent and let himself drift off to sleep. Soon enough, Wilbur himself drifted off to sleep, pulling his siblings closer to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up, you were alone on the couch. Sunlight was streaming through the opened curtains and blinded your sensitive eyes. The scent of eggs and toast wafted throughout the house.

You stretched and made your way to the kitchen. There, Wilbur was standing at the stove flipping eggs and Tommy was sitting at the table with his head burrowed into the crook of his elbow.

“It’s about time you woke up, I was starting to get worried that you’d sleep until noon,” Wilbur said before he placed plates at the table. He reached over to lightly smack the back of Tommy’s head, “no sleeping at the table.”

The blond grumbled to himself before pushing himself up onto an elbow and scooping food into his mouth. Wilbur’s eyes narrowed at his elbow on the table before he sighed to himself and ate his own portion of breakfast.

“So, what’s going on with you? It’s been a while since you wanted to burn something down like that,” Tommy asked you after waking up a little bit more. Wilbur looked over at you in question.

You sighed and poked at your food, “it’s really stupid.”

“If it was enough for you to almost completely melt the shears, it isn’t stupid, (y/n). What’d I say about talking about your emotions?” Wilbur softly chided you.

“‘Don’t call your emotions stupid’,” you droned out before taking a bite of your breakfast, “but this time it really is stupid, Wilby. You both will laugh at me anyways, so just drop it.”

“We’d never laugh at you,” Wilbur frowned, “and whatever you’re feeling certainly isn’t stupid. Tell us, we’re all ears.”

You looked up from your plate and saw that they both were looking at you with judgemental free stares. Though his eyes were previously clouded with sleep, Tommy now looked alert and diverted his full attention to you while Wilbur gave you an encouraging smile.

“...Fine, it’s just… I couldn’t cut my hair last night and it’s just been so overwhelming to constantly deal with. You both know how fast it grows.” You ran a hand over the top of your hair and huffed in frustration.

“That’s it?” Tommy asked you before Wilbur kicked his shin from under the table. “What Tommy meant to say,” he shot a pointed look at the twelve year old, “is that feeling overwhelmed, no matter what it’s about, is completely normal. We all get overwhelmed sometimes. I’ll tell you what,” he cleared his throat and stood up from his place at the table, “I’ll be right back.” As he passed Tommy’s place, he leaned down close to his ear, “apologize before I get back.”

You winced at Wilbur’s scathing tone and watched as he walked out of the room in long strides.

“Sorry,” you and Tommy told each other at the same time. Both of you looked at each other in slight shock, “what-” you cut yourself off as you realized that you both said the same thing again.

You both eyed each other warily from across the table, watching the other’s mouths closely. You took a deep breath and looked at him seriously, “sorry Toms. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“Wha- I’m the one that’s supposed to say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that’s an arsehole that doesn’t think before he speaks, so I’m sorry.” He narrowed his eyes at you, daring you to say another word. As you opened your mouth to object, he sharply said, “ah! No apologizing when you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You snapped your mouth closed and sighed, propping yourself up onto your elbow. “...You know that I’ll always forgive you no matter what you do, right Tommy?”

“Of course, and I’ll always defend you as well. Even if you end up murdering someone, I’ll help you hide the body. It’s just what older brothers are supposed to do.”

“So,” you grinned at him, “you’re down for murder now?”

“Nobody’s murdering anybody.” Wilbur’s voice made the both of you jump. When you both whipped your heads over to the doorway, you saw Wilbur leaning against the doorframe and watching you two with a fond smile. He pushed himself off from the doorframe and placed a wrapped box in front of you.

“I was waiting until your birthday,” he sat down next to you, “but now is as good a time as ever to give this to you.”

After a while of hesitance, you ripped the wrapping paper off from the box and peered inside of it. There, a glimmering pair of shears and leather gloves were laying on the bottom of the box. “Woah, are these enchanted?” You looked up at Wilbur with awe filled eyes.

He looked at you with a wide smile and nodded eagerly, “yes! Both are enchanted with fire protection so you can cut your hair easier!”

“That is so poggers! Wanna cut your hair now?!” Tommy was leaning across the table and looking into the box with wide, excited eyes. You snatched the gloves out of the box and handed them to him, “yes! Do you wanna cut my hair?!”

He grabbed the gloves and put them on hastily, jumping out of his chair and darting towards the door. You grabbed the shears and attempted to follow him before Wilbur stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, looking slightly alarmed, “he is not cutting your hair.”

“Well, why not?”

“He isn’t cutting your hair and that’s final. Give me the shears and we can safely cut it in the bathroom.” He held his hand out and gave you a smile, “I know you’re excited, but I just don’t want anyone losing a finger under my watch. That’d be really hard to explain to Dad.”

You sighed and put the shears into his hand. He led you towards the bathroom and you followed him closely, “I miss Dad, do you know when he’s coming home?”

“I don’t know, little inferno. Just- just don’t think about him and he’ll be home before you know it.” His tone had a hidden sharp edge to it as he put a hand on your opposite shoulder and lightly squeezed it. “I know it’s hard without him, but we’ll always have each other. Just you, me, and Tommy. We don’t need them as long as we have each other.”

“Are you two coming or not?!” Tommy poked his head out from the bathroom, staring at you both with slight annoyance. “We are and you are not cutting their hair.”

“Well,” Tommy scoffed and wiggled his fingers, the light bouncing off from the oversized gloves perfectly, “who has the gloves?”

You and Wilbur stepped into the bathroom with him guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat and leaning your head over the sink. Wilbur raised his eyebrows and wiggled the shears in his hand, “who has the shears and the ability to ground you for a few weeks?”

Tommy huffed and took off the gloves, giving them to Wilbur who slipped them onto his hands. Wilbur grinned cheekily, “that’s what I thought.” He gathered your hair into one hand and looked at you in question, “ready?”

You grinned back at him, “as ready as I’ll ever be.”

The shears sliced through your hair with ease and you watched as the fire dissipated into the air. Tommy watched as it floated up in the air and smiled to himself as it disappeared before hitting the ceiling.

After your haircut, you sat up and looked at yourself in the mirror. It was like Wilbur had read your mind, your hair was exactly how you wanted it. When you looked back at him, he was looking at you with a tender smile. Just as you were about to thank him, Tommy spoke up in a casual tone.

“So Wilbur,” he asked, “would you help us hide a body if one of us accidentally murdered someone?”

“...Tommy, (y/n), is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Is that a yes or a no?” You asked him after giving Tommy a quick mischievous smile.

Wilbur slipped the gloves off and tapped his chin in thought. “...I would, that’s what older brothers are for. Hiding bodies for their younger siblings,” he chuckled to himself before he stopped himself and looked at you both slightly nervously, “seriously though, is there something you both aren’t telling me?”

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lambourngb · 3 years

Text

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN ****

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown.

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W.

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.”

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.”

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now’ signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.”

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.”

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance.

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.”

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.”

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long.

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.”

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.”

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.”

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered.

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled.

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.”

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?”

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street.

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.”

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.”

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

#Malex #roswell new mexico #malex fic #alex goes undercover #not forrest long friendly #getting back together #Season 3 speculation

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flyingkoalaandsloths · 3 years

Text

fave Flint quotes in every episode | S2

IX.

Civilization needs its monsters.

In less than two days, I intend to be the captain again.

XI.

I know how you all must feel. How desperate you must be to go home and be embraced by Nassau again. But I'm here to tell you, that place no longer exists. It has been taken from us by a madman. Held hostage by threat of force that no one on the island seems able to resist. Now I would like to say that the Urca beckons us. That we should look the other way. That the affairs of the beach should never take precedence over those of the purse. But in this case, these issues would seem to be one and the same. Even if we could make it ashore safely, even if we could refit amidst the chaos that has been sown, even if we could ignore all of this and go on to win the Urca's gold, what then? We return home only to have Vane extort from us the very prize that we have sacrificed so much to win? Nassau was unable to resist him. But we have yet to have our say. So at sunrise tomorrow, we make our terms clear with no room for bargain or compromise. Charles Vane and the animals he commands have until sunrise tomorrow to vacate that fort or so help me God... I will rain holy hell down upon him.

XII.

I support it. I found his argument persuasive. I find his intent to be good and true. And I find yours wanting, sir. I will be relaying my findings to Admiral Hennessey in short order. And now I think it's time you left, sir.

XIII.

The only thing I am ashamed of is that I didn't do something to save him when we had the chance.

XIV.

I'm seeming unconcerned.

XV.

Those men listen to you. They give a shit about what you have to say. What you think, what you want them to think. Where else in the world is that true? Where else would you wake up in the morning and matter? You walk out on this, and where the fuck are you going?

XVI.

What lies ahead, I'm afraid I might be wholly unprepared for. I always thought this journey would end in battle. A fight to preserve the things we held dear. I understood that. I was ready for that. Now, as it turns out, something else lies at the end of this road. Judgment. Not of Nassau, but of me and the man that I've become. And this entire endeavor hangs in the balance of that judgment. [...] I will make my argument having no sense of my footing with [Peter Ashe]. No sense of the things he knows about me, the lower things. The darker things. And the moment he reveals that he knows these things may be the moment that this all comes crashing down. He is going to render judgment. And it all depends on what he sees standing before him: Me or my name.

XVII.

I told you of my grandfather who raised me. A fisherman in Padstow. Well, in his youth he was a deckhand on a privateer off the coast of Massachusetts. And one night he was alone on the late watch at anchor in the Boston Harbor when he sees this man climbing out of the water and onto his ship. A stranger. Now, my grandfather thought about ringing the bell, but curiosity got the better of him. The stranger approaches my grandfather and asks him for a little rum. Man said that he'd fled his fishing trawler, accused of killing another man. And when asked his name, the man simply replied Mr. Flint. This stranger, he never said whether he was guilty of the killing or why he chose that ship or where he was bound, he just just sat there. Eventually, he asked my grandfather for a little more rum from below. My grandfather went off to fetch it, but when he returned the man was gone. My grandfather was in Boston for a month after that. Never heard a word about a killing or a fugitive at large. It was as if the sea had conjured that man out of nothing and then taken him back for some unknowable purpose. When I first met Mr. Gates and he asked me my name... I feared the man I was about to create. I feared that someone born of such dark things would consume me were I not careful. And I was determined only to wear him for a while and then dispose of him when his purpose was complete. And I thought of that story. Am I ready to let him go? Truth is every day I've worn that name I've hated him a little more. I've been ready to return him to the sea for a long time.

XVIII.

I have one regret. I regret ever coming to this place with the assumption that a reconciliation could be found. That reason could be a bridge between us. Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced that I am yours, I will be it.

S1 S3 S4

#black sails #captain flint #special mention: what the /fuck/ did you think was gonna happen?!#starts with monsters ends with monsters #while s1 was flint giving monologs to anyone who would listen #s2 flint was searching for reconciliation an inner peace with his past his present and his (almost-certain) demise #even when he was giving long monolog in XI #he questioned his steps listened others' perspective and although he still decided to give fire order he was very conflicted #but i guess the real mvp of this season is miranda with her goddamn clock #she deserves her own selected quotes post #I AM ENRAGED #god i love her #'Her word will be the last word for this place'#*

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Nauthiz

Warnings: noncon sex; hand job; oral; intercourse.

This is dark!viking!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Raiders arrive and chaos ensues.

Note: I think Viking Thor might be the greatest Thor I’ve ever written and I must share him with all of you.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Nauthiz - desire

Sæta = sweetie, cutie.

