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writerseclipse1 · 11 days

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[four seasons of love] chapter 1: a welcome arrival

a joel miller x reader series by @writerseclipse1

|| next || fsol masterlist ||

warnings: reader is in her 30s, joel in his 50s, abby in her 20s, mentions blood, injury and murder, small description of (canon-typical) physical violence, guns and other weapons, lmk if i missed anyt.

summary: jackson is stunned by an unexpected yet certainly welcome arrival. the plan falls into place a little too perfectly, like two sugars in a plain, black coffee.

word count: 3.8k

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: first chapter done!! hope u guys like it <3

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March 19, 2037

“I hate it here,” Mike grumbled under his breath, slinging his rifle over his shoulder to adjust the thin material of his shirt. He heaved out a sigh, cheeks tinted a slight pink as a cool wisp of wind—left over from winter—brushed over his face. From his left, he heard a snicker and, turning his head, he saw Eugene stifling his laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“I mean, if you hadn’t fucked up last patrol, you wouldn’t be here,” Mike scoffs at Eugene’s chuckling, the bitter man crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Eugene with a less-than-pleased look yet this did nothing to ease Eugene’s chipper mood. “Do better at your job and maybe they might let you patrol Jackson next time.” Eugene bursts out in a fit of laughter when he sees the corner of Mike’s mouth curl up into a sneer, his mouth opening to retaliate. The retort dies in his mouth however, when the latter sees a figure from below, back hunched and a trail of blood at its feet, and Mike’s heart leaps out of his chest when it collapses right outside the walls of Jackson.

“What the fuck is that?!”

The gates open and half a dozen men clutch their weapons, laser focused and pointed at their target, ready to shoot on command and at will. Maria clutches a pistol in one hand and a scanner in the other, swiftly attaching it to the neck of the intruder. The apparatus lets out a ‘click’ before the screen turns green. The woman signals the group to advance, their feet trudging along the grass.

They crowd around it, one of them nudging the body with the butt of his rifle but backs away when Maria clicks her tongue and gives a pointed look. “What do we do with it, boss?” The woman pauses, weighing her options before she sighs and shakes her head, surveying the blood absorbed by the soil.

“We take ‘em in.”

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“Whatcha waitin’ here for?” Tommy’s head perked up at the sound of his older brother’s voice. His lips form a half smile, meeting Joel halfway to give him a side hug, wrapping one arm around his older brother’s shoulder.

“Been a week of waitin’ but we got a newcomer comin’ outta the med bay. Found her right outside the walls,” Tommy mused, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall behind him, staring at the curtain that separated him and his brother from the newcomer, the doctor, and Maria, who he speculated was speaking to the newcomer. “If she was out there for ten minutes longer, she woulda been dead before we even got here, well, that’s what Nolan told us.”

Joel acknowledged this with a huff, nodding as he let himself absorb his brother’s words, but something was out of place. “Hold on, where’s she gonna stay? As far as I know, we haven't built any new houses.” The older man already knew the answer but he still asked, praying that his guess wasn’t the case.

“Yeah well, about that,” Tommy grimaced at Joel’s sharp glare. “Now, come on, give the girl a break! She was just on death’s doorstep, be hospitable for once.” He nudged his brother’s arm but before the latter was about to counter with his inevitable refusal, he interrupted him. “I’m sure you know how it feels to be bleeding and alone. Wouldn’t want our guest to feel that way, do ya?”

It stopped Joel in his tracks, looking at his brother with an unreadable expression, the gears turning in his head as his decision was swayed by practicality versus sympathy. In the end, the soft sigh that Joel lets slip out of his mouth was the source of Tommy’s satisfaction. The younger man patted his brother’s shoulder with a grin, nodding his head. “Thanks, Joel. And who knows? You might like the girl more than you think.”

Joel didn’t get to retaliate before the curtain was pulled back, revealing Nolan Matthews—head doctor of the infirmary—with a mask that certainly did nothing to cover his evident smile, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he neared the two. “Good news, she’s alive and well, and definitely expecting a full recovery from all the injuries she sustained. It’s insane how she got here with all of it, though,” he turned to Joel. “Best keep an eye on her for a couple of days until she’s completely back on her feet. Just give me five minutes and then you’ll be allowed into the room.” Once again, the doctor gave Joel no chance to respond before he disappeared behind the curtain.

Tommy ignored Joel’s pointed gaze, a victorious smirk gracing the younger man’s face while his brother greeted him with a scowl. “So now we’re tellin’ the whole town that a girl’s gonna stay in my place forever?”

“Not forever, unless you want her to.” The groan that escaped Joel’s mouth did nothing to ease the smile from his brother’s lips. In fact, Joel swore Tommy’s grin just got bigger. “Come on, you have an extra room! It’s just until we get a couple more materials to make one for her, that’s all.” If Joel looked closer, he would have seen the way Tommy’s hand moved behind his back, his fingers crossing as he licked his lips. No way in hell would Tommy make a new house for just one person when someone else had a functioning extra bed. Plus, he thought he was helping his brother out. It’s been a while since Joel had mingled, maybe he just needed a bit of a nudge.

“You two done? She’s ready to meet you.” Maria’s voice cuts them from their internal squabbling, the two nodding their heads as they push themselves off the wall. ““Couple more materials” my ass,” Joel muttered to himself as he moved the curtain out of his way and entered the room.

Joel was the first one among the two that you laid your eyes on, your gaze staying on him longer than it should have before your eyes flittered to his brother. Maria cleared her throat, tearing your attention from the two imposing men. She introduced the pair to you, her lips spreading out into a warm and welcoming smile. “This is Tommy, my husband,” she held his hand, squeezing it in her grasp and you gave him a meek smile as he tipped his head in your direction. “And this is his brother, Joel.”

Joel’s gaze had been pinned to the floor the entire time but when he felt Maria’s hand on his shoulder, he looked up. He looked much younger than you knew him to be but the greying hairs on the skin of his jaw and the ones on the side of his head told you otherwise. A swift glance gave you the chance to peek through the hazel glaze of his eyes, telling you of the murders he’d committed, the hardships he’d gone through, and the love that had slipped from his hands. Like his brother, he nodded his head in your direction, eyes still piercing into yours. “Welcome to Jackson.”

The corners of your lips turned upward, your own name slipping through your lips as you looked between the three, your eyes eventually focusing on Maria as she started to speak. “Thing is, we don’t have your house ready yet, but Joel offered his spare bedroom for you to stay in until we finish. Is that okay with you?” If you paid closer attention, you would have seen Joel glare at his brother and the smug smile on Tommy’s lips but you only nodded, slightly surprised that you were still welcome in a settlement with about 300 people.

“Yes, of course. I’m just grateful you still have room for one more person,” your voice came out small, looking up at them with gratitude. Before you could react, Maria had engulfed you in a hug, her accepting gesture making you relax even the slightest, almost making you forget what you had come here for in the first place.

Almost.

“You’re always welcome here and there will always be room,” she smiled, helping you stand on your shaky legs. “Now come on, we’ll show you around.”

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“Take your shoes off and put ‘em in the rack before you come in,” Joel’s gruff voice cut through the air as you followed him up the steps to the porch which was painted a light shade of brown. Heeding his request, you untied your boots and let the laces hang down the sides of the shoes and without another word, followed him into the house.

After you had finished your tour around town, Maria had insisted that Joel lead you to your “temporary” place of residence and show you your room. The sun hadn’t even set, its rays still shining down on Jackson without abandon but you felt the exhaustion of the week spent in the infirmary slowly come down on you like feathers dropping onto your shoulders.

The exterior matched the interior, with minimal furniture and a layout that was certainly easy to memorize. The kitchen and the dining area on your left and the living room to your right. Other than looking over his shoulder to see if you listened to his earlier request, Joel paid you no mind, letting you explore the house as you wish. Hanging your jacket on the coat stand and placing your boots in the rack, you headed to the living room first. You sighed softly at the warmth of the fireplace as your fingers ghosted over the brown, worn out leather of the couch and a part of you wondered just how many times he had accidentally fallen asleep on it rather than his bed.

A sudden ‘thump’ from your left drew your curiosity to the corner of the room. You took a second to appreciate the small library Joel had set up on a wide, wooden bookshelf and to also admire his slightly obvious affinity for reading. He didn’t seem like the bookworm type, especially if you took him at face value. A book laid on the ground and as soon as you picked it up, you wiped the dust off the cover with your sleeve. “An Idiot’s Guide to Space.” It made your eyebrows raise in curiosity, the pad of your thumb brushing over the somehow sleek cover of the book.

“Didn’t peg you as a space nerd,” his head tilted in the direction of your voice, eyes focusing on you as you kept your back to him. Smoke rose from the surface of his coffee, watching it disappear as he let the comment hang in the air for a while but you didn’t mind, not expecting a reply from him in the first place.

“‘M not. I’m into woodworkin’ and a lil’ bit of history but none of that—” he brushes it off with a wave of his hand in the air. “—whatever. But, uh, Ellie, she likes space so I’m tryna figure out half the things she says.”

“You have a daughter?” You would be lying if you said you were surprised.

“No, no.” Shaking his head, he wiped his hands on the towel that hung from the oven, idly walking toward you. “She’s a kid I came here with, saved her from getting eaten alive out there.” His footsteps got nearer and nearer and you felt your words die in the back of your throat when you felt his presence behind you, the scent of coffee and his natural aroma invading your senses. You made no move to turn, your eyes scanning the title of the book over and over until it was ingrained in your mind.

You snapped out of your daze when he cleared his throat and you looked over your shoulder, seeing a cup of coffee in each of his hands and you hurriedly returned the book to the shelf. Turning around, you carefully took the mug from his left hand, blowing gently before taking a sip. You peered at him from over the rim as you muttered a soft ‘thank you’, not noticing how he hid his face by sipping his own coffee.

Not long after, you found yourselves on the couch, a noticeable space in between you and him. Joel was never one for small talk but he gave himself the chance to indulge in it, just this once maybe. He found it comforting, talking to someone with no apparent knowledge of him and his actions prior to his new life in town.

“Five years huh?”

“Yep.” Joel would consider himself a quiet person so it was a surprise when all the questions you asked didn’t go unanswered. Some were short and brisk but you seemed to understand him, not pressing on the subject unless he elaborated further. “Time’s fast though, it’s the reason my back always hurts like a bitch.”

Your chuckle echoed through the otherwise empty house as you leaned over to put your now-empty mug on the coffee table, right beside where Joel put his. The embers in the fireplace crackled, the fire fizzing as it slowly died. A sigh escaped your lips, making Joel’s head turn and watch as you rolled your shoulders. “I guess that’s my cue to go to bed.”

“Alright then,” he stood after you, his palms pushing him up and he tipped his head toward the stairs. “Lemme show you your room.”

It wasn’t anything startling, a simple bed next to the window on the left and a small dresser on the right. You were just grateful for the clean sheets and the assurance of the locks on the front and back door. Pulling the handles, the dresser revealed a small pile of clean clothes that smelled like they were fresh out of the laundry.

“I traded a few things in for ‘em, don’t mention it.” He said, seeing your mouth opening and about to release a cluster of words of gratitude and ‘you didn’t have to’s. “‘Just wanted my first guest to be comfortable.”

“Well, I’ll rate you five stars on Airbnb,” you teased, biting your lip to suppress a smirk when he let out a hearty laugh, one you heard from Maria to be a “rare find these days” yet you find yourself chuckling along with him.

“Wait, you know what that is?” An excited expression graced his face, the corners of his eyes wrinkling and his teeth showing as his lips pulled up into a grin. His arm went up to rest his weight on the door, his free hand resting on his waist.

“I’m not as young as you think, Mr. Miller.” He extended a hand toward you and you looked up at him through your eyelashes, his laugh turned into a ghost of a smile on his face.

“Call me Joel.” The edges of your lips quirked up as you took his calloused hand into your smooth one.

“Nice to finally meet you, Joel.”

You learned two things that night: Joel was in his 30s when the outbreak began and he gets talky when he gets his coffee.

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“Took you long enough,” the blonde's familiar voice echoed from behind you and you bit back a groan.

Sometime after the moon was high into the sky and you were sure that Joel had locked his door, you quietly slid out of bed and down the stairs, relief flooding you for the absence of a creaky staircase. Slipping your coat back on, you grimaced at the thought of soiling Joel’s living room before you ultimately decided to grab your boots and put them on once you got out the back door.

Sneaking out—of the house and of Jackson—was easy enough but navigating through the night without a flashlight made the hairs on your neck stand with every soft whisper of the wind. You remained on high alert, hands grasping your gun tight but you felt the tension in your shoulders relax when you saw the familiar shack, a dim glow lighting up the inside.

“Give me a break, he was a bit chattier than what you told me,” you muttered, slumping onto the couch beside Manny and Owen, giving both men a fist bump. Leaning back onto the backrest, you slung your ankle over your other knee and crossed your arms over your chest as Abby stayed standing, watching the small fire flicker inside the lamp. “What now, boss? Do I bring out the good ol’ golf club and finish the job?”

“Are you ridiculous?” Came her retort and you bit back a laugh at her annoyed expression. “If that was our plan, his brother might come after me and we’d all be dead. If you wanted me to get killed that easily, you could’ve said so.” Her braid swung over her shoulder as she stretched her neck.

“That was a joke, Abigail, if you couldn’t tell,” you could see her jaw tighten, as if she was stopping herself from bashing your head with a golf club. Her distaste for you was loud and clear and it was evident the feeling was reciprocated.

The plan was simple: infiltrate Jackson, get Joel to fall in love with you, lure him out of Jackson by pretending you got kidnapped, then Abby finishes the job in a ratty, old cabin without any witnesses, the same one you were in right now.

“And why me? She could do it herself if she really wanted him killed,” you mused as you glanced at Abby, crossing your arms as Isaac tries but fails to stifle a chuckle.

“No way in hell,” she snarled, her hands balling into fists from the top of the table. “Am I gonna get all lovey-dovey on the man who killed my father. If anything, the only time I’m gonna be laying my hands on him is when I finally get to murder that son of a bitch.”

“You’re also closer to his age than Abby.” Owen piped up, pushing himself off the wall he leaned on. You tried not to roll your eyes but it was difficult when he was being such a fucking tryhard.

“More important than that,” Isaac sent the two a pointed look, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. “You’re my most valuable soldier, my right hand, if I may. If there’s anyone this self-proclaimed mission needs, it’s you.” Pride swelled deep in your heart and the daggers Abby stared into your skull didn’t go unnoticed, but it went without a response.

“Alright, alright, let’s get things done,” Manny started, clearing his throat as he put his weight forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as the attention completely turned to you. “What happened today?”

Clearing your throat, your mind raked through the events of today as your teeth dragged over your teeth. “For one, it’s a miracle I got there in the first place,” your hand smoothed over the back of your neck, wincing when you felt a sting travel from your nape. “You did a number on me, Anderson, felt like I was on the brink of death when I got there.” Abby felt more than smug at your admission because making your life hell is her mission in progress, the side quest of her main task: getting revenge on Joel Miller.

Before you started to traverse through the remote area the town was situated in, Abby insisted on getting you roughed up. Just a little to invoke sympathy in the people, but she beat the shit out of you so hard you even felt bad for yourself.

“Just get on with it,” she said, a barely-there, shit-eating grin on her face but you only dug your nails into your palms, not having the energy to contest. “What about Joel?”

“Met him almost instantly, right after they let me out of my hospital bed,” you picked on the hidden bandages that were wrapped around your torso as your body started to throb from the pain you’ve been trying to conceal since you stepped foot in the town. “Then they told me I’ll be staying in his house until they get my house fixed up.”

Abby’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She wasn’t, by all means, religious but she was taken aback at how Joel was being served to her on a silver platter, like someone out there wanted her to take what she’s been longing for. Not to kill Joel, but to avenge her father in the same way he was taken from her.

“One thing I noticed though,” your voice broke her out of her revenge-filled reverie, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Was that it’ll take a while for him to fall in love with me, not that I’m basing it off on assumptions but he’s a quiet person in general.” “How long is “a while”?” Mel asked, coming out from one of the bedrooms with her hands on her hips, looking at you expectantly.

“Maybe a year if I’m right.”

“A year? We can’t wait around here for that long,” grumbled Abby, who was greeted with a groan from you. Massaging your temples with your thumb and middle finger and trying to prolong the coming of your inevitable headache, you offered an idea.

“Radio. You got one back at base and I’m sure they have one I can borrow,” you raised your eyebrows, expecting an answer from the blonde. “How’s that?” Her arms crossed over her chest and her knee bounced, a habit she had when she was lost in thought. Eventually, she spoke again yet her words were dripping with skepticism.

“Every Saturday at this time, you give us a weekly report with all the necessary details and, if you can, add in your ETC so we know when to strike. If everything is ready to go, the code word is “do not disturb.” Wrote all that down?”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” you joked, mock saluting her as you stood, only rolling her eyes at you as you shrugged your coat back on and headed out, but not before bidding them a good night and wishing them a safe trip back to Seattle in the morning. They all watched as you weaved through the thick trees scattered in the forest, their attention never wavering, not until you disappeared in the darkness of the night.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for Abby to be losing sleep over this. It was something her brain did often, questioning her own methods and skills. This time, it settled on the fact that this mission would take a year to complete, more or less. Was it really worth the time?

