#but he would throw away the dagger and accept death still | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adventuringblind · 2 months

Text

American Sweetheart

Logan Sargeant x Reader

Genre: Fluff and Crack

Summary: Max isn't sure about this new American rookie on the grid. Not that he isn't nice, just that he likes Max's baby sister. Featuring Lestappen being a married couple.

Warnings: Protective Max, sarcastically protective Daniel, Logan being a SIMP

Notes: Yay! Logan Fluff! I've not written for Logan yet, but I honestly love him... He's such a pookie...

Side Note: My requests are still open! If you've sent in a request, please remember I do this for fun and will try to get around to it when I can :)

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max looks at her with big pleading eyes. "Please tell me who it is?" He pouts, sticking out his bottom lip.

"No, because you'll torture him. I'd like to keep this one alive thank you." She puts the finishing touches on her makeup.

"I left the last one alive... barely, but that's not the point!"

"So if I tell you, then you won't freak out?"

"I swear it on my career-"

"It's Logan."

Max goes silent. Frozen in place as her tries to comprehend her words. The death stare at the ground tells her he's internally screaming.

She sighs, mildly worried that Max might actually scream profanities until Logan arrives. "Alright, what's your issue with this one?"

"He's American!"

She groans. It doesn't matter much where he's from, as long as he treats her right. Logan's been struggling since he came to the grid. It would make a difference if max accepted him and not just Oscar and Lando, by proxy.

"Give him a chance, please? For me?"

Max stars at her for longer than necessary. "Fine."

~~~~~

Logan appears at her door dressed in semi-formal attire. He takes in her appearance. "You look - wow..." There is a light blush on his face. It feels nice seeing as she's in something simple and modest. Just what she had to work with given she's living out of her suitcase.

They catch up on the paddock drama and how life has been going recently. Logan is a proper gentleman the entire time. She's not sure why she thought he would be any different. Logan has always been sweet to anyone he comes in contact with.

Their date goes incredibly well.

As does the second.

And the third...

Max stares at her as she sits in his room, giggling at her phone. She has no time to react as he snatches it from her hands. "Logan?! You're still talking to him?!"

She huffs and crosses her arms. "Yes, Max, I like him."

"He's American." He tosses the phone back at her. "Just let me talk to him." Max gives her puppy eyes. "Please."

"You can talk to him whenever, but if you ruin this for me, I'll break your wrists."

Max makes it his personal mission to figure out Logan through not talking to him. She has taking to simply rolling her eyes as Max drags Daniel around with him to stare at the poor boy.

Until he catches them in the paddock together and puts on the 'Mad Max' face. Logan immediately seems to shrink in on himself.

"Okay Sargeant, it's time you and I had a little discussion about your intentions with my sister." Max hauls him upwards by his bicep and Logan goes willingly like an injured puppy.

She throws him a reassuring smile and pray to Charles Leclerc that Max doesn't scare him away.

~~~~~

Max and Daniel sit across the table from Logan. He thought asking her out would be the hardest part. No, he was mistaken, this is far worse.

The Dutch has been staring daggers at him since they sat down. Daniel keeps wiggling his eyebrows like her knows something Logan doesn't. Which - despite it seeming playful - only puts Logan more on edge than he was before.

"So, Mr. America-"

"Is that really-"

"Quiet! I'm the one doing the talking here."

Logan wants to roll his eyes. He wants to run into next year if it means avoiding this conversation. "Look Max-"

"I need to know you aren't going to americanify my sister." He points an accusatory finger between Logan's eyes.

Logan reels, and Daniel finally breaks all composure. The Aussie is laughing hysterically. "Mate, what does that even mean?!"

"Look, your American ways are not ours. I will not be seeing her calling things like American football, real football."

Logan sinks into his chair. The relief evident on his face.

He's about to jump into a spiel about how he would never expect her to just assimilate into his culture. That was never his plan. However, he's doesn't get the chance.

A figure dressed in Ferrari red comes stomping around the corner. "Max Emilian!" Charles screams out for anyone to hear.

Max shrinks in on himself. Daniel is almost falling out of his chair as Charles stomps his way over. "Why are we interrogating the poor boy?" He crosses his arms like an exasperated mother.

"Because my sister-"

"Your sister was in my room pacing and ranting that you were going to scare away another boyfriend."

Max has a look of shame on his face. Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "But Charlie-"

"Nope. Not gonna work. Let's go." Charles grabs Max by the bicep and drags him away. The Dutch pouts until he's out of sight.

Logan looks at Daniel, who's finally calmed down. "Are they-?"

"Married? Yes, for like two years now. They are still convinced nobody knows." Daniel leans forward in his chair, and Logan once again is left feeling intimidated. "But seriously, kid, she's a good person. Max has always been protective over his sisters because of their home life. Just treat her right, yeah? She deserves it."

Daniel sends Logan off with an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He's never run away from something so fast before. Not out of fear, no, he just needs to see her. Reassure the female that Max is less intimidating when Charles is around.

He finds her pacing outside of Williams' hospitality. Logan runs right up to her, picks her up in his arms, and spins her around.

"I take it Max was nice to you?"

"Your brother is an interesting character, but nothing would stop me from loving you."

She blushes profusely. "You love me?"

Logan rests his forhead against hers. He can't wipe the smile off his face when he looks at her. "Of course I do! And nobody is going to stop me from feeling the way I do."

She hastily lands her lips onto Logan's , not caring about who's around to see. It's just them in their own little world.

She pulls away just enough to whisper against his lips. "I love you too, Lo."

Logan has never been happier than in this moment with her in his arms and Max screeching in the distance.

595 notes · View notes

fcknstar · 11 months

Note

hey! i read ur marcus lopez fic and absolutely loved it ur so talented omg

i’m as wondering if i could request a fic with prompt 12 with marcus lopez x reader?

🫶

and if so could you also add me to your tag list?

,, after dark "

pairings : marcuslopez x gn!reader

summary : sometimes your past do catches up to you.

content warnings : disagreements

** lowercase intended**

if saying that you had your life together was an understatement. you were working for the biggest and most respected mafias in the country. it was normal to see at least one dead body in the alleyway. a lifeless body, dumped as if it had no worth that got pushed away as a broken furniture no one saw worthy to save.

you were just an assistant who also worked as a hitman, being payed high for even injuring a targeted person. it gave you joy, you wanted to feed on souls that deserved nothing but death to come. you sucked in life of your victims, craving more and more as if it was like food and you were always hungry.

your boss set you out to raid an abandoned apartment to where homed a filthy rich man who unfortunately died due to a heart attack. he kept many important documents that your boss wanted and tonight, thats where you were headed.

you were clothed in a black skin-tight long sleeved top and short skirt which allowed you to hide your dagger, with a pistol on your waistline. when the time calls for it, you were going to be the one to kill whoever saw you and got in your way.

you had not noticed the figure which hid in the shadows watching your every move. as you rummaged through the drawers, you heard something drop. you spun around, gripping onto your gun as you pointed to the person standing in front of you.

" marcus? "

" hey, i was just dropping by- "

" you arent supposed to be here, you know. " you advanced towards him, watching him stumble backwards.

" well, neither should you. why dont you put the gun down, honey? " earning a glare from you, you made a move, linking your leg under his making him fall on his back.

" oh, i remember this. " as you stood above him, he mumbled.

" ignoring your favorite person i see.. its okay.. i bet the memories follow you around dont they. " you dont hesitate but kick his side making him groan.

" leave this place, act like we never even crossed paths. " you sigh, walking away from him.

" dont you miss me? "

" no i dont. and i will not. "

" but seeing you stalk me says otherwise.. how you constantly follow me wherever i go.. i suppose i am grateful that you are looking out for me. " marcus pouted.

you could not accept how right he had been. you were so in love with marcus that you knew itd be difficult to start a life without him. but you could. for all these years before meeting him shows how you could live without him. but why cant you do the same knowing what you two have been through. how could you when the only thing that occupied your mind was him. how he often thought of your life first and put his own life on the line to save you. how could you ever want to leave someone like him. it was now your turn to look after him when he did everything to protect you. even if as strangers, you knew that you still wanted to be on his wavelength.

" look, i know we left on terms we didn't agree on due to our statuses, but you can't blame me to not.. look for you. " it felt like you pulled a nerve when you confessed the last part.

" but you did. "

" i had to okay! what would you do if you are being given a choice, to get your lover killed.. or have your own blood throw you away like youre some meat, even having them turn their back against you? i knew i was being selfish okay? i.. i just cant imagine having you die.. not when i know i could have done something. or me dying. so im sorry if i was being selfish, it was either you dying, or me. and you know what i would have picked. " you were now going on a tangent, gun placed away in its holder, with you rummaging through the drawers. you grabbed every document you could find. marcus just looked at you.

" im sorry, okay? i just wanted you, you to be safe and well. " you could have just chosen to have your family killing you, but in the moment, you just had to. it was either him being dead because you wanted to survive. or him being alive at the cost of your freedom.

marcus never saw the side of your story, too busy grieving with his own. he watched you walk away as if he werent there. as if, he didnt mean anything to you anymore. but he knew, he knew that you loved him enough to save him without even thinking.

a.n : m not very proud with this, dont know why. and to the person who requested this, thank you but sorry because i couldn't tag you, its not letting me. and so sorry for the long wait!

#imagines #oneshots #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez arguello #mattheo riddle #benjamin wadsworth #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #answered

209 notes · View notes

ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 8 months

Text

Title board created by the wonderful @mochie85!

Lesson Twenty

Loki languishes in the hospital, accepting your impending fate as he awaits news about your condition.

**MASTERLIST HERE** Pairing: Soft!Dom!Loki x F!Reader Content Warnings: smut, extensive mentions of death, euthanasia, and death-related philosophy, some dark content (though the characters won't be), exile, moodiness, smut, kinks of various flavors (look for specific chapter warnings), trauma and mental illness, reader is a captive, reader has a body count

It was all Loki could do to scoop your limp body into his arms, holding it fast to his chest as he rocked back and forth, nearly biting his lip clean off to hold back from openly weeping in front of Brunnhilde and The Flock.

Maria leapt into Jonah-Bjorn’s arms as he began to sob. The King snarled in anger.

“Shut UP! Neither of you deserves this,” she growled, taking her dagger and throwing it at the couple, landing in the wall just behind Jonah-Bjorn’s left side. “Get out and get an ambulance, damn you!”

The pair froze, looking as if every emotion conceivable was passing through their brains at one moment.

“It’s too late,” Loki muttered almost inaudibly, as if admitting it any louder would make it more devastating. He was breaking. “She isn’t stirring.”

“Look, you pair of ingrates: this woman just died for you! The least you could do is get help,” Brunnhilde demanded, her rage close to boiling over.

For the sake of self-preservation, Jonah-Bjorn helped Maria to her feet. “L…let’s just do as she says,” he stuttered. Maria quickly scooped the crying baby into her arms, and the pair evacuated the room to go seek authorities. “And while you’re at it, tell your Flock friends that it’s all over!” called the King after them.

She turned around after chasing them away to find that Loki hadn’t been able to hold back silent tears, only now concealed because he had buried his face in your neck to stifle the cries, and to get one last whiff of the scent of your hair.

“If I never agreed to teach her--”

“--she’d been dead eleven months ago,” mumbled the King, kneeling down beside Loki as he continued to cradle you in his lap. “She chose to do this. I would’ve preferred we fight, but--”

“--but hy did she have to do this? I never meant for this to happen,” Loki sighed, looking down at your face, brushing a tuft of hair away from your brow. He bent down to press his forehead to yours. “You stupid, beautiful, amazing woman…” he whispered before cutting himself off.

Something was different. Off. You weren’t turning cold or stiff.

Loki laid the back of his hand against your cheek. Still soft and warm, if not a little hot.

His lip trembled in nervous hope. “Brunnhilde…get a piece of glass,” he said quickly.

“What?” she asked.

“From anywhere! A small piece of glass!”

She scowled and grunted at being ordered, but the occasion didn;t call for petty squabbles, so she got up and left the room. A moment later, there was the sound of breaking glass, and a moment later, she returned, hanging Loki a shard of mirror.

He held it underneath your nose, and let out an “oh!” as he saw the faint puff of exhalation briefly paint the glass before rolling away.

“She’s alive! Brunnhilde, go make sure they bring help in a hurry!” Loki began breathing quickly as the King’s mouth fell open.

“She’s breathing?”

“Barely,” Loki replied. “We could still lose her! Please, go! Hurry!”

As the King bolted from the room again, Loki bent over and whispered into your ear. “Hold on, Y/N…”

Hours later, Loki sat at your bedside, where you were hooked up to tubes, monitors, and drips, unconscious but stable in the hospital. Your heart rate was disturbingly low, but it was beating, and it was getting the job done. You were still as stone.

Brunnhilde was leaning against the window, legs crossed and arms folded as usual, as the doctor explained to the best of his ability what had happened to you.

He was a youthful, blonde man with tortoiseshell glasses and buck teeth. “It’s as if all of the energy her body needs to function was sucked out of her, save for just enough to keep her brain working the bare minimum, to keep her heart beating the weakest it can while still pumping. She is unconscious because she doesn’t have the strength left to open her eyes.”

“Will she live?” asked Loki, gritting his teeth impatiently.

“Yes,” the doctor replied, looking more than a little intimidated by the god’s presence. “But it may take a very long time for her body to recuperate its strength, even with the feeding tube we’ve given her.”

Loki sniffed. “How long, exactly?”

“There’s no way to tell, sir,” the doctor continued. “It may be as long as a week before she has enough strength to open her eyes. Perhaps two before she can speak and sit up. However, I wouldn’t expect her to walk again without aid before Christmas.”

The King gave Loki a concerned glance, and the two of them knew that they shared the same worry: the test. You would need every ounce of your physical ability to pass, and here you were nearly dead, with your best hope being at the point where you’d be waking with a cane by the time S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived.

It appears, unless they relent, we’re both dead now, my love, Loki thought. There was no way you could even submit yourself to an exam. The game was lost. December 31st was all but certainly his and your execution date now.

He refused to leave your side, even as the King returned to New Asgard to celebrations and gratitude from the people that lasted days. He read to you, sang lullabies from his childhood on Asgard, and talked to you as if you could hear him, hoping it would spark something in you to awaken.

Four days later, you could hear him for the first time, though you were still trapped inside a paralyzed, unconscious body. The soothing baritone was endless and warming. For twelve hours after, you lay and listen as he further cared for you.

Then, just before dawn on the fifth day, your eyes fluttered open, and you made the faintest cooing sound. You sensed Loki was asleep, his head in his arms on the end of the bed, leaning over from the chair he otherwise occupied.

He instantly awakened, and let out a huge sigh of relief as he grabbed your hand, kissing your fingers, blinking frantically to hold back tears,.

“Y/N! Love, you’re back!”

Your lips could move, and your voice was a little faint yet, so Loki insisted you continue to silently reserve your limited energy, and he took time to explain to you what had transpired in the days since you’d confronted The Flock.

“They’ve given their vow, on risk of war, to leave New Asgard in peace, and to stay in Oslo,” he informed you. “They won’t ever speak your name, of course, but they have a silent gratitude for you.”