🌧️🌧️🌧️

The cold rain whipped across your face and your skirts flapped in the wind. It hadn’t stopped storming since they’d come. Since the raiders’ horn had wailed and signaled the imminent destruction.

The downpour washed away the blood of those strewn around you. Your grandfather was among them. He’d spent his life for yours, or tried to. You’d begged him to stand down. To toss aside the rusty old sword he prized from his days following the former lord in the campaign to the Promised Land. He had died at home by the hands of another type of savage. A true savage.

You shivered and took Winifred’s hand as she sobbed. The men had been herded into several houses along the eastern row. Some were wounded, others dying. The invaders had been much rougher with them, though many of the women who stood with you wore torn bodices and bloodied skirts. The children were with the few elders in Alfie Halfers’s barn. Your sister and brother were there, with crooked old Mary Greene.

The men in their mail and armor stood all around with spears, axes, and blades. Winifred cried louder, along with several others. Like you, they’d lost family that day. Like you, they had no idea what was to happen to them. Like you, they were aggrieved, angry, and alone.

You couldn’t cry. You tried. You wanted to. Your grandfather’s blood was on your cuffs still, you could smell it. His voice was still in your head. ‘Run, my sweet child, run.’ You had run once he’d fallen but not fast enough. You hadn’t wanted to leave him yet he’d met the same fate you feared if you had. And you’d met that he’d died to prevent.

You were angry at these beastly men. Angry at fate, angry at yourself.

Lightning flashed in the sky and screams rose in fright. The approach of heavy boots squelching in the mud preceded the broad, fearsome shadow of a man. He emerged into the moonlight, filtered through the blowing rains.

His golden hair poked out from beneath a fur cap and a thick beard hung from his jaw. The other men stood rigid as he approached. He spoke to them in another language. Then he turned and looked down the line of trembling women; some just girls. He smiled and his voice boomed again. This time, in your own tongue, lilted with a keen accent.

“We are not here to harm you. We only defended ourselves against your violent kin when they drew steel” He began. “Do not linger on the bloodshed, but consider our mercy. That you still stand here, that many still breathe, offered shelter still from this ragged storm.”

He preened at his own declaration. His English was fine for his kind. Many of the raiders knew only grunts and gibberish.

“And that we would prize you with our favour. Men of pure blood. Men descended from the gods.” He boomed and thunder echoed his tone. “Bow to us and we will be benevolent. Refuse and we will teach you to bend.”

Winifred nearly pulled you down with her as she crumpled into a heap. She wailed and murmured madly as the rain battered down on her. You tried to lift her to her feet but she wouldn’t budge. A man approached and forced her up, dragging her away as several other snuffed their sobs at the scene.

“What will they do to her?” One asked in a hoarse whisper and was shushed by others.

“We will not have you fine women out in the rain all night. You would grow ill, so let us proceed,” The blond man continued.

He neared the far end of the line. Many craned to watch him as he began the long walk along the distraught women. You kept your head straight and blinked through the rain. Let him pass you by and leave you to languish with the rest.

He got closer and closer. You could hear his boots and the little comments he made and the laughter of his men in response. The toe of his hide boot appeared at the edge of your vision and without thinking, with all your spite, you spat at his feet. You looked up as he flinched and turned to face you. You stared into his eyes and curled your lip.

“Murderer,” You snarled. “Beast.”

He tilted his head and looked back and forth along the line. Then he glanced behind him at his men. He laughed. Loudly. All others were silent as he raised his head and backed away from you. He raised his hand and his chuckles died. He gestured to you with two fingers and a man approached to wrench you forward. You stumbled as you were thrust towards the large blonde man.

“Fiery woman,” He sneered. “I do admire your will.” He smirked. “So I will reward you.” He grabbed your chin as he stepped closer. “Behold, a mighty king does claim you. I, Thor, Son of Odin. First of his name.”

You bared your teeth and your nostrils flared. He pushed you away before you could spit again and you choked on your saliva.

“You might gird yourself,” He warned as he signaled to the man to grab you once more. “Within reason. I do like a taste of fire.”

The man, a king by his word, Thor, turned away. You were urged after him by the man at your shoulder as the other gave an order in his own tongue. You tried to drag your feet, tried to fight, but your soles slipped in the mud. You grunted as you were nearly jerked off your feet by your escort as he muttered some unknown curse in your direction.

The sky flashed and the thunder was followed by the frantic voices of women and the guttural tones of the armored men. You peeked over your shoulder and blanched at the sight of the raiders closing in on the women as they huddled together in a fearful herd. They hauled them away from each other as you were ushered away. You were better off than no other. You would be better off among the bodies on the ground.

“Woman,” Thor called as he slowed to walk beside you and took your arm. The other man released you but tarried behind. “What do I call you?”

You pursed your lips and kept your eyes ahead, blinking away the droplets as they caught in your lashes.

“I will not keep from forcing it from you, so tell me.” He warned.

You sniffed and tried to tear your arm away. He didn’t falter as he kept on. You swallowed and answered him. He nodded.

“And which of these is yours?” He looked around at the varying houses; some little more than huts, other shared houses with sheds and troughs around the side. You were quiet again and he stopped to turn you to him. “I rarely repeat a threat twice before following through on it.”

You looked down at his hand and back to him. “Up that hill,” You peered over at the incline just a row away. “At the very top. The miller’s house.”

He patted your head with his large hand and angled you around the corner. He hurried you along as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. Your legs burned as you trekked through the mud up the hill.

The rain pelted down heavier than before and you stopped dead as you came up to your grandfather’s fence. His body was still there. Just inside the gate. Thor nearly took you off your feet but paused too as he noticed the corpse. He let go of you and bent. He bowed his head and said some words to the mud.

You backed away and he stood quickly to grab you again. He shook his head and pulled you through the gate.

“He died with a blade in his hands.” He said. “Brave.”

“Unlike you.” You hissed.

He chuckled and continued along the muddied patch to the front door. He shoved you ahead of him.

“I expect a warm welcome.” He taunted. “In.”

You pushed through the door and he was close behind. Your grandfather’s house was small; a single room. A fireplace against the back wall, a counter built of wood along the other, a table, several barren chairs. Your hay mattress rested in the corner and his own was placed at the foot. The door slammed and another roll of thunder sounded.

Thor let you go.

“A light.” He commanded.

You went to the table and blindly felt around for the candle there. You lit it with the flint that sat on its tray and you backed away. The small glow cast shadows across the space. The king removed his hat and wrung it out before tossing it beside the clay basin on the counter. He unclasped his cloak and slung it over a chair.

He unbuttoned his lined jacket and looked at you. Your eyes went to the door.

“How far do you think you would get?” He asked pointedly. “My man is at the door and others will patrol the streets.”

You lowered your chin and turned away from him.

“You stay in that dress, you will be sick.” He said. “I will start the fire. You will undress.”

You spun back to him and crossed your arms. You were cold and resisted a shiver.You went to the chest and placed your hands on the strap. He followed and planted his muddied boot on the lid.

“What are you doing? I said undress.” He snarled.

“I will need a clean dress.”

“No.” He said. “Undress.”

You glared at him. He didn’t back down. He kept his foot on the chest and his hands gripped his hips as he stared you down. You reached to the laces along the front of your bodice and untied the top gruffly. You didn’t look away as you loosened them and pulled your collar open. He smirked and retreated.

He took the flint and knelt at the fireplace. You wriggled out of your dress and threw it across the chest. Your shift was just as wet and nearly transparent. You pulled it over your head and tossed it atop your dress. You ripped off your shoes and rolled down your damp stockings. Naked, you turned away, trying to hide behind air.

“Let me see you,” He said.

You peeked over your shoulder and turned slowly. He neared as you faced him and he stopped before you. His fingertips tickled your cheek as his eyes ventured further down. You couldn’t resist the shiver that rose along your back.

“Lay down.” He said. “Get under the covers. Get warm.”

You bit down and crept onto the mattress against the wall. He dragged your grandfather’s to rest beside yours and stood. You slid under the blanket as he tugged removed his mail then tugged his tunic over his head. He draped it across the back of the chair closest to the fire and bent to push his boots off.

He placed belt and the large hammer he wielded against the wall. His socks were stretched over the seat of the chair and he unlaced his pants deliberately. He threw those over his tunic and bent to free himself of his undershorts. He dropped those with his socks and you closed your eyes as he came around the table.

Your heart raced as you heard him near. He gave a low laugh as he approached and the floor creaked. You could sense him looming before you.

“Open your eyes.” He demanded. “Look at me.”

You covered your face and he laughed louder.

“You never seen a man before?” He asked.

“I have.” You uttered. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Afraid?” You felt the other mattress shift against yours as he got down on it. “I don’t blame you. You won’t be able to resist once you see me.”

You grimaced and kept your eyes shut.

“This is the last I’ll repeat my words.” He said. “Open your eyes, girl.”

Your eyes snapped open at his tone. He was on his knees before you. You stared at his face. He grinned.

“Look at all of me.” He hummed.

You gulped and inhaled. You drew the blanket snugger to your shoulders and your eyes fell almost without thinking. His chest stood broadly above his tightly muscled stomach and his arms were as thick as the rest of him. Unlike any man you’d seen before, often as they bathed, his member was large and upright before him. It bobbed against his stomach and he reached to cup stroke it.

“You ever seen a man like me?” He teased.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling. “I told you. I’ve seen men before.”

“But not like me,” He said as he lowered himself across the mattress. “Girl,” He tugged on your blanket and spread it over him. “Come close. It will help you get warm.”

“I will stay.” You insisted.

He growled and shoved his arm under you. He rolled you against him and settled you under the blanket with him. He brought your head up on his shoulder and you could smell the rain in his hair and dried sweat on his flesh.

“I tire of your whims, girl.” He turned you until your breasts were pressed to him and his other hand groped your ass. “I am helping you. You were in the rain too long. You must warm yourself.”

You were silent, tense against him. You’d never been like this with a man. And he was right, you’d never seen a man like him. His fingers crawled over your skin.

“You have good hips.” He said. “But you have no children. That old man could not have been your husband.”

“My grandfather,” You said. “And no, I have no children.”

“You say you’ve seen men,” He caressed your arm. “Have you touched one?”

You said nothing. You couldn’t.

“No.” He answered for you. “Well, I can say I’ve touched a woman. I’ve made women scream.” He inhaled your scent as he clung. “I will do things to you you will never forget.”

You folded your arms against your chest as he rubbed your back lightly.

“Not tonight.” He purred. “Tonight, I will show you how to touch a man.”

He retracted his hand and grabbed yours. You resisted but only until he twisted your arm. He led your hand to his member and pressed your palm to the firm flesh. He bent your fingers around him and his thick veins bulged in your grip. He shuddered.

“Tightly,” He bid. “Move up.” He slid your hand to the tip. “Down.” He pushed it to his base. “And again.” He repeated the motion. “Don’t stop.”

He rescinded his hand and you kept on as he’d shown you. You listened to the crackle of the fire and his thick breaths as you numbly stroked him. He began to groan as his hand slapped against the mattress.

“Faster,” He begged. “Faster, girl.”

You obeyed. You didn’t ask why, you didn’t hesitate. Whatever was happening, you wanted to be over. He pushed his head back as he jutted his chest up and the blanket slowly slipped further and further down his torso. He grunted and flicked it away from him so it hung from your shoulder.

“Watch.” He rasped. “See what you can do to me.”