Then again, she waited five years to kill him. Another year wouldn’t hurt, right?

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#the last of us #tlou #joel miller #abby anderson #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #tlou 2 #tlou x reader #ellie williams #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel x reader #maria miller #tommy miller #four seasons of love [joel m]#fsol #the tipsy bison

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 21 days

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Against the Tide - Eleven

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Ten | Next Chapter: Twelve

Summary:

She thinks of Silvio again, and words that he's said to her. "Even so, why would you want that? War is hell. And Vora going to war means using up the resources that you deem so precious. Lives would be lost - the lives of your friends, maybe your family, people you cherish. If you claim to love Vora so much, why would you want to put it through that kind of hell again?"

"I don't," Barnes answers. "Ideally we'd get what we want without ever having to take up arms. But if war is the only way to gain our independence, then it's a necessary sacrifice."

Read on AO3

Silvio stands there for a long time after they’ve left, staring at the ugly, scarred wood of the inn room door. He feels hollow and numb, like a fruit that’s been scooped of all its meat and is just an empty skin.

That isn’t what this is and you know it. Neither of us were thinking clearly. And maybe… Maybe this was the interruption we needed to cool down.

The words keep running through his mind over and over again. The sound of her voice permeates his ears, jams his head full of emotion like the stuffing in a chair. He tries to shut it out, but even covering his ears and closing his eyes doesn’t work.

He doesn’t want to think about the way she left his room the previous evening. The way she’d refused to look at him but he’d seen them anyway - her brown eyes hurt and glossy with tears.

You wanna leave… leave.

He’d driven her away.

And not just into the arms of another man - a man he despised - but possibly into something or someone dangerous… something that might have hurt her.

Or worse.

He kicks at the table in the room hard enough to knock it over with a crash.

“What do we do now?” Daisy asks, when the two of them are back inside the tavern.

“We can start by askin’ around,” Grimmjow answers. “See if anybody saw her after we did last night.” He looks down at her. “Sorry for scarin’ ya back there,” he adds quietly. “Don’t know what came over me.”

“You don’t have to apologize on my account,” Daisy expresses. She takes a deep breath. “I think you both… are upset. I think I understand why you would be,” she adds, with a shaky smile. “I’m only happy I was there to try to intervene before things got worse.”

“I woulda killed him if you hadn’t been there,” Grimmjow mutters. “Felt like I wanted to, anyway.”

Daisy looks back at him, prepared to laugh. When she realizes there is no mirth whatsoever in his expression, her laughter dies in her throat. “Why do you hate him so much, Captain?”

Her question seems to take him by surprise. “Why?” He repeats it. “Because he walks around thinkin’ he’s better’n the rest of us. He talks bad about men like me for makin’ a livin’ the best way we know how just because he was born with a goddamned silver spoon in his mouth.” Grimmjow kicks the tip of his boot at the floorboard, aggravated. “Uses his money to get whatever the hell he wants, like he can just pay the whole world to do his biddin’. Like to see how well he’d do without his daddy’s money.”

She absorbs his words. “I don’t know Prince Silvio very well,” she confesses. “I was only newly brought to the palace before this trip. You see, I was training to be the Queen’s lady’s maid to take over for my mother.”

“I dunno what any of that means,” Grimmjow laughs.

This time, she laughs too. “It just means I spent more time with the Queen than the Crown Prince,” she explains. “So I don’t know if everything you’ve said about him is true. I do know that Lady Olivia wouldn’t want the two of you to fight,” she continues. “She’d probably be very angry with you both if she knew you wanted to do each other harm.”

He mulls over this for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, you’re right. She would.”

“What can I get you?” The girl is as cheerful as ever when she asks.

“Sit down,” Silvio says.

Confusion fills her features. “Apologies, my lord, but---”

“Sit down,” he says again, a hard edge in his voice. He looks up at her, his blue eyes icy. “Don’t make me say it again.”

The barmaid does as she’s told, looking around only once before settling herself across the table from him. One glance at his face and she understands exactly why he’s told her to sit.

“Where is Jarron Barnes?” Silvio asks.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Silvio peers closely at her. He leans forward. “Do you want to do this the easy way, or do you want to find out what the hard way is?”

Her gaze shifts away from him, her mouth turned down in a frown. “By now my lord, I’m sure he must be nearly a day’s journey away.”

“Going where?”

“I don’t know,” she answers quickly.

He wants to grab her by her shoulders and shake her until the information she’s withholding falls out of her head. Instead, he reaches into his cloak and pulls out a pouch. Her gaze follows his hands as he sets the pouch on the table with a heavy metallic clink.

The girl’s eyes widen. She’s almost drooling.

“So you are a greedy little rat,” Silvio hisses angrily. “How much did you sell her for, huh?”

“My lord, I swear I didn’t---”

“Cut the shit,” he snaps. He hasn’t raised his voice, but the dangerous edge to it shuts her up immediately. “How much?”

“A week’s wages,” she admits guiltily.

Incredulously, he stares at her. “I should break your fucking jaw for that,” he mutters. “You trade information to a man who spends his time robbing some of the wealthiest merchant ships in the Yarmouth waters and all you ask for is a week’s wages?”

The girl looks to be on the verge of tears.

“What’s in this pouch could easily cover a month’s wages for you,” Silvio goes on. She reaches for the aforementioned pouch, and he rudely slaps her hand away. “You’re going to tell me exactly where Jarron Barnes is heading and what he plans to do with Olivia once he gets there. Do you understand me?”

“My lord---”

“What I asked you,” he cuts her off, “doesn’t involve any answer other than you nodding your head. You can even say, ‘yes, my lord.’ Do you. Understand. Me?”

She nods. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” He sits back in his chair. “Now start talking.”

His ship is fast.

As fast as the Hellcat, she would reckon - if not faster. She wonders if he’s stolen it from someone else. If it is merely a spoil of his endeavors.

She would ask him, but the fabric that’s been jammed between her teeth is still there. It keeps her from talking at all.

“What’s it like to have two very different men lusting after you?”

She glares up at him.

“Oh, that look is scary,” he laughs. “I wonder what you would be saying right now if you could talk.”

Why don’t you undo this gag and find out? Olivia wishes she could telegraph that thought to him. Her arms and legs are still bound as well, and she’s been tossed into an ungraceful heap in one corner of the deck.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll both be coming after you soon,” Jarron Barnes offers. “That is,” he adds thoughtfully, “if they don’t kill each other first.” He kneels down so that he’s at eye level with her. “If I undo this gag, are you gonna be nice?”

Olivia simply stares at him.

“I don’t think you will, but I’m gonna undo it anyway.” He reaches behind her head, untying the knot and pulling the fabric away from her mouth.

Her mouth is dry. She swallows and opens it to speak. “Why is it that I’m the one tied up like a criminal, when we both know who the real criminal here is?”

He looks back at her shrewdly. “One of my guys has a broken nose because of you. And I suspect you would have done much worse if the freedom to use your arms and legs hadn’t been taken away from you fairly quickly.”

“That’s what happens when I get attacked,” Olivia spits. “I will fight back.”

“So I’ve noticed.” He leans back, studying her. “I can see why the pirate would like you - you’re scrappy. The Prince, I’m not so sure about. What have you got on him that makes him so taken with you?”

She ignores his question. “Why am I here? What could you possibly want with me?”

“You’re a lure, of course,” he replies. “I don’t care about the pirate - I have no quarrel with him - but I heard from some very reliable sources that the Prince has been asking around, looking for me. It seems like his plan once he finds me isn’t one I’d like very much. You’re my assurance that he won’t do anything unnecessarily foolish until I’ve had a chance to speak with him properly.”

His words make Olivia laugh bitterly. “If you think I mean that much to him, you’re sorely mistaken.” She shakes her head. “And what’s your plan once he catches up to you?”

“You assume he’s going to catch up to me at all.”

Olivia shrugs, as best she can with her arms still tied behind her back. “You assume he’s not able to.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that,” he concedes. “After all, the Hellcat has a reputation for being one of the fastest ships in the world. So let’s say those two continue to work together with the goal of getting you back. In the event that they catch up to me, I get what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“Simple,” Barnes shrugs. “Vora’s independence. Our own government, ruled by leaders we choose. Clario stays the hell out of our business and relinquishes its control over our taxes, our trade, our resources… everything.”

Olivia muses over his words. “Do the people really hate living under Clarion rule that much?”

Her question seems to catch him off-guard. “Right,” he says slowly after a moment. “You wouldn’t know anything about life in Vora, because you and the rest of the traitors in your family turned tail and ran from it.” He sneers at her. “Didn’t stick around to watch the fallout and went to live like good little diplomats in Clario.”

“I’m going to forgive the blatant ignorance in your statement,” Olivia starts, “because I’m asking you seriously - does everyone in Vora feel the way you do? Has it really been as bad as you make it sound?”

“Like I said before, what we want is independence. We want to regulate our own trade and taxes and resources.”

“Vora isn’t languishing,” she points out. “I may not have set foot on its soil in twenty years, but it doesn’t mean I don’t keep up with what’s going on there.”

“Has living in Clario dulled your senses?” He asks angrily. “Do you really think it’s fine that your father just rolled over and showed his belly to those… those invaders?”

His words slam into her stomach like a gut punch. “That isn’t fair and you know it,” she protests. “When my father relinquished his position as Prime Minister of Vora, it was because he was trying to put a peaceful end to a war that had been going on for nearly a decade.” She takes a deep breath in an attempt to cool the blood in her veins and keep her emotions from getting the best of her. “You may choose to conveniently leave that part of it out, but I won’t.”

Barnes scoffs. “I remember hearing that the Prime Minister and his family agreed to pick up and leave us all here,” he counters. “And that their oldest daughter was practically being sold off to the Crown Prince of Clario.”

“And yet here I am,” Olivia interjects sarcastically, “noticeably not owned as property of the Crown Prince of Clario.”

He laughs rudely. “Still doesn’t mean you’re forgiven for turning your back on your home.”

“I was a child,” she snaps. “What was I supposed to do? Run away on my own? Hope no one would notice me stowing away on a ship to Vora?”

“You haven’t set foot on the island in twenty years,” he points out with a shrug. “You’re telling me that in all that time, you couldn’t have found your way back?”

His words hurt, more than she’d like to admit. “I made a promise to my father that I wouldn’t,” she says. Even as the words come out of her mouth, she realizes how it must sound to the man in front of her. “My parents are diplomats. If I were to leave Clario and return to Vora, it would look like I wasn’t in support of the arrangement that they gave up so much to make.”

“We can stand here and debate the merits of that all day, and you still won’t change my mind about what you are,” Barnes retorts stubbornly. “And the bottom line is that we wanna rule ourselves. Either you support that, or you don’t.”

“Suppose I don’t. What then?”

He shakes his head. “Then you find yourself on the wrong side of a war.”

“Do all the citizens of Vora feel that way?” Olivia asks.

His hesitation gives him away.

“They don’t,” she surmises. She peers closely at him. “And I can take a pretty good guess as to who you think should step into place as the new leader of Vora.”

He doesn’t answer her, but she doesn’t really need him to. He isn’t very good at masking his emotions… or maybe he doesn’t care to. Either way, Olivia can tell that she’s guessed correctly.

“Let me ask you something,” she starts, shifting to look him in the eye. “What happens to those citizens of Vora who are fine with things the way they’ve been for the past twenty years? What happens to those people who don’t necessarily want you appointed to speak for them?”

“They’ll come around,” he assures her confidently.

“What if they don’t?”

“They will,” he insists. “They’ll see that I’d never turn my back on my home.”

“I’m asking you not to do this,” she implores him. Silvio’s words echo in her head, and she says them aloud. “If Vora goes to war with Clario again, Vora will lose… again .”

“You don’t know that. We’re more prepared than we were last time. I’ve been gathering resources for a long time now. We won’t lose.”

She thinks of Silvio again, and words that he’s said to her. “Even so, why would you want that? War is hell. And Vora going to war means using up the resources that you deem so precious. Lives would be lost - the lives of your friends, maybe your family, people you cherish. If you claim to love Vora so much, why would you want to put it through that kind of hell again?”

“I don’t,” Barnes answers. “Ideally we’d get what we want without ever having to take up arms. But if war is the only way to gain our independence, then it’s a necessary sacrifice.”

Olivia looks back at him dubiously. “I don’t think it’s going to work the way you’re envisioning it.”

“You don’t believe me,” he concludes. “And that’s fine - you don’t have to. Vora isn’t your home anymore, so you don’t have any stake in this fight.”

“That isn’t true, either,” Olivia sighs. “And I’ll say it again: if your plan is to use me as a bargaining chip to get what you want, you may be very disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he laughs. “I’d wager your prince and the rest of the calvary are making haste after us as we speak.” He stands. “You’re not very good at playing the damsel in distress.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No,” he admits honestly. “And quite frankly, I wouldn’t have expected any less.”

Daisy is starting to understand why Olivia always looks so put out whenever the Captain and the Prince interact around her.

“We found out the name of the ship Jarron Barnes is sailing in,” she starts, hoping the words will diffuse the tension and keep either man from drawing the steel at their hips. “It’s called the Sea Queen.” She glances up at Grimmjow and he nods. “They say it’s fast.”

“I know that ship,” the Captain adds. “And I sure would like to know what happened to her Captain. He was a tough old bastard.”

“Barnes was waiting for us to arrive so he could take Olivia to Vora with him,” Silvio sighs angrily. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who spread the rumor that he was already back on Vora.”

“So what do we do?” Daisy asks, anxiously wringing her hands.

“We go after him,” Grimmjow replies simply.

“The barmaid says he’s almost a full day’s journey ahead of us.” Silvio looks skeptical. “If his ship is as fast as she’s said, we may not be able to catch up to him.”

“You sellin’ the Hellcat short? Did you forget how fast she can cut up the sea?”

“You have faith in your ship, and that’s wonderful,” Silvio grumbles. “But forgive me if I lack the same confidence in it. Even with a ship as fast as yours, a day’s distance is a hell of a gap to close.”

“So what?” The pirate shrugs. “Even if the Hellcat can’t catch up to him - and that’s a big ‘if’, we know he’s headin’ to Vora. We’ll catch him when he gets there either way.”

“And walk right into an ambush of his choosing?” Silvio actually laughs. “Are you stupid?”

Sky-blue eyes flash with anger. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth, pretty boy.”

“This is me watching my fucking mouth, pirate,” the Prince retorts. “We don’t know what he plans to do with Olivia. He could mean her harm. He may have already hurt her.”

“Listen here.” Grimmjow’s voice is low and dangerous. “Don’t stand here and talk about her like only you care. We all got a personal stake in this.”

“Maybe if you’d acted like you cared about her last night, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“Bring it up one more time,” Grimmjow hisses, “and I’ll cut that tongue of yours out.”

Daisy’s headache is quickly intensifying. “I have something to say.” she murmurs. Her voice is quiet but serious, and both men turn to look at her. “We all have the same goal… to help Lady Olivia out of whatever trouble she’s in.” She inhales deeply. “And I don’t think she would want the two of you to fight. She’d want us all to work together and help her. If you two really want to kill each other,” she adds tiredly, “I cannot stop you. But I also cannot save her on my own. I need your help - both of you. So can we please just… call a truce? A temporary peace treaty?”

Silvio rolls his eyes. “How about we agree to stay out of each other’s way?”

Frustrated, Daisy shakes her head. “But we have to work together,” she protests. “We can’t work together if we’re avoiding each other.” She looks up at Grimmjow pleadingly. “Please.”

He frowns. “Most I can do is promise not to kill him,” he mumbles. “Least not before we find Livvy.”

She looks over at Silvio. He shrugs. “Please shake hands to seal the agreement,” she proposes. Her voice is trembling slightly, but her gaze does not waver as she looks first at one man, and then the other. “On your honor as men.”

Grudgingly they humor her.

It’s Grimmjow who turns away first. “We leave at dawn,” he announces. “Anybody who ain’t on the Hellcat at first light either spends the next two months in Baiz or finds their own way to the next destination.” Without waiting for a response, he stalks out of the tavern.

“Well, that asshole was right about one thing, at least,” Silvio utters under his breath.

Surprised, Daisy turns to look at him. “Right about what?”

“She must’ve rubbed off on you,” is the answer he gives. When she opens her mouth to respond, he beats her to it. “It’s a good thing.” And with that, he turns away too, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

At dawn, she is exactly where she needs to be: on the deck of the Hellcat, watching Grimmjow’s crew file onto it in various stages of fatigue. Daisy feels a little bad for them - what was meant to be a semi-leisurely trek to Vora has turned into an urgent mission. Unaware of their early departure time until late in the evening, many had been forced to cut their merrymaking short.

The Captain himself is as fresh-faced as ever when he comes over to greet her. “Top o’ the mornin’ to you.”

“Good morning,” she smiles up at him. She glances around. “I don’t see Prince Silvio,” she says worriedly. “I hope he doesn’t miss us.”