Weeks passed, December arrived, and your strength slowly returned. For a few days, Loki had to do essentially everything for you, from keeping you entertained, to relaying messages to Brunnhilde for you, to even the most basic things like feeding you and adjusting your pillows. He did it all with humility and love, something that made you feel both wonderful and sorrowful when it reminded you of what you both had to look forward to.

“I don’t mean to be a pessimist, but I don’t see how we can get ourselves out of this one,” he said, putting away the last of your supper one night during the first week of December. You were feeding yourself now, but sometimes Loki was insistent on at least partially aiding you with eating, as your grip was still weak. Your hands still shook when they tried to hold silverware.

“We can run away,” you mumbled. “Brunnhilde will cover us.”

Loki shook his head as he brushed an affectionate hand over your cheek, lighting kissing you. “They’d interrogate her, as well as Thor. They’d have him comb the universe for us. We could never come back to Midgard.”

“So we’re just supposed to bow our heads? I may not be strong, but I will try until the very end for you, Loki,” you promised. “I’m not ready to give up just yet.”

He smiled and took your hand. “You amaze me.”

You smiled. “Now, if you don't mind, I’m starting to lose my energy…:

“...of course, darling,” Loki replied, going to move your bed from an upright position to a supine one. “When did the doctor say you were going to be discharged?”

“If I can get onto my feet by next week, he said he will release me on the 17th.”

Loki twisted his lip and chickled. “That’s my birthday.”

“Well, you get me for a present I guess,” you said, half-jokingly, half-apologizing.

“I cannot think of anything better,” he said warmly. Once your bed was flat, he kissed you again before dimming the light. “Will it be a chapter from Jane Eyre, or a lullaby tonight, dearest?”

“Sing to me, please,” you asked softly.

He smiled. “As you wish.”

It took only moments for you to fall back into the darkness. Only this time, it was comforting and welcome.

Loki will always take care of his student…his love…

Somehow accepting what was likely going to be had given you and Loki an odd sense of peace. You chose to spend whatever time you had left with one another as close to each other as you could be, both emotionally and physically. Not only did you allow Loki to gently and slowly make love to you (although you could have done without his insisting you stop for breaks if it got to be too much), but you began to feel comforted by the fact that, if you were going to fail on a count of your weakness, you both would face the consequences together.

That wasn’t to say you, Loki, and Brunnhilde didn’t try to pull out every stop, every appeal necessary, to delay your test by a month. On the day you’d left the hospital, with two weeks left in your year in New Asgard, you could ambulate with a walker and a supporting Asgardian nearby. By the time the 31st rolled around, you would barely be able to stand on your own for more than a few moments.

Loki reached out to Thor and Fury, neither of them yielded a reprieve, although Thor tried to reason on your behalf with S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing. The 31st was going to be the day that you met your fate, no matter what.

To your surprise, however, Thor came around on Christmas Day, when a beautiful, silent snowstorm dusted the village in several inches of fluffy, pure white snow.

“Don’t let the others know, but with what may be coming and all…I had to, brother,” he said, his voice deep and rich with sentimentality. Loki accepted his heavy, strong embrace, but it still knocked the wind out of him, making you giggle from your wheelchair.

You spent the day with the brothers, as well as Brunnhilde and Katja, drinking spiked cocoa and hot mulled wine until your vision blurred, telling stories of days long past on Asgard, and toasting to the year. Despite your still weakened state, you were able to cook a modest Yule feast for the gathered (with help from Loki and Brunnhilde). The day was subtle, but cozy, and absolutely wonderful.

“If only we both could stay here,” you said to Loki. “We could do this every year. It would be like having a family to be close to, which seems to be something we both have lacked thus far in our lives.”

Loki looked at you, deciding not to reply with words, but instead with a tender kiss.

Sadly, Thor only stayed the day. “They will notice if I’m missing much longer,” he said sadly at dusk on Christmas night. “And they won’t allow me to come along for the final test.”

“If they happen to deem one or both of us unworthy, would they immediately pass sentence?” you asked apprehensively, causing Loki to throw his arm around your shoulder, drawing you close.

“I should hope not, but once Fury’s mind is made up, they may as well carry it out immediately,” he said quietly, solemnly.

Loki cleared his throat. “Thank you for the lovely parting thoughts, brother.”

Thor smiled, trying his best to comfort the two of you as he set out to return to New York, the storm passing and giving way to a crisp, clear night sky.

“The sun will shine on us again,” he answered, choosing those words to be his last to you as he boarded the quinjet and flew off into the night.

On the night of December 30th, you and Loki tried to delude yourselves into thinking either one of you would be able to sleep, only to come to your senses hours into the evening. You both chose to bundle up and trek through the snow up the hill one more time, spreading out on the snow and looking up at the thousands of stars dotting the sky above you, your hands never untangling for one another. Your breaths combined with one another and created a single cloud above your heads.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, love,” Loki began, “I will be your loyal guardian until the end.”

“And I yours,” you answered. “I can protect you now!”

Loki smirked. “I’m afraid you’re still a bit weak, my dear.”

It was true that you still got winded after going up a single set of steps, and your muscles ached after taking an hour each night to put supper together in the kitchen. The only reason Loki didn’t insist on taking it easy was your argument that it was very possible that this was your last fortnight alive, and you wanted to behave as normally as you could.

“I would die for you,” you said insistently.

“And I would lay my life down for you if you asked me to on a whim,” Loki replied.

You sighed and smacked your lips playfully. “My, my, have we come a long way from the dominant professor from last January!”

“Oh, but he hasn’t gone far, love,” Loki purred, rolling onto his side to throw an arm over you, pinning you under him. “In fact, a good dominant always puts his little pet first.”

You smiled and sighed as Loki slowly lowered himself on top of you, laying his head on your breast and settling his hips between your splitting legs. You let him lay there, letting your breaths sync their tempos, combing his long, loose hair with your fingers carelessly.

“If we do make it to January 1st,” you said, “What happens?”

Loki sighed and raised his head to meet your eye. “I will stay here with you, naturally.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, “Not naturally, Loki. We both know you want to explore the galaxy, and that after the first of the year, you will be able to.”

“But what good would that be without you beside me?”

“Better than me keeping you shackled here! You won’t have any obligation to me anymore. I will be okay. Hell, I even have a job lined up! “ you said cheerfully.

“I can’t leave you here,” Loki said. “Why are you pushing me away? My Norns, don’t I owe you my very life?””

“But I’m not pushing, perhaps I’m holding you back,” you suggested meekly, sitting up, forcing Loki to roll off of you and into the snow.

“You could never hold me back, or make me regret loving you, princess,” Loki whispered, kissing you deeply, pushing you back into the snow with his passionate lips.

“Mmmhmm, Loki,” you nudged him off of you again. “I have an idea, then.”

He smiled. “Yes?”

“I propose another year,” you said.

“I don’t follow?” Loki asked inquisitively.

You elaborated. “We’ve been in close proximity for an entire year. Let’s spend one year apart. You can journey about the universe. I can start working with Brunnhilde on building up her defense team. If, on this night next year, you still love me and want to stay here with me forever, come here to this hilltop before midnight. If you aren’t in my arms by the last stroke of twelve on December 31st, I will know you’ve found better things out there, and I will move on with my own life.”

Loki shrugged. “I still think it’s ridiculous that you would think--”

“--stop saying that. Please do this for me, and please do it with an open mind. There could be other worlds out there, other peoples who need you. Other lands to explore, parties to see…I want you to have every experience you’ve been denied your entire life. Don't half-ass it, okay? Promise me?”

Loki caressed your cheek and nodded. “I make this solemn vow, that if I survive tomorrow’s test, I will explore every delight and adventure this galaxy has to offer me over the next year, and should I decide to return to my love at the end of it, she will take me…all of me…as I am, forever and ever. And it will be here that we dwell, on New Asgard,” he promised. Your smile radiated relief in the moonlight, and you settled back onto the soft snow, Loki’s arm around you, where the two of you found yourselves drifting off, sleeping until nearly dawn the following morning.

At noon the following day, the quinjet arrived, followed by three other small aircraft. Brunnhilde instructed the villagers to stay in their homes. She only gave you a quick farewell, admitting she was never much good at “the whole sentimentality thing.”

Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Steve Rogers, and ten other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents disembarked and immediately took you and Loki into custody, bringing you into separate jets with them and flying off to an unknown testing location. As you got on board, you caught Loki’s eye one final time. You took the opportunity to say, “I love you.”

He smiled and nodded warmly. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, my heart.”

You were then escorted onto the separate planes. After two hours, they landed, and you were escorted inside and taken into a large, white room, where an agent told you to sit in your handcuffs and await orders.

An hour went by in total silence and loneliness, and you felt as if you couldn’t hold your brave face for much longer. Thankfully, Steve Rogers finally came for you.

“Look, Y/N, I’m supposed to be impartial, but if I’m going to be honest with you…this is unfair. I don’t personally think you’re a threat to anyone.”

You sighed. “Then save us,” you said quietly. “Look at me! I need you to stabilize my gait!”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something for you. We’re out of time, anyway.”

As the timer officially hit ‘zero’ on your year’s reprieve, you were escorted down a sterile, while hallway, where he took you through several pairs of swinging doors, finally taking you up a set of metal stairs and holding a thick glass door open for you.

“The test will be taken inside,” Steve began to recite like a good soldier. “I’ve been instructed to inform you that while this room itself is not magic-proof, the outer walls and enforcements ARE resistant. Ten guards will always be surrounding the perimeter. Escape will be impossible. Once you are secured safely inside the pod, you will be given further instructions, and the test will commence.”

You gulped, your nerves suddenly hitting you like a swarm of killer bees. “What happens if I fail?”

Steve hesitated before looking down and saying quietly, “I would really advise you not to fail.”

That was all you needed to hear. You nodded courteously at Steve, avoiding every urge you had in that moment to wrap your hands around his neck, and held out your wrists. He removed the cuffs and saw you inside, closing the door behind you.

The bright white pod was a circular room, about twenty feet across (so a tight fit). Nothing was inside, save for Loki, who was kneeling on the floor, looking bewildered.

“Loki?” you asked, falling into his waiting arms. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be together for--”

“--alright, listen up, you two. It’s time for your final exam.”

It was Fury’s voice coming over a speaker. You and Loki stilled everything but your breaths.

“Here’s the game, and it’s a simple one: a death match. Any magic and weaponry you have on you is permitted, but you have six hours to make your choice.”

Your skin went cold. This didn’t sound good.

“What choice?” Loki asked, his voice cold and hard.

“Only one of you can get out of this tank alive, kids,” said Fury. “Sorry, but whoever wins will have better control of themselves, Makes sense, right?”

“THIS IS HORSE SHIT!” Loki barked, jumping to his feet so quickly you fell off of him. “THIS IS NOT THE TEST!”

“Sorry, Laufeyson, but it is. By midnight tonight, you must choose which one of you survives and which one dies, either by combat or diplomacy. I don't really give a hell how you do it.”

“And if we refuse?” you asked defiantly as Loki helped you to your feet.

“If you are both alive at the sound of the buzzer, then a gas will fill the chamber and destroy you both. I would HIGHLY advise you not to let this timer run out."

A red digital clock appeared as a projection on the wall, set to six hours exactly.

"Now, if there are no further questions, let the test begin.”

He hung up the speaker before any further protestation could be made, leaving you and Loki to your great and terrible decision as the clock began ticking.

One more chapter and an epilogue to go! Sorry this one was longer, I had to properly set up for the finale! Please reblog and comment if you like!

@kats72 @violethaze @cheekyscamp @javagirl328 @yelkmelk @mischief2sarawr @buttercupcookies-blog @lokidokieokie @fictive-sl0th @jaidenhawke @caothicshit @holdmytesseract @anukulee @joyful-enchantress @simplyholl @meowmeow-motherfucker @huntress-artemiss @lokisgoodgirl @loz-3 @mjsthrillernp @alexakeyloveloki @linaax @noideakitten @evelyn-rathmore @lovingchoices14 @itzcomplctd7 @praq123 @the-fantasy-loving-angel @alexakeyloveloki @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @admiralatthebowofnails @vanilla-daydreaming @technicallysassyfox @ozymdias @fall-myriad @sititran @lokisdeadcat @blog-the-lilly @satrkovaza @wolfcyanide

74 notes · View notes

zehglitch · 2 months

Text

The Fallen Angel

Ezephr's backstory

— 3

Content Warnings: Human experimentation, child experimentation, kidnapping, violence, toying with people, mentions of death, abuse/starvation, mentions of children killing each other, dehumanization, bullying, some harsh language

Chapter 3 — A Strong Girl

Today, he’d made his final decision. X1 was far too valuable to risk losing so early on…he needed to implement one of their tests prior to any contests. He was fairly interested in seeing what would happen to it inside of a growing body, but his main motive was preserving the subject. If he got to have a show from doing so, that was just a bonus. He had begun preparations early on, taking any children that managed to survive in the pit so he could perfect the project, test the limits of it. At this point, they had an abundance of important data.

Currently, he’d sent one of the cloaked to retrieve the angel, allowing him to sit back in the office chair and scan over the data. There couldn't be any mistakes in this experiment--none. He wouldn't allow his precious, rare chance to slip away from him so easily. Not now. Finding anything even close to the results he desired this early on in their project was exceedingly uncommon, to the point of never actually happening. He had his doubts, yes, but he’d also never had an angel before. This could very well open new opportunities for them.

He would like to get another one, but they lived in massive groups referred to as flocks. Each and every one of them was a threat on their own, but in their swarms you might as well accept your inevitable death. The only creature with no base element that developed any sort of unlisted magic you could dream of. He wasn't certain what led to them always varying in their power, seeing as inheritance had no affect, but had no way of confirming the cause. To him, that was detestable, but unavoidable. Not much he could do about it.

The doctor smirked. Well, until now anyway. He had an angel in his grasp for the first, and possibly last, time. It was exhilarating. Throwing about the possibilities in his mind for now, he spun the chair and pushed it over to the line of chemicals, double checking the process they were going through. The liquid was still coming out black, despite the many efforts made to keep it the same hue as blood. He hummed, moving on with a shrug. Oh well, that didn't change the quality. Color wasn't quite as important as the function. He looked at a bubbling tank. The implant was ready.

He heard the telltale sign of the laboratory door sliding open with a hiss, bringing him to swivel the chair and face who entered. Perfect, they brought the angel. Maintaining a faux smile, he calmly stated, “Ah, welcome, X1.” He crossed his legs, setting a hand on his knee while the other gestured around the room. “I’m glad you could get here unharmed.” He caught the barely suppressed flinch from his words and nearly lost himself. Mind on the matter, doctor. “Please, lay down over here.” He waved to a silver table.

His cloaked man set the wary child down before moving to block the door, arms crossed behind their back. Exactly as instructed. The doctor watched how the boy looked around the room, wondering what he thought of the items he'd never seen before. Patience…he could pick the boy’s brain as much as he desired later. What caught him off guard, however, was the defiant, closed fisted stance X1 took while staring daggers at him. “Why? Father, what do you want from me after abandoning us?” That was fairly surprising.