He lifted his head and looked down at your hand as it glided up and down his member. He bared his teeth as his blue eyes dilated in the dim light. His thighs tensed as your eyes stuck to the scene and his voice got louder. The arm beneath you curled and he pulled you closer. You could hear his heart as your head was pushed further onto his chest.

He exclaimed and his hips jerked. A warmth suddenly spilled down your hand and spread beneath your palm. The white liquid spurted up and coated your fingers as your lips parted. His hand stopped yours as he sputtered.

“Enough, enough,” He growled. “You know what that is, girl?” You blinked. “That’s my seed. If you are good, I will honour you with it.” He slowly released your hand. “You might be fortunate enough to carry a king’s child.”

Your hand slipped down and you wiped away his seed on the blanket. You quivered as the balmy smell of his sweat and arousal enshrined you. He drew away from you, carefully, and rose. He went to the table and snuffed out the candle. He returned to you through the flickering shadows of the fire and pulled you close once more.

“Where is that voice, girl?” He slung your leg over his. “I will help you find it again. Never fear.”

🌧️

You were wakeful, restless. The large behind you snored with his arm firmly around you as the storm raged without. When last it quelled and the steady beating stopped, you wriggled free of his grasp. You shivered as you turned your back to him and dozed for an hour before the sun in grey wisps through the cracks of the shuttered windows.

You woke as a warmth pressed to your back and Thor pressed his nose to the back of your head. He pushed himself against you. He was hard again. He rocked against you as he growled low in your ear. He drew away abruptly and sniffed. He sat up and the blanket fell from your shoulders and you shivered in the morning chill.

“Girl.” He said as he rose with a groan. “What will we break our fast with?”

You held the blanket to you as you crawled across the mattress and you went to the chest. You reached for your dress and he tilted his head in warning. He wagged his finger.

“Did I say you could do that?” He asked.

You dropped your hand as he neared and tugged the blanket away. He tossed it back on the mattresses and backed away.

“I said you would cook my meal.” He turned and went to the fire, barely more than ashes. He added the splintered wood from the woven basket and stirred it until it sparked. “So, be quick.”

You rounded the other side of the table as he sat and you took the heavy iron pot from the counter. You added oats from the bag and emptied the last of the ewer into it. You added nutmeg and cinnamon bought from the merchants in the next town and hung it from the hook over the rising fire.

You avoided looking at him as he watched you. He scoffed as he picked at the wood of the table.

“You want to say what makes you frown.” He said.

You looked up and he smiled. You averted your gaze and folded your hands. You would never used to being so bare. You raised your chin and swallowed.

“How do you know this language?” You asked.

He snickered and tapped his fingers on the table. He ran his hand over his beard and you made yourself look him in the eye.

“I’ve been to many villages like this. Those men I did not kill, I took as slaves. At least a dozen or so. The women… I never took many of them. They are not so strong for the field and their use is… fleeting. But those men I took, I spoke to them as I could.” He leaned back and dropped his hand to his lap. “I learned to tell men how I would kill them before I did.” He lifted a brow. “That fear before I bring my hammer down… that is… it is that destiny the gods made for me.”

You crinkled your nose without thinking and your blood turned cold. He spoke of killing as if he were shearing a sheep or sowing a field. He was amused and you wiped the disgust from your face. You turned and took a wooden spoon and crossed to the fire to stir the oats.

“No…” He began. “I never did take a woman. I feared they wouldn’t make the journey after… after they had bowed to me.”

You withdrew the spoon and returned to the counter with it. You set it down and peeked over at him.

“The ego is the male sin,” You said. “Tolerance is a woman’s penance.”

He inhaled and rumbled softly. “Our gods do not speak of sins. How grim. They speak of glory. To take and not beg from some spiteful wraith.”

You pushed your head back and said nothing. He kept his eyes on you. His gaze made you uneasy but if you let him see, it would only be another victory to proclaim.

“Oh, how glorious,” You took the wooden spoon and went to the pot again. “To take oats from an old man’s hearth.”

🌧️

Thor left you after he ate. His man remained outside the door, the occasional clink of his mail assuring you of his presence. You pulled on a dress unwrinkled by the rain and sat by the fire. The sky outside was grey and the sun refused to show. You spent your hours mending a collection of holey stockings and your grandfather’s old cloak. It was likely pointless work but it kept you from thinking.

You chewed on stale bread as the day wore on. Then you sat at the table in silence. The winds persisted but the rain did not return. You couldn’t hear the usual livestock grazing along the neighbour’s yard or the voices of children as they ran along the dusty paths. The was only the eerie dearth of life all around.

The door clattered and you sat up as you looked over your shoulder. Thor wore his cap and long fur-trimmed cloak. He came up beside you and his hand settled along the back of your neck.

“You’re dressed,” He remarked. “You think when I am gone, I am no longer king?”

“You’re not my king, here or there,” You said. “This is not your land.”

“It’s not?” He taunted. “This is a dead man’s house. I can only claim it as my own.” He ran his thumb along the bottom of your skull. “You will be allowed a shift at supper.”

You stood and shook his hand away. You went to the counter and bent to the basket of potatoes beneath. He snorted and followed you. He poked your head.

“We are not eating whatever gruel you can cook up,” He said. “My men are having a feast. In celebration of a fruitful journey.”

You stood and sidestepped him. You crossed the room and turned back to him.

“It is cold out. You expect to wear only a shift?”

“You shall have my cloak while we walk,” He unclasped the cloak. “My jacket is more than warm enough.”

You sighed and pulled the cowled neck of your dress over your head. You swept it away and threw it onto the floor. You stood in your shift, it fell just past your calves and left you frigid. You grabbed your shoes and pulled them on over your stockings. Thor neared and held out his cloak.

“Bear fur.” He said as you turned and let him place it over your shoulders. “Fell it by my own hand.”

When his large hands had secured the cape, you stepped away from him. It was oversize for you. You held onto the sides to keep it from dragging.

“We hunt for food, not sport.” You said.

“As do we. And there is much more to do with a bear than just eat.” He passed you and opened the door. “My people do not waste. We use every bit… until there is nothing left to be had.”

He let you out first. The man who stood guard at the door watched you pass as his king followed you. You descended the hill quietly and he guided you along as a din of voices rose from the church along Cutter’s Road. The priest had been housed with the elderly. He was the only ordained cleric in the village as the inhabitant paid their tithes in the upkeep of the chapel.

Inside, the pews were pushed against the walls and men sat in clusters all around steaming spits of roasted lamb, pig, and goat. The livelihoods of several families filled the stomachs of these killers. Thor led you to the front of the chapel and sat amid a group of a dozen men. They greeted him with deference and doffed their cups. Lee, the baker, also brewed his own ale, and it was quickly being drained from his hidden vats.

The king removed the cloak from your shoulders and spread it on the floor. He sat and drew you down beside him. The men around you leered openly as you sat on your knees and Thor withdrew a knife from his pelt to carve off a thick hunk of sheep meat. He offered you a piece and you accepted it wordlessly. You’d nibble so that you wouldn’t have to eat more.

As you stared at the floor, aware of the whispers spoken in another tongue but no doubt about you from around the circle. Thor humoured some, returned a bawdy joke, and ran a knuckle along your arm.

You stiffened as another hand rested on your knee. You sneered down at the hairy paw as it crawled up your thigh, the fabric of your shift threatened to rise. You dropped your handful of meat and slapped the man who dared to accost you. He swore as he drew away and you struck out at him, your palm met his cheek loudly.

He grunted and raised his own hand. It was stopped by another as Thor leaned over and pushed until the man rescinded. The king growled a warning and repeated it to the entire group. He sat back and played with the top of your shift.

“Girl. You are brave but stupid.” He tugged at your sleeve and his hand fell to rub his thigh, his thick legs crossed before him. “Sit with me.”

He pulled on your arm until you moved. You were clueless until he grabbed your hips and led you over into his lap. He took another bite of sheep and offered you a bite. You shook your head and he finished the slab on his own. He wiped his hands on a rag drawn from his pocket then wrapped his arms around you.

“Let me tell you something, girl.” He began as his hand spread over your stomach, his other pinched the fabric of your shift along your thigh. “I do not talk so much to the women of this land. I would have my way and be done. They are too meek.”

You shifted and he groaned, his fingers pressed against your middle. You felt his bulge against you.

“I bid you wear your shift for my own ease.” You glanced around, those men around you and others through the hall watched you. “Often, after such a feast, I would bend my prize over and the men would be unable to look away. When I finished, they would take their own pleasure.”

He took a deep breath and chuckled.

“I will disappoint them tonight. While I long to pull up your skirt and bury my fingers inside you, I have decided it would be wrong to share you with these men.” He purred and gripped your hips, pushing you down so you felt his arousal more plainly. “A woman has never riled me as much as you, sæta.”

You stiffened against him and grabbed his wrists. You felt as if you would melt beneath the heat of a hundred eyes.

“Not here, sæta,” He repeated the name. “I will have you and only me. I will taste you first.” He squeezed your hips. “And then claim you entirely.” He tickled your sides.. “And if I am satisfied, you might see my land and warm my bed there.”

🌧️

The men around you grew to a bawdy drunken racket. Words you couldn’t understand shouted to the response of laughter or plain threats. Their king did not discourage them as he only splendoured in the rowdy rapport. He paused only as you began to fidget impatiently. You were irritated by these raiders and you felt as if you were the crux of their amusement.

Thor pushed you up and you stood. A few men quieted by the din remained. The king lifted the cloak and wrapped it around you as he had before. He announced his departure as he bent to take his stein and rain the last of the fragrant ale. He let the cup fall back to the floor and led you to the church doors. Heads turned and grumbled laments bristled in your direction. The king had chosen not to share his spoils.

In the night air, the king clung to your arm through the thick cape. He traipsed along as he looked up at the moon. You wanted to run. To slip from his grasp and flee into the forest. You stumbled and he jerked you forward.

“That would be a fun game, sæta.” He lilted. “I am fast. Are you?”

You lowered your eyes and took a deep breath. You said nothing as he ushered you along.

“My people have a similar repast. A festival in honour of the gods. A hunt.” He explained. “Our maiden set off into the trees and we wait a while before we give chase. The last of the women to be found is our festival queen. She is adorned with furs and gems and she is the next to be wed.”

“We do not partake in those unholy rituals.” You assured him.

“No, you take your crosses to listen to an old man ramble in a forgotten tongue.” He said. “This night, I will show you how your people live grey lives. The gods did not put us here to mourn our own being.”

“We live on our own toil, not by taking others’,” You muttered.

“You live by that quick mouth,” He hissed. “You do amuse me, sæta, but you tempt me to anger as well.”

“Would you bend to any who invaded your home and killed your people?” You countered as you set up the hill.

He was quiet as you approached the gate and he let you through. The man remained by the door in his armor and greeted his king with a dip of his head.

“Though you do not admit, we are more alike than you believe.” He opened the door and pressed his hand to the small of your back as he led you within. “You are right; I would not bend.”

The door closed behind him. He swept the cloak from your shoulders and hung it as he had before from the chair. He pushed the candle towards you and turned to the fireplace. You lit the wick and he stirred the embers to spark the log he placed over them. He stood and removed his fur cap. His golden braids shone in the lowlight and the silver beads at their ends added to the glimmer.

He removed his jacket next, then his mail, and his sword belt which held a large hammer rather than a long blade. He set it down and straightened to look at you. He bent his leg and tore off his boot, and then the other. His eyes stuck to you as thoughts curved his lips.