“Bastard’s already here,” Grimmjow mutters. “In his cabin… he slept on the Hellcat last night.”

“Oh.” His words have surprised her. She giggles a little. “Well I guess he was more ready to go than all of us.”

Grimmjow shrugs. “Wouldn’t’ve known it from the way he chased us outta his room yesterday.”

“I just wish I knew whether or not Lady Olivia is okay,” she sighs, sobering up. “It’s nerve-wracking not to know what’s happening to her.”

“She’ll be fine,” Grimmjow smiles down at her reassuringly. “We’ll get to her soon, and in the meantime, she’s good at holdin’ her own.” His gaze grows steely. “And if he touches a hair on her head, he’ll have hell to pay. I won’t hold back.”

“Captain, are you in love with her?”

He sputters in a rare moment of being completely caught off-guard. “Well shit,” he chuckles. “Guess Livvy’s way of askin’ honest questions is startin’ to rub off on ya too, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her face flushing. “I know it’s impolite and probably highly inappropriate for me to ask.”

“That mean you don’t wanna know the answer?”

She hesitates. “I only want to know if you want to tell me.”

“Then I’ll keep it to myself. A man’s entitled to his secrets just like a woman is, don’t you think?”

It makes her laugh. “I guess you’re right.” She looks around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “And for what it’s worth, I know she wouldn’t blame you for what happened to her.”

Grimmjow frowns. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it the right way, but I’ll try,” she starts thoughtfully. “Lady Olivia isn’t like that, you know? She wouldn’t blame you for something bad that someone else did to her.”

His blue eyes are on the horizon. “Even if she never woulda been there if she hadn’t been lookin’ after me?”

“Well, it might have happened anywhere,” Daisy points out. “Especially if those men had been watching us the whole time.”

He shrugs. “Dunno if that’s supposed to make me feel better.”

“I’m sure it will when we find her and she tells you herself,” Daisy smiles.

When the knock on her door sounds, Olivia is already awake. “I’m surprised you even bothered to knock,” she mumbles when he opens the door without waiting for an answer. “I didn’t think hostages warranted the privilege of privacy.”

“If that’s the way you want me to treat you,” he shrugs, “that can be arranged.”

“You abducted me, bound my hands and feet and gagged my mouth, then tossed me onto the corner of the ship’s deck all day yesterday so I could suffer from sun and windburn. Forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy at the prospect of being here, bed or not.”

“You’ll get used to life at sea eventually,” he jokes.

“You know good and goddamned well I’m already accustomed to life at sea,” Olivia sighs witheringly. “What I’m not accustomed to is being treated like cargo instead of like a human being.”

“I’d say you’ve been treated at least slightly better than cargo.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “So let’s say your plan goes exactly as you’ve envisioned it - or at least as close as it can get. What will you do then? How will you make Vora better than it already is?”

“Why are you asking? You don’t care.” He looks skeptically at her.

“Of course I do,” she affirms. “Your passion for this is obviously rooted in something you feel very strongly about. And though I’m no true diplomat, I would be casting aside everything I’ve learned from my father if I didn’t ask.”

“Huh,” he says slowly. “You really mean that.” When she nods, he speaks again. “Alright then. Come with me and I’ll tell you.”

“Where are we going?”

The smile he flashes her this time seems to be a genuine one. “I’m hungry, and you must be, too. I’ll tell you my plan over breakfast.”

Previous Chapter: Ten | Next Chapter: Twelve

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfiction #bleach #ikemen prince #ikepri #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #olivia dubois #grimmjow jaegerjaquez

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beckwritesfiction · 2 years

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At Full Dark: Part 1

(18+ ONLY) THIS POST CONTAINS SEXUAL THEMES, MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: Ellie attends the funeral of her father, and reunites with people she hasn't seen since she was a child. Some have the best of intentions, and others don't.

A/N: I've been getting messages asking me to post the first chapter, and I'm happy to! I haven't hit my word count goal, but I'm putting this up a little early for you guys. I'm really excited about this, and I am hope you are, too! I wanted to read over this more but I'm currently posting this on my break at work.

Warnings: drinking, protected PIV, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of past death and grieving. Let me know if there's anything you wish for me to add, and I'd be happy to.

Word Count: 4.5k

PART I

The paper the funeral home had given her and anyone else who walked through the door was the thing she stared at, rather than her dead father in the open casket in front of her. The church wasn’t very full, but that didn’t surprise her. In fact, she was shocked she wasn’t the only person there. From her understanding, her father was an asshole. And because he never remarried, he left everything he had to her.

Leonard “Lonnie” Belfure passed away at the age of sixty-one in his home located in Wabang, Wyoming. He is survived by his daughter, Virginia Eloise Brown (Neé Belfoure), and her husband, Weston Brown. Lonnie took over the Belfure ranch from his father at the age of twenty-six. Please join us at 11:00 AM on Monday, May 27th at West Baptist Church for the funeral.

If she left him months ago, Wes’ name wouldn’t have been on the paper, and she wouldn’t be thinking about how stupid it was that her last name was still Brown. She wasn’t even sure she wanted it to be Belfure, either. While she was supposed to be praying for her father’s soul, she prayed wherever he was, he couldn’t beat women, or yell at children. And then she prayed a better last name would come to her soon, because she wasn’t using Brown or Belfure.

The graveyard wasn’t far, so she set out to walk, ignoring everyone in church because she didn’t know them, and she wasn’t planning to. It was only when Cecelia stopped her on the steps that her face softened. Her sunglasses and foundation covered most of her black eye.

She hugged her tightly, the time she took care of her coming back to her. It was then that she felt like she might cry, and she hadn’t cried once since she found out her father finally died.

“I didn’t wanna pry, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything. Had I known you were back in town, I woulda helped with—”

“I had someone put this together for him. It was no trouble at all,” she assured her. The last thing she wanted was someone as sweet as Cecelia, thinking she’d been crying and slaving away planning the funeral.

“Are you stayin’ with someone? Is there anything we can do for you?” She shook her head slowly, taking in how much Virginia had changed. There was no indication she was even from Wabang. She looked like her grandmother did when she came to pick her up fifteen years ago: totally out of place.

“I’ve got a room in town until I get the keys to the house. Really, you don’t need to go out of your way for me, Missus Abbott.”

“Virginia, honey, please call me Cici.” When she took her hands, she was reminded of her mother. It had been three years since she died, and in those three years, she hadn’t been comforted through anything that had happened to her.

“Call me Ellie, alright?” she said, not offering an explanation.

Cecelia looked over her shoulder, the rest of her family as well as everyone else making their way out of the church. “I’m sorry we only get to meet your husband under these circumstances.”

Ellie shook her head, laughing to herself humorlessly. “Oh, no. He couldn’t make it. Bad timing, but death waits for no one, right?” The rush of the small crowd was enough to separate them. But Cecelia found her again when she noticed she was going in the wrong direction. “Parkin’ lot’s this way,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder. While she didn’t look upset, if she was walking in the wrong direction, she wanted to be gentle about reminding her. She had been old enough, walking in and out of this exact church, to remember.

“I figured I’d walk. It’s not that far.”

“No, come on. We’ll give you a ride.”

“There’s no room in my truck,” Perry pointed out as gently as he could. He was fragile, imagining he’d be throwing a funeral for his missing wife soon if she wasn’t found.

Rhett, who’d overslept, had driven separately.

“I can,” he offered.

The walk back to his truck was longer, as he was the very last person to arrive. He had to park farther away as a result. “Sorry ‘bout comin’ in late,” he said, unsure of how else to talk to someone he hadn’t seen in so long.

“He’s lucky anyone showed up at all. You could've stayed home and I wouldn’t have taken it personally. I don’t even wanna be here.” Her confession came easily. There was a chance he wasn’t the kind of person he was when they were little, but something about her memories of him being so fond made her feel like she could be completely honest. “You didn’t come back just for this, did you?” She looked over at him, a small frown on her face. It was the first time she’d looked at him that day, and it was the first time he felt like anyone had looked at him in a while.

“Don’t have to come back if you never left in the first place,” he said, walking between his truck and another, opening the door for her. He held out his hand for her when she looked like she questioned how to get into it. She took it, stepping up onto the running board and inside.

When he finally closed his own door, she looked over at him. He didn’t look like he’d gotten a lot of sleep. “I guess I shouldn’t take everything from the last time we talked seriously.”

“Maybe some. I may not be the greatest rider in all of Wabang County, but I’m gettin’ close.”

She smiled at this, thinking back to how sure he was that that’s what he wanted to do, and now he was doing it. Maybe he hadn’t left town, but small town people sometimes didn’t mind the pace of life that came with where they lived.

“What?” he asked, finding himself smiling, too, and not feeling guilty now that he knew there was no one around to judge them. Smiling at a funeral wasn’t usually acceptable. But in this case, he assumed it was.

“I just think it’s funny how things work out.”

“Why? You take my advice and write books?”

She nodded as he began to drive. “Yeah, actually, I did. It took me a while, but I did it.” She didn’t tell him how she was supposed to pitch a new book, as she was contractually obligated to, by the end of the month, and she had no idea what to do. That worried her, but she had a lot going on. Even if her father’s death didn’t really affect her, her marriage did. She’d need to file for divorce, and she couldn’t keep dodging Wes’ calls forever. He was undoubtedly pissed that she left while he was gone that night, but she wasn’t ready to argue about it yet.

As they neared the graveyard, he knew their time together was running out. “You wanna meet later and catch up? I know I shouldn’t be askin’ before this is over, but…”

“Yeah. I’d like that. I’m on Main Street, so maybe the bar near there?”

Her not remembering the name, mixed with how articulate she now sounded, reminded him that she was so far removed from her former life there. As much as he looked at her, standing over the grave as they lowered the casket into it, he didn’t see the bruise on her face. No one else did, either.

Before Cecilia could offer one last time to help in any way she could, Ellie was approached by Wayne Tillerson. No one heard what he asked, but they heard what she said. “If I decide to sell it, you’ll hear when everyone does.”

“Ain’t really the time, now is it?” Royal asked, speaking for the first time that day. At least that’s how it looked to Ellie. The hostility was unmistakable, and she decided if it came to her getting wrapped up in it, she’d leave the sale up to a lawyer.

“How long you in town for?” Rhett asked when the bartender brought over the first round.

Ellie shrugged. “As long as I need to be.”

“What’s Mister Brown think about that?”

She laughed, seeing how he meant it. Like he knew something was off. She thought maybe he’d seen her bare left hand and put the pieces together. “Mister Brown can go fuck himself, and anyone else that’ll have him on the Upper West Side.”

It was the first time he’d seen her without her sunglasses on, and he thought about how she looked familiar, yet so different. Her features were sharper, but her eyes were the same. He never forgot the way she looked at him when they were little because, at the time, it seemed like she was the only one that didn’t look at him in a bad way. To that day, it felt the same. When she looked at him he felt seen. Not because he had a good ride and there was a girl that wanted to go home with him. It felt deeper than that, and it wasn’t something he’d felt since he was twelve.

“I didn’t realize you wrote those books,” he said, changing the subject. “I knew what they were. I’d heard about them, I mean. But I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You looked me up?”

He nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah. I was curious. Wanted to know what you were writing about. I thought a lot about what you might be up to.”

“I thought a lot about you, too. You were the first person that ever told me I should write books. That’s why I went to Colombia, for their writing program.”

“Colombia Colombia?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, nodding. No one had been impressed with her accomplishments in a long time. With her mother gone, the only person who really knew her was Wes. And he didn’t like her being successful, or having friends, or going places without him. Despite growing up away from her father, she’d managed to marry someone just like him. Without realizing it, her smile had faded, and she’d been staring at her glass for way too long.

“You were the first person that didn’t think the whole bull ridin’ thing was a phase.” It sounded a little like an offer. One for her to continue the conversation and not think about whatever had pulled her out of it in the first place. “I still have that book you wrote me.”

“What did I call it?” she laughed, trying hard to remember it.

“Rhett Abbott: The Best Bull Rider Ever.”

“The way people look at you in here, it might as well be true.”

He finished his drink, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He waved over at the bartender for another round. Him finishing his made her finish hers. “I got a few chances left this season to make it come true. The other stuff in there, probably not.”

“What else did I write?”

“Stuff about a happily ever after. I’ll blame that on the fairytales you were readin’ back then.”

“Why can’t you have that?” she asked curiously.

He couldn’t tell her why because he wasn’t even sure why he’d said it in the first place. If he was going to find someone, he would’ve found them already. At least that’s what he thought. He blamed it on the town, and on the account of him never leaving home like he wanted to.

The way he looked around told her he didn’t have an answer. “Well if you can’t have it, neither can I. Because I feel like I did everything right and now I’m here.” He looked back to her when she noticed his wrist. “What happened to your wrist?” she asked, looking at his brace.

“I fell on it wrong,” he answered dismissively. He didn’t want to talk about it because then she might be concerned. He didn’t want that to be all they talked about.

“Will it heal in time?”

“Doctor thinks so.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked, reaching out and running her index and middle finger along the brace. The way he looked at her then made her wonder why she did it. Maybe she was lonely, or maybe she just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t stop talking to her.

“If it did, what would you do?”

She leaned back, finishing her second drink with a shrug. “I’m not a doctor.”

A few more rounds in, and he asked her the real question that he wanted to ask earlier, when he read the pamphlet from her father's funeral. “What happened with you and your husband?”

After thinking for a second, she shook her head. “How would you feel if I asked you why you don’t have a wife?” she asked.

“Those’re two very different questions.”

“You answer mine first, if you wanna know the answer to yours.”

He nodded, thinking hard about how to say it without sounding depressing. It wasn’t, to most people. He couldn’t be lonely because he could get someone to go home with him every night if he wanted to, and he very often did. “Just hasn’t happened.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she assumed it was better than not getting one at all. “Standard stuff, I guess.” She knew not everyone hit their wives, especially not the day of their mother’s funeral, but she wasn’t going to say that. Feeling brave, she leaned forward a little. “It’s only been a few days, but I’ve wanted to do it for a few years.”

He frowned, missing something. “Do what?”

“Leave him.”

He hadn’t realized it had only been a few days since she left, but he figured that was better than her not leaving at all. “When’d you marry him?”

“Four years ago.”

That didn’t last long and, not knowing what to say, he shrugged. “Twenty’s young, anyway. That’s not your fault.”

It was, and she reminded herself that he didn’t know her, even if it was easy to talk to him again. “I don’t really wanna talk about this. Ask me anything else, and I'll answer.”

He nodded, looking around the crowded bar as he thought hard. “What are you workin’ on now, for your book?”

She bowed her head, releasing a small sigh. “I don’t have anything yet. That’s part of the problem. But I’m sure I’ll figure it out by Monday.”

“What’s on Monday?”

“I’ve gotta pitch my next book, and they’ll give me deadlines, and then I'll have to start writing again.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be easy for you.” He didn’t doubt her at all, remembering how easily she used to tell him stories based off of nothing. And he’d only really spent time with her during what was probably one of the worst weeks of her life. When it looked like she didn’t believe what he said, he put his hand on her wrist. “If not, why don’t you just rewrite my book?”

She laughed. Had he not said that, she would’ve thought too much about him touching her so casually. “I’m sure that’ll translate well with the adult market.” The bartender brought over another round, and she continued. “That would be a change, if I did that, though. I need dark, and mysterious, probably a little depressing, too.”

“That’s not what I thought you’d be writin’.”

“Well, you haven’t seen me in fifteen years.”

He wondered if that was a good thing. If she’d stayed, would she just think of him the way everyone else did?

They were there for so long that she didn’t want the night to end, but she also should’ve stopped a few drinks ago. He was ready to order another round when she stopped him from raising his hand. “I should stop.”

“You should or you want to?” She laughed a little, shaking her head and then regretting it. “I mean, I want to remember tonight.” When she released his hand, her arm felt heavy. He took her hand, and she met his eyes again.

“Maybe I don’t wanna stop talkin’ to you.”

“Maybe we don’t need to do it here.”

He nodded. After paying the tab, they left. When he walked her to his truck, he went to reach for the door, but dropped his keys. He almost fell getting back up, and she steadied him. “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ t’be gentleman and open your door.”

She frowned. “You’re not driving.” He didn’t look at her at first, leaning back against his trunk. He handed her the keys, and she laughed, mostly out of discomfort. “I’m not driving, either. But I’m down the street. Let’s just go there.” Being on the third floor, and there being no elevator, it took a while to get to her room. When she nearly fell, he caught her. When it happened again on the second flight of stairs, and she sat down at the top of it, he offered her his hands.

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

This earned another laugh, one that went on far too long and echoed through the corridor. “You’re not carrying me.”

“You don’t trust me?” He was so close to her, leaning down, that he almost kissed her.

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his briefly. “Not on the stairs.”

When they finally made it to the top, his hands remained on her hips, guiding her like they had on the way up. While trying to find her key in her purse, he leaned against the door, watching her. He thought her eye looked strange, like her makeup was smudged, but he ignored it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when it fell into her face. He’d wanted to kiss her all night. And now, it being all he could think about, was exactly what he did. Even though she hadn’t found the room key in her purse yet, she kissed him back. The handle slipped from her grasp, and she pulled away from him.