He felt both the outrage of his subject questioning him, and the absolute delight over the tenacity shown from a frightened five year old. Gorgeous. He tilted his head. “Whatever do you mean? I never abandoned you, I am simply waiting. Now, lay on the table and I will answer all your questions.” X1 clearly didn’t want to listen, but the doctor watched with satisfaction as the child gave in and approached the table. He didn't approve of someone simple minded, but he did enjoy someone who resisted, but still bent to his will in the end.

Once the angel was situated, having done so slowly and cautiously, the doctor rolled his chair over and offered the boy a smile. He was met with vague disdain. “Stay still, alright? This won't hurt a bit.” He hit the switch and watched with glee as the metal bars came up to restrain him. They snapped down quickly and almost painfully tight, preventing any form of real resistance without causing pain. Of course, the boy panicked…that wasn’t the best response he could've gotten, but it was expected. That's why the doctor frowned.

It was a tad disappointing to have the angel react how any child would, though he’d give credit for the unnatural silence. He turned away from the struggling child, only for his attention to be brought back when the boy spoke up. “You said you’d answer my questions. All of them.” The doctor gave the angel a cursory glance before waving for the boy to ask. “...why did you move us? What sound was mother making when you did?” He seemed to hesitate, as if he needed to think his questions through. “Why am I in here?”

The doctor turned only to retrieve the vial of anesthetic, filling his syringe. “You were moved simply for turning five years old. You had to relocate for the new batch of children and for your graduation. Your mother…I assume she must’ve been growling. It’s a nasty habit of critters, you see.” He tested the function of the syringe and went back over to the boy. “As for your being here…it’s simple, really. You’re better than the rest and I’m giving you my personal care.” To the point he planned to do this operation himself rather than delegate it.

X1 had such a fascinating expression over this information, but in the end he looked the doctor in the eye. Interesting…the subjects usually avoided that. “If…I let you do whatever, will you keep X4 safe and teach me more?” The man blinked in surprise, then gave a soft laugh while shaking his head. That was simply absurd. The boy had such a serious, yet hopeful expression, but he had no clue. The fool. He’d do whatever he liked to this boy…although it could be worth offering a reward. The doctor decided to make note of what had been asked for.

He clicked his tongue. “Ridiculous. As if you had a choice in the matter.” He swiftly injected the anesthetic in the boy’s pinned arm, then reached up and tapped the bar that was over his neck. “You’re just a useful product I’m improving. Don’t be mistaken. Perhaps if you win in the pit, I’ll consider your requests.” He watched the child fade away, patiently waiting for the medicine to take hold. When it had, he undid the restraints and removed the clothes, pulling the container holding the organ closer. “You certainly don’t need all these organs…”

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

It…wasn’t that surprising they were being treated this way. From the beginning, trust didn’t exist in that strange home of theirs. Not for her. X4 readjusted, waiting patiently for her brother to come back and trying her best to not look around this place. It was full of screams, crying, begging…and not from her cellmates. She knew her change was bothering X1, but how could she explain the dark shape following him around ever since he got hit for their food. For her food. Why couldn't she just bring herself to move and get it without his help?

Guilt was eating away at her more and more as time passed in this cage. She let him heal her, but she failed to protect him. Instead, he used his body as her shield while she did what? Nothing. Nothing at all, except stare at the floor to avoid what she saw present in this cage. X1 was her brother, why couldn't she help him like she used to anymore? When he was taken away from her, she didn't even try to grab for him and…she saw the way his face twisted and tears formed in his eyes. But the worst part was his following resignation.

Did she…do something wrong? X4 chanced looking around their shared cage, trying to understand the situation. She was alone with that girl…and the others, but that girl was the scariest. Reaching up to fuss with her dirty, tangled pink hair, she attempted to distract herself. Would she get to eat with him gone? Probably not. She shook her head, then hurriedly avoided their eyes when that drew their attention. No, please just stay away and continue ignoring the quiet girl. She wasn't going to cause any trouble, they didn’t need to watch her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to block out the world as the voices flooded her mind again. No, please be quiet! Her hands went over her ears to block it out, but that never seemed to help. With a very soft whimper, she pushed herself further into the corner and wished she was hidden. She never asked to be able to see these things, to hear them…they were scary and loud and violent. X4 suppressed her shaking as best she could while biting her lip. She wanted X1 back, finding all her thoughts focusing on that gentle, kind boy. Yeah. She depended on him far too much.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

She finds herself woken up by a heavy force slamming into her shoulder. Dully, she hears someone shouting at her as well, but…she had a hard time focusing after coming out of sleep. The scary things were all screaming and cackling and making a raucous loud enough to disorient her. Then a dark foot came hurtling towards her face. With a gasp, X4 shoved herself away, sitting up and scrambling back from the attack. Her heart beat wildly, abandoning the thought of the stones digging into her skin in order to dodge another strike.

Focusing on her surroundings, it took her a considerable moment to distinguish between her cellmate and the strange, creepy things she could always see. What? Her cellmate was attacking her? She was never attack liked this before--oh. X1 wasn't here this time. In a hurry, she shoved her tired body off the ground and moved away from the older girl. Why was she being attacked anyway? The thought briefly occurred to her that she’d slept and X1 was still gone--where was she? Rather than allow her time to wake up, a new attack aimed for her and landed right in the gut.

Can't breathe. She clutched her stomach weakly, looking up at the angry girl and just staring at her. What did she want? X4, with a part of herself returning, managed to stand up and stare the hostile girl in the eyes, of course, she couldn't speak at all, but she wasn't backing down anyway. The girl sneered at her. “What? Just because that dumbass protects you, you think you're safe?” She waved around the cage. “He’s not here.” Her claws jabbed at X4 when she roughly poked the young elf. “And I’m tired of your smug face in my corner.”

X4 just continued to stare, but unlike X1 she couldn't hide the wince when a claw pierced her skin. However…she stepped forward, causing the claw to go in deeper. She wore a glare of her own as she rode through the burn. Faintly, she was aware of something cool streaming down her face, but she didn’t stop. All of this ended when the older girl slapped her, the force throwing her back to the floor. There was momentary silence in their cage, all of them taking in the situation. X4 was much smaller than the other girl, so it hadn’t been interesting in the slightest at first.

Now, they were curious. The older girl growled quietly at the elf. “You…are you just copying that crazy bastard now? I’m calling your bluff, right now.” She gave no time between her threat and swiping at the younger child with her claws fully poised for the attack. X4 bit her lip painfully hard when those claws ripped through her skin and clothes, then tried to kick her attacker. She stepped on her legs, stopping that effort before it hardly began. Her blue eyes, lacking a pupil from her race, stared at the other girl with contempt.

Of course, her attacker wasn't stopping, but the room suddenly exploded to life around the two. X4’s eyes were glowing as she shoved at the girl, shocking herself when an unknown force sent her flying. The elf sat there stunned, watching the creepy and scary things she’d always seen…protecting her. Her gaze darted to her cellmates, finding the angry girl already standing, but not approaching, just staring. Could none of them see this? She didn't stand, dully aware of a horrible ache in her legs from being stepped on, but she scooted away from everyone.

Momentary silence, then the girl shouted, “I’m the strongest here, you can’t do that to me!” X4 had never understood why all the older kids in the cages were obsessed with being stronger than everyone else. Still, that didn't change the fact that she was now being charged. With a nervous sound, she threw her hands out in the hope of defending herself…and watched as the scary things rushed for the girl. A gasp escaped her, seeing that girl being slammed against the bars of the cage. X4 blinked, catching sight of the name on her neck. Y12.

Her long, dark purple hair had always hidden her name and she never answered if asked about it. X4 studied Y12 for a long time, hoping she was okay but too scared to go over and check. If she did, she’d get hurt, right? And if she didn’t get hurt, then Y12 was hurt a lot more than she thought. She really hoped not. That would be really, really bad. X4 didn’t want to hurt her…well, she didn't, the scary things did. The elf looked at the creepy beings, stiffening when she caught them all staring directly at her, as if waiting for something.

She shuddered, a cold chill trailing down her spine. Before she could dwell on it, Y12 groaned and pushed herself up. As if she’d never been knocked down, her dangerous red eyes boring a hole through the child. Everything about her behavior screamed danger, causing X4 to roughly shove herself against the wall. There was an immediate response from the creatures around her, all of them swarming to be in front of her. There was a breeze inside the cage from their movement, and Y12 was studying it closely.

In the end, the girl clicked her tongue and turned away, storming back to the single bed available. “This ain’t worth it. You’re a breakable freak just like that other one.” She whirled around though. “But I control this space. You got that?” X4 didn’t supply a response, merely shrinking into herself and earning a scoff from the older girl. She watched the other lay on the bed, then hugged herself. Did this…mean she was safe? Was she going to be hit more later? Did she get hurt too? X4 squeezed her legs tightly. She didn’t like hurting people.

In the end, she was back to wishing her brother was here for her. Whether she did it or not, she felt like those things had hurt that girl because of her. She was the only one who could see them, after all. Where was he? Was he coming back? If he didn’t come back…she didn’t know what she’d do. She glanced at her other two siblings, catching them staring at her. Weakly, she offered them a smile, the same one she gave all her siblings back home. They both pouted, their bottom lips poking out and their eyes getting teary.

She shook her head slowly, knowing they might get hit if they came over to her. And yet…despite the bad situation, she was happy to see that they were still who she remembered. X2 and X3 were both so kind…whatever the others had been doing, they looked so scared. She wasn’t fully aware of what all had gone on in the very beginning. She could recall zoning out or covering her ears and eyes when the others would scream, but she also knew X1 had always been right in front of her throughout all of that. She wished he would’ve helped them too.

X4 turned away from them, wincing as the movement both brought pain and the sound of quiet whines from her siblings. She touched where it hurt, grimacing at the sharp feedback it earned. When she raised her hand, it was covered in blood. That…probably wasn’t good. Remembering something their mother had taught them, she ripped off the already torn part of her clothes and tried to wrap around the area. Turns out, getting fabric from clothes was really hard if there wasn't already a tear. Having learned that, she used the rip to get more when needed.

Every motion hurt, but she made an effort to get herself patched up. X1 could heal her when he comes back…she held onto that thought desperately. He will come back. She can do this badly and he’ll help her. He’s not gone. She tried to keep her mind off how two people would leave, and only one came back. That wouldn't be him. Her brother was strong…he was kind, but he wouldn't leave her. He told her so. She pulled the fabric tight and winced, but didn’t stop. Mother had told them it had to be tight. While finishing it up and barely maintaining conscious, she wondered again where her little brother went to, and…when he’d come back to her.

—

Masterpost

Backstory Master

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter (not written yet)

—

Taglist: @nobodywritingao3 , @dragooned-speaks

If you want added to the taglist, comment/send ask/dm

#my writing #glitch writing #my characters #oc ezephr #villain #villain oc #voidshire #angel oc #oc writing #bookblr #oc x4 #book characters #book community #angst #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #elf oc #fantasy #fantasy writing

8 notes · View notes

sarahsmi13s · 1 year

Text

Footloose

(not my gif)

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x fem!pilot!reader

characters: bradley bradshaw, the dagger squad, jake ‘hangman’ seresin, javy ‘coyote’ machado, pilot oc “stark” (mentioned), penny benjamin

warnings: fem!reader, language, oc death, insecurites, mentions of cannon danger, accident and injuries (minimal descriptions), if i missed any i apologize

word count: ~3.1k

quick summary: known for the way she dances in the skies, Y/N earned her the name ‘footloose’. (credit to none other than Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin) which she finds incredibly ironic, because she cannot and will not dance on the ground to save her life.

***********

“So, how about we go dancin’ tonight?”

“Hangman, shut the hell up,” you groaned, throwing a scrunched up plastic bottle at him. You were both waiting for your turn to go against Maverick. The blond just laughed and threw the trash back at you.

“Come on, you seriously never dance anymore! When was the last time you danced?” You crossed your arms and looked away from him. “Wait, have you not danced since flight school?” Jake concluded, leaning forward with a smirk, resting his elbow on his knee. “Why?” You shrugged, slightly getting irritated because why is it a big deal to him, “I just don’t feel like it I guess.” “But you were so good at it!” “Can you just drop it, Hangman?”

“Footloose! Hangman! You’re up!” You huffed and got up, leaving Hangman in the dust to get in your plane.

You hastily brushed shoulders with Rooster, muttering a ‘sorry Roo’ as you continued your way.

Bradley looked at Jake confused, “What was that about?” Jake looked at him, opening his mouth to explain, but he just shrugged, not wanting ‘Mother Hen’ to be on his ass. Rooster nodded, accepting his response because you were relatively closed off.

Now, Rooster (well, a lot of people for that matter) had no idea of the irony behind your call sign, he only knew it was because of how you flew.

You also, never planned to tell him, not because Bradley would pressure you into dancing or make fun of you, but because Bradley was the exact type of person to dance no matter what music was on.

And of course like a teen romance movie, that’s what you loved about him. His outgoing and natural performing personality, that he definitely inherited from his parents, drew in people like no other.

You knew it was ridiculous to think the difference in your personalities would repel the pilot from ever liking you romantically. It was hard not to sometimes. But, you know, like they say, opposites attract.

And damn, was Bradley attracted to you. He admired the way you flew. That if you were out with the squad you made sure everyone was comfortable and felt included. You also could light up a room and you threw quips back at Hangman that he stumbled to retort.

How could he not like you?

**********

With a surprise storm grounding everyone, you all went to the Hard Deck.

You all were in civilian clothes, your hair thrown up into a messy bun and still soaking wet with both sweat and rain. “At least we got our training in before the rain hit,” Hangman said, clapping you on the shoulder. You nodded, a playful smirk on your lips as you sipped your drink, “Yeah, but we were 100 pushups in when it did hit.”

Rooster chuckled from across the pool table. You playfully glared at him, “What’s so funny Bradshaw?” He shook his head, “I’ve seen you run miles in the rain, Footloose. You love the rain.” You huffed out a laugh, a smile playing on your lips.

He was right after all. You grew up in a place where rain didn’t happen often, but when it did happen, it was for multiple days and you loved to sit on your porch and just watch it hit the highway and create puddles in the grass. If you were on a walk or run and got caught in the rain, you didn’t rush to get back home; unless of course it was a downpour and you couldn’t see two feet in front of you.

You nodded your head and tipped your beer bottle to him, “Got me there, Rooster.” “Hell, I bet you dance in the rain!”

Jake choked on his drink, causing everyone to look at him.

“You good, Hangman?” Coyote asked, patting his friend on the back. “Yeah,” he met your eyes, the pleading look making him shake his head. “Yeah, I’m good.” The relaxing of your eyebrows and jaw told him you were grateful for him keeping your secret. (not that it was a big deal)

*******

As the early afternoon turned into early evening, the rain did not let up.

Nobody had really come in given the weather, so it was the squad and a handful or two of regulars.

You all played pool and drank here and there. You were currently perched on a window sill watching the rain.

“You look lonely.” You jump slightly, having been lost in the sound of the rain hitting the window. You turned to see Rooster leaning on the window, a small smile on his face as he looked at you.

You smiled and leaned forward rested your chin on your knee, “I was ‘til you came along.” Bradley chuckled and shook his head, hoping his tan and slight sunburn from this morning hid his blush. “I’m honored.” You smiled at him and looked back out the window.