“Undress and I will bend to you, sæta,” He said. “And you will feel the glory of my gods.”

You stared at him. You bent to slip out of your shoes. You stood but could not bring yourself to lift your shift. Even though the night before had bared all that you could hide from him, you couldn’t. You pressed your palms to the linen over your thighs and he neared.

He bunched the fabric along your hips and slowly raised it. He pulled up until you were forced to lift your arms and he drew the shift over your head. He let it fall behind you. His hands framed your face then slipped down to your neck. He turned them flat to your chest and dragged them down to cup your breasts.

His hands continued their descent and he carefully got to his knees before you. His arms snaked around you he kneaded your ass before tickling along the back of your thighs. He shifted closer and pulled one of your legs up. You grabbed onto his shoulder with a gasp as you nearly toppled.

He bent your leg over his shoulder as his hand ran up past the top of your stocking to your hip. Your foot arched until you were on tiptoes and he bent closer until his hot breath tickled the hair along your vee. You shivered and wobbled as you tried to pull away.

He held you close and nuzzled you. You squeezed his shoulder as he hummed and his lips brushed your cunt.

“What--” You choked on your voice as his tongue poked between your folds.

You’d never felt that before. Never felt such a cool heat. Never felt that tingle that started along your tailbone and rolled through you. Never felt the weight settle inside you as his tongue pressed to your bud and flicked back and forth. Your other hand went to his golden locks and you clung to him as your leg quivered beneath you, the other hooked snug around his shoulder.

He purred and it sent a delightful ripple through you. He lapped more eagerly and you turned your face up to the ceiling, your eyes rolling back. There was that voice inside telling you it was wrong; for this man to do what he was doing to you, to feel this way, to be unable to think of anything but the pulsing of your core.

Was that you? Were those your moans? You quaked as your body acted on its own. As you sank into the sheer joy of that moment. You bared your teeth as you reached the peak and plummeted over. You cried out and latched onto Thor as you tilted your hips into him. He stopped only as you quieted, breathless and barely standing.

He drew away and you felt an empty chill. You looked down at him, your vision a haze, and he tickled your thigh before slowly slipping it from his shoulder. You wavered as you held onto him to keep your balance.

He rose as he took your hands from him. His lips glistened as he gazed down at you hungrily.

“Look at you, sæta,” He smirked. “Aching for more already.” You pulled away from him and elicited a chuckle. “Do not be ashamed. Your god holds no power over me or mine.”

He backed away and pulled his tunic off in a single swipe. He tossed it away and it slid over the chair on the other side of the table. He undid his breeches, sighing as he opened the front and rolled them down his thick legs. He stepped out of them, along with his wool socks. He did not wear his undershorts. He was erect; proud as he stood naked before you.

He turned and pulled a chair close. He sat, his hands on his muscled thighs.

“Here, sæta,” He beckoned you close with two fingers. “You have my patience… for now.”

You blinked and staggered forward. He caught your hand and drew you close. His other hand slapped his thigh.

“Up,” He commanded.

He tugged more adamantly and grasped your hips as he urged you into his lap, your legs folded over his thighs. You held yourself over his length as his chest puffed out and he sighed. His eyes held yours as he felt beneath you and led his tip along your folds. He pushed on your hip.

You resisted as his head pressed to your entrance. He pinched you and growled. You grabbed his shoulders and tried to keep yourself from slipping. His jaw squared and his other hand gripped your waist. He forced you down and you exclaimed. There was a pain so deep it felt close to pleasure.

He pushed deeper and you slapped him. His flinched slightly and grabbed your hand. He took your other and guided both behind your back. His fingers wrapped around your wrists as he kept them there. His other hand went to your thigh and he began to rock beneath you. Each tilt of his hips had him impaling you deeper than the last. Your walls ached around him.

He leaned forward and nibbled at your breast. You couldn’t help the whine which escaped you. His mouth toyed with your nipple before taking the other. He snarled against your flesh as his grip tightened on your wrists and he guided your hips and the chair groaned.

He grunted and pushed his head back. He watched you hungrily as you gulped at air. The same pressure began to mount as he moved you faster and faster. His hand slipped back and stretched across your rear. He took a breath and stood with little effort as he kept you moving against him. You moaned as thrust into you from below, bouncing your body as if you were nothing.

You wrapped your legs around him as he released your wrists. You hugged him to you as you writhed in desperation. You needed more. It didn’t matter what he’d done or who he was. You needed it. You needed that peculiar release which made you feel both empty and entirely full.

You buried your face in his neck as you came. Your body quaked as he didn’t let up. The noise of flesh slapping filled the space and the flicker of firelight had your vision cloudy.

He began to walk, his steps uneven and clumsy. You clung to him tighter as he slowed you just slightly. He dropped to his knees on the straw mattress and it caused him to sink into you completely. You mewled and he reached to your arms. He untangled them as he bent over you and laid you on your back.

He sat up slowly. He kept your pelvis up against his, your weight upon your shoulders as he held you at an angle. He rutted into you harder. You whimpered and he did it again. Even rougher. He paused between each thrust, admiring your senseless cries. It wasn’t long before your eyelids met and you were once more squirming in bliss.

He grunted loudly with each jerk of his hips. His pace was steady and deliberate until he could control himself no more. Until he was crashing into you so rapidly you thought you would shatter into pieces. He snarled and let out a thunderous roar. The heat within you bloomed as his pelvis spasmed and stuttered to a shaky halt.

He let out a thick breath and fell forward over you. The smell of his sweat filled your nostrils and your eyes fluttered open. He stared down at you, his face flushed as he brushed his nose against yours.

“Sæta,” He rasped as his fingers tickled your cheek.

“What does that mean?” You uttered, trapped beneath him.

“It means you are sweet,” He said. “It means I will keep you.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #viking!thor #thor x reader #dark thor x reader #dark!thor x reader #fic #one shot #viking au #au #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #nauthiz

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yanderecandystore · 3 years

Note

Yandere dog man in heat, please.

At first I got really confused, and I came up with three different scenarios of how this could play out:

Medieval Monster Dog Man: Kinda like a werewolf, really feral but maybe he can't transform into a human (making it a different type of monster). In this setting I imagined monsters and humans being kinda against one another.

Modern Anthro Dog Man: Beastars basically, a world where either everyone is an anthro animal (furry lol-), or a world where humans and anthro/monster animals coexist in a modernized setting.

Anime Neko Style: A dog man with more human features than dog-like, leaving his tail and his ears and a couple of mannerisms.

Let me see what I can do for you, boo.

TW/Tags: basic horniness (nsfw stuff: mentions of pillow grinding, vague biting kink, sexual frustration, implied sex after ending, slight mentions of breeding kink, etc) // gender neutral/nonspecific reader // I decided to go with a semi fantasy setting, although vaguely described so you can imagine this universe the way you like // I consider him to be from some kind of monster species-

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Partners through tough and thin [Yandere!DogMan/Monster?? x GN!Reader - Headcanons]:

Let's start with a bit of an off-topic: Did you read my mind boo? Did you know that I was planning on adding a section to the Masterlist dedicated to humanoid/animalistic monsters? I was thinking more about driders/insectoid monsters actually- But I don't really mind this.

Regardless, let's set up the context!

🎇 Let me set the stage for a quick sec!🎇

So, I won't talk for too long this time, just a quick basic talk about your relationship with Flint (don't @ me, I'm terrible at picking names out of the blue-).

You two meet each other pretty much by coincidence, both of you were looking for people to form an adventuring party with- But ultimately finding almost no luck.

To be fair, you weren't really looking for an adventure with strangers, as mostly you just wanted to gain more knowledge by exploring your vast world with someone you would at least want to be near with. You were a couple of ranks above him, yet you found him to be such great company that you two formed some sort of bond over the time you guys spent together.

Expedition after expedition, and it started to feel like you two were more than random colleagues being together just for the sake of finishing a task, it felt like you two were mutual friends that were so accustomed to working together that it felt weird being separated or near strangers.

You were surprised to find someone so easy to rely on, so sweet and kind and extremely gullible. After seeing so many narcissistic jerks who only wanted someone to carry their stuff and do all the hard work while you stood by and watched them take all the glory of completing their quest- It felt like a breeze of fresh air to find Flint looking for someone as well.

Which was weird considering how easily any of them would have taken him to be their personal walking inventory.

You two didn't get along right away, but you guys did warm up to each other as the time passed on. You thought Flint was too childish and Flint thought you were too stern, and even after five years of working with each other, nothing seems to have changed.

Nothing except a better understanding between you two. Even with your differences, it was as if you two were inseparable at this point.

Flint is a lovely guy, you can't tell if it's because of his dog side, but he radiates Good Boy Energy™. He is loyal to you as an adventuring partner, and he is the best friend someone can have, yet you would be lying if you said you knew everything about him.

Flint is not the best at hiding things, especially his own emotions and even he knows about that! Throughout these five years you two spent together, Flint would always try to keep his distance from you in certain times of the year.

At first you didn't understand why did he act so weird and be so distant from you- Until you realized what was happening and you started to feel stupid for not getting it sooner- Fling goes through a heat cycle every six months and that has proven to be quite the interesting change to your routine- Considering you never knew (and still doesn't know-) what to do about it.

Flint always told you it was fine- It was a normal thing to him at this point and you didn't need to worry about it- You just needed to keep a reasonable distance from him and… Close your ears every night through these cycles.

It was fine, you know? I mean- To you it's a bit of an awkward situation as you aren't the same species or him/or don't go through these heat cycles as him- But to him it was absolutely normal. Inconvenient, but normal.

You have no idea what he does to himself to stop it from getting in the way of your partnerships- But one can't help but be curious, especially since he could just stay home if he wasn't feeling alright, he didn't need to continue this journey.

For some reason he always preferred to ignore it and keep going, to focus on his task to be able to give in to the carnal instincts brewing inside him. That was before he met you, however.

He always had dealt with his heat by occupying his mind, and it worked for the most part- But why does it feel so strong now? Why does it feel so unbearable?

It's been a couple of days that he can't find peace anymore, even if he tries to ease his pain each night, it nevers seems to get better. Whatever medication/potion or spell he could use to stop it, it wasn't working anymore, he somehow felt just as if not more sensitive than he was before he took those.

It wasn't just his body that was struggling to find some rest, his mind was also being haunted by mockeries of his own fantasies- To be fair, he hasn't been in peace with himself for a long time now, probably longer than he thinks, but you know how it is- You don't know you have fallen in love with someone until it's too late, and he has just recently discovered the seed of affection towards you growing into something more and more.

He had a crush on you, he doesn't know for how long yet it feels like it has been an eternity- It doesn't really help that you two spend more time with each other than with other adventurers and explorers, and it doesn't help that while you're sleeping in your tent, approximately 15 meters away from his own, as his mind is filled with worse and worse thoughts about you-

It's way too late at night for him to be feeling so needy- He's been trying to relieve himself for maybe 3 hours already, yet he still hasn't been able to calm down his mind and body. He has been carefully listening to each sound that came from outside, more specifically from inside your tent. Every snore, every breath, every whine you give in your sleep is making him mad with feelings he shouldn't have let it grow to this extent. He was supposed to be listening carefully to make sure you're safe, but instead he is having lewd ideas about your sleeping noises.

The feelings and thoughts that are suddenly coming to his mind are nothing short of disgusting to him, he knows he shouldn't be thinking I'll of an friend he loves so much, he shouldn't be craving someone to this degrading extent- Yet he can't stop biting his pillow and imagining it to be you, constantly breathing out your name while crying pathetically as he continues to indulge in this act while his mind is in a half sleep state.