After finally finding her wallet, she fumbled with the key for a while before finally getting it inside the door. It opened roughly, her relying too much on the handle to hold her up. The noise it made when it hit the doorstop was loud, but it only elicited laughter from them. He kicked it closed when she put her purse down on the scratched table by the door.

“This is…”

“Shitty?” she asked. “Yeah, but it’s all there is.”

“You can come stay with us,” he offered. “Mom’d be happy to have the company.”

She turned around, taking off her jacket. “Would she be happy with the way you’re kissing me?”

He laughed. “Probably not, not like she’d know.”

“I think she would. But I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, anyway. I’ll have the keys to the ranch, and I won’t have to stay here again.”

He left it at that, sliding off his boots while she started to undo the strap of her heel, one arm bracing against the wall. She hadn’t sobered up since leaving the bar. If anything, she felt the full effects now. He helped her, urging her to sit on the edge of her bed. He grabbed her ankle, and she laid back.

“I haven’t been this drunk in years.”

“This is just a regular Tuesday night for me,” he said as he let one shoe fall to the floor. There was a thud, and she brought her other foot up onto his leg. She laughed, taking what he said as a joke.

He got the other shoe off even faster, and it prompted her to say, “You’re really good at taking off shoes. I can’t even get them off that fast.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Again, she took this as a joke. He got on the bed, hovering over her. His hips pressed down against hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress riding up her thighs. The way he looked down at her made her smile.

“What?” she asked, her hand resting against his side.

“I forgot earlier…to tell you how pretty you are.” His free hand brushed against her cheek. His hands were rough, and her face was so soft.

When she smiled, he kissed her again. This time, when she kissed him back, he couldn’t believe how different it felt to him. No one kissed him this way, and he had no idea that she felt the same way. He wanted her, and she could feel that from him even before. It felt good to be wanted, but thinking about that made her wonder if she only wanted him, too, because she’d gone so long without feeling loved.

The second his hand went to her thigh, she shifted beneath him, kissing him harder. She hadn’t expected him to move further up. When he almost pulled her underwear down, she reached down to stop him.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

He was taken aback, and he frowned. “Cause I want you.”

“You don’t wanna know why I want you?” It felt like a stupid thing to say, and she regretted it the second she said it.

“You wanna tell me?”

“Should I do this if I don’t even know?”

He moved off of her, resting his head on the pillow, but staying close to her. She followed him, moving so their legs still touched, and her arm rested against his chest. Her hand was against his cheek as she examined him, conflicted.

“Tell me what you mean.” The longer she looked at him, the better he was able to see her face. Her makeup was messed up, but he realized now, with how close they were to the bedside lamp, that she wore minimal eye makeup. It wasn’t mascara on her eye, it was a bruise. Her makeup was wearing off as the night went on.

“It’s stupid.” She shook her head. “I’m just thinking too hard about something that should be simple. People drink to stop thinking, right? Not me, I guess.”

“What happened here?” he asked, his thumb brushing against the bruise on her eye. She flinched a little as she closed her eyes, and he frowned. “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna assume the worst.”

She finally looked at him again, nodding slowly. “The worst is probably right.”

The idea that someone would hit her was hard to think about, but once he pictured it, he felt like he needed to do something about it. “Does he know you’re here, where you’re stayin’?”

She went to answer him, but he was already saying something else. “Did he just do this, or has he been doin’ this a while?”

Ellie frowned. “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it. He doesn’t know where I am. I’ve been ignoring him. When I get a chance, I’ll have someone serve him and I won’t have to see him again. I’ve got it handled. I’m just…laying low here.”

“You’re not goin’ back to the city on Monday, for your book pitch?”

“If I wanted to sit and think about all that, I wouldn’t have gone out with you tonight. I can do it over the phone. It’s not your job to be worried about what I got myself into. I just don’t wanna do this with you if it’s for the wrong reasons.”

“I feel like my reasons are right. You’re beautiful, and smart, and talkin’ to you makes me feel like I’m who I wanna be. I haven’t felt that in…” he trailed off, hoping he didn’t have to say any more.

“We’re either too drunk or we’re not drunk enough,” she declared, laying down beside him.

“I didn’t come back here for no reason, Virginia. I—”

“Ellie. Call me Ellie.” He seemed confused. “I haven’t gone by Virginia in years, and I don’t want to.”

“Okay, Ellie.” Saying it felt weird. But he’d do what she wanted. Him saying her name made her regret putting so much distance between them. “I meant what I said; I like talkin’ to you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I feel like I do.” She scooted closer to him again, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. There was something she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the right words. “What people say when they’re drunk, it’s what they really mean.”

After a second, she said, “You just make me feel…like I haven’t in a while. And I don’t wanna do this because of that. If that’s the only reason. And I can’t think right like this. I can’t tell if it’s just because of that, or if it’s because I’d do it just because I want you. I think I would, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Ellie, I’d be happy with whatever we do in here tonight.” His hand moved over the curve of her waist and to the bare skin of her thigh again. “Whyever you wanna do it.”

She wanted to feel loved, to not question everything she did, and to have someone sleep beside her that didn’t hate her. When she kissed him again, she was under the impression that that’s what he’d give her. It wasn’t as rushed as it had been before and, despite how tired she felt, she didn’t want it to end. At first, she was on top of him, liking the amount of control she had until she found that she didn’t want it anymore. She stopped kissing him long enough for him to realize what she wanted, and readjust. His hand was on her lower back, lifting her so she could get comfortable against the pillow before leaning down to kiss her neck.

While she released a shaky sigh, she grabbed his hips, wordlessly begging him to be closer to her again. She hadn’t liked sex in so long, as much as she’d tried. But she liked this. He matched her pace from before, thinking at first he’d have to deal with what she wanted instead of what really happened. He liked it because it was with her. Any other night, with any other woman, he would’ve thought it felt strange, how affectionate she wanted him to be. But he liked seeing her like that, hearing what he was doing to her. This wasn’t something quick that meant nothing, and that was all he was used to.

By the time he laid back down beside her, he was exhausted. He could hardly keep his eyes open as she pulled the covers over them.

“Will you stay here with me?” she asked as he reached blindly for the lamp, eventually switching it off. It fell, and he didn’t have the will to pick it up.

“I’d be real sad if you asked me to leave after that.”

The only reason he knew she was smiling the way she was was because she kissed him again. She rolled over next, moving back until she was against him, fitting in his arm perfectly. Her hair smelled so good, and he fell asleep trying to figure out exactly what it smelled like.

TAGLIST: @elevens-strangerthing @negomim @audri-janis

#outer range fic #outer range fanfic #outer range fanfiction #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott #outer range #lewis pullman

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 2 months

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Chapter 16- Part 14

Okay, now we chase Borealis. I SAID GET BACK HERE, MISTER!

Street Rat moment? Oh, wait- is this gonna be the Street Rat from Obsidia Slums? The one Corey was talking with? Is that how Borealis’ identity is going to be revealed?

…I mean, c’mon. Come on, I think we all know who Borealis is by now, right? His outfit is in broad daylight now, you can see the gray and purple! They’re not even trying to hide it anymore!

OH, SHOOT! It’s the officers we rescued! So that sidequest had even more payoff, that’s awesome! Gosh, this scene woulda been more awkward if I hadn’t found everyone, I’ll bet…unless it didn’t make a difference.

Nevermind, it completely made a difference! Haha! Hah…wow, really, what would have happened if we hadn’t found all the officers…?

But also- which Gym Leader? Florinia? She was also looking into Borealis alongside Amaria, wasn’t she?

Oh, it was just Amaria- okay, interesting! And smart, good on her!

Oh my gosh, this is literally a Scooby-Doo moment, I cannot believe this-

OH, I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES! WHO COULD HAVE POSSIBLY GUESSED!!?

…Over-the-top dramatics aside, even though I guessed this plot twist a while ago, I guess a part of me was still hoping it was just some red herring and Corey wasn’t secretly a Meteor all along. Because I kinda like Corey! He was one of the only characters to actually acknowledge how Xera literally almost died at the start of the game! He showed some sorta respect for her in the beginning!

There was something endearing about how he seemed to care about his job despite how morose he is! I didn’t want him to turn out to be a double agent, even if I thought he was shaped like a villain when I first saw him!

I mean, he’s got a point about that, evil Gym Leaders aren’t exactly new- just look at Giovanni and Team Rocket. At least I trusted him for his mannerisms and personality before I found out he was a former Gym Leader. Was that callow, too?? :'(

Do they have judges in the Pokémon world? I don’t remember seeing anything else of the justice system besides police officers, I’ve never even seen a single courthouse!

#pokemon reborn #pokemon reborn spoilers #pokemon fan game #pokemon reborn screenshot let's play

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solartranslations · 9 months

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AF2 Teo Epilogue: Her Distant Silhouette

Here, there is nothing in the world you cannot obtain—yes, even love…

~*Scene: Passenger Ship Deck*~

Vir: It’s rare for Teo to make a destination request

Teo: I could have gone myself

Yuki (Neve): But…I wanted to go to Regalo too

Vir: Yuki, I hear that the spring festival will be happening when we arrive

Yuki (Neve): I’m so excited, Vir-sa…Vir

Vir: *smile*

Teo: Ugh… I can’t watch this

Princess: ?

Teo: I just suddenly want to see those clowns again…you know?

~*Scene: Forest*~

Teo: We there yet?

Felicita: A little further

Teo: You said that last time I asked

Felicita: I really mean it

Felicita: …See, it’s just up there…

~*Scene: Hill*~

Teo: We’re here!!

Teo: Is this the highest point in Regalo?

Felicita: Yup

Teo: Which means it’s no problem if I want to yell up here

Felicita: I was surprised when you asked me to take you somewhere you could yell

Teo: Sorry I made you take me all this way

Felicita: It’s alright. I had a break anyway

Teo: Whatcha got there?

Felicita: This? Oh, it’s…

(*trip) Felicita: Ah!

(*collapse)

(*reach) Teo: What’s up with you…

Felicita: T-thank you

Felicita: …Your hands are cold

Teo: Yeah, they always are, actually

Felicita: Really?

Teo: I’m different from normal people

Felicita: But, you can’t tell at all usually

Teo: Even kids can tell something’s off with me pretty quick…

Felicita: I’m sure you could get along with anyone regardless, though

Teo: I sure wish that was the case

Felicita: …Are you not feeling well?

Teo: If I was, that wouldn’t be the reason why

Teo: I just can’t stand seeing Vir and Neve all over each other…

Felicita: So that’s what you’re annoyed about

Teo: But I do like being with them

Felicita: You’re so kind

Teo: I really don’t know what to do

Felicita: About what?

Teo: I haven’t grown at all since I died

Teo: So I don’t think…I can feel love like the kind they have

Felicita: …Is that so?

Teo: Hm? Something smells good…

Felicita: Oh, Martha made us some shrimp fritto

Teo: Shrimp…!

Felicita: I mentioned skipping breakfast before going out, so she made me take them

Teo: I want some!

Felicita: We can eat together then

Felicita: They’re your favorite, right?

Teo: You remembered. Yup, I love shrimp!

Felicita: Haha. Then, you can feel love, right?

Teo: Uh…

Teo: Then…Fel

Teo: I want you to remember that

Felicita: You just want me to remember?

Teo: I don’t want to get too greedy

Felicita: You really aren’t

Teo: [Maybe…]

Teo: [If that well accident and the Philosopher’s Stone hadn’t happened…]

Teo: [I might have met you in a completely different way]

Teo: [I’d have been the next governor, and Sera would be an up-an-coming glassblower]

Teo: [Mom woulda been busy with her governor stuff, and I’d have been her assistant]

Teo: [I dream about that sometimes]

Felicita: Teo…do you have any regrets?

Teo: Didn’t I say? Vir, Neve, Mom, and Sera are all important to me

Teo: Dreaming is fun, but so is waking up

Teo: So I’m fine with how things are

Felicita: You think wanting more is greedy?

Teo: I’m not that much of a saint

Felicita: …

Felicita: I’ll make sure to remember

Teo: Where’d that come from?

Felicita: I’ll never forget Vir, Neve…or you, Teo

Felicita: So don’t worry. You can always find more things to love

Felicita: It’s not being greedy at all

Teo: You’re a really good person

Felicita: If I was, I could say something more helpful

Teo: I really am so happy

Teo: Okay…I gotta do what I came here for

Felicita: You mean yell?

Teo: And one more thing too

Felicita: ?

Teo: I gotta shout out how much I love you

~*End of Scene*~

(Back to Directory)

#arcana famiglia #arcana famiglia 2 #ending #solar translations #psp game #translation #releases

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thewatercolours · 2 years

Note

Uh hey here’s my King’s Quest fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41017731

Royal Guard Number One was really the only person in Daventry who worried about thieves. He really seemed to think his two swords were the only things standing between the town and a complete bandit ransack. The way the townsfolk left their doors open, even at night or when they were out, was a longstanding source of frustration. He had once paid out of pocket for a “Lot’s Make Daventry Locked for Everyone!” poster campaign. He’d walked straight into everyone’s kitchens and parlours to hang the posters, without knocking. Everyone grumbled and called him a snoopy housebreaker, and no one started locking their doors.

So it was all he could do to keep from running to the ramparts and crying, “Told you so,” when the rash of robberies hit.

At first it was just pumpkins from the patch south of town, and fruit off the royal trees. Surely just hungry animals, the people said. They picked through my trash too. Yeah, they made a mess of mine too, greedy beggars. Badgers, most likely. I had to get a trap from Chester and Muriel. Funny though. Didn’t think badgers liked pumpkins. Wouldn’ta thought they could carry them off, either. Hm – yeah. That is odd. Maybe they ate them on the spot. All those pumpkins in one night? Maaaaybe. Rummest thing I ever heard of. We’ve had badgers forever, and they’ve never done this.

“I woulda thought the fruit would be safe at least,” Number Two muttered. “I always sleep with the fruit picker under my pillow, just in case.”

“In case what?” Number One sneered.

“Emergencies. You know.”

“You don’t think it’s possible the fruit was picked without the picker?”

“It’s a thought.”

They had to discard the animal theory altogether once it turned into shop robberies.

Wente didn’t like to make a fuss over someone taking a shelf’s worth of bread. The poor souls probably needed it, he reasoned. If only they’d felt comfortable enough to some in and talk it over with him first. He might have been able to do them more good than just the bread. Bramble had to talk him out of hanging a sign on the door that read, “Criminals welcome – free hugs.”

Most of the odds and ends taken from the Hobblepots’ apothecary weren’t of much consequence, but eternal flame lanterns in good condition were valuable, and the theft sent them into a snit. She and Chester both claimed that of course they were intelligent enough to lock their doors, but that they assumed the other was too, and that was perhaps assuming too much. The quarrel died down once Muriel ordered a four-key chromium lock and Chester got some mantis jerky in him, but it was all very upsetting. They never tired of telling Amaya, who hadn’t been hit yet, to be on her guard and order a lock too.”

“No need,” said Amaya, fingering the blade she’d just finished embellishing. “I want ‘em to come in. If I’m gonna stay up all night on their account, I better get a decent chance to bash ‘em.”

#Thank you so much for the prompt!#:-) I love the way you began this fic! It was tremendously fun to work with #and I love the way you set the situation up - so grounded in those familiar locations we know so well! I haven't played Little Nightmare #which is why I stuck to rewriting the beginning #but it was delightful and now I may have to go on and read the rest of it!

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lxghtbound · 2 years

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the intimacy of hands // accepting!

@eggsmuses asked: [ intertwine & hold ] cayde to scout BC I LEGALLY HAVE TO ITS THEM AND I LOVE THEM

As soon as they were back in the Tower, Scout refused to let Cayde out of his sight. Sure, he’d managed to get him to safety, and free Sundance so she could heal her Guardian, but that was besides the point!

His chassis heaved with artificial breaths, mostly just for the rhythmic movement to calm himself. Worriedly, despite repeated confirmations that he would be fine, Scout insisted on coming with Cayde to the other Exo’s quarters. Now, he sat in the corner, fidgeting quietly. What if Cayde had died? Seeing him all banged up like that had clearly shook Scout, but at least Cayde had been aware enough to keep joking. ...But what if he hadn’t been? What if they’d fucked him up to the point where he couldn’t keep going?

What if they’d decided to take out Sundance too?

Another heavy shudder went through him, but this time it was a sob, rather than a breath. That seemed to steal Cayde’s attention from whatever he’d been doing, and as soon as Scout stood to get up and leave before he got emotional in front of the Vanguard, he was stolen into an embrace. The final straw that broke him was the other Hunter ever so gently entwining their fingers.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Scout’s voice was quiet, muffled as he spoke into Cayde’s shoulder, gripping his hand tightly. He gave a bitter laugh, “You gotta stop goin’ on solo missions without lettin’ anyone know properly beforehand. Woulda came with you if you asked.” In a split second of emotion, Scout lifted his head a little, before leaning down to press his mouthpiece to Cayde’s in a kiss, mumbling, “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes.” As if he himself was any better, and as if today had been anything more than terrible luck.