Rooster kept his gaze on you. “Calming isn’t it?” He hummed, “Yeah, sure is.” “Nothing lulls me to sleep quite like a good rain.” He nodded, “Is it the noise?” “Sure is. If it’s too quiet my head feels heavy and my ears feel clogged.” “So that’s why you have a fan,” Rooster chuckled and looked out the window. You laughed, “That’s exactly why I have a fan.”

You and Rooster sat in silence, just watching the rain and some lightning way off in the distance. But, the lights flickering drew you both to look back towards Penny, who was looking up at the lights. “That’s not good.” Then both the lights and music cut out, eliciting a groan from everyone in the bar.

You watched Rooster eye the piano, a grin forming on his face. “Well, don’t keep them waiting, Rooster. Get over there,” you chuckled as you shoved him to the piano. He laughed as well, jogging the rest of the way.

Everyone cheered as Rooster sat down, stretching his fingers and testing random keys. You leaned back against the window, smiling as the music sounded in the bar.

*********

Rooster made it through 4 songs before the power flickered back on. The mustached pilot stood on the bench and bowed, relishing in the calls of his name before hopping off and making his way back over to you.

“Enjoy the show?” You raised an eyebrow playfully, “You could say that.” Hangman and Coyote made their way over to the pool table by the window you and Rooster were at.

“Either of you guys wanna play?” You both shook your heads, “I wouldn’t want to bruise that precious ego of yours, Jake.” The two friends just shrugged and Hangman added an eye roll, racking up the balls and starting their slightly tipsy game of pool.

A song that was queued up caught your attention and apparently caught Bradley’s as well. He held a hand out to you, “Care to dance?” He nodded toward the dance floor where people had begun to dance to Take My Breath Away.

Your words hitched in your throat, “Well, uh-” Your flush ran up your neck to your ears.

“Oh Bradshaw, didn’t you hear-” Hangman’s words accompanied by a series of giggles caused your stomach to drop. But before you could stop him-

“Footloose doesn’t dance.”

You looked at Jake, anger flashing in your eyes before turning to Rooster, fear extinguishing the anger. Was he going to make fun of you? Was he going to ask a million questions that you didn’t want to answer?

You thought, ‘Screw it.’ And walked past Rooster to go outside and down to the beach.

Rooster was just confused, tilting his head like a puppy. Did he hear that right? “Wait, what did you say?”

Hangman swallowed the gulp of beer in his mouth. “Footloose doesn’t- shit, you weren’t supposed to know about that…” Rooster scoffed, “Why does it matter if I know about her not dancing?”

Coyote raised an eyebrow, “Um, Rooster, have you met yourself? You dance all the time, you sang your heart out less than 10 minutes ago.” “Also, Footloose is like majorly in love with you. So she figured that, since you’re so outgoing and always dancing, which is kinda obnoxious… she was scared you’d make fun of her. Even though, to be honest, you’ve never been that type of guy.” Jake was just spilling all your secrets at this point.

Rooster smirked, “Wait, was that a compliment?” “Don’t hold your breath, it’s the only one you’re getting.”

Bradley shook his head, chuckling a little before a frown of realization settled on his face. “Why would I make fun of her? I literally couldn’t care less if she danced or not.”

Jake just shrugged, “Just don’t tell anyone I told you, alright Chicken? Same goes for you too.” The blond poked Coyote in the chest with his pool cue, “No one was supposed to know. I can’t have the one pilot that somewhat tolerates me being pissy at me.” The two nodded, Javy making a zipper motion over his lips.

“Do you know why she doesn’t dance?” Jake shrugged, “When I met her in flight school she’d dance every once in a while, usually when she was drinking. But by the time we met back up at Top Gun, she barely talked about dancing.” “So quite literally like the movie?” Javy asked, suddenly just as intrigued as Bradley.

Jake pinched his nose, “I don’t know. Maybe, I don’t know how religious she is. She’s never talked about it. Not like I haven’t pried, cause of course I have, but she just shoots me down.” Bradley nodded, looking out the window, seeing you standing in the rain. “Shit, she’s gonna get sick.”

Rooster jogged to the door and outside, “Footloose! Footloose!” He groaned and picked up pace when you didn’t respond.

“Y/N,” he grabbed your shoulder. “Hey, let’s get you inside. You’re gonna get sick.” You shook your head, “Roost, I’m fine.”

He moved his eyes to where your hands were rubbing the goosebumps on your arms. “You’re cold,” he observed aloud. When you didn’t move, not even to look at him, he stepped in front of you.

“Hangman told me everything…” You bit your lip, nodding, “Pretty embarrassing, huh?” Rooster frowned again, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so…” You just shivered in response and he wrapped you in a hug.

He sighed before saying, “I’m sorry if I ever made you think I would make fun of you for not dancing. I would never do that. I couldn’t care less if you danced or not.” You sighed and slid your arms under his Hawiian shirt, “I know. Just with past experiences-”

“Those people were assholes. It’s none of their business whether or not you dance. Why would that ever be a deal breaker? Cause it certainly isn’t a deal breaker for me…” The last part was muffled by your hair as Rooster planted a small kiss on your head.

You pulled back and he was afraid he said something wrong. But his nerves melted away when you gave him a small smile, even when it didn’t quite reach your eyes yet. He gave you a smile back and moved some hair out of your face, “I’m kinda glad Hangman spilled that little secret.” Your brows pulled together, “What do you mean?” Rooster stretched his back slightly, bobbing his head to the side slightly, “Cause now I can do this.”

Bradley captured your lips and you kissed back with little hesitation.

He could taste the rain that had been running down your face and you could taste the remnants of his alcohol from earlier. Your fingers gripped his black undershirt and pulled him closer. The hand that had rested on your face moved to hold your bicep and the arm still wrapped around your shoulders pulled you onto your tippy toes, allowing you to deepen the kiss.

When you both pulled away, Rooster still held you on your toes and your hands rested on his ribs. “Bradley Bradshaw,” you said, voice slightly raspy from the intense kiss. “Yes, Honey?” “I’ve never been kissed like that before… Do it again.” The brunette happily obliged, “Yes, ma’am.” You smiled and giggled as he kissed you in the rain. It was so cliche but neither of you seemed to care.

You pulled away again, this time he placed you back on your feet. You smiled, “I’m gonna have to thank Jake later.” You felt him tense slightly at the mention of Hangman, but before you could voice it, Bradley spoke. “I’m sure I would have gotten to you eventually.” He planted a loud kiss on your wet forehead.

You close your eyes and smile at the feeling before looking him in his eyes. “You want to ask me, don’t you?” You could see the need for answers swimming in his eyes, but you knew he wouldn’t push it. He just cleared his throat, “Let’s go inside, yeah?” You studied him for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, we don’t need the two best pilots getting sick now do we?”

You walked back to the bar, you tucked right under his arm, your hand intertwined with the one on your shoulder.

As soon as you stepped in, Penny was right there with towels. “You idiots, get in here,” she said with a stern look, but you could hear the laugh behind it; much like a mother scolding her teens that knew better.

“Get in front of the heater.” She ushered you both toward the shop heater, and gave you each another towel. You thanked her and she nodded, patting you both on the knee while giving you a wink.

Rooster laughed as he dried his face and neck, “You think she saw?” You pulled your hair out of the bun, “I think everyone did.” You shook your hair. “Dude!” You laughed at Rooster's shocked expression. He smiled and shook his hair, flinging water everywhere much like you had.

“Hey, Y/N.” You looked up, wiping your face, “Yeah, Jake?” “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I don’t know why I-” “Jake, it’s fine. Plus, it wasn’t the only thing you seemed to spill to him.” Jake cringed, “Yeah, but hey! You guys are together now, so you’re welcome!” He clapped his hands together. “Am I-” “Forgiven? Yeah, I guess, but you buy my rounds for a week.” He nodded, “Done.”

You stood up and he knew what you were about to do. “Y/N-” He took a step back. “Hold on. This is a new shirt.” “I think he deserves it!” Javy said from the pool table.

Jake looked back at him and you pounced. “AH! Okay, okay!” He groaned and hugged you back. “And to think Fitch is ‘Payback’,” he looked down at his damp shirt. You just patted his shoulder and sat back down with Rooster, watching him run the towel over his hair.

He stopped and looked at you, not even looking as his hand found yours with ease. You smiled, this time it reached your eyes, and you laid your head on his shoulder.

Rooster bunched the towel in his hands. “Why don’t you dance? You don’t have to answer, it’s just Hangman said you danced all the time in flight school.” You sighed and he was quick to reiterate that you didn’t have to tell him.

“No, no. It’s okay.” Your other hand played with his thumb that had begun rubbing your knuckle.

“It was right out of flight school when I was going on a mission. My engine got taken out, and we were already too close to the hard deck for comfort and before I could even start trying to save the plane, the other engine started to go. My RIO and I had to eject, but if we wanted rescue we needed to be out of enemy territory. So, I pushed as hard as I could, getting just into friendly territory when the engine went out completely. Both of us knew we couldn’t save it so we ejected immediately.” Rooster nodded, listening as intently as he could.

Your breathing shuddered before you began and he moved his arm to rest around you. “But it wasn’t soon enough, we didn’t get far enough away and the explosion sent hot shrapnel into my legs.” Rooster always wondered where those scars on your legs came from.

“When we hit the ground, we passed out from the impact.” You shook your head, swallowing, “By the time I woke back up, I was being hauled onto the rescue chopper and Stark was right next to me, just fine. I was rushed into surgery and by the time I woke up from that, I was informed that when Stark landed she broke some ribs, which caused internal bleeding and they couldn’t stop it in time…” Bradley pressed a kiss to your temple, “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed and wiped the tear that escaped, “After my stitches were removed I started physical therapy. I was told I’d never walk, much less fly, again. But I proved them wrong, I mean look at me. I graduated from Top Gun for heaven's sake. I just focused so damn hard to walk and run better than I could before my accident, I forgot how to dance. It seems ridiculous, I know, but it’s true.”

You chuckled humorlessly, “It’s like my brain seemed to push dance moves to the bottom file cabinet drawer and my legs just can’t do the moves.”

Bradley squeezed your shoulder, “Thank you for sharing that with me. And I know you definitely still have some rhythm because you alway tap your fingers and bob your head on occasion.” You looked up at him, wide-eyed, “I do?” His jaw dropped, “Wait, how did you not- you seriously never realized you do that?”

You shook your head, astonishment on your face and it reminded Bradley of a child that learned they could do a really cool trick. He smiled and booped your nose, “You’re fucking adorable.” He smile widened when your nose crinkled at his touch.

As you stared up at him you got an idea, “Rooster, you big stud?” The man’s heart jumped up in his chest, “That’s me, Honey.” You smiled, eyes glancing down at the scar on his neck as your index finger traced it, “Will you teach me how to dance?” “I show you my moves, Honey.” He dipped down and captured you in a kiss.

***********

hey look at that! you’re still here! thank you for reading! <33

i know this idea is a little silly but i thought it was cute

and i’m very willing to write a part 2 to this if you guys want

tags <3: @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

thank you for being here babes <33

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #x reader #pilot!reader #footloose #miles teller

71 notes · View notes

omgkalyppso · 8 months

Text

WIP Whenever

Finished Astarion's personal quest last night and have started a WIP to do it my way. Spoilers below the cut. And 2k words. I just couldn't wait to share this with whoever.

warnings for gore and maybe unreality and regular vampire behaviour

I want Astarion to become a vampire. I want the Szarr Siblings to devour Cazador. I thought that Mephistopheles should have shown up OR Raphael and that this would have been a good moment to get the player to doubt Raphael as a liar and actually have been the source of Cazador's information. But instead of having either of them show up, because I haven't beat the game and might still like Raphael at the end, I am instead throwing Kanchelsis (god of vampires, located in the Abyss) into the mix. I want to write Astarion stabbing (and biting) Cazador in preface to this, I need to correct the writing I'm about to share, and probably add a bunch of like Perspectives, maybe. And I want Étoile and Astarion to talk about / argue about vampirism.

“Is… Is it over?”

Dalyria's gentle voice washed over Astarion, shaming him in his grief. Quickly and quietly he yearned for her death so that he could be alone with his pain, even despite knowing she shared it. He hissed through his teeth, catching his breath as he resisted shoving his fingers into the holes the dagger had wrought through Cazador's chest.

Was it over? Would he ever be sure?

“No.”

Astarion grimaced as he watched his siblings approach. His head flickered away from them and back, unable to stand the sight, unable to deny them absolution. Gravely, he declared as he stood, “Drink from him. If you like, if you can.”

Pale Petras was racing forward as if unleashed by the offer. Leon and Violet shared a pained glance. Yet all descended upon Cazador like ravenous wolves— like a hoard of vampires, as Astarion continued to speak half under his breath, half delirious in shock.

“Just a mouthful. Just a drop. Before— Before he rots and curdles like his affection. Before he grows to ash like his fucking mendacious promises. Drink, as he would drink from you.”

While his companions looked on in horror and curiosity, Astarion watched unseeing, disassociating from the impossible sight of Cazador laid low.

Angry, desperate clawing hands tore flesh and clothing as the vampire spawn fought to devour their late Master. Their fingers twisted in his broken body, in his eyes and in his innards, cruelly grasping for a fraction of the euphoric vengeance that their brother Astarion, had managed to claim only moments ago.

Étoile wished to reach out, to touch Astarion and to reassure him, but didn’t want to demean him in front of his rivals and siblings. They were still unclear about the culture of strength among vampires, and what were displays weakness, and when those displays were acceptable. The thought that they must have all consumed worse than a vampire-lord-a-few-moments-dead flipped around in Étoile’s stomach, numbing them to the grotesquery on display.

It was subtle at first, but steadily neither the vampire spawn nor the adventurers could ignore that the overpowering smell of blood and death, was being overtaken by the scent of sulfur. It was sharp and jarring and repugnant, and soon all eyes were being cast around in fear as the vampire spawn released the gore that had been Cazador.

Fires leaped around the edge of the ritual platform, and as the vampire spawn retreated further from the flames, Cazador’s corpse burst into radiant orange as well.

“Mephistopheles?” Étoile wondered aloud.

“Shit,” Astarion cursed in answer. Instantly he felt returned to himself, made sensate by the threat of infernal retribution. He looked to Aurelia and explained, “It is from the Archdevil that Cazador learned of the ritual. Perhaps it was to him that the sacrifices were intended to—”

As quickly as they’d roared to life, the fires quieted to nothing, sputtering into air and ether. The atmosphere rang with emptiness, beyond the squelched flames; not Silenced magically, but muffled as if by the will of the profane.

All who were present felt their ears pop and their perception twist, as a ghoulish miasma instantly filled the space and cast everything in a pale silver glow.

If a portal phased in and out of the plane before them, it was for the heartbeat of a second, in a flash of darkness and horror. It felt to Lae’zel like looking into the darkness between the stars. It felt to Wyll like looking beneath a bed, and somehow knowing you were looking into the endless maw of a monstrosity. To Étoile, it felt like looking up from within a well, with no hope of rescue. Astarion however, saw in the emptiness what he had always felt in Cazador’s gaze. The familiarity of the sensation did not ease its discomfort.