So sleepy in fact that he hasn't heard you coming inside his tent- He wasn't even sure if your soft caressing was real or just a figment of his own twisted mind. He feels so grossed out by his own mind, he would rather believe this is all a dream then to realize he was being so loud you decided to come inside and see if he was okay-

Please, he is already the worst being alive just for fantasizing about you- Don't tell him he woke you up with his whining, it makes him feel more pathetic.

It's such a bittersweet situation, you came here genuinely deciding to help him out however you could- Not because of pity, but for something more than just wanting to help him ease his urges- But even if he is earning for this with all his heart, he feels too bad about himself to stop crying and apologizing for what he was about to do. You two seemed to have your hearts in the same direction, but can he control his instinct to take you for himself and breed you?

It doesn't really matter if he can or not breed you, his mind is already lost to countless nights without sleeping and constant thoughts about loving you and making love with you- Whatever sense of logic has been thrown out of the window.

However, maybe he isn't completely lost! Maybe he'll try his best to be more romantic about this, as it wasn't really how he expected it to happen. Even if he is currently acting like a lovesick lust beast, you don't need to worry because the good boy as your partner is commonly known for will be back in the morning, just a bit more clingy and overly protective of you.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #sheep's stuff #yandere x reader #yandere monster #yandere mosnter x reader #yandere monster headcanon #yandere heat #yandere headcanon #yandere monster x f!reader #special delivery headcanons #special delivery request

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 3

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Chapter 3

1996 (Three years later)

Liam got a letter in the mail that morning, another one, from New York this time. Liam didn’t know anyone in New York who would send this kind of letter. In any case, they were all from the same person, no matter the constantly changing postmark, and they all said the same hateful, frightening things.

Liam had just tossed this one into the drawer with the others when Kurt appeared out of nowhere, as only he could. Liam had done a bit of research on vampires in the three years he’d known Kurt (as much study as he could on something that was supposed to be fictional), and teleportation was not a common vampire ability. But then Kurt was not a common vampire.

“Morning,” Kurt said, dropping into a kitchen chair. He looked a bit bed-rumpled, but Liam honestly wasn’t sure whether it was because Kurt had been sleeping or because Kurt thought that humans should look bed-rumpled in the morning. “Been for your run yet?” Kurt asked.

“I was just getting ready to go.”

“Want company?”

“You’re not dressed for it,” Liam pointed out, waving a hand at Kurt’s blue jeans, and that caused Kurt to vanish again. Liam was lacing his shoes when Kurt reappeared, this time wearing athletic shorts and, crucially, no shirt. Liam’s fingers tripped over themselves and got tangled in his shoelaces like clumsy people with jump ropes.

Liam had seen Kurt without his shirt on occasionally over the last three years, most memorably when Kurt had shown Liam the scars he still carried from the earliest thing he remembered— a Bronze Age battle. There was a scar above his heart and two on his left shoulder, the marks of flint arrowheads, presumably the wounds that caused his death.

But that was not what caught Liam’s attention when Kurt was shirtless. Kurt had the build of a fighter: a slender waist, sturdy legs, broad shoulders and strong arms. His chest was smoothly muscled around the scars. Meanwhile Liam had the body of a thirty-year-old history professor who went for a run most mornings, but also had a fondness for rocky road ice cream.

Liam wasn’t sure if Kurt knew about the threatening letters. He was also not sure if Kurt knew how fervently Liam desired him. If he was aware of either, or, most importantly, felt any desire in return, he had never said. And while Liam was sorting out the shoelace mess, Kurt pulled on a shirt, so the distraction passed.

The morning was cool, with fog still gathering around the trees. While they ran, Kurt told Liam about a morning in 1914 outside of Ypres, when snow had fallen silently, covering fallen leaves and fallen soldiers alike.

Liam had learned by now that Kurt did not feel the cold. It must have been obvious during a winter campaign, when Kurt’s fingers did not stiffen with frostbite, or his toes blister with trench foot. Sometimes, Kurt had told him, his fellow soldiers thought of him as an indestructible good luck charm. Sometimes they looked on the only member of their group to emerge from a battle unscathed and called him a demon.

A countless number of Kurt’s stories ended with him holding a fellow soldier as he succumbed to injury and passed out of this world.

When they turned back onto Liam’s street, there was a blue car in Liam’s driveway that belonged to one of Liam’s students, Martina. She was standing beside the car, waving at them. Of course, she wasn’t there to see Liam.

When Liam got out of the shower fifteen minutes later, he was surprised to see Kurt in the kitchen alone, drinking the coffee that Liam kept on hand for him. Coffee and water were the only things Liam had ever seen Kurt eat or drink. “Martina didn’t stay?” Liam asked.

“No. She was just returning my jacket.” Kurt looked melancholy for a moment, a brief flash across his features before it faded back into his usual somewhat detached expression. “She met someone else. He’s moving in.”

Liam looked at him in shock. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m happy for her. She’s about to graduate anyway, so we were going to break it off.”

Martina was not the first of Liam’s students that Kurt had dated. Kurt was very good about it, really. The students he chose were from the graduate program, so all in their mid-twenties or older, and they’d all known what Kurt was. They’d chosen to be a part of his life for a while, providing him with companionship, and, though they didn’t usually state it so plainly, with blood.

“I don’t get attached,” Kurt said. “And I pick those who won’t get attached to me. I don’t have the patience for a line of angry exes. Better to be with those who will part as friends.”

“Have you ever been wrong?” Liam asked. He didn’t look at Kurt, carefully focusing on the toaster and butter dish.

“Accidentally broken someone’s heart, you mean?” Kurt asked. “Or lost my own?”

“Either.”

“Not in a long time.”

“Ah.” Liam buttered his toast with perhaps more force than was called for.

“I investigated him, though. Martina’s new boyfriend. His name is Devon.”

“Investigated,” Liam repeated. He sat down at the table opposite Kurt, accepting the cup of coffee Kurt passed to him.

“He seems like a very nice man. And he loves her.”

“So you read his mind.”

“I can’t read minds.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

Kurt looked amused. “I know. But not because I read your mind. In any case, Martina is my friend. She’s under my protection. And so are you.”

This last part was said gently, but Liam caught its meaning as overtly as he was meant to. He let out a groan and pushed away what was left of his toast. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough. The letters are mailed from around the country, but I am almost certain the sender is local. He probably travels a lot, and also has other people mail the letters without knowing what’s in them.”

“That’s what the police think. They also think they’re not serious.”

Kurt seemed immensely unimpressed by this opinion. “So did you do something that some bastard holds a grudge for? Murder his wife? Steal his parking space? Or do you think it’s because you’re gay?”

Liam’s sexuality was not something that had come up in conversation before, so Liam was a bit startled to hear it accurately described. “I have no idea,” he said. “I certainly don’t recall murdering anyone.”

“I’ve looked over the letters. No fingerprints, and I can’t find anything distinctive about the printer he uses.” When Kurt got emotional, he wore it strangely, as if he could be both agitated and unaffected at the same time. Right now his green eyes were bright and his mouth tight. His fingers curled sharply around his coffee cup, blanching white where they gripped too hard. But the rest of his body was still relaxed in the chair, stretched into the sort of lazy pretzel shape that sore legs often took after a run. Liam sometimes wondered what Kurt would be like if he stopped trying so hard to seem human.

“They’re not serious,” Liam told him.

“I’m not convinced of that. You really don’t have suspects?”

Liam shrugged. “Nobody in particular.”

“Ex-lovers?”

Liam focused on his coffee. “I haven’t had one of those for some time.”

“Family?”

“It’s just my sister and me, and we get along fine as long as she can pretend I’m not gay.”

Kurt’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup again. “This is a very intolerant period of history.”

Liam laughed, not unkindly. “It is all history to you, isn’t it? This is just another era to walk through. How odd to—”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Colleagues?”

“I’ve never had any problems. Anyway, the letters are all anti-university. Anti-technology. Unabomber-type stuff.”

“I’m not sure I trust the subject matter. Why send anti-technology missives to a history professor? It still feels personal to me. The one you got today talks about kidnapping you, Liam. That’s a very intimate threat.”

Liam groaned. “How the hell—”

“I read it while you were in the shower.” Kurt did look a little regretful, at least. “Look, I know you don’t like me being all— the way I am—”

“If I minded the vampire stuff, I’d never have agreed to work with you. What I object to is your being sneaky and intrusive on an entirely human level.”

Kurt seemed surprised, which was not a common look on him. He stared at Liam for a moment before saying, “Well, I object to being kept in the dark about your safety.”

“Kurt—”

They were interrupted by the ding noise that Liam’s computer made when he received an email. Normally Liam might ignore it, but at the moment, he welcomed the distraction.

The email was from a colleague in Germany, and as Liam read it, he forgot all about their argument. “Kurt,” he said, in an entirely different tone than the one he’d just used. Kurt was behind him in an instant, moving with that silent speed he had.

Liam traced his finger across the screen, aware that he wasn’t supposed to do that, but he hadn’t quite yet learned not to treat emails like they were pieces of paper. “Look at this. Someone found an arm bone with a flint arrowhead in the bank of the Tollense River in Germany. It’s not— it’s not a giant battle, not yet, just with one body, but it’s the right place, the right time. My colleague thinks this could be what we were looking for, and I think he’s right. Your earliest memory. Your origin. It could be Tollense.”

Kurt had knelt down so that he could read the screen more easily. When he turned his head it brought his mouth so very close to Liam’s. “You did it,” he said softly. “You found it.”

“Well, I didn’t find anything. Someone else—”

“But you put your neck on the line, theorizing about a battle in a time and place no one expected.”

“It’s not like I don’t have eye-witness evidence.”

“But no one knows that. You’ve endured a lot of controversy, trying to help me.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that. I care about—” Liam cut himself off before he could say it.

Kurt seemed to hear it anyway, because he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Liam’s.

It was a light kiss only for a few seconds, until Liam made an intensely hungry noise and Kurt responded to it, bringing his hands up around Liam’s face to hold him steady. Kurt deepened the kiss, sweeping into Liam’s open mouth with his tongue.

Liam had thought about a kiss like this, thorough and overwhelming, fantasized about it, wondered if it might happen someday because Kurt would read his mind and know how much Liam wanted it. But Liam was suddenly sure in that moment that Kurt could not read minds, or at least, that he’d left Liam’s to its secrets. If he had read it, he would have known not to kiss Liam. Because unlike the students Kurt sought out, Liam was already attached, far too much, to this utterly alien man who kissed with a technique undoubtedly honed over millennia, ranging from soft to strong all in a single lick of his tongue, instinctively knowing which parts of Liam’s mouth were most sensitive, and all with a kindness Liam had never before felt.

It was the kindness that made Liam put his hands up and push Kurt gently away. Liam didn’t want kindness at that moment, didn’t want Kurt offering this kiss out of gratitude or friendship, or because Kurt knew Liam was attracted to men and would probably enjoy it. Even because he was worried about Liam’s safety. Kurt was three thousand years old, and he’d no doubt live for many thousands of years after this. Liam’s lifespan was a drop of water in the river of Kurt’s life. Kurt had said it just this morning— he would never allow himself to get attached.

After the kiss broke, Kurt looked at Liam searchingly for a moment, and then moved away.

“We should— we should visit Germany,” Liam managed to say. Kurt just nodded.