Right now? All he wanted to do was hold the other Hunter instead of dwell on what had happened. Ikora and Zavala would surely want some sort of report, and a description of who had done it, but that could wait.

#prince of a thousand enemies | scout #cayde | eggsmuses #ic #ask answered #scout vc: YES PLEASE HOLD ME EVERYONE ELSE IS BEING MEAN TO ME #also dont mind me basically combining this answer #with ur answer to the Imprisoned/kidnapped ask #also gotta get the kees in there #bc scout wanted

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sekhisadventures · 4 months

Text

For Quel’thalas

Dalaran, the Legerdemain Lounge

Nelen sighed as the meeting resumed, Chromie having returned to the Dragon Isles with a promise to contact the members of Avalon and Savage Untied should Nyloc make a reappearance, but for now his trail had gone cold. He could be anywhere, and given that he was a Chronomancer and working with the Infinite Dragonflight, he could be anywhen as well.

“Right… so… that’s essentially what happened.” finished Nelen, bringing the rest of his allies up to speed. The only member in absentia was Sekhi, the vulpera having returned to Orgrimmar after their last timeline jump. None of them begrudged her however. Visiting a timeline where her family had fallen to a monster like Dissonantia was a horrible experience, she needed time to process what had happened and to be around her family in this timeline.

“Bloody fel… that’s quite th’ tale lad.” rumbled Dareley, “Still, a world where Arthas returned to th’ Light. I woulda liked ta see that one…” he smiled a bit sadly. Dareley would likely have a grown-up son or daughter in that timeline. Had the Scourge not come to Lordaeron City, his wife and unborn child would still be alive and born respectively.

Jaie sighed, “Yeah. It was really something, seeing my dad again…” she nodded, “But… I don’t think I’ll tell my mom this one. It was hard on her finding out I heard his voice in the Shadowlands. She told me she didn’t want Sekhi to help her hear him, so… yeah… I’m just going to let it go.”

Shalandrae frowned, “That last one bothers me. Dissonantia came back and was the avatar of an Old God? Can she follow you back here?” she asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

Nelen shook his head, “Chromie said she couldn’t. Y’shaarj had some nasty powers, but none of them involved controlling time. It shouldn’t be possible… but… well… here’s hoping.” he shrugged awkwardly.

The group nodded at that, then Mola’raum leaned forward from his spot on the wall. He didn’t sit down for the meetings, the chairs were always too small for his lanky body. “Wut about dis ‘Nyloc’ mon? He froze us all in time ‘n tried ta gib ya. Wut be stoppin’ ‘im from doin’ it again?” he asked.

Nelen nodded, “Chromie told me, before she left, that she would visit Avalon House and Savage United Headquarters and set up some sort of temporal protections so that he can’t do that to us there. Its not a guarantee, but it should help.”

Zhan-min let out a harrumph, drinking down a mug of ale as he did, “Well I sure hope so! Th’ idea of someone knifin’ me when I can’t even see it comin’ ain’t exactly a comfortable one.”

Nelen nodded, “Still… that’s just a more personal problem for us. We still have to worry about those dreams we’ve all been having.” he pointed out, returning to the reason they had all gathered in Dalaran in the first place.

“Yeah… us hearing Azeroth’s voice… and this ‘Harbinger’ creature.” frowned Nitika, “I wonder, just how far are their voices spreading. Who else is hearing them?” she murmured.

Samantha leaned forward onto her elbows, “Anyone who is powerful enough magically, or connected to the Void somehow most likely Nitts.” she pointed out, then glanced to her side as her hair-tentacles twitched.

She and Annulus had a horrible suspicion that Nyloc may not be their only concern soon…

Oribos, the Shadowlands

Above the Eternal City floated the golden form of the Arbiter. Once a mere aspirant Pelagos had become so much more, taking on the role of the central figure to the realm of Death as he guided all who were brought there to their just rewards in the infinite realms of the Shadowlands.

However, when he took up the duties he hadn’t quite realized just how many souls that was. He was a dedicated arbiter and took his role seriously, but there were countless worlds in the Great Dark and people died every day. Some of the souls had been there for quite some time.

Swirling around him amid the sea of spirits awaiting judgement was one who was… well… probably bound for Revendreth or perhaps Maldraxxus, somewhere along those lines. He accepted this. He had no illusions that he was not exactly a good person. He had killed, for coin and for duty, but that was his life. For now he was content to let the stream carry him along. After all that had happened it was almost… peaceful.

… but such things were not meant to be.

With a small whisper the soul vanished… but there were so many that Pelagos didn’t even see it. Like a single ant vanishing from an army.

A Hidden Cellar in the Eastern Kingdoms

Pain, screaming, more pain, his body shook and thrashed as his nerves flared in agony! He gasped, his eyes screwed up and his jaw gritted so hard he could feel his teeth grinding.

Finally he jolted, his back arching before he fell still. “W… what… where…” he looked around. This was not the Shadowlands. This was… familiar…

He looked down at himself and saw, on his side, two massive gashes from a pair of daggers sewn tightly shut. “No…” he whispered, sitting up, then feeling over his face.

His skin was cold and his sense of touch was muted. Then he saw a mirror on the far wall and he let out a gasp of horror.

His face looked back at him, pale as death with eyes glowing a baleful red. “No… no!” he shouted, scooting back.

“Yes.” came an aristocratic woman’s voice.

His head snapped around, looking at the source of it. Standing there was a sin’dorei noblewoman in resplendent robes of red and gold, a set of three spheres radiating icy cold hovering around her head. At her hip was a sheathed dagger, and her other hip had a book of spells hanging off a harness built into her belt.

“Alalestria…” he whispered, “What have you done?!” he demanded, scrambling to his feet.

“What I must, to defend Quel’thalas. I did not give you leave to abandon your duties Sinranir.” she replied icily.

“Abandon… I DIED ALALESTRIA! I was done! Ended! Over! This…” he looked down at himself, but there was no mistaking it. He had seen Sylvannas plenty of times before she had been banished to the Maw, he knew exactly what she had done.

He had died, but now he was back from the dead. A Darkfallen. An undead elf.

“Have you lost your MIND?! You would use the magics of the SCOURGE of all things?!” he shouted at her, his crimson eyes narrowing in fury at what had been done to him.

“You did not see what I saw Sinranir.” she glared. “The ren’dorei are a greater threat than even I imagined. You will take up your daggers for House Wintersky once more.”

At this, the undead rogue smirked, “I think not. When I died your father’s geas died with me. Find yourself someone else. I wash my hands of this.” he sneered, making for the door. He got all of two steps before Alalestria gestured and pain shot through his body, the elven man falling to his knees with a gasp.

“Father’s geas is gone, yes… but I raised you from the dead Sinranir. Do you truly think I would not take measures to ensure that you would perform your duties?” she frowned at him, arching an eyebrow.

He hissed through his teeth, his eyes narrowing to crimson slits… but he couldn’t even reply in this state. Alalestria had him, whether he liked it or not.

She held him for a moment longer, then released him. “Now. We have armor and weapons prepared in the room across the hall. Go collect them and return to your quarters. You will have your orders in due time.” she nodded curtly, pointing to the door.

Sinranir got to his feet and glared at her, hatred for what she had done to him in every line of his face, but after a moment he nodded. “As you wish, Lady Wintersky.” he spat, leaving the room.

She watched him go, then frowned. She was not exactly happy about this either… but the dreams. That elven woman with the purple hair and eyes that glowed with the dark power of the Void.

Yes, Sam'ael and the ren’dorei must be dealt with, and soon…

#warcraft roleplay #warcraft fanfiction #adventures in azeroth #world of warcraft #dragonflight #original characters

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harrison-abbott · 6 months

Text

The daffodils had long

Died and the leaves across the forest were all

Slushy

And black now in the street gutters and the Christmas lights

Were burning expensive electricity and the man with the liver problems

Was somehow still alive and pumping all of his other lights on in the house too

And the wind was about as berserk as anybody living could ever remember it

And the cat had died recently

And she was buried in the garden and her candles

Had quickly been snuffed out by the mindless wind

And there was a blind man down the road who hadn’t been seen walking up

And down the street since his fall about ten weeks back and

Next door there was a family whose boy had committed suicide

Eleven months back and the anniversary was coming up soon

And few people knew how he had killed himself and

When you saw the remaining, alive family members on the street

You didn’t really know what to say or how to smile or wave – as if those

Actions would make anything better – and the road up the top of the neighbourhood

Had flooded and the excess water was now rolling into the little woodland

Which was in danger of becoming a gnarly bowl of trash

From once being a perfect island of childhood … but, who cared about

Things like boyhood and girlhood when people got old and realised

They barely

Gave a damn about

Anything

Anymore,

And the plot of land across the entire tiny suburb was

Quite literally threatened by the council and in

Ten years’ time they planned to build an entire new estate

For other people to come and live and this would totally destroy the

Sleepy soporific woody feel that had reigned for, oh,

About two hundred years … And there was nothing prolific to stop

All of that except maybe a madman with a gun or perhaps the

General end of the world, which seemed like it was already coming

In not too distant a time, with all the folks that were bent on ruining

The skies and whatnot … And the wind just rollicks onwards in these

Mighty gusts as I type and it’s 00:21 in Scotland, Edinburgh and

I may as well be writing nothing and everything at the same time

And it’s hard to keep a bit of faith with a planet that’s hurtling

Towards mayhem and doom and one wishes one’s goodness would

Have the zeal enough to do something about that,

And you go back to these old novels that you’ve read three times

Before and they bring a little spark of life back to you and within

The revelling pain of language you can identify and

Try and emulate [if you can] and attempt to influence somebody else

And being a writer often seems the most impossible thing on the

Planet, but, that’s what you’ve chosen to do with your days and

The novel or the book, or the essence of literature

Seems the greatest of all art forms … and yet you never know

Whether you’re any good or not and there are those classic problems

With self esteem or maybe the blunt fact that you aren’t particularly good,

Or that nobody reads your books or that you will never find

A public mass to clap for you or that you could have become

A taxi driver or a banker or a supermarket clerk or a filmmaker …

And you woulda been far better off than you are now,

In these cold desert plains …

And as the wind continues to blast you wonder where you lost

Yourself in the rhythm of time or at which point

You didn’t become he or she anymore … with your physical problems

And the snap break neck attack range of mental spasms that

Afflict you when doing something as simple as walking down the street;

And the screams you hear in the night; and the nightmares that have

Plagued you for around five years, of which you can’t piece together;

And the slights that seemed to build up like hill ranges without that

Frameable key for paintings … And the defeats and the aggression

Build up in the same way and undermine what you try to do in the

Present day and they can rip up your innards and turn your soul cold.

#writeblr #creative writing #spilled ink #poetry #poems #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #poets on tumblr

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truckreincarnation · 10 months

Text

Living Nightmare | Esmée | 1.1 | RE: Bian, Luz, Yuliya, Perry, Theophania

Esmée had been far too silent, aside from the occasional scratching of her quill against the parchment in front of her. Taking notes as though she was in some hellish seminar rather than in the midst of the trial, yet this back and forth was beginning to annoy her

“Everytime I hear Mark and Gun Gun I feel like I’m going to lose it- Ugh. Anyway.”

She places the quill down, stretching her wrists as she stares out amidst the group. She wasn’t suited for this conversation, she wasn’t suited for investigation - and yet she was here. Dumped into a place she was completely unqualified for, stuck until someone else died, and then they’d have to repeat the process again. It made her eye twitch.

“If we’re going on about where we were- I’ve already been cleared but it can just be like…I dunno. Shed light on other movements and all. Yuli is right, I was sleeping from about 9 PM to 11 PM. I uh…tried not to wake her though. Sorry.”

“I then went to the library, around liiiike. 11:06? Anyway, Vee, Theophania, Harriet and Frank were all there. I grabbed some books on stamina training so I could teach Nao better and pissed off. I left the library about 11:30 ish.”

“Saw Germain exit the lounge- then when I got to the dining hall I saw 19, she did just go in and out but she gave me a wave. So- that confirms what she said. Then I just sat down with my books to read, got interrupted by the murder announcement, so the books were left there.”

There, that was her alibi done. Yet it did nothing to make her feel less irritated, it just cleared her name. Her life was still on the line if they fucked up and got this wrong.

“So the question we’re stumped on is who’s Mark and Who’s Gun. Right? That’s it? And we’re thinking Both can be Francis. ‘Least that’s what Luz said and I’d say that could make sense- I mean.”

A glance to Bian.

“There was a gun on the scene. It was not too far from Francis’ right hand, there was a discarded gun there. A flintlock pistol I think- which is where Gun Gun comes into play. It’s loaded, but the barrel was cold. It hadn’t been fired. Again makes sense, we all woulda heard it if she fired the damn thing. But there- explanation I came up with was taken in self defence. But if we’re on the Francis set the trap up herself train, she could’ve taken it to deter someone from going in. Like, in case someone showed up while she was setting the trap up, it was a Plan B.”

Francis seemed prepared enough to have backup plans, right? Esmée simply huffed a bit as Theophania talked.

“See. Order. So she would’ve been prepared in case something went wrong. Uh…that being said like- the domains are intrinsically connected to us. You’re right there. But the way in which they are connected varies so much we might wanna connect other proof together first. Before we just throw out accusations, it’s an idea we can build on but has flaws. It IS our lives on the line here.”

#Esmée #ch1 #trial1 #submission

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yikesharringrove · 3 years

Text

Egg the Cat

Chapter 3

Read on Ao3

Billy had to double-check to make sure he hadn't accidentally followed someone else home from the party.

Because Steve lived in a fucking mansion.

“Jesus Christ .” Billy stared at the house. “You didn’t tell me you’re fucking royalty .” Steve rolled his eyes, leading Billy towards the house.

“Can it. You got the booze?” Billy shook the bottle at him.

Steve looked better. Like maybe he had gotten a bit of a handle on himself.

Billy followed him into the pool of light cast over the porch, the unmistakable scream of a very excited cat sounding from inside.

Steve pushed open the door, bending immediately to scoop up his purring cat, holding her close to him as he went inside.

Billy gave a low whistle as he took off his boots, lining them neatly next to Steve’s shoes.

Steve just climbed the stairs, assumed Billy was following.

Steve’s bedroom was nice enough.

Felt as impersonal as the rest of the gaudy house, but there was a cat tree by the window, and a cat bed Egg ignored in favor of curling up on Steve’s lap as he settled in bed, sitting up against the headboard.

Billy didn’t know what to do with himself.

Last time he was in another boy’s bedroom, very different things were happening.

But then Steve gave him an odd look, eyes flicking to the spot next to himself, and Billy took that as his cue.

“I can’t drink a lot. Gotta be home in three hours.” His dad had a very clear rule about curfew: You miss it, don’t bother coming home.

“This is for me, anyway.” Steve gave him the weakest smile Billy’s ever seen, taking the bottle from Billy’s hand, and taking a long pull.

He grimaced at the taste, gasping for breath.

“That’s fucking rank .”

“Not used to cheap liquor?” Steve swatted at his arm, but took one more pull before passing the bottle to Billy.

Egg was still settled in his lap, and Steve ran long fingers through her dark fur.

“She can always tell when I’m feeling bad. Gets extra snuggly.”

“More snuggly than at the diner?”

“Nah, that was the more. She could tell I had been freaking out looking for her.” Her ear twitched and her tail swished, like she knew they were talking about her. “She’s the smartest cat in the world, I think.” He was quiet for a few moments as Billy took a drink from the bottle. “Took better care ‘a me than Nancy ever did. That’s for damn sure.”

“Sucks that she dumped you like that. All drunk and shit.”

“Isn’t there an expression? Drunk words are sober thoughts? Wish she had gotten drunk a year ago. Woulda saved me a lot of fucking trouble.” Egg perked up, standing to pace on Steve’s lap, curling up again, her chin resting on his tummy. “See? Has a fuckin’ sixth sense for when I’m upset.” She purred, her eyes closing as Steve scratched between her ears, down her back.

“How long have you had her?”

“Like five years? Someone was just, giving her away. Said he didn’t need bad omens, or whatever. ‘Cause she’s a black cat. I think that’s fuckin stupid. She’s brought me nothing but good.” Egg purred again, blinking slowly at Steve, nipping playfully at his fingers.

She really was cute.

Billy had never been much of a cat person, always favored dogs a bit more.

But Egg was so human, the way she tracked their conversation, like she could understand it.

“Man, don’t laugh.” Steve took the bottle from Billy, taking another long pull, shuddering halfway through. “I’m already feelin’ this. Haven’t drunk in so long .”

“Pussy.” Steve huffed a laugh, Egg meowed as his stomach shifted, jostling her head. He let the silence sit for a moment, just watched Steve’s fingers stroke through thick dark fur.

“So, uh, are you like, friends with Tommy?” Steve’s voice was way too measured, his tone far too light and casual.

“Who?”

“Tommy. The guy that was parading you around all night.”

“Oh, uh Karate Kid, guy?”

“Yeah.”

“No. He just kinda started talking at me, told me to do a keg stand. Said the guy that still held the record was a poser.” Steve outright laughed at that.