Whether the sign of the figure’s arrival was real or imagined or beyond their ken, now a man stood before them. The miasma had not faded with the flash of darkness, and it blurred and distorted the man’s edges. It spread his smile a little too wide, perverted his stature so that his height was impossible to discern, and warped the reds of his eyes so they drew one in like the flame to a moth. He was beautiful, with curled ears and long silver hair bound and impeccably imperfect, with strands loosened and caught in his braid. Some strands framed his elegant and unsettling visage, like flowers upon a grave, or the crimson stripes on the deadliest spiders.

Étoile felt their soul quiver in peril. They knew him for what he was, and so had lost their tongue to speak it.

The stranger turned his gaze on Astarion and Astarion’s desire to consume filled him like no emptiness he’d ever felt before. He could weep and bowl over and bite and beg. It disgusted him, triply so when the stranger smiled, and the sweetest release of vampiric hunger rushed his senses though no blood passed his lips.

Astarion barely had time to process that the stranger was lauding him.

“Astute, my young vampire.” His eyes drifted across into the darkness upon nothing or presences unseen, and Astarion held his throat warily as the stranger spoke on, “The souls of seven thousand and seven vampire spawn, promised to the Archdevil Mephistopheles to fuel the birth of a Vampire Ascendant.”

The stranger’s gaze drifted over each of the vampire spawn before him, and the others cringed as Pale Petras whimpered, “Please.”

Unperturbed, the stranger said with finality, “Souls which are rightly mine. For exultation. For condemnation. For apotheosis.” He raised a hand and all attention shifted from his gaze, bringing a smile to the stranger’s lips. “You need not worship me, and I will be your God regardless.” His slender fingers had the vampire spawn transfixed, but this sentence broke the attention of the others, watching nervously as this being of riveting power teased his audience with the promise of touch. “Your souls do not belong to the Hells.”

With a grimace, the stranger folded his arms together and declared, “Though they did belong to Cazador, for a time. No longer. A relief I’m sure, and a boon to me now that you are not bound for another plane. This is where you belong. Your longing, your power, your hunger. All fuel me, your Lord Kanchelsis.”

As he sucked in a nervous breath, Astarion recalled all he knew of the god of vampires — or rather, as he quickly recalled, the demi-god who claimed dominion over vampires. Kanchelsis was once a vampire risen to the level of a god, and with that in mind Astarion wondered how close a Vampire Ascendant would be to Kanchelsis’ power, which radiated off of him, and whether this influenced The Rake’s gratitude in their halting of the ritual.

Could he have been a God, if the moment hadn’t passed? Could he still?

“I know you only as Cazador’s spawn, Patricide.”

Kanchelsis did not phrase it as a question, and nor was it a command which compelled Astarion to speak, but the demi-god’s meaning was not lost to him, and there was no fight left in him after Cazador’s defeat. No more fight than a fleeting reactionary expression of disgust towards being equated to Cazador’s son and creation.

“I am Astarion,” he said, tight lipped and unyielding. With a grimace, Astarion realized that no amount of instinctual reverence could force him to address Kanchelsis with respect — not ‘my lord,’ nor by title. He would not trade one master for another.

“Astarion,” Kanchelsis repeated, slowly, as if committing it to some great memory. More than that a body such as this could hold. Then Kanchelsis tilted his head and smiled again, and Astarion felt some of his siblings dare once more to breathe.

“You’ve done well with them,” Kanchelsis declared, and despite the cryptic nature of the statement, Astarion’s posture tightened for fear of Étoile, the fool Oathbreaker Paladin who stood not ten feet away, but if Kanchelsis’ gaze found Étoile it was transitory, as the lord of vampires continued to admire the grizzly tableau that had been Cazador’s ritual.

“When I go,” Kanchelsis said to Astarion, “I will take knowledge of the ritual with me. For your part in putting it back into obscurity, I will offer you a boon. Not for you to demand, of course, but for you to deny if it does not suit you. The ability to sustain yourself on the denizens of the Nine Hells. To command them with no more difficulty than the average person. You have already made an enemy of Mephistopheles, and it is only by my power that he has not come now. One day, whether the next, or in ten thousand, he will find you for this. The power I offer will not save you, but… It may have its uses, by then.”

“A boon?” Astarion confirmed. “Not a trade or a … an accord?”

“If it was ever such an exchange, as I say, you have completed your side of the pact,” Kanchelsis agreed, amused.

Astarion’s gaze drifted to the earth for a moment, considering. He asked, “And I would still be able to drink mortal blood? There isn’t exactly an infernal invasion on which to gorge myself.”

“Yes,” Kanchelsis said, dark and eager. “You are a vampire now Astarion, or will be, after a rest. No longer a spawn after drinking of your former Master.” His unholy eyes shone with promise and Astarion swallowed his discomfort. “You may drink, and turn, and ruin as many men, women and children as the Material Plane can house. It is only through this that we are joined. Only by this that I might empower you.”

“Then yes,” Astarion conceded, leaning forward in his unexpected enthusiasm, nearly falling forward in his exhaustion. “This sounds … most agreeable.”

Besides Mephistopheles, Astarion wondered about Karlach’s warning of Raphael, and more, any time spent with his companions was almost guaranteed to drag them closer to Zariel and the rest of the Hells. Kanchelsis was at least correct in his assertion that the Infernal Realms were no place for a vampire. A vampire. He was…

After so long, he was soon to have the powers that Cazador flaunted by his very being. He could … accomplish so much. Rival the Absolute, not in concept but in power, raising the dead and the inept in masses to fight this cult for the city of Baldur’s Gate, for control. Only, there was no time to amass power of that nature, and no means to control what could otherwise have been seven-thousand soldiers at his command from Cazador’s dungeons.

Astarion was pulled from his thoughts as Kanchelsis stretched the nail at the end of his index finger across the length of its twin on his opposite hand. Astarion scoffed, realizing that even with their gods, that everything to do with vampires was in the blood.

He hazarded a look to his companions and found them too contemplative, and with nothing of their horror from earlier. It was vindicating that even the ultimate of his kind, the vampire lord Kanchelsis, was less abhorrent than Cazador had been.

Kanchelsis rolled the side of his finger over the side of Astarion’s already bloodied lips, blooming a new, inescapable sensation over his person as he licked his lips, accepting the droplet and the boon. It was exactly what it was. Drinking the blood of some unholy god. Not that Astarion was fool enough to believe he could survive the drinking of the blood of a holy god. Lathander at least would render him to ash.

“Exquisite,” Kanchelsis declared, and Astarion couldn’t tell whether he was being complimented or if there had been some other aspect of their exchange that Kanchelsis was commenting upon.

With a wave of his hand Kanchelsis called upon Cazador’s dungeon, expunging its secrets and siphoning its magic. Runes, increasingly hard to decipher, floated and danced around Kanchelsis’ bloodied fingers, but his expression remained impassive as he left his audience with a parting credo, “In Darkness. In Blood. In Glory.”

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion #oc tag: étoile #please don't give me spoilers. i don't mind if i'm wrong right now. i can rewrite or ignore anything i need #i haven't written this much in a single project in a long while

18 notes · View notes

cto10121 · 1 year

Text

R&J Clown Takes Special Edition—Hamlet/Horatio Parallels and The Migratory Slash Fandom

In which I focus on one particular clown take and see if it at least gives me a couple of chuckles/insightful meta. Today’s R&J Clown Takes comes a relatively rare but definitely not unheard-of crossover I’ve seen pop up every so often—supposed Hamlet/Horatio and R&J parallels, particularly their death scenes.

But all right, OP, I’ll bite. Let’s investigate whether these parallels are warranted.

So in R&J, Romeo goes on a fulsome speech before he drinks the potion. His last words before drinking the potion are these:

Romeo. Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide,

Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

The dashing rocks thy seasick weary barque

Here’s to my love. [Drinks the poison]

O true apothecary,

Thy drugs are quick! Thus with a kiss I die.

He kisses Juliet, then dies. Juliet wakes up after Romeo ends himself, the Friar pleads with her to go with her, Juliet rejects him, he leaves, and says this:

Juliet. What’s here? A cup closed in my true love’s hand?

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.

She then immediately tries to drink it. But it’s all gone.

Juliet. O churl!—drunk all, and left no friendly drop

To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them

To make me die with a restorative. [kisses Romeo]

Thy lips are warm!

Like Romeo, Juliet also kisses him. She then hears noise and decides to kill herself with Romeo’s dagger.

In the ~supposedly equivalent scene in Hamlet, Hamlet is dying from Laertes’ cut, and urgently tells Horario explicitly to tell his story to the world.

Hamlet. Horatio, I am dead,

Thou liv’st. Report me and my cause aright

To the unsatisfied.

Horatio. Never believe it.

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane.

Here’s yet some liquor left.

Horatio rejects Hamlet’s request (or rather command), comparing himself to an ancient Roman than a modern Dane—as in, a subordinate soldier to his commander. He then aims to drink the potion.

Hamlet. As thou’rt a man,

Give me the cup. Let go. By heaven, I’ll ha’t!

Hamlet not only rejects Horatio’s attempted suicide but also tries to stop him verbally and (implied) physically, by throwing the cup away from him. He then repeats his injunction:

Hamlet. O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,

Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicity a while

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain

To tell my story.

Hamlet’s “If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart” is clearly rhetorical, but it’s interesting that he still felt the need to ask him to mourn him and act as witness, as if he weren’t sure Horatio’s affection for him.

Apart from “there’s yet some poison/liquor” idea, I think it’s clear from these two death scenes that there is no true parallel. Romeo compares himself to a ship, a pilot, and explicitly calls Juliet his love. He dies on Juliet’s kiss. Juliet, waking up, tries to kill herself on his kiss before opting for the dagger. All throughout, the emphasis is on their love.

Meanwhile, Horatio compares himself to a Roman soldier, whose honor would compel him to commit suicide for his superior. Hamlet rejects the suicide but implicitly buttresses this general/lieutenant metaphor, giving him the command to “report” his story—like an actual general to his lieutenant. There is also a clear parallel/reference to Julius Caesar, written about a year before Hamlet, particularly Brutus’ commander’s honor suicide as well as Brutus’.

In any case, there are no kisses and unlike Juliet, Horatio does accept Hamlet’s command that he not kill himself (and, explicitly re:Hamlet, to “man up!”). For his part Hamlet is almost wholly concerned with his reputation, although he does acknowledge Horatio’s feelings and how difficult it would be for him to talk about his late friend.

If Shakespeare had wanted a true R&J parallel, one would assume he would have had Horatio drink the poison after Hamlet’s death. Or better yet, decide to use his dagger/sword and attempt to wound himself along with Hamlet, as Juliet did. But of course, that would have been OOC for Horatio, and go against the very quality Hamlet had praised him for—not being passion’s slave. Even his attempted suicide was logical—as in, it follows the logic of honor killing.

#romeo and juliet #hamlet #hamratio #rj meta #r&j clown takes #rj clown takes #rj clownery #are the gays okay #no they are not #in any case even if they were a couple hamlet and horatio’s dynamic is not r&j #it’s lieutenant/commander #the exact same dynamic as johnlock

34 notes · View notes

ironcladrhett · 8 months

Text

TIMING: Tonight -> a few days from now. LOCATION: The Fungi Wagon PARTIES: Rhett (@ironcladrhett) & Ariadne (@ariadnewhitlock) SUMMARY: Local madman (Rhett) kidnaps young mare (Aria) in an attempt to see how long it takes her to starve locked in the back of his van. Yikes. CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of familial death.

—

Lurking around that fae club wasn’t a solution and Rhett knew it—if he was going to find the entrance to an aos sí, he needed somefae to lead him there. Either unknowingly or by force, it didn’t really make a difference to him. So he cruised around the town in the dead of night, window rolled down and senses on high alert for that familiar wave of sick he got when he got close to fae.

But, at the edge of town, the lone figure he spotted didn’t provide that unease. Wasn’t fae, but… those eyes. The same he’d seen in the rear of his van when that fucking mare had tried to feed on him. He’d fixed the vehicle up since then, ensuring that a mare couldn’t get back inside (or out) unless he wanted them to, but he hadn’t been expecting to want that again quite so soon. It wasn’t his intended target but it was almost too easy—the thing wasn’t hiding its nature, totally alone in a dark, unlit place, assuming it was safe. Stupid.

Parking the van and unlocking the back door, leaving one slightly ajar in anticipation, Rhett retrieved one of his daggers and silently approached the mare from behind, only making noise once he was within a few strides of it, lurching forward to clap a hand over its mouth while the other pressed the knife to its throat. The direct contact ensured that the fuckin’ thing couldn’t ghostwalk out of trouble, and he hoped that the threat of a blade through the neck would keep it quiet. Still— “Not a fuckin’ noise or I cut yer head off, beast,” he snarled, dragging it away from the scene and back toward the waiting vehicle.

—

The night still called to her, no matter how much Ariadne didn’t want it to. But she had to take care of herself, didn’t she? And Leila and Inge might both be proud that she was at least existing happily in the dark. It might’ve not been much, and she did want to go and find Wynne, or Cass, or Nora, or Alex, or any of her other friends, but standing, shorts and a sweatshirt, sneakers too, felt good. It was important, and nobody else was around, which meant that she wasn’t going to hurt anybody. Which was also good.

She bent over, grabbing a small flower – more of a weed than anything, before tucking it behind her ear. She could bring back little things for Wynne, that had to be multiple levels of acceptable. Ariadne pressed a kiss to her fore and middle fingers and brushed them against the flower as she smiled.

The smile was short-lived, however, as before she knew it, someone had grabbed her and placed their hand - their large, semi-grimy, too-rough hand - over her mouth, and then there was something cold against her throat and the man’s threat registered fully in her ears. She still fought against him, doing her best to struggle as much as was possible (which wasn’t very much, given her current predicament) as he dragged her somewhere. Her parents had told her that if she was ever in a rough situation it was okay to not always be so polite, and so she spat against the man’s hand, though it didn’t do much, as she felt her own saliva on her cheeks. He’d called her beast. Another word for monster. Ariadne figured, for a moment, that maybe he had a point. Except she still didn’t know where he was taking her, and she kicked against his shins, still trying to wrestle herself out of whatever exactly was happening.

—

It was putting up a fight, which he could have admired if it wasn’t such a pitiful one. It was easy enough to drag her back to the van and throw open the door with one hand, then grab her with both and chuck her inside like he did day in and day out with his duffel bags. The door was quickly shut behind it and the padlock clicked shut, then he rounded the van to drop back into the driver’s seat. Metal bars separated them, as well as other mare-proof barriers to keep them from the ‘cockpit’ of the van, so to speak.

If it screamed, the padding on the walls and ceiling would do a decent enough job muffling it—Rhett was speeding toward the outskirts of town anyway, toward his bunker. He hadn’t quite perfected the precautions in there, yet, but felt confident about the van. The small space would suffice for him wanting to see how long it took the creature to starve to death, anyway.

He was silent during the drive, ignoring any and all protests and pleas for release, eyes forward, struggling to see the road in the dark. It took all of his focus, but they did make it eventually. The bunker was close to the coast and far away from anything else—plenty private for his needs. Parking the van, he turned in his seat to finally look at the creature.