************

The battle of Tollense is a real thing! Here is the wikipedia and another article.

************

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: A line not to be crossed

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) Deep in the Vergo cluster was the world of Hypress. A serene world of forests, exotic wildlife, and most importantly the central headquarters of the Zoomboian Trade Organization.

Unlike other trade conglomerates who have their headquarters on busy trade worlds filled with never ending streams of shuttles and ships transporting untold billions worth of cargo, the ZTO had placed their headquarters on one of the most remote locations in the galaxy. In fact it was well known that despite owning Hypress outright the only standing structure on the entire planet was the headquarters building itself and a nearby landing pad.

Some would consider this level of distance from major trading hubs and routes to be a hinderance but it was in fact a power move by the ZTO showing that they were so assured of their success that they did not need to be in the center of trade networks to know their investments were sound. This level of assurance and confidence was often enough to saw potential clients to go through the ZTO rather than other organizations, but for those requiring more they were often flown to the world itself to conduct their negotiations in person in the shadow of the ZTO's grandeur. Thus Hiplin found himself sitting across from his latest and possibly most important client. Markus Flint was the founder and current president of the outer rings mining guild. He was well built for a human which was unsurprising considering having started out as a lowly miner himself. Markus had risen through the ranks and come to manage entire asteroid belt mining operations before breaking away to form the mining guild. His popularity among the laborers drew many miners to him until the guild was the only source of professional miners in the outer systems forcing mining companies to pay the guild to lease their members.

The ZTO had been trying for decades now to enter into the lucrative mineral trade but had been stone walled so to say by the mining companies seeking to keep their competitors at a minimum. It was only the creation of the mining guild that the ZTO decided to approach the matter from a different perspective.

If they could strike a deal with Mr. Flint then they would be partners with the sole source of skilled labor miners in the outer systems allowing them the leverage needed to pry the death grip the established mining companies had on the industry.

They had invited Mr. Flint to Hypress to negotiate just that and had sent their top negotiators Hiplin and Glom to facilitate the deal.

"Does the meal to your liking?" asked Hiplin.

"Aye," Markus began before cutting off a large piece of meat and biting into it, "if this were any fresher than I would think me self back on terra itself."

From the corner of his blackened eye Hiplin could see glom nodding. It had been his idea to procure the favored meat of humans called "steak". He had originally purchase an entire cargo hauler of the food for their chefs to practice on until they could cook it perfectly. A seemingly needless expenditure that now was bearing fruit.

"That is most satisfactory to hear."

Hiplin returned to his meal as well which was equally as carefully planned out as had been the accusation of the meat. Research had shown that humans are somewhat uncomfortable with alien features, such as his vertical mouth and oddly shaped teeth. Therefore his meal consisted of foods that would require him to chew longer before swallowing leading to fewer bites and fewer visual displays of his mouth opening to put the human at ease. Even the table itself had been hand picked for its circular nature giving all those present a feeling of equality.

Inwardly Hiplin had been frustrated with the level of subtext human culture had established over their few thousand years of existence that surpassed even the oldest species of the universe. Humans, though outwardly simple in nature, had developed a seemingly sixth sense to detect underlining messages that made them shrewd traders.

"I must say I was quite surprised to hear the all mighty Zoomboian's wanted to talk with me."

Hiplin looked from his meal to see Markus carefully examining his cup. "With all this wealth and power you have it's hard to believe what you would need me for."

As Hiplin was still chewing his food it was glom's que to speak. "We are not all money grubbers here you know, Mr. Flint." Glom put down his fork and pointed to himself. "I started out as nothing more than an accountant when I first joined the ZTO and I have never forgotten my origins in the back rows of my accounting hall."

Markus grunted and set the cup down and regarded Glom, his clear blue eyes sizing up the negotiator. "I can respect that as a made man myself, but even I don't own an entire planet."

"Yet." Hiplin finished chewing and chimed in while pointing his own fork at Markus. Not capable of producing a facial expression of a smile, it was deemed the motion would be the equivalent of the friendly expression.

Markus let out a loud deep laugh and slapped the table before raising his cup again. "I will drink to that!" He downed the contents in a single gulp before resting the cup down and swatting his stomach.

"I best step away before I make myself as big as a planet; lord knows I can't help myself when I'm around good food."

"Surely you jest." Hiplin said, putting down his own fork. "You appear no larger than any other of your species."

Markus raised and eyebrow and stood up from the table. "Are you joking? If I was any bigger I would be hauled off to the slaughter house and sold as discount Sunday diner."

Hiplin did not reply as his mind raced. He was unsure if he should continue to compliment Mr. Flint or acknowledge his statement. His training dictated that he should never insult a clients appearance, but with humans the rules were never set in stone. If he continued complimenting him after such a statement he may suspect that his statements are needless flattery and think negatively; but if he confirmed Flint's statement he risked taking what was meant as humor and turning it into fact risking the possibility of anger.

While Hiplin continued debating internally it was Glom who spoke.

"If you were any bigger you would not be able to fit through the door rather than get all the way to the slaughter house."

Hiplin's eyes went wide at glom's remark and he shot a deathly stare at him which Glom met in turn and with a slight nod gestured for patience.

"This one gets it!" Markus slapped the table again and laughed. "If me wife ever learned I couldn't fit through a door she'd starve me for weeks to make sure I could fit through grate!"

Markus continued laughing as Hiplin let out a deep sigh of relief. Glom was smirking as he had correctly guessed which tactic would most prevail against a human like Flint. After careful study Glom had determined that Mr. Flint was the human type to despise flattery and favored the simple direct approach in speech patterns.

Hiplin stood himself now and gestured to the adjoining room. "Perhaps we can continue our negotiations now in more formal settings."

Markus nodded as Glom stood as well and the three made their way to the next room over. As they reached the doorway Glom turned to the still smiling flint and said "If your wife is as plum as you are than I am sure we can send you some larger doors when you return home."

The first sign something was wrong was when Hiplin noticed had stopped walking. Markus turned slowly and to Hiplin's surprise the previous smiling face was gone, now replaced with one of underlining hatred and anger.

"What did you just say about me wife?"

The words came slowly but were as sharp as diamonds.

Glom's own expression appeared surprised and worried so hiplin spoke to try and defuse the situation.

"What I believe my cohort meant to say was-"

"Was I talking to you!?" Markus rounded on Hiplin as a few droplets of spit sprayed from his mouth at the outburst.

Markus turned around again and walked towards glom. "I asked you, what did you just say about me wife?" He stabbed his finger into glom's chest with each syllable.

"I..I..What I meant to say was.." Glom was stammering now as his mind raced.

Markus was now standing in front of Glom and though he was only a few inches taller than Glom it felt as if he was towering over him now. Markus leaned down slightly so he was face to face.

"Did you just call me wife fat?"

Glom's mouth opened and closed several times while he looked toward Hiplin for help but nothing came.

Markus fixed Glom with his coldest stare yet and spoke slowly. "You don't eve'a talk about me wife."

Before Glom could respond Markus turned to Hiplin with disgust written all over his face. "We're done here." he said and then strode off to the exit with his boots beating heavily against the fine wood.

Glom and Hiplin panicked and quickly followed after Mr. flint.

"Mr flint, please accept my humblest apologies for my cohorts behavior." Hiplin spoke huffingly while trying to keep pace with Markus. "He is terrible with human customs of humor."

"Terribly so!" Glom chipped in now moving to the opposite side of Markus.

"You don't call a man's wife fat to 'is face and expect him to act like everything is fine an dandy!" Markus huffed loudly and pushed open the thick doors to the hallway leading to the landing pad. "You're lucky I don't have me mining hammer right now or else they'd be washing you out of the carpet for months!"

glom was about to say something when Hiplin grabbed him by the shoulder and motioned him to be quiet.

Before they knew it the group was on the landing pad with Markus making his way back to the mining guild's shuttle with the two negotiators in toe.

"Please!" Hiplin begged as Markus began ascending the boarding ramp, "Let us forget these last few minutes and resume our negotiations; it will greatly benefit us both in the end."

Markus turned and looked down at Hiplin with nothing but disgust across his face.

"I've seen ye true colors now and there ain't no way I or me guild would ever do business with the likes of you!"

With that he went up the boarding ramp and the shuttle ascending back into the stars leaving the two negotiators dumbstruck on where things had gone so wrong.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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gaytransflint · 3 years

Text

Anon asked for trans flint, so here we are! Trans Flint and secret-keeping Silver. [tw for some internalized transphobia]

They don't fear ships. They don't fear guns. They don't fear swords.

Then what do they fear?

Flint knew the question well. What did they fear? There were threats everywhere. To their livelihood, their safety, their loved ones, and constantly their life. But what about their comfort? What about threats to the things they held onto for comfort? The assumptions they could lean against, sturdy and true. The assumptions of who and what the world was made of.

His men didn’t fear ships or guns because they were always true, always as dangerous as when they embarked on their voyage-- pointed at them or not. Swords were only as terrifying as the man wielding it. And any man was only as terrifying as the unknown about him.

And thus, Flint knew he was the most horrifying man amongst them.

If anyone found out-- wandered into his cabin when he was preparing for bed or tore his clothes in a fight just so-- he’d become an entirely figure of terror than the heartless, murderous captain he’d been painted. His lies would become a mural for his own defeat. His own murder. There would be no mercy for him. There would only be a before and after-- the vision held of one Captain Flint, and the new image of the scrambling, begging man before them proving his worth by parameters he’d learned from them-- other men-- all his life.

Flint was always preparing for the day he would be found out. He memorized the proper prayers to mutter just before the blade struck him, or gun was aimed at his head or aching wheezing chest. He was not a religious man, but he figured there would be a God to reckon with when he died, confused and fussing in a new body and image he had not lived with. One he actively rejected.

There was one snag in his plan, a snag common in many plans, actually: John fucking Silver.

It is still light out, and Flint shouldn’t have been so stupid as to adjust his bandages when there were still men awake, but he wants to feel that he belongs in the daylight as well as the sparse life of night.

Silver barges in with news from the deck. Flint can tell it isn’t urgent from the way it drops from Silver’s mind the moment he lays eyes on Flint, sitting at his desk, tying his bandages.

Flint is frozen, sure he could feel his transformation into beast oncoming. It was agonizingly slow.

“How bad is it?” Silver asks, gently closing the door behind him.

Flint grabs his shirt and pulls it back over himself. The question startles him-- he isn’t sure how bad it-- or is it him that’s bad-- Flint feels scattered in a thousand different places as he tucks his shirt in, hoping to look composed.

“How bad?” Silver asks, stepping forward.

“Silver, wait, I can explain,” Flint starts his speech, holding a hand out. It takes him a moment to realize-- remember-- Silver isn’t armed. He hadn’t come with a motive.

“When did it happen?” Silver sounds startled, like he’s worried. “I don’t remember any-- how long have you been hurt?”

Flint pauses. “Hurt?” He’s never been considered hurt before, wounded or in pieces. Maybe he is? Maybe there a part of him somewhere he’d lost along the way from the divinity of heaven to his mother’s arms. And there is hurt, buried deep and tangled in tendons of shame and--

“Has Howell seen you?” Silver presses on.

“Howell?” It never occurred to Flint that bandages men something else to men. “No. No. It’s alright.”

“Do the other men know?”

"Not every man on this ship needs to know my fucking business.” Flint says, his voice breaking. He slams his fists against his desk to try and mask the crack in his put-on, deep tone. “Don’t worry the men with anything. It’s nothing.” It’s the end of Flint’s world, is what it is.