“Yeah, you broke my record tonight. I’m the poser.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Billy turned to look at Steve, found him smiling this stupid fond smile at the cat on his lap. The room was dim, only one lamp clicked on, throwing a warm glow around the room.

“Can I ask you what happened? You said you used to be hot shit.”

“Nancy.” Steve’s smile evaporated like a flash. “I used to be a real douchebag. Ruled that fucking school. I mean, it’s not like I liked myself. I could definitely be called a bully, like, which sucks. But, you know. I had friends. I was popular. All that.”

“But she didn’t like that.”

“Nope.” Steve made sure to pop the ‘p’. “It’s not like she blatantly said that, but I could tell. I think that, I think that the changes have been good, like I’m nicer to people now. But I kinda cut off all my friends. Just hang out with her most of the time. And now-” Steve trailed off, taking another swig of shitty tequila. “Guess it’s just me and Eggy.”

“You say that like I’m not sitting right here.” Steve smiled at him, a real one, not the tight ones he’s been using all night.

“You hang out with me, you’re gonna be a fucking laughing stock, new kid.”

“Oh, come on. Have you seen me? I could literally never be a laughing stock. If anything, I'll make you cool again.” Steve just hmmmn ed at Billy, his eyes going a little far away.

“I don’t know if I really, really care about that anymore, if I’m being honest.” He swallowed thickly. “Some major shit went down last year. Like, more than Nancy shit. Kinda put things in perspective, I guess.” Egg had sat up, kneading at Steve’s stomach, making a noise like a little cat alarm.

Egg was so in tune with Steve it was utterly fucking ridiculous. They must be wired directly into one another’s brains.

“What kinda major shit?” Steve was quiet. Egg began walking up him, stepping softly until she settled on his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder, little pink nose tucked into his neck.

“Just like, major shit. Like, like people died kinda major.”

“Damn.”

“Like, I legally can’t talk about it kinda major.” Egg sniffed in his neck.

“What, you get mixed up in some kinda lawsuit or some shit?” Steve just sighed.

“Man, I just said I legally can’t say anything.” But he had a ghost of a smile on his face when he turned to look at Billy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Free country.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Why Hawkins ?”

“You asked me that like, three times yesterday.”

“And you never answered.”

“I said my dad remarried and wanted a-”

“Fresh start, yeah. But you could move one town over and have that. You could stay in the same damn state and do that. Why Hawkins ?”

There was something more behind Steve’s voice, something strained.

Billy just looked back up at the ceiling.

He had to take a breath, talking himself out of actually telling Steve. Telling him how Neil wanted him out of California, where gay bars were only a short drive away. Where Billy could cruise the piers, where a carefully toned you goin’ my way? could lead to a sloppy blowjob in the car.

Hawkins wasn’t necessarily specific, but Neil had wanted a small, God-fearing town. One where he would know if Billy got up to anything unsavory.

“He found a job here,” he said lamely.

Everything in him was screaming to trust Steve. To tell him the truth. Which was just a fuck of a lot. Billy doesn't trust people. He just does not.

He blames Steve.

Blames those soft brown eyes.

“Well, that’s thrilling .” Billy rolled his eyes, smiling a little to himself.

“What were you expecting?”

“Something more exciting. You moved here from California. That’s like, the coolest place ever .”

“I lived in L.A., too.”

“So like, the coolest place in the coolest place.”

“You ever been?” Steve just gave him a dark look.

“Last time I left the state was ten years ago. My parents took me to Chicago.”

“Damn. You’re like, a true hick, then. Only know this little town.”

“That’s me. Pure hick .” He scratched Egg’s back hip. She purred softly. Billy took another long drink, officially calling that his last one. He needed to be sober by the time he went home. Couldn’t be loud and clumsy as he made his way to his room.

He just pressed the bottle into Steve’s hand.

They spent the rest of the time before Billy had to leave just talking.

It was nice, Steve filling him in on the Hawkins drama, told him which gas stations had better candy selections, that the liquor store on the corner of Haven and Burbank didn’t card. He told him that Andrew Conner always had good weed, but it was cheaper to buy from Lisa Kendle.

And the more Steve drank, the more his eyes drooped, the lazier his smiles got, the closer he scoot to Billy.

He was warm, pressed up to Billy’s side, cat still curled on his chest.

He listened with rapt attention as Billy gave him stories about California, about the boardwalk and metal shows, told him stories of his best hookups, told him they were girls.

He was in the middle of one story, switched out the name from Daniel to something more appropriate, when he looked over, found Steve knocked out, mouth hanging open, tequila dangerously close to spilling, cat sleeping soundly on his chest.

It made Billy falter.

He just took in the scene, wanting to remember it.

He moved slowly, tried not to shift the bed too much, and turned out the light in Steve’s bedroom as he left.

#yikes writes #egg the cat #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #i refuse to pay attention in class today thanks

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

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

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

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

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

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mamabearcat · 3 years

Note

9: a missing moment from canon 💜

Okay. Sorry in advance. This ended up a lot angstier than I'd planned.

The thing is, Kagome is a modern girl in a very violent and unforgiving time period, and I'm sure she saw a lot of things that she wasn't emotionally prepared for. And she's such an empathic character, she would take those situations to heart, and they would affect her a lot.

I'm going to put this under a read more. Contains a death (not main character) and canon level violence. I'm going to put it in my AO3 one-shot collections as well.

“Kagome? Can I get the kettle out of your backpack?”

Kagome startled at the sound of Sango’s voice so close to her, and the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly she realised that everyone had been setting up the camp around her while she’d been sitting on a tree root, silently staring into space.

“Oh Sango-chan, I’m sorry, let me help!”

Sango smiled at her wanly, her lips barely turning up at the corners, squeezing Kagome’s shoulder gently.

“It’s fine Kagome-chan. Just rest here a moment.”

“O-okay.”

And she was left alone with her thoughts again. Swirling thoughts she didn’t really want. Thoughts she wished she could bleach out of her mind, like Mama did with the stains on white tablecloths. Soak her whole self in a bucket of bleach to be hung out on the line, and go back to being sunny carefree Kagome, who’s main worry of the week was if she managed to remember the quadratic equation for that math quiz. Not the Kagome who had just seen that village. That hut. Not the Kagome who had held that boy. Not the Kagome who… killed.

“Here, there’s someone alive over here!” Shippou called out frantically, his tiny paws incapable of pulling aside the ruins of the toppled and still smouldering hut. In a flash Inuyasha was there, lifting heavy boards, kicking aside matting and broken furniture until he could make his way inside.

“Inuyasha!”

Kagome followed him into the partially collapsed hut, medical kit in hand, but Inuyasha turned to block her view.

“Don’t go in Kagome, you can’t do no good in there.”

There was a faint, gurgling cry, and Kagome slipped under his outstretched arm to glance around the room. There had been fire. There were arrows. There was blood. There was a woman, her eyes open but no longer seeing, her torn clothing no longer protecting either her modesty or the horrific end she had come to. And there was a boy.

He was young, probably around Souta’s age. But the gash across his throat and horrific burns covering half his face and chest made him look monstrous, and Kagome had to clench her teeth hard against the bile forcing it’s way up her throat. The smell was horrific, and she panted for a moment as she knelt next to the boy, trying to get herself under control. His one eye focused on her face.

“Ma…” he gurgled. Kagome glanced aside to the woman on the floor and then back to the boy, concentrating her gaze on the unmarked side of his face, smoothing the blood soaked hair off his forehead as she gathered her courage, then forced herself to take stock of his injuries for a moment. She blinked quickly, fighting back tears. Even if she tried to treat those burns, the amount of blood he’d lost from where his throat was cut, the actual cut itself – she had no way to fix this. Even a modern hospital would have trouble fixing this. She took a deep breath.

“I’m Kagome, and I’m going to give you something to take the pain away”, she said softly.

She reached into her medical kit and took out the tiny dark bottle that Kaede had given her. The one that came with extremely strict instructions and should only be used in very specific circumstances. There was no way she could save this boy. Left for dead by samurai soldiers and then horrifically burnt by the hut they’d set alight. The hut that had once been his home, his safe place. They had arrived too late to help, long after the samurai had left. She couldn’t do anything to take those violent memories away for him. But at least she could take his pain away.

Being as gentle as she could she dribbled the mixture into the child’s mouth, humming softly to him and stroking back his hair as she waited for the medicine to take effect. Gradually the ragged breathing slowed and his eye rolled back as a great sigh, and then another left his body.

Her trembling hand slid down his face to close his eye as the silent tears came. Tears for a little boy she would never know, a boy from a different time, but who in essence was probably very similar to the little brother she loved.

Inuyasha stood behind her silently, waiting for her to be ready to move aside. For a while, he’d sat in the hut with Kagome and the boy, listening to her quiet hum and the gasping breaths of the boy, watching the movement of the gentle hand. But in the end, he hadn’t been able to sit still any longer, his fingers twitching helplessly, and had gone outside to dig the graves. At least with that he was useful.

When Kagome finally wobbled to her feet, he picked up the little boy, barely a weight in his arms, and carried him outside to place in the grave. When he came back for the mother, Kagome had found a charred blanket to wrap her in, and had closed her eyes.

When the graves for all the villagers had been filled and Miroku had chanted the sutras, with Sango laying some wildflowers she’d managed to find not far away, Kagome had leaned on Inuyasha bonelessly, holding Shippou in her arms. It felt like she should still be crying, but her tears had dried up to be replaced by a feeling of emptiness. A hollow rage that had no where to go.

And that rage still filled her. The unfairness of it. There had been no reason for the people in that small village to have died. There had been barely twenty of them. It had obviously been a small farming community, a poor one, with nothing worth stealing. The only thing stolen had been their lives, their dignity, by men who had no compassion or soul.

“Kagome?”

Little Shippou was standing there in front of her, holding out a plate. Plain rice, with fish cooked over the fire.

But one look at the blackened blistered skin that she usually loved to eat had her bolting into the darkness as far from the camp as she could manage before she collapsed over a large tree root, hurling the meagre contents of her stomach onto the forest floor. The dry sobs came then as she gripped the bark under her fingernails, feeling them bend and crack as she put all her strength into it.

“Hey.”

Inuyasha was there, holding back her hair, his hand warm on her back.

“It’s not fair”, she gasped. “They didn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair”, he said, his usually gruff voice gentle.

“And I know what you’re going to say. And I know it too. I need to be tougher, harder. I need to get used to seeing things like that. I need to be stronger.”

The hand on her back rubbed gently.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything of the sort.”

He sighed then, and she felt herself being pulled backwards into his arms as he picked her up and moved away from the meagre pile of vomit, sitting down against a tree closer to the campsite, holding her tightly against him, kissing her forehead.

“You are a good person Kagome. Kaede woulda done the same.”

“I’m not a good person”, she whispered. “I killed him Inuyasha. That little boy.”

“No you didn’t.” He ignored her shaking head. “He woulda died anyway, all alone. You gave him peace, and you were there for him when he needed someone the most.”

Kagome shut her eyes, and he turned her face to his.

“Look at me. Kagome look at me.”

His eyes were the most earnest she’d ever seen them, and she couldn’t help the small sob that escaped her.

“You don’t need to be hard. You don’t!”

He stroked her hair gently as she pressed her face into his chest, tears streaming.

“Your heart, your… softness. It’s one of the things I like about ya the most. Because that soft heart a yours looked at a shitty hanyou like me and decided I was okay.”

She snorted at him through her tears, pushing at his chest with a weak fist.

“You’re better than okay, dummy!”

“Better than okay”, he chuckled. “I’ll take that. But I'm be'in serious here, you don’t gotta change, alright? Not one bit a you. You stay the same Kagome. I could never have sat beside that kid like you did. You keep be’in you, and I’ll be here to look after you.”

“O-okay…”

They sat silently for a while in the darkness, the only sounds the crackling of the nearby campfire and the wind in the leaves.

“Do ya think you could eat a little, or do ya need to go to sleep.”

“Maybe… just… not the fish.”

“Fair enough. Can ya walk?”

“Yeah.”

When they got back to the campsite, Shippou was crying in Sango’s arms as she murmured soft words to him, and Kagome’s heart lurched. Letting go of Inuyasha’s hand she held out her arms.

“Shippou, I’m okay", she said, trying to make her tone light and encouraging. "You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just sad. But I bet if you gave me a hug, I’d feel much better?”

Seeing her, Shippou bounded over to her and into her arms, hugging her tight, sobbing out his apologies for making her ill, and she hummed to him, stroking his soft hair away from his forehead. Here was a little boy who needed her right now, who she could help. And that made the rage lessen a little.

But she would never forget.

#mamabearcat fanfics #i'm sorry #inukag snippet #inukag writing ask

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

Through Hoods, Through Lace, Through Hearts--We'll Find Our Healing PT.1

Jason Todd x Reader Story (Arkhamverse)

Word Count: 2.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I started playing Arkham Knight again and got inspired. Who woulda thought?? Enjoy! -Thorne

Gotham wasn’t exactly safe since Batman—or Bruce Wayne—had died. All things considered, it wasn’t as bad as it used to be now that Red Hood had moved in and started tackling the criminals Batman had left behind—permanently. Killer Moth had been the first and Roman Sionis was the second to go, and while Red Hood hadn’t outright claimed it, the leftover crew that hadn’t been pumped full of lead, had said that they saw the vigilante leaving, so it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. And it didn’t stop there.

Red Hood had started in on Penguin’s gang too. Now that Batman wasn’t around to stop the weapons and drug smuggling, it’d given the infamous gang leader a free ticket into Gotham. There were some reports about the neighboring vigilante Nightwing coming over from Blüdhaven to stop him. Rumor had it that someone said they even saw him and the Red Hood working together at one point, but it didn’t seem all to believable as the latter didn’t seem to be the partnering type.

That being said, with no one to stop him from killing all the criminals he wanted, a lot of the small-time fish got out of the business, not wanting to be met at the end of Red Hood’s handguns—it’s the exact reason she got out of the game. The money was good, and she was a damn good thief, but no amount of payout was worth her life. But somehow, trouble always managed to find her again.

***

Her file might’ve gotten deleted from GCPD’s database, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take the easy way down the street and risk an officer recognizing her. She stuck to the back alleys like usual, ignoring the catcalls and sleazy comments about her outfit, but still keeping her brass knuckles around her hand—could never be too careful in Gotham.

Working an honest job sucked in her opinion, and the only thing more humiliating than working at Super-Babes was the number of tips she was getting at the end of her shift. Maybe if she smiled and flirted a bit more, they’d give her a tenner instead of a fiver. She’d half a mind to shove that five down the asshole’s throat after he ran his hand up the back of her thigh, but she was lucky that Tony had been working the kitchen shift—watching him throw the guy out on his ass was payment enough.

Even if she was managing to scrape by, working a restaurant job was kicking her ass, and something deep inside her itched for one more heist, but with the Red Hood stalking the city, there was no way in hell that she was going to risk it. The man had a reputation for leaving bodies and shell cases, and she wasn’t going to be the former. No, she was working towards a better future, getting back on track, and even if she was waitress, she was doing a lot better than most of the old crew. Most of them had either joined up with Black Mask, in hindsight, a horrible error on their part, or gotten thrown back into lockup. She was lucky—she got out during the recovery of Gotham after the whole Scarecrow and Arkham Knight deal. But that didn’t stop them from sending her the occasional request of her skills. All they received was a big ‘fuck no and fuck you’.

“(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Finally tracked you down.” Speak of the devil.

“Alex,” she sighed heavily as she turned halfway, catching sight of her old partner—and old flame, but that wasn’t important. “Figured you would at some point.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Alex chuckled and leaned against the wall. “No need to be so touchy. I just wanted to talk.”

(Y/N) shook her head and hiked her purse higher onto her shoulder, fingers tightening around the brass knuckles in her pocket.

“If it’s not about my next shift at Super-Babes, I don’t give a rat’s ass what it is,” she countered, glaring at him.

“That’s where you’ve been working?” he questioned, but his tone gave way to the knowingness in his gaze. “Really?”

“Not like there’s anywhere else for ex-thieves to apply, Alex,” (Y/N) grumbled. “Employers are pretty meticulous when it comes to criminal records.”

“I’m not.”

She glowered at him. “I’m not interested in whatever you want me to do for you.”

“Even if you’ll get paid?” he suggested.

“I can’t believe I’m going to ask,” she sighed, eyes narrowing at the grin that split across his face. “What are you doing?”

Alex pulled out a file and walked up to her. “I knew you couldn’t resist a big payout.”

“Fuck you,” she grunted, swiping the manilla folder from him. “Shine a light for me.”

He pulled out his phone and flicked his flashlight on, watching as she read the papers, occasionally flipping the sheets.

All at once, she paused and gaped at him. “Wayne Manor?” She blinked. “You wanna `excavate Wayne Manor?”

Alex nodded and turned the flashlight off, stowing the phone back into his pocket. “Good plan, isn’t it?”

(Y/N) breathed in shock and lowered the folder. “Are you insane?”

“I’m failing to see your issue with this.”

“You want to excavate the home of a dead man. You really can’t see the issue with it?”