“D’ya know how long it takes for a mare to starve?” he asked nonchalantly. Even if it gave an answer, he had no intention of letting it go. Just wanted to see if it knew. “I’m dreadful curious ‘bout it.”

—

He threw her into the van and Ariadne winced at the impact. She didn’t know if she could still bruise, but if she could, she knew she’d be covered in them from this alone. She liked to think that she had decently fast reflexes, but He’d shut the door before she could even sit up, and Ariadne, not usually one for demonstrative frustration, gave the door a sharp kick with both her feet before she felt herself nearly give up, just flop onto her back. She didn’t want to give up, and so she screamed, briefly, as loudly as she could, but the man up front didn’t even flinch, and so she figured maybe nobody at all could hear her.

She cried, then, dejected and then, suddenly, panicked. Because she couldn’t find her phone, or maybe it was somewhere and her panic was making her not think clearly. Or maybe He’d taken it. Point was, right now, Ariadne didn’t know where it was, and she simply whimpered. She wanted Wynne – or Cass – or Nora – or just about anybody else right now, but those three would make her feel safest.

The car stopped, and she sat up, too suddenly, before His voice broke through the silence. “What?” She squeaked. “I – no. I don’t know.” She pulled her knees up against her chest. “Why are you curious? Please. I - just let me out. I won’t tell anybody anything.” She didn’t like the way He looked at her, the way His eyes felt on her. “I normally like curiosity, but I’m sorry, real sorry, but I don’t think I support it now.” She unscrunched her body and tugged on the door’s handles. “Please. Please let me go. I’ve never fed on you ever, I promise.”

—

“For curiosity’s sake. Don’t need more reason than that.” He watched it for a moment, noting the way it quickly jumped to begging for release.

That brought a smile to his face.

“Yer a sad little thing, ain’t yah? A shame, to have died so young, aye… not that it’ll get ya any sympathy from me. Don’t like youngins. But… suppose the world might be sad. Whatever false sorta life ya built fer yerself, the people in it might be sad. But they’ll get over it. Always do.” Now that was a lie, he knew, but it didn’t matter. He was just having a bit of fun scaring the creature.

“You’n I, little lady, we’re gonna conduct a little experiment.” He would have dragged her to the bunker, but if his last encounter with a mare was any indication, it wasn’t quite ready for astral interlopers, yet. The van was, though, so she’d just have to stay in here. Didn’t make a difference to Rhett. A corpse in the back might give some fuckin’ credence to the way ‘Milio always bitched ‘bout a smell. “I wanna know how long it takes a mare tah starve. So yer gonna stay in here, with no dreams to sustain ya, and I’ll be checkin’ in daily, aye? Best get cozy.”

—

An involuntary whimper escaped from her lips. “I –” she began again, before wrapping her arms around her body, the smile on his face deeply unnerving and unsettling.

“I’m–” Ariadne began again, “I - maybe.” Even still, even now, lying felt wrong. “They –” she squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe they’d be better without her. Except that she liked being alive, even if she was a monster. She liked having friends and she liked the way the sun felt on her skin and she loved being someone’s. Being Wynne’s. Even if they deserved better than her. “They will?” A few tears rolled down her cheeks, onto her pants. She wasn’t supposed to be able to be scared, and yet there was nothing other than sheer panic running through her body, right now.

“Please don’t call me that.” Emilio had told her to not be polite when people wanted to kill her, but maybe pleading would work. Maybe. “I don’t - I’m bad at science.” Which was a bit of a lie, but maybe if she was, He’d give up and let her go. “You want - what?” She thought she was going to be sick. “I don’t know how cozy I can get. It’s – it’s not so great, back here.” Ariadne fiddled with her hands. “People are gonna know I went missing, you know. There’s – people in town know me. They’ll –” she looked down again. “How are you gonna check in on the experiment though, anyway?” Maybe false braveness would turn real, sometime. “If I’m just stuck back here. Are you gonna like, take notes or something?”

—

“Aye, they will.” It was all he’d say on the subject, figuring that whatever scenarios this thing would conjure up in its mind would be far worse than anything he could say to it, given what little he knew of its life, death, and unlife.

“Don’t matter. You don’t gotta be good at anythin’ other than sittin’ there thinkin’ ‘bout what you did that got you into this spot,” Rhett assured her cruelly. “Sure, people’ll know. They’ll worry, until they can’t do nothin’ but figure you got yerself killed or ran off. Then they’ll move on, aye? Like I said.” There was a beat, and he laughed, but it was sharp and bitter. “More like tallymarks. Only interested in how long it takes ya t’die. Again, that is. Can poke my head in up here n’ see fer meself.” With all that said, the warden threw her a wink that still managed to feel malicious and opened the driver’s side door. “Right. Seeya tomorrow. Have a real fun rest’ah yer night!” He climbed out of the van, ignoring any further protests she might’ve made, and slammed the door shut behind him, then locked the vehicle and went to let himself into the bunker where a couch waited to cradle him into a gentle, carefree sleep.

—

She’d done plenty of thinking about what had gotten her here. About how much she should have been better so Celene didn’t choose to turn her, and how she should’ve been more careful once she’d been changed, instead of killing someone else.

Ariadne bit down on her tongue as hard as she could, though His laugh made her want to spit at Him. She’d gotten in trouble for doing that once, in second grade, when Derek had made fun of another girl’s hairstyle. So Ariadne had spat on him and called him some sort of childish name, and then they’d both had to go to the principal’s office. This situation seemed much more worthy of spitting, but she didn’t think it’d matter.

“Tallymarks are stupid,” she managed, wrapping her arms back around her knees. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Except that then He was out of the van and she finally unwound herself and gave the side of it a sharp kick, the metallic sound echoing throughout the rest of the van.

Ariadne wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but not being able to read or watch too much TV or cuddle against Wynne meant that everything felt infinitely longer than it should’ve.

Still, eventually the morning did come and she was thankful that she didn’t have a terrible ache of hunger in her stomach. Maybe, if she pretended she had bags of gummy bears and skittles and sour watermelon candies, she would throw off the inevitability of feeling too hungry to do anything. Ariadne heard the door open, and met Him with a scowl.

“Still here.” She said, in an effort to keep her words as biting as possible, though she wasn't sure how much success she was having on the whole situation. “At least give me my phone back. Or a book. Or anything. This is a stupid experiment, you know.”

—

“Give ya yer phone back? What ya take me for, some daft, outta touch boomer? Hell, I think even one’ah them would know better.” The request for a book felt strange, when one considered that she ought to just be asking to be let free. Did she think there was a scenario in which this ended in her being loosed before she was dead? Like, real dead?

Fuck. It, not she. Rhett was doing that thing again. Permitting them too much humanity. The realization put a scowl on his face and he snorted in the mare’s direction. “No. No books,” he snapped, pulling back out of the van and slamming the door shut. He wouldn’t be checking in again today. Tomorrow was fine. Let it stew in its misery until tomorrow. And then to the next day. Then the next. Until requests for books turned to begging to be released, until it turned to desperate anguish, and finally, silence. One less fuckin’ thing in this world to hurt people.

—

“I don’t. I just – please.” Except He wasn’t paying her much attention at all. If any. The door slammed and Ariadne couldn’t help but jump at the sound. She would’ve figured that becoming a literal nightmare would have made her a tad less jumpy but that was proving to be distinctly not the case. At all. If anything, she’d become more jumpy and nervous since becoming what she was.

A monster, if He was to be believed.

She lay down, and looked up at the ceiling of the van, trying to think of what stars would be out tonight. Except she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, in town. Getting kidnapped made her ability to locate herself a bit difficult, apparently.

She tapped her feet against the van, anything to make sound, anything to keep her focus off of the fact that she was going to maybe die again, and for all that Ariadne hated what she was, she also didn’t especially want to die.

Both soon enough and after what felt like forever, she heard the front door open again, and she whipped her head around, pressing her lips together before she snapped at Him, “this is still stupid. You’re mean. You know that, right? You’re mean and I don’t like mean people.”

—

It’d been another full day of smithing and casual creature slaughter, and still the mare sat in the back of his van by the time he returned to the bunker in the evening, clearly cranky but otherwise just the same as he’d left it a couple nights ago. It snapped something in his direction and he only scoffed, lifting his notepad and scratching off another tally mark with a purposeful, almost antagonistic stroke of the pencil.

It was the same thing the next night, and the one after that. Goddamn, how long did this take? He was getting impatient. Sure, the mare was looking a little worse for wear, but Rhett wouldn’t be satisfied until it was dead. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know what happened when a mare died. Was it a dust explosion, like with vampires? Or maybe glitter, like their weird blood? Would there still be a body left over? So many questions needed to be answered, and it would be easily done, if it would just let go of that stubbornness!

“Must be starvin’,” he remarked during the most recent check-in, giving the creature a hard, curious stare. “Y’don’t gotta fight it, yanno. The call of the void. Hear it’s pretty comfy on the other side. All ya can eat buffets n’ shit. Hell, maybe you’ll even get a human appetite back, eh? Sounds nice. Should open up to the idea’ah checkin’ it out.”

—

A part of her wished she knew how long it took for mares to starve to death.

Not that it would improve her situation, but maybe it would shorten the waiting game she had going on here.

Either that or just increase her anxiety tenfold. Which hardly seemed possible at the moment, but Ariadne also hadn’t thought that getting kidnapped and thrown in the back of some dude’s van was a possibility, so maybe there were horrible things that she hadn’t even considered yet.

She did her best to look straight at Him, whenever He came by. To look Him in the eyes, if she could. Even if the scratch of His pencil made her tense up, made her call out to Him (again) that this was stupid, mean, and uncalled for.

“I don’t wanna die.” She burst into tears again, another full body sob, “or I – die again, I don’t. Please.” Her head hurt, and the whole van was spinning, nearly. “I’ve never fed from you.” She squeaked. “I don’t – I want to be human, I – please. Please let me go.” Ariadne didn’t know why she thought that begging would change anything, considering nothing had before. “Please – or – I – but – why are you watching me die? Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill me outright?”

—

“Sure… but then I wouldn’t have my answer, would I?” There was no part of him that felt for the mare, even though it looked like an innocent young woman. The sort that his niece could have grown up into, if she’d been given the time and the opportunity. If she’d not been destined for the life of a hunter, like him and like her father, and if that life hadn’t been snuffed out so horribly early.

Even as he thought about her, holding her little corpse in his arms as his anguished wails filled the living room, it didn’t move him in this moment. Here, now, he was closed off to that sort of thing. There was no more compassion behind those darkened eyes, no more room for tenderness and care. Only a calloused heart, full of vitriol, deaf to the mare’s pleas for mercy. He was not a merciful man anymore. That warden had died long ago, with a knife in his brother’s back and a fae standing over them, the guilt of its promise-bind having come to deadly fruition hanging heavy over the scene like the thick, terrible stench of death.

He gave the mare one last cold, calculating stare before pulling back and slamming the door shut again.

“Nothin’ personal,” he called through the metal that separated them, rapping his knuckles against the door before scratching off another tally mark and heading back to the bunker.

#. thread ;#. with ; ariadne whitlock #. merciless ;

9 notes · View notes

apocalypticavolition · 9 months

Text

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 26: Whitebridge

All right people who haven't read the entire Wheel of Time series, it's time for you to make a choice. You can escape downriver in a nice boat and stay away from all the nasty spoilers, or you can cross this bridge and get hit upside the head with whatever bullshit I randomly throw in here. It could be from any point in the series, so if you're avoiding that kind of nonsense, make your aquatic escape now.

This chapter has Thom's harp yet again. As before, it's about the influence he'll have on the boys. This chapter it also refers to his supposed sacrifice to save them. Regardless, just like last time, he's the only thing keeping them alive.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Thom Merrilin muttered finally, “for teaching me how true the old saying is. Teach him how you will, a pig will never play the flute.” The sailor burst out laughing, and Mat raised the flute as if to throw it at him.

Of course, just because he's the thin barricade between them and death doesn't mean he likes them or that they're remotely grateful. Even Rand doesn't really want to learn, he's just doing this for their cover story, though he will have more of an appreciation for these skills as the story goes on.

Mat looked up, still frowning. “What if they are dead?” he said softly. “We have to accept facts, right?”

There's a sad parallel in Perrin awkwardly trying to assure Egwene that the others aren't dead and Mat here trying to pull Rand into the doubt and despair that the dagger generates.

So it will all turn out like one of Thom’s stories? The heroes find the treasure and defeat the villain and live happily ever after? Some of his stories don’t end that way. Sometimes even heroes die. Are you a hero, Rand al’Thor? Are you a hero, sheepherder?

All of this does end up happening. Y'all find the various plot coupons and get rich in the process, the Dark One is sealed away, and despite the looming Seanchan Outriggers it does seem like when that drama is over you all will retire happily, except Egwene who dies.

The White Bridge arched high over the wide waters, twice as high as the Spray’s mast and more, and from end to end it gleamed milky white in the sunlight, gathering the light until it seemed to glow. Spidery piers of the same stuff plunged into the strong currents, appearing too frail to support the weight and width of the bridge. It looked all of one piece, as if it had been carved from a single stone or molded by a giant’s hand, broad and tall, leaping the river with an airy grace that almost made the eye forget its size.

Thom thinks that the bridge is from the Age of Legends, but I personally think it's marginally newer; one of the first major structures assembled in the immediate aftermath. It seems very unlikely to me that two major rivers would have survived the totality of the Breaking intact, and we already know that the Erinin's northern half didn't change significantly after Lews's suicide. Thus, the odds of this river not having moved seem significantly lower - especially since the Two Rivers were recently part of an ocean! The White Bridge, to me, represents the last gasp of a dying art, an Aes Sedai work possible to perform without mixed-gender circles but too difficult to keep up all the same.

“We made it, Thom,” he said, then forced a laugh. “And no mutiny.”

I wouldn't say that until I was off the ship myself, but what do I know?

“You’ve slept on watch for the last time on my vessel! Or on any vessel, if I have my way of it. Choose your own side—the dock or the river—but off my vessel now!”

I wonder if Domon and Egeanin will ever discuss how one of the things they have in common is a complete disdain for Gelb.

“Aye, well, as to that. . . .” The captain produced a leather purse from his coat pocket and tossed it to Thom. It clinked when Thom caught it. “Your fares back, and a bit more besides. The damage was no so bad as I thought, and you’ve worked your way and more with your tales and your harp.

So that's Rand's ta'veren, I expect. Or Mat's, since it's kind of lucky. Like Domon's a good guy and all, and this is definitely the kind of thing he'd at least consider for other gleemen, but not go so far as to return their fares and extra. Definitely offer it to sweeten the pot to stay, but not just toss it upfront.

So much for not being noticed, Rand thought, dismayed. By sundown it would be all over Whitebridge that there was a gleeman in town.

I'm a wee bit surprised that gleemen are big deals in Whitebridge, but I guess that for quite a lot of people it's the effective end of the road. And with the winter not ending properly, he's probably the first one of the season. Just another little way all the details of the world add up to ensure that Rand is constantly fucked at any given moment.

“An innkeeper will be able to tell us if they’re here, or if they’ve passed through. The right innkeeper. Innkeepers have all the news and gossip. If they aren’t here. . . .”He looked back and forth from Rand to Mat. “We have to talk, we three.”