“They will be anyway, when their captain’s dead in his cabin.”

Flint checks Silver again, for weapons or for the pent up rage to begin swinging at him. “Is that a threat.”

“Why would I threaten a wounded man?” Silver is at Flint’s desk, bracing his hands and weight against it. “I have no interest in contributing into a mass hysteria on this ship.”

“Good. Then you can tell me what you came in here for and promptly get out.” Flint snaps, standing from his desk. His shirt flaps in the motion, the top button still not fastened properly. The bandages peak out across his chest. They’re thick and noticeable against his dark shirt, even after days of dirt, seawater, and sweat. The skin under the bandages itches and wishes to feel the light again. The skin is pale and soft, like a new-born that never got to grow. Hidden away with fear and shame.

Silver doesn’t ask again, but instead stands at the desk with his eyes fixed on Flint’s. They don’t dart down to the bandages as Flint can tell they want to. Silver doesn’t gawk, but there is curiosity in him, twisting and turning-- and possibly plotting.

The transformation is slow, but it is not still. Flint can feel the stories about him being spun as Silver’s eyes take him in-- as he avoids looking back at Silver. He is already begging, silently and in a meager plea: don’t ask me. please don’t ask me.

"You aren’t hurt.” Silver echoes, nodding. “But you’re bandaged.” It’s an observation with enough room to become an accusation.

“I’m telling you: do not worry the men with--”

“I’ve seen this before.” Silver says, plainly. It’s like a knife to Flint’s throat; sharply aching and choking him, but not yet dangerous. “I’ve met men with-- like you, before.”

Suddenly Silver’s unknown past becomes a light. The dark tunnel circling behind him and his name becomes a secret world Flint wishes he could see, could meet. Could settle into and maybe meet another man like himself. But instead he has Silver, suddenly and wildly, as an ally. Perhaps.

“And what did you do with this man?”

“Left him where I found him.” Silver laughs. “At a tavern getting himself good and drunk.” Silver considers the memory with a nod. “Deserved it. He’d had a tough life-- even before he had to put up with me.”

“You left him?”

“Well I wasn’t going to bother the man forever.” Silver says. “You on the other hand, I have no choice in the matter. I must continue to bother you. It is my job, as voted.”

Flint holds the edge of his desk, unsure if he still wants to sit back down or flip it over as a barricade. “You do not wish to tell the other men? Tell them I’m not... what they think I am. Parading around as a-- in this--”

“I don’t see the problem.” Silver says sternly. “My life has been in the balance of your will more than enough to recognize when a man is something far beyond just a man, but a force. A power. And I think that’s what you are-- and that’s what I’ll tell them.”

Flint feels the knife fall away. Silver truly had come in unarmed, unthreatening. Just another man taking the fragile secret he found with gentle and kind hands. Silver didn’t need to respect the vulnerability Flint had suddenly shown-- been trapped in, bound in since he was a teenager. Silver could’ve killed him right there, his death graceless to his memory. To the self Flint built in a fit of rage and burning grief from losing Thomas, the first man to respect him, to love him, as he was.

Silver didn’t kill that man. Didn’t unmake him. He left Captain Flint, James Flint, live in his ways another moment-- perhaps a proper lifetime.

#I loved writing this and would always love to do more beyond the “coming out” kind of fic #silverflint #captain flint #james flint #john silver #trans flint #silverflint fics

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expectos-writings · 2 years

Text

Just like magic part 1 (Otto Octavius x reader and/or Norman Osborn x reader)

Word count: 4478

Rating: g (both next chapters will be smut though)

Summary: You have similar powers as Wanda has and Peter asks for your help with curing the villains, you receive more than you asked for by agreeing to help him

(A/n: let me know whose ending to finish first, Otto or Norman :p and should I make a third ending with both?....)

The portal immediately closed behind Peter as soon as he flew through it, disbelief visible on his eyes as well as excitement. He immediately runs to MJ and Ned who were already demanding to know what happened out there.

‘I just had a fight with doctor Strange and I totally won!’ Peter and MJ share a quick hug before Peter turns towards the caged men behind him. it was Otto who spoke up first.

‘You could have left us to die, why didn’t you?’ not that he was complaining, obviously, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around the ‘why’ of this boy willing to risk fighting a damn wizard to defend 5 men he never met before. Hell, some of them even attacked him as soon as they got the chance, himself included. But this boy went above and beyond to keep them here longer.

‘That’s just not who he is.’ MJ answers. Otto looks between the two, they sure got each others backs. It was something he honestly quite missed. The only ones that had his back at the moment were the tentacles that were literally attached to it.

Peter went on talking about how he could cure them before sending them back, maybe giving them a fair shot at not dying that way. But Otto was only half listening. The ai was talking to him, their voiced so loud his own thoughts were drowned out. ‘We don’t need to be fixed’ and ‘don’t even dare let that boy come near us’. The actuators were disabled from moving with Peters Bluetooth, but that didn’t make their voices softer.

Otto takes his chances looking around the room, Peters’ voice sounding distant. His words are no longer registering. He looks to his left, where his eyes meet those of Norman Osborn. A scowl forms on Ottos’ face. The AI were talking loudly is his head. ‘Don’t trust anyone’ they kept telling him. And by now Otto was very much convinced they were right.

Norman was still shocked. He looked at the man who was once one of his best friends, who now had four gigantic tentacles attached to his back and a shit temper. This wasn’t the Otto he remembered from back in his time in his universe. Otto had always been an outgoing man who was passionate about his work and put everyone ahead of himself.

Norman envied that. He always felt guilty about the way he had been treating his son. He should have been gentler with him. Right now, all he wanted was to get home, no matter how. So, when the goblin started to push his way forward, he let him speak.

‘First, we gain Peters trust, then we sneak or break out when he least expects it. We have a whole new world to conquer.’ The goblin told Norman. The man just stood still, letting the goblin tell him his plan while trying to maintain the face of innocent old man around these people. Of course, Otto and Flint knew already, they were from his universe. But at this time Peter, MJ and Ned in particular had no idea of the powers he actually possessed, and for now he wanted to keep it that way.

Both men realized at the same time they were lost in thought while an uneasy silence had settle in the wizards dungeon. When they both looked back around taking in what they had missed, they realized Ned and MJ had left, and the box Peter brought back from the portal was also gone.

It took them a moment to realize what was going on, but when they saw Peter pulling at some form of rock and seeing both the lizard guy and the electric guy had sat down on the floor, it became clear.

Peter had no idea how to open these cages the wizard had made.

Norman could feel the goblin start to laugh and call Peter names for being so stupid that he forgot to figure this bit out before starting a full on speech on curing them. ‘So that is what he was saying just now’ was the scientists only reaction. The goblin wouldn’t surface now, he wasn’t ready to show his true colours yet, so Norman remained calm and looked at Peter with pity. Otto had a more difficult time keeping the AI thoughts to himself.

‘So, what are you going to do now, spider-boy?’ Otto spoke up in a snarking tone, he was in no control over the voices in his head. ‘Were you gonna ask the wizard for help? Sure, that would be a good idea. Maybe he’d even bring party hats this time!’. Sarcasm was dripping from his voice, and Peter looked at him with a hurt expression. Norman immediately noticed it and managed to push the goblin back far enough to speak up.

‘Otto come on, this boy is risking everything to help you, can’t you just be grateful and try to come up with an actual solution? You are a brilliant scientist after all.’ Norman tried to speak to the Otto still hiding somewhere in that brain.

‘We just don’t need to be fixed!’ Otto spat back.

‘You’re not yourself now, just let the boy do his work, have some faith.’ Norman reasoned.

Otto let out a defeated grunt. There was nothing he could do at the moment after all. He opted to look at the ground again, pouting and brooding.

The gears in Peters head were turning. He looked around the room frantically trying to find a good solution to his problem. But he knew little to nothing about magic. This whole problem went way over his head…

And then it hit him.

‘I have to make a quick phone call.’ Peter yells out while taking out his phone, not even bothering to leave the crypt. Your number was stored somewhere in his phone. You were one of his best friends in primary school before you parted ways, but recently you had come in touch with each other again through the avengers. Well, technically you had fought against one another, him on iron mans side and you on captain Americas side, but in the end you had talked it out. You had told him to call you if he ever needed anything.

Now seemed like just the time.

Your work phone vibrated in the pocket of your jeans. You were just going on a walk around the block to soak up the sun while it was still in the sky. You moved your coffee to your other hand to grab your phone. You smiled when you saw the caller id. When you were suddenly reunited with Peter during a fight between the avengers you had caught up on the few years of high school where you hadn’t seen each other. You hadn’t lost touch ever since.

He had called you to tell you he didn’t get into MIT, while you told him you had dropped out of school to pursue a full time career as super hero. Your powers were similar to those of Wanda, you could manipulate different forms of matter and you could meddle with peoples minds. It made you a powerful addition to the super hero band Nick Fury had brought together.

You press the green phone button to answer, never slowing your step.

‘Hey, Pete! What’s up?’

‘Hi Y/n, I need uhhh a little help here. How much do you know about doctor Strange and his type of magic?’ You could hear from Peters voice that there was no way he could ask that wizard for help, and you knew where he was going with this.

‘I know him, his magic is all based on rules, kinda boring really. What have you done?’ you smile in your phone. It was not as if you had any plans for today, you were on your own in town and crime was down at the moment, criminals were keeping low after everything that happened with Thanos not too long ago.

‘Can you get to the sanctum sanctorum as soon as possible? I have a little problem here and I believe you can help me.’

No one could say no to Peter. Even though you were around the same age, him only being a year or two younger than you, you felt very protective over him. Ever since you got your powers you were very protective over all your friends, feeling some form of responsibility as the ‘strongest’ to keep them safe.

‘I’m on my way.’ You tell him and before he could answer you hung up the phone. You were only a few blocks away from the sanctum, but you decide to take your car there anyways. The drive went smooth, most people were still at work, so the streets were quite empty.

You don’t even bother calling Peter to let him know you’re there, you just focus your energy on the lock and turn the gears from the inside. The door opens for you without complaints. You’d been in the sanctum before, Stephen Strange wanted to trade some magical knowledge with you when he found out about you. The two of you had spend some days trying to find a connection between the powers you had suddenly acquired, and the powers Stephen had learned, but to no avail.

The main room was empty, but there were voices coming down from the basement. You take one last sip of your now cold coffee before making your way down the stairs into the crypt. You pretend not to be surprised by the sight greeting you at the bottom. Peter was standing in the middle of the room, turning to face you as you walk in. Behind him there are five magical prison cells detaining five prisoners. One lizard, one guy who keeps playing with the electromagnetic field (you can actually feel him manipulate it with your own powers), a man made of sand, one tall man with dark hair and four tentacles on his back and another man who looked… surprisingly normal.

Your attention stayed on the last two, both of them looking so lost in thought they never even heard you come in the room. The moment Peter started his call they had groaned and given up on getting out, just waiting for the wizards inevitable return so they could just return to their own universes to die.

Peter was still holding the stone Stephen used to open and close cells in one hand, there was no way it was going to work without magic. You continue towards Peter, your brain frantically trying to make sense of the situation. Normally you would greet him with some quick witted comment, but the madness before your eyes prevented any words from coming out. The only reaction you could muster was your mouth opening slightly in shock.

‘Y/n! Thank you for coming!’ He says walking up to you and giving you a greeting hug. You only half return it before he broke away again. ‘I need you to open these cells.’ He says.