“That he’s dead?” Alex offered. “Technically that’s not graverobbing. He’s been dead for like a year and a half.”

(Y/N) turned and took a step. “That’s not the issue Alex!” She spun back around and hissed, “Bruce Wayne was Batman.”

“Keyword was. Not anymore.”

“I don’t give a shit. If Bruce Wayne was Batman, then there’s a very strong chance that there’s still defenses laid around the grounds.”

“In that pile of rubble? Not likely, but that’s why I need you to help me.”

“No,” (Y/N) declared. “I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

Alex let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why not? You never really liked Batman. Didn’t he put you in jail once or twice?”

“Bruce Wayne was a good man that did his best to help this city whether he was dressed as Batman or not.” She affirmed. “He saved people, gave them jobs, helped them turn their lives around. No,” she shook her head. “I don’t want any part of this job, Alex. Now, later, or forever. I’m trying to do better, and you should too.”

Alex scoffed. “Oh please, getting tips for dressing like slutty Wonder Woman isn’t doing better (Y/N), and you know it.”

She ignored the insult and shrugged. “Maybe not, but I go to sleep at night knowing that I’m not going to get shot by Red Hood or some greedy gangbanger.”

At that, Alex paused and stared at her. “Are you really afraid of that prick?”

(Y/N) scowled. “That pricktook out Black Mask and his entire operation within twenty-four hoursthen immediately turned his attention on the rest of the scumbags in this city.” Taking a step towards him, she added, “He doesn’t break bones and leave you lying in pain like Batman did, Alex. He makes sure you don’t get up again. Ever. I’m not risking my neck for anything that’s stuck in Wayne’s basement.”

The man across from her was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I can’t sway you in any way?”

She yanked her hand out of her jacket pocket and flashed the knuckles around her hand. “I’d stop swaying and start running instead.”

Alex opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was, “Oh fuck!” then he spun around and hauled off like his ass was on fire.

(Y/N) stood there dumbfounded. Sure, she could be intimidating, but there was no way she was that scary. Instead of questioning it, she shrugged and shoved the folder into her skirt, then turned sharply on her heel to start on her way back to her apartment. Until she walked straight into someone’s chest.

She gasped as she stumbled backwards, knowing she was going to fall on her ass when strong hands grasped her upper arms, keeping her upright. (Y/N) looked up and met the very man she’d been talking about. Suddenly, Alex’s explicative and escape made perfect sense.

“Oh fuck!” she blurted out, and impulsively swung her knuckled fist at the jaw of his helmet. He caught her hand with an ease and spun her around, pressing her front up against the brick wall.

“Fuck me. Oh, fuck me,” she hissed, cursing herself for not telling Alex to stick it where the sun didn’t shine the second he found her. Now here she was about to get murdered by a trigger-happy vigilante with a grudge.

“Really? Right here? But someone could see us?” The humor in his tone drew a startled laugh from her and she pressed her cheek against the wall, so she could see him.

“I swear to God I don’t have anything to do with him. Fuck, I’ll tell you whatever you want about him and his plan if you don’t kill me.” (Y/N) sucked in a breath. “Please don’t kill me. I swear I stopped pulling heists after Halloween last year. I work a decent job. I keep my nose clean. I don’t get involved in that shit anymore. Please, God, don’t—”

“Will you stop talking for like ten seconds?” Red Hood griped, one hand leaving the grasp he had on her arms behind her back to feel around her middle.

“HEY!” she shouted, thrashing wildly. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!”

He pressed her harder to the wall. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you get your fucking hands out of my skirt your fucking pervert!” (Y/N) spat, leaning on one leg to kick at him with the other.

“All I want is what’s in your skirt,” he sighed and pressed one of his thighs against the one kicking him. “Christ,you’re a handful.”

“And you’re a fucking sicko!” she retorted indignantly. “Is this how you get your rocks off? Assaulting innocent women? You’re so fucking disgu—”

“Got it,” Red Hood declared, and yanked out the file she’d shoved in the side of her skirt. (Y/N) fell silent when he held it beside her head. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

She could tell he was smirking behind the red helmet and she scowled at him. “You’re fucked up, buddy.”

Shrugging, he flipped open the file and started reading. “Would’ve been easier if you hadn’t tried to run on me.”

“Well excuse me for thinking I was about to get murdered and having the initial instinct to haul ass.”

Red Hood chuckled at that, and despite how wrong the entire situation was, the low drawl made shivers go down her spine.

“Wanna tell me about your friend?” he coaxed and (Y/N) froze.

“He’s not my friend,” she suddenly protested. “I haven’t been around Alex since last year.”

“Really? You two seem fairly chummy.”

(Y/N) craned her neck to look at him. “We used to fuck when we worked together.”

“Mhm,” he hummed knowingly. “Lover’s spat then?”

Barking a laugh, she countered, “Like you wouldn’t believe.” She stared at him. “I got out when you started putting people down. Didn’t want to be a casualty.”

“That’ll do it,” he snickered. “So, you don’t know what Alex’s been up to since last year?”

“No, and I want it to stay that way, but he thinks that if he waves enough heists in my face, I’ll cave and run back to the money.” (Y/N) groaned and rested her head against the wall. “Look, I don’t know what he’s planning, and I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with whatever that plan it. Honest to God.”

She gazed at him, feeling something akin to tears gathering in her vision, and pled, “Take the file. Hell, take all the money I’ve got in my purse if you want, just don’t kill me.” A single tear ran down her cheek. “Please, I’m begging you. I don’t wanna die now.”

Red Hood’s weight disappeared from her back and he murmured, “I’m not going to hurt you. I want the opposite in fact.” The honesty in his words made her body feel weak and her knees started to go out beneath her. “And there she goes.” He caught her before she fell.

Gently lowering her to the ground, he helped her sit against the wall. (Y/N) leaned her head back and let out a long sigh.

“Oh, thank God.”

He laughed. “Life flashing before your eyes?”

She gave a half-hearted smile. “You’ve got no idea.”

This time when he laughed, it was dark, and it made her stomach churn. “Actually, I do.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them, then he knelt in front of her, handing her purse back to her.

“Here.”

(Y/N) took it with a nod and stared at him. “So, what happens now?”

He was quiet for a moment, then he waved the file. “I go stop your friends from digging around Batman’s home.”

“Good luck,” she replied, starting to her feet when he tutted.

“Ah-ah-ah.” He motioned for her to sit back down. “We’re not done yet.”

She grunted at him. “What do you want?”

“Information on your friends.”

(Y/N) felt her brows furrow. “Can’t you find that out yourself?”

Red Hood shrugged. “I could, but I’m always looking to make my job easier.” He observed her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of hundred-dollar bills.

Waving it in front of her, he said, “You tell me what you used to do for them and what all they’ve got going on, and you can have this.”

(Y/N)’s jaw went tight as she stared at the roll. That could pay rent and bills for at least two months. She needed the money. Her eyes darted to the mask and she swiped for the roll, but he raised it out of her reach.

“Nope,” he ribbed. “Info first.”

“Ass,” she grumbled, but conceded with a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way.” (Y/N) clambered to her feet and dusted off her tacky skirt, watching as he did the same.

“Follow me to my apartment.” Before he could say a word, she thrust a finger into his chest. “And do it from the rooftops so people don’t see you.” Her face set in a glare. “I don’t need any unwanted guests trying to get in because they saw you following me.”

She started off when Red Hood grabbed her forearm, not harshly, but firm enough to make her stop and stare at him questioningly.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked, not expecting that. “It’s (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).”

He nodded. “And what did they call you when you worked as a thief?”

(Y/N) huffed. “Not everyone has an alias, Red Hood.”

Chuckling, he retorted, “Yeah, but someone as pretty as you no doubt had one.”

She felt her stomach flutter at his flirt and her cheeks warmed as she looked away and replied, “They used to call me, ‘The Lady in Lace’.”

“The Lady in Lace?” he repeated, then stood next to her and pulled out a grappling gun. “Have a matching outfit, Lady Lace?”

(Y/N) shoved him in the side. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I think I’d rather see,” Red Hood flirted and pressed the button, shooting off towards the roof of the building.

It was gonna be a long night.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader imagines #jason todd x reader imagine #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x reader imagines #red hood x reader imagine #dc comics #dc imagine #dc imagines #batman arkham knight #arkham knight #arkhamverse

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

If you are still taking meet ugly prompts, sternclay 22 nsfw???

Here you go!

22: you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship.

Note: I interpreted "first date" loosely. Slight content warning for mentions of blackmail, including blackmailing someone into a relationship.

It’s hard to tell where the sting of gin on his tongue ends and the sharpness of the pines through the window begins. The combination would invigorate him were it not for the conversation playing out at the other end of the short bar.

“...Last time, I’m not leaving.” The bartender, a mountain of a man who Joseph would love to climb, has been dealing with a persistent suitor for the better part of an hour. They’re the only people in the place; ski season is far behind them and summer isn’t here yet.

“C’mon, you’ve got no reason to hang around.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” The bartender finishes cleaning glasses, turns to put them up.

“Don’t you fucking turn your back on me! I’m not through with you, oughta drag you outta here by your hair you cheap, dull-”

The next word is an unkind name for men who, like Joseph, prefer men in their beds. The bartender doesn’t respond, though his hands tighten around the glasses. Damn it, the world did not go for a second war just for him to let everyday evil slide by.

“That’s enough.” Joseph stands, moving to where the other patron wobbles on his stool, “him being uninterested doesn’t give you the right to abuse him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy.”

“I know that if you don’t leave, I’ll escort you out.”

The man throws up his hands, spits at Joseph’s feet before stumbling and stomping for the door, “Three years, Barclay, you’re throwing away three years in one night, and you’re gonna regret it. I’ll make sure you do!”

“Don’t think you will.” Barclay mumbles as the door slams. He’s twisting his dishrag to the point it’s ripping.

“Three years? Good lord, I thought he was just a run-of-the-mill drunk.”

“Nope. If you can call him tracking me down every few months a relationship.”

“I’m sorry.” Joseph pulls out his handkerchief, kneeling to clean up the spit, “still, I apologize for getting in the middle of a, um, lovers quarrel.”

“Please don’t, I’m glad you stepped in. Don’t know what I woulda done if you hadn’t.” His brown eyes study Joseph more closely, “have I seen you here before?”

“Through there.” He indicates the pass-through to the kitchen, “I come here as often as I can since the food can’t be beat.”

“Thanks.” Barclay smiles, starts wiping the counter, “yeah, Dani usually tends bar after the kitchen closes but her wife is down with the flu. Only seemed fair to let her take time to look after her.”

A big heart to go with a big frame? Joseph’s in big trouble.

“You, uh, you up here for the lakes or…” He’s now directly across from Joseph, sliding a fresh gin and tonic in front of him.

“I’m a private detective, a one man operation as of 1949; Kepler’s the optimal spot for me, since it’s between the mountain towns and the eastern edge of the city. That’s a lot of people who might need help. Not to mention lots of the residents closer to the lakes are wealthy, the kind where they’re always looking for someone to trail a straying spouse or track down the pearls their no-good layabout son sold for dope.” He lets a little bit of scorn enter his voice in hopes of letting Barclay know he doesn’t always agree with his clients, but that a man has to make a living.

Barclay rolls his shoulders, then leans forward, “any fun cases so far?”

Joseph pulls off his jacket as he thinks; if Barclay’s really interested, they might be here awhile.

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

He’s an early riser, so the banging on the door to his house (and office) interrupts his breakfast and not his rest. Joseph opens it and then fights to keep it that way.

“Detective Hayes. This is a surprise.” He smiles.

“I’m not here to catch up, Stern. I’m here so you can answer one, simple question: where were you between eleven-thirty and midnight last night?”

“In the dining room at Amnesty Lodge, talking with the bartender. If you need to verify that, just go to the Lodge and ask for Barclay.”

Hayes glowers in a way he recognizes as, “this won’t be an easy case like I assumed” and turns without a word. Two officers follow him. The third, Dewey, hesitates. He’d always been a pal. Joseph shoots him a confused look.

“Guy got shot in the woods near the Lodge last night. His only known contact in town was the bartender, and everyone else we questioned said the two had been arguing for a few days. Hayes thought the cook was a shoo-in to book but, well, his alibi aligns with what you said. Plus, some ranger Owens talked to said he saw Barclay talking to someone in the dining room at the time of the murder. Guess he was walking by the window on his way to-”

“Dewey! Get the hell over here!”

As his informant scurries up the hill to join the others, Joseph steps back inside to finish his toast. He only gets through one piece before the phone rings, summoning him to the managers office at Amnesty Lodge.

Madeline “Mama” Cobb sits behind her desk, whittling with the kind of force that suggests she’s doing this in place of putting her knife to another use.

“Barclay tells me you’re a detective.”

“That’s right, Miss. Cobb.”

“Great. I’m hirin’ you to find out who the hell killed his useless ex and is tryin to frame him for it.”

He sits down, intrigued, “I thought the police were handling the investigation.”

“I ain’t inclined to trust ‘em. Barclay can’t think of someone who’d set him up, and the police don’t think he was. Yet. But I happen to know there were scraps of a shirt Barclay owns on the trees nearby and that the fella who died had this on him.”

She holds a crumpled paper out. He unfolds it, reads, “Come to the old mill at a quarter until midnight. B.” He looks up, “meant to stand for Barclay, one would assume?”

“Yep. Whoever wrote that did a decent job forgin it.”

“How can you be sure it’s fake?”

“Because I got plenty of documents where Barclay describes a time. He just uses numbers, not words like ‘quarter until.”

“Did you suspect a set-up before you lifted this from the body so the cops wouldn’t find it?” Joseph tucks the note into his inside pocket.

“Course I did. You’re new in town, but there ain’t a person here who’d say Barclay is anythin but gentle. He ain’t about to shoot someone in cold blood, even that fucker.” She sighs, takes off her hat and runs a hand through greying hair, “that boy is as good as a brother to me. I know he’s been through some rough shit. He don’t deserve to get caught up in some goddamn murder scheme. So name your price, Mr. Stern; so long as it keeps him outta trouble, I’ll pay it.”

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

He’s elbow-deep in Barclay’s dresser when the cook returns from his shift; he gave Joseph permission to search his room for signs of whoever took his shirt, but still, the other man doesn’t seem pleased with his presence.

“I’m sorry, but I have to be thorough. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”

“S’fine.” Barclay slumps down on the bed. After a moment he murmurs, “I know Mama hired you, but is there anyway I can convince you to quit? She, the Lodge doesn’t have much cash to spare this time of year. I don’t want anyone going without on my account and, and maybe this will all blow over if I just lie low, y’know?”

“It might. But until I think that’s the outcome, I’m inclined to agree with Miss. Cobb that we should work to keep you clear of this. And” he watches Barclay stand, moving to the window so he won’t have to see Joseph rifling through his life, “I promise that if it comes down to getting paid or bankrupting the Lodge, I’ll stop taking my fee. This is a good place and, um, it clearly means a lot to you. That makes it worth some belt-tightening on my end.”

“Thanks.” Barclay stares into the woods, then looks over his shoulder, “Joseph, I-”

It’s only because the mirror is above the dresser that he sees the black barrel peek from the trees. With no time to yell, he dives forward, pulling Barclay to the floor as the first bullet makes shards of the window.

“What the fuck?!” Barclay covers his head as another shot flies over them

“I think we just confirmed Miss. Cobb’s theory!” He pops up, fires once, and drops back down. Whoever’s in the trees isn’t expecting someone armed, so in place of another bullet they get breaking branches.

Joseph gives chase, leaping out the window and sprinting into the trees. Were they in downtown L.A, hell, even if he was still in Chicago, he’d have a better chance of staying on his target. But there’s no paths, no short-cuts, and every tree looks the same at this speed, cloaking the shape in the distance. Worst of all, he discovers that instead of dead-ending at a brick wall, he dead ends at a rockface.

Oh, and his hand is bleeding. He must have cut himself jumping out the window.

It looks like his investigation just took on a bodyguard element, and his wish to spend more time with Barclay could end with them both looking like swiss cheese.

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

“You could talk to Duck.” Barclay finishes bandaging the slash on the back of Joseph’s left hand, “he works in the state park near here and knows a ton about the layout of the woods. There, not too tight?” He sits back on his heels as Joseph tests the tightness of the bandage.

“It’s great, big guy. Um, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“I don’t mind it” he winks, “pretty boy.”

His visit with Duck the next day, while informative, doesn’t give him much insight into how their assailant disappeared, especially when Duck points out that the rock face he ran across is over a mile long and hard to climb without equipment or a death wish. At least the ranger outfits him with a map with written-in details; most are about trails that are likely to be muddy (and thus hold prints) or spots where a person might be able to hide. And some hike recommendations, just because.

He tries not to think about taking Barclay on the one to a secluded lake and fucking him under the stars.

His schedule alternates between sitting in his office taking and making calls, shadowing Barclay when he’s out on errands or otherwise vulnerable (he’s spent more than a few nights on the floor of his room, that velvety baritone talking to him until they both fall asleep), and scouring the woods for clues.