It's like Thom wants to be forced to fake his death at an inopportune time! Be more genre savvy, gleeman!

Rand wondered idly if all innkeepers were fat and losing their hair.

Only the good ones. I'll have to go into the hospitality business if I ever start losing my hair.

“Straight on from the bridge,” Thom said, “is the road to Caemlyn. Anyone passing through Whitebridge comes through this square, unless they’re going by river, and we know your friends aren’t doing that. If there is no word of them here, it doesn’t exist. Let me do the talking. This has to be done carefully.”

More good mentor points for Thom for continuing to explain why he does what he does so that the boys can learn.

Aes Sedai had been involved in taking Logain, of course. Bartim spat on the floor when he said that, and again when he said they were taking the false Dragon north to Tar Valon. Bartim was a decent man, he said, a respectable man, and Aes Sedai could all go back to the Blight where they came from and take Tar Valon with them, as far as he was concerned.

It's incredible how even the Red Ajah, whose purpose should be the most popular thing on the planet, manage to have PR this terrible. "Yeah they saved humanity from a madman who was going to plunge our society into a war the scale of which hasn't been seen for a thousand years, but fuck those witches amirite? Hope they all die miserably."

“They’ll be taking him there to show to Queen Morgase.” The innkeeper touched his forehead respectfully. “I’ve never seen the Queen. Man ought to see his own Queen, don’t you think?”

Queen oughta tour her queendom on occasion! (Funny foreshadowing though.)

“Why, the hunt for the Horn, of course,” Bartim exclaimed. “Didn’t I say that? The Illianers are calling on everybody as will swear their lives to the hunt to gather in Illian. Can you imagine that? Swearing your life to a legend? I suppose they’ll find some fools. There’s always fools around. This fellow claimed the end of the world is coming. The last battle with the Dark One.”

It's a rare thing when a guy proclaiming the end of the world is right, but that dude was. The Hunt is another thing that seemed to fall to the wayside; we meet many people that joined this hunt, but Illian's association with the Horn is never important. The Horn itself obviously matters though.

Thom still seemed to be a thousand miles away, so Rand said, “We’re looking for some friends who were coming this way. From the west. Have there been many strangers passing through in the last week or two?”

Rand loses points for being a bad student and ignoring instructions. This directly sets off the sequence of events that leads to Thom having to ditch them, so it's a triple penalty.

About a week ago, as near as I can say, a weaselly fellow came over the bridge. Crazy, everybody thought. Always talking to himself, never stopped moving even when he was standing still. Asked about the same people . . . some of them.

Hi, Padan Fain! Shame you don't think about him, Rand.

“He was crazy, but the other one. . . .” Bartim’s eyes shifted uneasily, and his tongue ran over his lips as if he could not find enough spit to moisten them. “Next day . . . next day the other one came for the first time.” He fell silent.

And this foreshadows that Fain's got off the Darkfriend script. If he was still working for Ba'alzamon, they wouldn't have sent a Fade afterward - and frankly, he would have been kept sane enough to ask discretely and in a way that wouldn't stand out. Luckily for everyone in Whitebridge, I don't think Fain was radioactive evil yet, so hopefully no one got any bad doses of Shadar Logoth.

“I think I’d remember if I ever met anyone like that,” Thom said after a minute.

"I hate Aes Sedai," says man who knows how to dissemble better than most Aes Sedai.

“And he’ll be back,” Thom said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “I say we sneak back to the boat and take Captain Domon up on his offer. The hunt will center on the road to Caemlyn while we’re on our way to Illian, a thousand miles from where the Myrddraal expect us.”

Really, the thing that makes the Hunt's fading into obscurity and Illian's connection being so irrelevant so surprising to me is the sheer number of people who try to convince Rand to go there early: Bayle, Thom, Moiraine. Maybe Lanfear? It feels like it should be a way bigger deal than it ends up being.

Thom seemed to understand. The gleeman’s face softened. “Even those dreams, lad. They are still just dreams, aren’t they? For the Light’s sake, Mat, talk to him. I know you don’t want to go to Tar Valon, at least.”

Another good Thom quality is how he understands Rand's emotions better and validates them. Way too many of his mentors don't understand him at all, or do understand what he's feeling and antagonize him for it.

Domon isn’t sailing until tomorrow morning. At best he’ll have Trollocs chasing him all the way to Illian. Well, he’s half expecting it for some reason, but that won’t do us any good.

Shame they didn't think to pull at that thread a little more. It's good set-up for the next book though.

Mat shrugged. He eyed each of them, then shrugged again. “I’m just on edge. I can’t seem to get rid of it. Every time we stop for a breath, they’re there, hunting us. I feel like somebody’s staring at the back of my head all the time. What are we going to do?”

I wonder if somebody who was just an idiot treasure hunter without numerous enemies would have taken a little longer to fall under the dagger's spell. Or if Shadar Logoth only tried to pull on Mat in the first place because he was already feeling that paranoia when they entered the city.

“My brother’s only son, my only living kin. He got in trouble with the Aes Sedai, but I was too busy with . . . other things. I don’t know what I could have done, but when I finally tried, it was too late. Owyn died a few years later. You could say Aes Sedai killed him.”

What could you have done Thom, except either kill him yourself or enable him to kill everyone he loved? Dude lasted three years without getting gentled; it was really only a matter of time. Oh well, at least Thom's hatred of the Aes Sedai has more justification than the vast majority of the setting's.

“We’ll walk out of here one at a time, just close enough to keep each other in sight. Shouldn’t be remembered especially, that way. Can’t you slouch?” he added to Rand. “That height of yours is as bad as a banner.”

So in this chapter, our heroes have discussed:

The Horn of Valere

Bayle Domon's mysterious motivations AKA one of the seven seals

Ways Rand stand out, like banners

Guess what three things they find in the Eye of the World!

The Fade was just as startled. Its leisurely pace faltered in mid-stride. Its hand swept toward the hilt of the black sword hanging at its waist, but the gleeman’s long legs covered the distance quickly. Thom crashed into the Myrddraal before the black blade was half drawn, and both went down in a thrashing heap. The few people still in the square fled. “RUN!” The air in the square flashed an eye-searing blue, and Thom began to scream, but even in the middle of the scream he managed a word. “RUN!” Rand obeyed. The gleeman’s screams pursued him.

Thom's such a badass. Goodbye for this book, Thom. It's rare when I'm glad that there's a fake-out death, but I'm glad here. For now. When we get to the mustache pulling I reserve the right to change my mind. Anyway though, Thom is too good a mentor for Rand which is why the narrative works double and triple time to ensure that he never gets a chance to benefit from the man's full attention. Dude would have found a way to off Cadsuane mid-slapping Rand in the face, which would have made Rand laugh and saved the world six books early, saving us the readers from quite a lot of misery along the way.

“You think Egwene and Moiraine and the rest are dead, too. If they’re dead, why are the Myrddraal still hunting them? Answer me that?” Mat dropped to his knees in the dust beside him. “All right. Maybe they are alive. But Thom—You saw! Blood and ashes, Rand, the same thing can happen to us.”

Rand and Mat are very lucky to have confirmation of their friends' survival, really. The hope will certainly help Rand keep going as things rapidly go to shit on the road. And Mat clearly learned nothing from Thom since he's not genre savvy enough to understand that if you don't see a body, they're probably still alive.

And that's another chapter! Next time, we're back with Perrin and Egwene. Sadly, Perrin will neither learn from his mentor nor will Elyas be dramatically faking his death.

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #mat cauthon #thom merrilin

13 notes · View notes

ortelassa-goldstein · 7 months

Text

THIS IS ALL COMPLICATED (except Gale lol)

Another shitpost about my beloved tav Haltyrr. Now about her relationship with companions. More details under the cut.

template by @raysoffrost, thank you!

(Please note - everything below is written on behalf of my oc. My own opinion may be different! I find all the characters charming, but from Hal's point of view it's a little more complicated) (oh and pls ignore my bad english, i try my best, thank you)

Shadowheart. This girl is harmed. She bleeds painfully right front of me and pretend to be fine, pretend no one sees her weakness. She NEEDS something. Protection, maybe? I dont understand. She is so funny in her pathetic rudeness. When I look at her, I feel my own weakness, and it's sucks. I should stay away. Lae'zel. I never seen githyanki before, and this woman was mystery… For some time. She's annoying, she's predictable, and… amazing in her faith. I adore her directness and urgency to fight to the death for her ideals, but also this is a blindness. She always follows the line of least resistance. People like Laezel are good on battlefield. I need these type in our journey, but she and i will never be an equal and never understand each other. Maybe one day she'll try to kill me, or, maybe I'll kill her first. Karlach. A simple woman, maybe too simple for me, but, in any case, she knows how to prioritize correctly and live in the present moment. She is very sensitive and perfectly defuses the situation if tense raises because of someone else's sick ego. We need her. Actually, I think, everyone needs a woman like Karlach. Jaheira. I don't know how to treat her. Sometimes she looks so much like me and this is pisses me off. But sometimes I find sweet how she grumbles and looks at everyone like at stupid children. I'm sure she sees it too - we are quite similar, and it's better for us to keep a respectful distance from each other, otherwise one day well fight to death, and then we both regret it. Halsin. Well, he's huge, a druid and an elf at the same time. It's a terrible mix in my opinion. Sometimes I'm just freaking SCARED of him. Druids are strange af. Elven druids?! Please don't. Part of me despises Halsin for just running away from his beloved grove when it needs a competent guidance more than anything else, but at least my weirdos like him. (or I'm too soft-hearted). Gale. If someone hurts Gale, it will be the last thing they will do in their lives ever. (I wish I could beat the shit out of his ex, but it's hard with goddesses.) Perhaps this man is the only one from all over the upper world who really understands and accepts me. I don`t know how he did it, but my trust in him is unshakable. Magic, probably. Astarion. I don't blame him for trying to survive. I blame him for doing it ridiculously. Sometimes he tires me so much that I want to tie him up and throw into the river. Next to Astarion, I feel like a babysitter, and this is the last thing I would like to do in our situation. I think sooner or later this pathetic elf will get angry because of a something Very Important For Him in a teenager way and leave, and it would be noble of me not to stick a dagger in his back. If you want to be respected, respect in return, darling. Wyll. I don't understand what he's still doing in my camp at all. I mean, I've heard so many rude things from him about how unreasonably cruel I am that it's even funny. I behave quite decently and don't even point out to Wyll that he seems to be much more interested in wine, pretentious speeches and condemning everyone in a row (me in particular), instead of doing, you know, things. He also brought this annoying devil with him. Oh, spider queen, give me strength.

#tav #oc #nonsims #oc: Haltyrr Symryvvin #bg3 oc #bg3 tav #template #bg3 relationship chart

5 notes · View notes

msfbgraves · 6 months

Note

But the only times he's intentionally rough with him is to keep him out of imminent danger. *** You like, can’t write this and leave us hanging 👀 jk, but it definitely got my attention. Could we get a scene where Daniel is oblivious to the danger and Terry nearly loses it or something? Because losing Daniel is a fate worse than death…

“What's going on?”

His Danny's earnest little frown. He doesn't often ask him that, little as he wants to know about business. The fact that's actually a boon most of the time has eluded Terry till now.

“Amanda called,” he says, looking about the terrace they're sitting on. “She said there may be rivals coming in.”

He takes it lightly. “Michael would know that,” he says. “If there were anything to warn me about, he would have told me.”

That sweet innocence. “Darlin'. How likely do you think it is, for your brother to come to my aid?”

Danny blinks. “Don't you know that's an insult or do you simply like doing it?”

He smiles. “Danny. Of course you love them, but that doesn't change the facts.”

His mate pouts. “And whose fault is that? It's not like they're not trying.”

Terry sits up. “Trying what?”

“They come round, don't they? Louie, Michael and Nessa? And my Ma? You only ever visit us when you can't not, and then you hardly talk.”

He shakes his head. “I don't speak Calabrian, or Sicilian or whatever it is you talk -”

“Terry, per Dio, neither do I! They'd speak English if you'd try it sometime!”

He smiles. “I think the Don would rather cuddle a viper.”

“Because you act as if he owes you something.”

He looks at him intently, but doesn't speak.

“You wanted money, you accepted marriage.”

“And what comes with it, Danny, love.”

“A whole lot of obligations, none of which you even try to honor.” He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No, no!” He reaches over the table for Danny's hands, and his mate lets him after a slight startle. “Why don't you talk to me like this anymore, mo cuishle?”

He looks away. “The food'll be here soon.”

He tries to make his voice as soft as possible. “Tell me?”

Suddenly his mate's eyes dart away, to a man walking very forcefully through the crowd, dressed as any other villager- Terry may have even seen this one around, smoking and drinking with his friends. Terry always gets the measure of other Alphas, force of habit – especially the women here are always armed, whether with a hunting rifle or one of those quick daggers. The men too are much opener about it than in NYC may be considered proper. Still, they play legions of games, Sicilians, but rarely about this. That's why none of them as ever approached him or Danny other than in a friendly spirit. This is not a friendly spirit.

He scans the terrain. Feck it, Danny wanted 'a good view', they're as far out as possible on here; in fact, few of the neighboring tables are even occupied.

He tightens his grip, pulls his mate up. “Inside, now,” he whispers, shielding him from view as much as he's able. That should clue at least some of the Alphas around in, but nobody moves. So much for that famed LaRusso protection!

“You're hurting-"

“Behind me!”

Why is nobody doing anything? He can see one or two younger women itching, but they're held back, even Danny is fighting, he will throw him over his shoulder, what the –

“LaRusso?” the stranger barks.

And then Danny does the stupidest thing he could ever do, and answers: “Certo, perché –?”

Strange thing is, the Alpha man seems to hesitate, which is the first logical thing about any of this so far. But then he tries to dart around Terry, straight for Daniel, and Jaysis, Mary and Joseph, Terry has been itching for a fight. Begging for one. And the man's a right eejit about it, but Daniel doesn't do anything Terry's taught him, why is he not hiding, where is his pistol, never mind, Terry slams the Italian right down. It's a fucking release is what it is, he could snap him like those grissini he's never seen the point of, but Danny's still here, someone could take him in the mêlee, “Back, get back!” he shouts, and Danny's terrified, he can smell it, and even that other Alpha reeks of desperation, as well he should, what is this, who does he work for, he puts a foot on the man's neck, reaches for his gun –

“Stop!” Daniel calls. “Terry!”

And he darts around for an instant, how could he not, and Daniel runs forward, so he has to kick him back, God forgive him, but why is he being so stupid...?

“Wait!” his mate calls again, as he clambers up (praise God someone caught him) and then: “Vitelli?”

And the other Alpha is making what little sound he can, and the crowd is smiling, what are they smiling about, and Daniel shouts that it's OK, and how could this ever be OK, and now the villagers are coming for him, and –

Daniel's hugging him from behind. “Sh, Terry,” he whispers. “Sh.”

And then his legs simply give out.