Your eyes open even wider. He what now?

‘Peter if you wanted to play dungeons and dragons meets prison break you could’ve given me a warning.’ You speak walking past him and towards the imprisoned men.

‘No, I just, I only need you to open the cage and then I am taking these guys to Happy’s appartement where I am going to cure them before sending them back home to their own universes, so they don’t… die.’

This was new information. You dragged your hand down your face.

‘And what if they escape? Peter, how can you be sure you can control not even one but FIVE’ you hold up five fingers to emphasize your sentence ‘villains from other dimensions and CURE THEM while you’re at it?’

Peter had the decency to explain his plan with the box which MJ took with her so she could press the button if things went south.

‘I don’t know if it’s going to work, but I know it’s the right thing to do.’

His relentless optimism never ceased to amaze you. And he was right, you were also a superhero, sending them home to just die when you have a change to change their fate was wrong.

‘Alright fine, I’ll help you. Do you have any idea what kind of spell Stephen cast?’ you already knew the answer to the question, but you wanted to try it anyways.

‘I’m sorry, no.’ Peter goes back to the stone handle Stephen used to give you some space to try and open the cages. But where to start? Definitely not the lizard, he seems sketchy. The sand guy is prone to escape. The electric man also looks like he’d wreak havoc when given the chance. The man who looked like a normal man could be an option, but God knows what powers he has.

When you look back at the screen behind you. It seems Peter has managed to disable the arms on the tall mans’ back. However intimidating this mans’ frame was, it was your best option to start with him.

You walk towards his cage, his eyes still trained on the floor. You could’ve coughed to give him some form of notice you were approaching, but where would be the fun in that? Instead, you opt to shoot a stream of energy at the magic wall shielding him from you and Peter, both testing the density as well as the endurance of the wall.

It made the man in the cage jump, his brown eyes met yours, a look of surprise flashing across his face as he was pulled from his thoughts. It took him a surprisingly short time to piece together what happened.

‘Did you just try to shoot me?’ he asked accusatively. You stifle a chuckle at his shocked response.

‘Just testing your walls while I’m getting started. And you are?’ you say not even looking at him. The first thing you noticed about him when you approached were his distant aura and his handsome features. He looked like he was around twice your age and tell yourself you’re guessing about that for purely research purposes. A small part in your brain scowled at you. Really? You tried to distract yourself from these intrusive thoughts by prodding the barrier again, shooting small bursts of all different types of matter at it to test it some more.

The caged men watched you go to work, trying to figure out how you do that but apparently not finding a solution in his mind. The frustrated growl he let out made you chuckle, but the low noise also stirred some other feeling. Were you really feeling attracted towards this man? No Y/n, not now, just focus.

‘I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced you.’ Peter starts as the man never answered your question. ‘Everyone, this is Y/n, she knows magic like the wizard you saw earlier but different.’ You look up from your work to give everyone a small wave before returning to the task at hand.

‘Great, another wizard. Who is it now, Harry Potter?’

You chuckle lightly at this mans’ sarcasm. His quick wit and knowledge of pop culture surprised you.

‘This is Otto Octavius,’ Peter started gesturing towards the call your working on. You look up at Otto who is still scowling down at the floor, seemingly in deep thought. Occasionally his scowl shifted towards you, but he would never admit to that. ‘he comes from the same universe as doctor Norman Osborn over there’ Peter continued pointing at the normal-looking man, ‘and the sand guy over there, his name is Flint’.

For the latter you don’t even have to look up to know who he’s referring to, but for Norman you felt your attention shift from Otto towards his right. You saw Normans eyes were already fixed on you, both Norman and Otto were scientists trying very hard to understand how your magic fit into their scientific knowledge but failing miserably.

Peter also told you about Max the electric man and Curt the Lizard, but you were already working on the cage again. You thought you had the solution, the wall giving away slightly when your fingers tapped it only softly with a specific kind of energy. You shifted all your focus on that particular energy and without warning shot a bigger burst at it.

But the wall was more flexible that you anticipated and it just bended.

The impact made Otto step back a bit, a battle raging in his head once again. The tentacles were convincing him you were trying to kill him, but deep down he knew you weren’t. the constant nagging of the ai made him cranky.

‘Dear, if you want me dead you can just bring the wizard back and get it over with.’ Otto says nagging you on.

If there’s one thing you didn’t like is when people were being unappreciative of your work. In your frustration you shoot a bigger burst of energy at the wall, which once again just bended.

‘Woah easy darling.’ You hear Norman say, your brain never actually registering the pet name.

‘Why don’t you try ‘alohamora’ while you’re at it?’ Max remarks, getting annoyed by how long everything is taking.

You shoot him a warning look. ‘If you’d rather stay here, I could listen to Otto here and bring the first wizard back.’ Max shoots his hands up in surrender but moves to the back of his cell to sit down all the same, having no faith in what you’re doing whatsoever.

‘You got this, right?’ Peter asks timidly, the comments of the caged men getting to him.

‘Of course, I do.’ You shoot back. It was annoying when people started to doubt you, you were clearly pulling your punches here.

You bend down a bit and let a small ball of energy form between your hands, the ball starts to grow and vibrate more the longer you hold it there. The concentration and power it took made a bead of perspiration drip down your brow and onto your cheek. You could feel everyone looking your way, Peter to see if you were okay, Max hungrily eying the energy ball, Flint and Curt were just looking to see if you’d blow up the whole crypt and Norman and Otto were looking intrigued.

The last two were both renowned scientist, but this was way beyond what they’d ever seen. The energy you were generating with just your mind and body amazed Otto, he never knew that was even possible and he was an expert in the energy department. The tentacles were giving him all sorts of images, how he should ask you how you did that later on, try and get you alone to talk about your energy, maybe ask you to join him because you were very easy on the eye after all. Otto was losing control again and the actuators kept their and his gaze focussed on you, a feeling creeping up on him he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Norman was looking with the same interest but was mostly amazed by the possibilities of human potential. When you walked in you looked like a normal girl. ‘A pretty one at that too’ the goblin had added. But Normand tried to force these thoughts down, they were simply inappropriate. Besides, you were only here to break them out, he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

‘Alright here we go!’ you yell before throwing the ball at the cage as hard as you could.

And it broke.

Of course it did, you were pretty smart and powerful after all.

The pieces of the wall that shattered immediately vanished into thin air. Otto had covered his face with his hands in case he’d get hit, but that never happened. You felt a bit guilty now for having him as your test rabbit, but then again it was for your own safety. Plus, it wouldn’t be so bad to have him around out of his cage, he was very handsome to look at.

‘Who wants out next?’ you say rhetorically, already walking towards Normans’ cage, creating a new energy ball on your way over. You look him in the eyes the whole time, his eyes never breaking contact with yours. He is completely fixated on you, the confident way in which you carried yourself and the knowledge you had on your powers and how to use them made him appreciate you even more.

‘Ready?’ you ask Norman when you have the ball ready.

‘Ready when you are.’ He answers with a smile. The goblin was making some very inappropriate comments in his mind, and Norman almost told him out loud to shut it.

Luckily the remarks of the goblin and his own were drowned out by the enormous burst of yet another cell breaking.

‘Two down, 3 to go’, you think to yourself.

The next three cages were uneventful, just you walking up, possibly saying something, then bursting the walls. But by the time the last one of them was out, you felt drained. In fights you usually used bursts of another type of magic because this one could be extremely tiring.

You didn’t let this show, but you noticed a change in your own behaviour. Your mind was just a bit slower with registering everything that was being said and your witty remarks would come out too slow.

‘Y/n, are you okay?’ you hear Otto ask. The gentleness in his voice was new, but not unappreciated. You see him, Norman and Peter looking at you.

Maybe you weren’t as good at hiding your fatigue than you thought.

‘Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit tired.’ You brush them off. ‘Will you be okay, Peter?’ As tired as you were, you still had to be sure your friend wasn’t in over his head here.

‘Actually, you could come hang out at the place we’re going. May is driving us, that way you can just sit back and gather your strength before going home. Plus, and extra person looking after them wouldn’t be a bad thing.’ Peter continues, looking towards Curt and Max at the end of the sentence.

You gratefully accept his offer, not ready to drive home yet, and it was also a lame excuse to spend some more time with the scientists you just met and had taken quite the liking to.

You, May and Peter were in the front seats of the car and the men you’d just broken out were in the back of the truck. May was driving and Peter sat in the middle so you could lean your head on the window and look outside at the passing traffic.

In the back of the truck there was complete silence and tension, everyone was constantly looking around as if anyone could pounce at any time. Norman and the goblin were in an internal conflict about you, the goblin trying to persuade Norman you just wanted to come along with this freakshow to get to know them better. She was looking at him, wasn’t she?

Otto had a similar conflict with his actuators, the short word sparring you just had triggered him in all the right ways. He loved your wit and your powers. He felt something in his chest he hadn’t felt for a long time. It felt like fondness, but with a bit more attraction. He didn’t know what to do. He would never act on these feelings, but with the actuators in control he had no idea what he’d be capable of.

The drive to Happy’s appartement was short, and before you knew it the truck was halting to a stop in front of a large building, pulling you out of your thoughts. You already felt a bit better now, the drive was very relaxing.

Everyone went up the floor in the elevator, the silence was sharp as everyone was packed in such a small place. You felt quite vulnerable, standing in front of Norman and Otto. As you were also part of the top ranks of both shield and stark industries by now, you knew the way to the place you were staying at for the time being. You stepped out of the elevator and walked over to the right door as quickly as possible, wanting to just sit down and clear your mind for a minute if possible.

You held the door open for everyone to step in, May entering first to shut off the alarm as soon as possible, you walked in last, closing the door behind you. Flint and Max went straight for the living room, where you had hoped to sit alone for a bit to charge your social battery. Peter and Norman went for the back room, Norman had immediately offered to help Peter with the cures. Curt was still in the truck, you weren’t sure why. Otto stood in the middle of the room, having some inner monologue with his actuators.

You stood at the door watching, debating where you would go. Luckily, May saw you and noticed you wanted some time for yourself.

‘Hey Y/n?’ she said, gaining your attention. You didn’t notice but Otto was also listening in.

‘Yes?’ you answered.

‘Would you maybe want to go to the grocery store on the corner to get some food? I don’t think we have enough for everyone.’ She came up with an excuse for you to gather yourself.

‘I can do that.’ You said, you still had your coat on and were ready to walk out the door again. ‘Just text me what we need will you?’

‘Will do, thanks sweetie.’ May said giving you a knowing look before you headed out of the apartment.

The door closing behind you made two people in particular look up.

‘Is Y/n gone?’ Norman asked abruptly as he emerged from the back room and looked around trying to find you. He didn’t know why it affected him that much. Had he really hoped to speak to you again that bad?

‘Just getting groceries.’ Otto answered shortly, he was also disappointed he didn’t get any time with you yet. There were so many burning questions on his mind.

‘She’ll be back soon,’ May said, eying both men suspiciously. May had known you too from the time you and Peter were close friends. And even though you were now an adult and powerful woman, she still felt the urge to look after you. ‘you get back to work’ she added pointing at Norman, ‘and you just… stay there and let them work, we’ll fix you up first.’

‘Hey! I don’t need to be fixed!’ Otto shouted, protesting already before the fixing had even begun.

This was going to be a long day.

#norman osborn x reader #norman osborn x you #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius x you #alfred molina #willem dafoe

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