A jay heckles a squirrel, which surrenders it’s pinecone and scrambles along the rocks. He’s wishing he could be so nimble when it climbs up and then...disappears. Following it, he discovers what he dismissed as endless rock is an optical illusion; the rocks above and behind align with the ones in front and below to make it seem as if it’s a flat face. But when he climbs over the bottom rock, he finds a narrow slot canyon. One big enough for a human.

Fifteen minutes of granite scratching his back later, he’s at the other side of the rocks. Smoke curls up his nose, and he trails the scent to a cabin which, according to Duck, is on a strange pocket of private property, just up a frontage road. Stranger still is the sign out front.

I.C All

Tarot, Palm Reading, and Other Psychic Services.

He knocks as wind chimes sing lazily around him.

“Come in!”

The first room is divided by a curtain, the half he’s in a rather eclectic waiting room. The dining room and kitchen are probably on the other side of the pink and yellow cloth.

Waiting for him in the next room is a man with a distinctly beatnik air about him, from his red glasses down to his brightly colored shawl and shoulder length hair. Laid out before him is a tarot deck, crystal ball, and several black candles. But that’s not what concerns Joseph.

“Before I sit down, can you ask your friend hiding in the bureau to come out?”

“Fuck” the beaura hisses, “uh, I mean, uh, there ain’t, uh, fuck-”

“It’s alright dearest, I suspect we may all benefit from this.” He gestures for Joseph to sit, “Apologies, but my hope was you were either a client I could turn away or one in search of a brief reading that I could perform before returning to more...pleasurable activities.” He grins as none other than Duck Newton steps from the creaky wooden bureau, looking like he’s been wrestling a very amorous tiger.

“Afternoon, Joe.” Duck sits on the nearby couch, “didn’t take you for the fortune tellin’ type.”

“I’m more interested in whether Mr…”

“Cold, but my friends call me Indrid.”

“Whether Indrid has noticed anyone coming and going on his property without permission?”

“I can’t say that I have, though it’s hard to do so; the walkway is guarded by Beacon, our dog, and everything but the walk up to the cabin is fenced off or, well, a massive wall of rock.”

“...Come with me.”

Soon, Duck is studying the slot canyon while Indrid worries his lower lip.

“I had no idea this was here.”

“No one did. It ain’t on any of the maps, and I never heard of anyone findin it on accident.” Duck pulls back, popping his hat on as he turns to Joseph, “this got somethin to do with Barclay?”

“I think whoever shot at us used this to get away. For all we know, the person who killed Mr. Douglas did the same.”

“To think, I encouraged Barclay to come here even more often once he told me his predicament; I thought no one could approach us without me seeing them coming. No, no this will not do at all” he shakes his head, “he needs to go see her.”

“You know he won’t, sugar.”

“He must. It’s the safest place for him. And the last anyone will look.”

Joseph looks between them, but before he can ask Indrid simply says, “You should ask Barclay about the Greenbank House. That story isn’t ours to tell.”

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

“Home sweet home.” Barclay grumbles as he and Joseph step out of the car and into the shadow of a mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in Lakeshore. It took all of his friends telling him he should go--and Joseph assuring him it’s location meant it wouldn’t look like he was trying to run away from the scene of the murder--for the cook to agree to a stay at his family home.

“What are you afraid of?” Joseph keeps his tone gentle as they climb the front steps. His friend had simply said he had unhappy memories of the house and would rather live in a mausoleum then stay there.

“It’s more dread. You’ll see when we get inside.” He knocks on the front door. It’s opened by the least congruous face imaginable; a man with greying hair and a groundskeepers clothes. When he sees Barclay, a smile bursts across his face.

“Barclay! How are you kiddo?”

“I’m...I’m okay. It’s good to see you Thacker.” He offers a genuine smile as he opens his arms and gathers the older man into a hug. When they separate, Joseph offers his hand and introduces himself. Having an extra guest delights Thacker, and he ushers them in with a promise that he’ll have rooms ready to go in a jiff.

“How’s Maddie doin’?”

“She’s good, and she’ll still slug your arm for that nickname.”

“Good old Maddie.” Thackers cheer falters, “do you wanna go see your ma? If I didn’t know you were comin, gonna guess she didn’t neither.”

“Yeah. Yeah I should go see her. Joseph, you don’t, uh, you don’t need to come with me if you don’t want to.”

“It’s only polite to meet my hostess.”

Barclay leads him up a flight of stairs, then down a hallway where dust substitutes for walllpaper. Waiting for them in a red and orange toned bedroom is a woman with greying, black hair and a face not unlike Barclay’s.

“Dear heart” she rises from her armchair, drawing her son to her, “you came back.”

“Just to visit, Ma. Uh, this, this is Joseph. He’s a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here too.”

She studies him with a critical eye; Joseph thought Hayes had a judgemental gaze, but she could beat him any day.

“Hmm. The more the merrier, as she always said. How long will you stay?”

“A few weeks.”

She nods, regards the photo of another woman above the mantelpiece as if seeking council, “You’re not here for pleasure.”

“No.” Barclay rubs his arm, “I...I got into some trouble. Andrew Douglas was shot the night I broke things off with him. The cops are leaving me alone for now but someone else wants me dead.”

The woman’s face suggests she both recognizes and despises that name, “We will keep you safe.”

With that, she sits once more and picks up her book. Barclay hesitates, then bends to kiss her forehead before pulling Joseph from the room.

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

“How long ago did your mother die?” Joseph kicks his legs up onto the ottoman. Barclay alluded to her passing previously, but never gave details.

“When I was eighteen. Car accident. She went off the Kepler bridge. They, uh, they never found her, and just found part of the wreck.”

He intends to leave it there; they’re on the back porch overlooking the garden (“Thackers pride and joy”), early summer dusk on their skin and their arms occasionally brushing from the edges of their chairs. No need to kill the mood further. He just wanted some kind of context for the house and the widow within it.

“Ma never recovered. She loved mom so much that losing her was like losing a lung; she can get through her days, even enjoy them, but it will always be hard. She tried to keep mom around however she could; the whole goddamn house is the same as it was the day she died, even my room. She wanted me to stay too, but Mama offered me the job and I just...I couldn’t live in a haunted house anymore.”

Joseph tips his hand to the right, extending his fingers into the space between them. Barclay takes it and holds tight.

“I’m so sorry, Barclay. You had every right to leave, to make your own life.”

“I know.” He runs his thumb across Joseph’s knuckles, “okay, pretty boy, my turn for a tough question; why’d you really leave the police force.”

It’s not that tough a question, not when he knows the man he’s confiding in won’t go running to Hayes, “I joined the force because I wanted to solve mysteries and help people. But it turned out there was a lot less seeking justice and a lot more chasing off drunks who just needed a place to sleep off benches and harassing certain neighborhoods. Then I worked out that the chief was taking bribes from all kinds of places and was naive enough to think someone might listen to me and help me when I told them. Instead they threw me off the force. In hindsight, it could have been worse; they could have killed me and covered it up.”

“Jesus.” Barclay polishes off his drink, contemplates the ice, “glad they didn’t. Both because, y’know, world is better with you alive, but, uh, also because if they had we’d never have met.”

Joseph meets his eyes, smiling in a way that makes the other man blush, “that would’ve been a damn shame.”

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

This is turning into one of the stranger cases he’s worked, in good ways and bad. The good is that his work days, when he’s not on the phone or digging through his notes, are spent with Barclay. His friend insists on cooking, has even brought him lunch at his desk, and usually the two of them have dinner with Thacker in the garden. They read or play chess in the study, take walks through the labyrinthine grounds, and even swim in the open air pool. Barclay in his swim trunks is a fine sight indeed. Joseph wonders if he ever brought boyfriends here, ever kissed them in the blue water or let them have their way with him in some hidden patch of lawn.

But it’s not all roses and revelry. The more he roots around in Andrew Douglas’s past, and in Barclay’s, the more questions he has. Why did Andrew come and go? What happened to large portions of Raquel and Sylvia (Barclay’s parents) fortune? And who wants to kill someone with no criminal record, no known enemies, and no heirs? If it’s the same person who murdered Andrew, killing Barclay would remove their fall-guy, so that makes no sense as a move.

His best lead comes when he learns Barclay’s family and Andrew Douglas lived in San Francisco at the same time. A friend in the city agrees to do some sniffing around there for any information that might point towards their killer. Two days later, he calls back and says he’s sending Joseph a “fucking brick” of evidence in the mail.

It’s been several days and he’s still waiting. He dozed off in his room after dinner, intending to cat nap, but it seems he’s overshot; it’s after ten. At least the mail must have come by now.

“Barclay? Did anything come--you have five goddamn seconds to explain yourself.”

His friend stammers from his seat on the bed, surrounded by papers, photo’s, newsprint, and a manila envelope with Joseph’s name on it.

“I, uh, I, it isn’t-”

“This is all evidence collected for the purpose of protecting you, so if you have something you’re afraid of me finding you’d better start talking now.” He snaps, looming over the other man from the edge of the bed.

Wordlessly, Barclay hands him a piece of newspaper. It details a kidnapping, one that ends--happily--with the victim being returned to their family. Four names are mentioned, but none of the perpetrators are the man in front of him.

“I was sixteen. A stupid kid. I had this perfect life and I got a little stir crazy, a little bored, and fell in with some other rich kids who felt the same. It started out harmless. Then James, the guy in charge, decided we should dream bigger. I was so, so fucking in love with him, I didn’t try to stop him. Not right away, anyway. I...I was their look-out for that kidnapping. But I couldn’t let them keep it up.”

“You struck a deal.”

Barclay nods, “Best part is, I managed to do it without either of my parents getting wise. We moved here soon after. I thought I could put it behind me.”

Joseph takes a closer look at the paper. The byline for the article is one A. Douglas.

“He blackmailed you.”

“Not at first. He, he” Barclay takes a shaky breath, “he went to mom first. Asked her how much she’d pay to keep my name out of the papers. James had told him about me and he was going to spread the story. That’s why she was on that fucking bridge in the middle of a fucking storm; she was meeting him.”

“Oh, Barclay.” Evidence crumples under his knees as he sits to comfort his friend.

“Then he came to me; now not only was I paying to keep the story quiet, I was paying to keep him from telling Ma why Mom died.”

“She died because of a blackmailer, wet cement, and a weak guard rail. Not because of you.”

Barclay looks at him, eyes coffee cups of sorrow, and simply shakes his head. Then he crumples forward and Joseph catches him, holds him tight while he finishes his story through his tears.

He paid off Andrew for three years. Ned Chicane, owner of the Kepler Museum of Curiosities, helped him with the family accounts so Raquel wouldn’t notice anything suspicious. Whenever Andrew came around, he demanded Barclay act as his “boyfriend” for the duration of the visit.

“Everyone must think I have terrible taste in men.”

Once they establish that, as far as Barclay is aware, only Ned knows about the blackmail, Joseph cups his face and says, as firmly as gentleness allows, “From now on, I need you to be truthful with me. You said you didn’t want me putting the pieces together because you were ashamed, but all I want is to help you. I can’t do that if there are big things you’re hiding from me. Understand?”

Barclay nods, and apologizes the entire time they’re gathering the strewn pieces back into the envelope.

“Barclay?” Joseph cuts him off and eases him down until he’s on his back, “I forgive you. Now please go to sleep before you pass out from stress.”

The cook smiles at him, eyes already fluttering closed, “You’re the boss, Joseph.”

He ignores all the urges that kickstarts in him and leaves his friend to sleep in peace.

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

“Y’know, kind of wish we’d known each other back then.” Barclay looks up from where he’s helping Joseph sort the new evidence on the floor, “when I was in San Francisco, I mean.”

“It would have taken more than just a change of scene for me; my family does alright, but I’d have been way outside your circles.”

“So? Maybe then I coulda had a boyfriend who was ‘disreputable’ for bullshit reasons instead of real ones.”

“I’ve never once been disreputable.” He looks up from the photos in his hand, “and is that your way of telling me something, big guy.”

“Yes. I, uh, you can tell me to knock it off, but I, uh, I think you’re swell. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way but you said I should be…” he trails off as Joseph leans into his space,”honest.”

He kisses him once, so brief it barely counts but the larger man whimpers and tries to grab him before he pulls away.

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to promise me that you’ll tell me to hit the brakes if you need to; it won’t change my dedication to the case.”

“I promise.” There’s no dishonesty in his face, just boundless hope and affection.

“In that case, big guy” he lunges forward, pinning him to the rug, “you’re all mine.”

An unexpectedly high whine leaves his lover.

“You like when I’m rough?”

“Uh, uh huh, so much, people always want me to be and I don’t want to, wanna be, wanna beAHHHhhnnn” he arches his back as Joseph bites the patch of skin just below his beard.

“You’re so gentle, big guy, I thought you’d go straight to making love but” another bite, another gasp, “I think I’d better fuck you instead.”

“Please.” Barclays hands glide up to cup Joseph’s face and guide him down into another kiss.

Joseph rolls his hips forward and his sleeves up as speaks, “Now that you mention it, I can see how things would’ve gone if we met earlier. I was an obedient son but not beyond sneaking someone into my room when my parents were away” he undoes Barclay’s shirt, keeps grinding against him and licking his lips as he feels him getting hard, “or maybe we met down here, and you’d sneak me into the backyard.”

“Fuck, yes.” Barclays chest heaves as Joseph cards his fingers up through the dark hair to tease his nipples, “god, if how I, fuck, feel now is a clue, I’d have been so fucking mad for you.” He makes a charming groan as Joseph tongues his nippls and then nibbles his way up to his ear.

“It’s funny” Joseph kisses his cheek, “I knew so many guys like you on the force. Not you now, used to hard work and worry, but you then; spoiled and softer than a boiled egg.” He allows himself a moment of savoring their cocks teasing each other through their pants before continuing, “always wanted to discipline them, because it was clear no one ever did.”

“Please show me how.”

“Why?” He grins down at him, toying with his left nipple until it’s bright red.

“Because I wanna be good for you, Joseph. Wanna be every fantasy you ever had.”

“...Lord god almighty how am I supposed to say no to that?” Joseph undoes his suspenders, laughing at Barclay’s triumphant smile, “you’re a dream, big guy.”

He crawls so he’s straddling Barclays face, cock dripping pre-cum onto his lips. Barclays tongue keeps peeking out from between them, but doesn’t go further without permission.

“Since this is disciplinary, you don’t get a say in how it goes. You’ll take my cock as long and as deep as I want it, because I’m superior to you and you’re here to do what I say”

“Fuckyeah” Barclay paws Joseph’s thighs, opens his mouth so he can guide the head in.

“That, ohyes, that being said, if it’s really too much, tap my thigh twice.”

Barclay nods to show he understands, but is already pre-occupied sucking his cock like he’s starving for it.

“A good start, big guy, but if I just wanted my cock wet I’d have gone swimming.” He cups the back of Barclays head in both hands, “I want something to fuck, and your face is it.”

The man beneath him moans, fucks the air uselessly as Joseph pushes further in. He finds the resistance of his throat with a half-inch to go, and decides that’s good enough. He pulls halfway out, pushes back in, repeats the process a few times before finding his rhythm. Weeks of wanting mean it’s hurried and greedy, but the resulting moans suggest Barclay approves.

“You look so good like this, Barclay. God, if you’d been some fresh-faced officer, one look of those doe-eyes is all it, shit, would’ve taken for me to make this the only discipline you ever got. Any time I needed to put you in your place or just, fuck, just needed to let off some steam, I’d do this, get my, my cock in your mouth so often you’d run out of spit and be thankful for my cum in, in it’s place.”

Barclay is groping him again, eyes bright and lips managing some upward curve as his cock forces them apart.

“Then again” he tenderly massages Barclay’s scalp, “there’s no reason I can’t do that in this universe. Oh, ohshit, Barclay-” his words desert him as he cums, the other man swallowing eagerly and sucking him clean before he pulls out.

Joseph glances over his shoulder, “Can I take care of that for you?”

“Fuck, please?”

He rolls off of the cook, stays on his side and slips one arm under his shoulders. Then he sets his palm on the monstrous bulge in Barclay’s jeans and sets to work.

“I, I should unzip-”

“No” he kisses him, “we’re surrounded by evidence that I can’t have you cumming on. Don’t worry, I’ll clean up the mess you make cumming in your pants like a teenager.”

“Promise?” It’s an odd thing to say, but Joseph thinks he understands.

“I promise.” He quickens his pace, Barclay’s grunts growing louder when he does, “I’ll take care of you, big guy. I’ll look after you. You don’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.”

“Joseph.” Is all the reply he gets, Barclay already turning as cum spreads across his fly and clinging to the detective. His breath is hot, stays shaky even as his cock stops pulsing.

“Barclay? Baby, are you alright?”

“So fucking good, babe. I, I uh” he holds him tighter, “this is the first thing to make sense to me in years. Loving you, having you in my life, I get how we fit together so easily. Everything else, the murder, Ma, this person lurking around the last place that feels like home waiting to hurt me or hurt Mama or someone there, all of it, it’s so goddamn tangled I’m worried it’ll never get straight.”

Joseph rests their cheeks together, “We’ll figure it out, big guy. I promise.”

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #TAZ amnesty #noir au #detective au

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