He still bodily cradles his mate away, but everyone is cheering, what are they cheering about, but his Danny, oh, his sweetheart, he's never letting go, and Daniel cuddles in, and he can feel his sweet boy's breath on his face for the first time in weeks and he thinks he's crying again. “Terry, you've done well, it's over, help me up, please?” And others are cheering that Alpha, and now helping them both and that man, Vitelli, is massaging his neck and looking at him as if to say: “Really?” but doesn't. And Daniel sticks out his hand and no way that is going to happen but he hears “it's good, he's with us” and no he's not. Luckily the man knows what's good for him because he doesn't move in, so Daniel bows and gives his name as “Daniele LaRusso,” which it feckin isn't but this seems to be the day Terry's having. “Il mio marito, Terry Silver,” and of course that man knows who he is because everyone here knows who he is and Terry really needs a drink right now. The cafe owner is clapping him and he accepts whatever drink is put in his hand. Daniel is grinning from ear to ear and rubbing his back and saying “He's quick, Michael,” and if that lowlife has anything to do with this...?

“My brother wants to court a local girl,” Daniel says. “And he's beta, so it's a bit more complicated, they need a sense of the family Alphas, but now, with you here, I think that's OK.”

“Huh?” It's not his most dignified reply, but Daniel is not making any sense.

“The Vitellis want to show that they're willing to defend their omegas, Terry, and they need to see what happens if someone threatens a LaRusso one. Specifically, what our Alphas would do. And there's many ways to test this, but this is the old fashioned way.”

He coughs. “I would have killed him!”

“I didn't think he'd move in tonight,” Daniel says. “I merely wanted to signal that we're available, so to speak, but it can happen at any time.”

“Doesn't negate my killing him!”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Daniel says. “Needed to distract you a bit. But don't worry, Vincenzo here will be the talk of the town, it takes a lot to take someone like you on.”

He touches his face. “I hurt you...”

A spasm goes through him. “Not tonight.” They're bringing more drinks, but Daniel shakes his head. “I think we'd better go inside,” he says.

And now Terry does sling him over his shoulder, to much cheering, and he carries him like that all the way to their front door. “Serves you right,” is the only reply he makes to Daniel's ever more frenzied protestations.

Inside, Daniel starts dragging out suitcases.

“Stop that,” Terry says. “You're hurt.”

Daniel shrugs. “Forget about it.”

“That's not an answer.”

He stands still, shrugs again. “You went kind of hard on that Vitelli,” he says. “Maybe that he's wanting retribution, and if that happens, we'd better not be here. So, Ireland?”

#knights and pawns #silverusso #mob au

3 notes · View notes

fumikomiyasaki · 4 months

Note

👑 for either Flynn and Chizuko or Yuzuha and Celestine? (Or what about both-)

Royalty au

Once upon a time there was a prince of a Kingdom that was only covered in Night... many adored Prince Flynn and fell for his charisma and attitude however he only used the people who had some value of him and anyone who wanted to trick him got their life ruined in a few days... however he had his morals and people who deserved his wrath and those who he sparred and made his underlings. However that ball night that should decide for him a potential partner to rule the kingdom with him one day was for once not as boring as he expected... a sudden scream of a woman falling down from the top floor of the ball room landing flat on the ground put everyone to silence... the woman, a princess from the neighbouring kingdom, her throat slit, so she was killed instead of falling down. The masses panicked, Flynn however used the commotion to follow the cloaked suspicious figure on the upper floor... knowing his ways around the castle.

Eventually he caught up to it... yet hearing the guards he pinned them around the corner to the wall and covered their mouth... as the guards dissapeared he tried to lift the hood from the figure but as they tried to stab him he stabbed back.

"I would recognize those eyes anywhere, I am glad you are back my dear Crimson Murderer."

"Urgh of course I had to run into the bloodstained prince again."

"Bloodstained? Do you really believe in silly rumors, I thought you were part of assassins who wanted to bring justice to this kingdom."

She sighed in annoyance glaring at him.

"You may not be my target but... I know you are not as shining as you make yourself to be to the crowd."

However she did not anticipate him stealing that knife out of her hands and be pulled around the waist close to him.

"You say that like you didn't just murder a higher standing noble. But I don't care if you judge me... I still want you to think of the offer i made you."

"I won't ever give up my life for someone like you if I can't even trust you... you should throw away your delusions."

He chuckled and let her go.

"And what if... I tread the same bloody path as you and come with you.~"

"Are you an Idiot?"

He used the knife surprising her by cutting into his finger and smirked.

"Maybe... maybe I am a love fool but... I want to prove to you how sincere I am... that and this princely duty bores me to death... I rather start new."

What choice would she make... she knew he was gonna do something reckless and follow her either way but... kidnapping a prince would bring her to the gallows. Yet... she also knew it was useless to just kill him as well when he might have Valuable information.

"Just follow and don't say anything you Moron."

"As you wish, my dear.~"

"Only know... one day might be the day I stab this dagger into your heart."

"And I will gladly accept it."

She scoffed at his response turning silent before moving on.

Always the perfect daughter, always the perfect representative for the kingdom, this burden was placed upon Celestine but even then, she endured it... even if people called her a doll, a puppet for their own use to gain more influence... yet despite this empty purpose of a life there was one thing for continuing for... often times a young poor boy snuck into the castle to steal some bread since he was young and as she cought him once she often gave him food in return for him bringing items outside the castle... and so Yuzuha and Celestine became friends... however... one day the shock caught up to her.

She just thought it was a simple court meeting where some random criminal was judged for his crimes but... as she saw who walked in she didn't want to believe it. It was Yuzuha... he seemed much more worn down, his face was beat up, his body injured... he seemed more like a victim than a criminal... as one of the judges recited his crimes.

"Manslaugther of 5 people, including his own brother, unknown murder weapon... their faces were burnt off."

He saw her look at him and avoided his face... something was off for sure but... would she speak up... she would ruin everything...

Later in the prison cell however she asked her servants if she was able to talk to him.

"Tell me what really happened."

"...."

"Yuzuha please.... I know you are not capabl-"

"What do you know... all you know is what I told you... you never really been outside her... only manipulated to not see the outside world how could you understand-"

As he grew louder he felt her suddenly hold his hand as he calmed down... this wasn't right, they were friends, he wanted to push her away and give up his life, solely to make things easier on him but... it was only fair to tell her.

"My brother... he became a dark magician and... it ended in this tradegy... nobody would believe me and I don't care if you do either but... this is my truth."

"I believe you... I read enough about magical contracts to know it could be possible... but-"

"You can't help me... its over for me. But-"

He took something from behind his back and handed it into her hand... it was a small music box with a pink flower on it.

"Yuzuha..."

"It was the last gift i could give you... I am not afraid of losing my life but... promise me you stop just listening to others... and actually do something on your own... alright."

"But if you are gone... what reason to live have I then?"

He leaned forward giving her a small kiss before leaning back.

"You can keep me in memory. Life on for me. This world was useless to me but maybe you can give me the hope in the afterlife. "

This was the first time the emotionless facade, the tough shell of her broke... to see her friend moments before his own excecution still only think of her... not only that... that he cared that much... how was she supposed to stop this...

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland ocs #disney twst #twst #twst ocs #twistedwonderland #twistedwonderlandoc #flynn deradelle #flynn x chizuko #yuzuha aimon #yuzuha x celestine

2 notes · View notes

bookwormscififan · 10 months

Text

The Scarlet Files, Chapter 9 [END]

Taglist: @brokentimewatch

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

A/N: The end! Thank you for joining me on this adventure! I had several endings planned, but I'm happiest with this one.

It had been two weeks since Marvin returned home. He had quietly been working to reintegrate himself in the town, but his heart still felt sore from the loss of Henrik.

Marvin was startled awake by the screams echoing through the town. He rubbed his eyes, looking tiredly at the ceiling, then pulled on his mask and rolled out of bed.

Before he could step to the door, a loud thud pushed Marvin’s front door open, revealing the remains of the town outside. Bodies were piled everywhere, with houses alight and blood staining the dirt. In seconds, Marvin was wide awake, pulling on his clothes and grabbing a dagger, running outside to find out where the attack had come from.

Chase held his hands in his hair, eyes tightly closed as he listened to the screams coming from the town. He flinched as Adam placed his hand on his shoulder, and turned away from the open window to avoid the screams.

“This can’t… this can’t be happening,” Chase muttered, moving to sit in the chair by the fireplace, shaky hand accepting the glass Adam held out to him, “They’re going to kill everyone.”

“That is true,” Adam agreed, sitting opposite Chase with a glass of water, “Lord Anti has indeed devised a plan to kill everyone in the town. He has discussed this plan before, but this is the first time Sirs Jackson and Flynn have agreed. It is interesting,” he continued, leaning back, “Mr Flynn and Mr Jackson brought swords with them. If they had planned to feed from the humans, they would not have brought weapons.”

Chase stared at Adam, trying to figure out if the butler was hinting at something.

“Does that… mean anything?” he asked, sipping from his glass. Adam nodded gravely, drinking his water but not saying any more. He stood, exiting the room and leaving Chase to his thoughts.

“Keep an eye out for Marvin!” Shawn called over the sounds of bodies falling, looking at Jackie with determined eyes, “We can’t let Anti kill him!”

Shawn, Jameson, Jackie and Robert were gathered together at one end of town, fighting the townsfolk with sharp weapons instead of attacking them with teeth. They had only agreed to Anti’s plan to avoid being put into the cells, and to find Marvin in an attempt to save him.

Shawn ran his sword through another human, wincing at the warm blood that splattered onto his face before turning toward another, stopping when he saw Anti throw a human into the door of a house.

“Jackie!” he waited for Jackie to turn to him before pointing to the house with his sword, “Check in there. Something feels wrong.” Jackie nodded, racing toward the house and leaving Shawn to fight alongside Jameson.

“Just like old times,” he commented, smiling at Jameson.

Marvin blinked, not believing what he was seeing. The body in his doorway had bite marks on their neck, head twisted at an awkward angle suggesting a broken neck to be their cause of death. He looked up, seeing wild green eyes looking through the night at him, mouth splitting into a sharp-toothed grin as the vampire recognised him.

Heart pounding, Marvin dashed back inside, backing himself against a wall and gripping his dagger tightly against his chest. He listened to the footsteps growing closer to his door, winced as he heard the wood of his door breaking, and felt a bead of sweat run down his cheek as the footsteps grew closer.

“Hello again.” The voice made a chill run down his spine, mind flooding with memories of a moonlight night on the roof, of Henrik sacrificing himself to save him, of the feeling of power surging in him. He opened his eyes to meet the gaze of the vampire, turning his dagger to point at him with a forced look of defiance.

“Stay back,” his voice was shaky, and he swallowed thickly, attempting to steady it, “I have a weapon this time.” The vampire stepped closer, pressing a finger against the tip of the dagger and pushing it to the side, leaning into Marvin’s space.

“A weapon is only as strong as its wielder,” he commented, pausing as the dagger clattered to the ground, “Oops. Whatever will you do now? Another light show maybe?” His voice was teasing, light, as though this was a simple game. He snaked a hand around Marvin’s neck, squeezing slightly as he lifted the magician off the ground.

Marvin gripped at the vampire’s wrist, eyes wide as he looked down at his captor, scratching at his skin to loosen the vampire’s grip. I’m going to die, he realised suddenly, breath halting for a moment before his fight reflexes kicked in, and he kicked his leg out to catch the vampire in the stomach, revelling in the guttural gasp he let out as he dropped Marvin.

Scrabbling for his dagger, Marvin stayed low to the ground and slashed his dagger across the vampire’s leg, taking an opportunity to dash out from the corner and instead crouch behind the vampire.

“Bastard!” The vampire exclaimed, gripping at his bleeding and smoking leg, turning to face the human with a snarl. “I will kill you for that! You aren’t even worth turning!” As he reached forward to grab Marvin, an arrow zipped past his hand, grazing the skin there.

“Stop there, Anti.” Jackie’s voice was low, dangerous as he stepped into the house, moving to stand in front of Marvin with his crossbow aimed at Anti’s chest, “Leave my brother alone.” His eyes darted down to the faded, jagged scar across Anti’s neck, evidence of a past attempt at his life, then glanced back to smile at Marvin.

“You won’t kill me,” Anti boasted, smiling at Jackie, “No vampire would even think of killing a born vampire.” He froze as Jackie shifted his crossbow closer to Anti, eyes alight with rage.

“You’ve never met a vampire like me,” he started, tilting his head, “My bond with my brother is stronger than my bond with you. You’d have to kill me to kill him.” Marvin looked up at that statement, heart in his throat as he stared at his brother, feeling like a child again.

Anti laughed, full and rich with a hand on his chest as he leaned back. He grinned at Jackie, stepping forward and grasping the arrow primed on the crossbow, turning it toward the vampire and pushing it forward slightly.

“As you wish,” he stated, watching the arrow pierce through Jackie’s shirt with unbridled glee, “I would rather have vampires that obeyed me than vampires that point weapons at me.” He chuckled when Jackie winced as the tip of the arrow pierced his skin, pushing further as his grin grew.

Suddenly, the arrow retracted as Anti was pulled bodily back, dragged away from the brothers and leaving them confused. Marvin glanced up at Jackie, checking for visible wounds before standing, tearing off his sleeve and pressing the torn fabric against the bleeding spot on his chest.

Jackie blinked when Marvin’s shirt touched his skin, crossbow lowering slightly before dropping to the ground as Jackie placed a hand against Marvin’s. He looked down at the bloodstained cloth in Marvin’s hand, eyes tracing up his bare arm to meet Marvin’s, seeing eyes full of concern and relief staring back at him.

A clatter outside drew the brothers’ attention back to the matter at hand, and they raced outside to see what was happening.

Shawn growled as he threw Anti to the ground, immediately dropping atop him to prevent him from getting back up. He pulled a silver-bladed dagger from his belt, pressing it against Anti’s neck, listening to the hiss of burning flesh as he dug the blade further, watching the vampire tense.

“Stop this, Anti,” Shawn commanded, pressing down on Anti’s back when the vampire shifted, “This senseless battle will only end in bloodshed.” He watched Anti breathe, staying alert in case Anti had something planned, and frowned when the vampire started to laugh.

“Senseless?” he scoffed, wrapping an arm around Shawn’s waist and pushing, flipping the duo over, “What part of initiating a reign of terror over the humans is senseless? Have you forgotten everything I trained you for, Shawn?”

“I’m not you!” Shawn yelled, slashing at Anti’s neck with his dagger, taking advantage of Anti’s reaction to pin him down again, “I would rather make peace with the humans and live together in harmony than kill them all! You’ve lost your mind!”

“The only thing I’ve lost,” Anti growled, pushing against the dagger held to the scar on his throat, “Is the loyalty of the man I turned all those years ago, under the promise of joining me in my conquest of the mortal world.” He freed a hand from under Shawn’s leg, reaching up to grasp his wrist, forcing his dagger to dig into his wound, wincing at the hissing of silver burning his flesh.

“Show me I’m wrong,” he ordered, meeting Shawn’s eyes with a fiery gaze, “Prove you’re still loyal to the vampire that turned you, prove me wrong in my assumption. Or,” he continued, pressing Shawn’s wrist to drive the dagger ever deeper, “Kill me here. Use that dagger to cut off my head, bury my body somewhere away from this town. Be loyal or be defiant, Shawn Flynn. Either way the mortals will fear you. You’re just a—”

Blood splattered across Shawn’s face, scarlet droplets complimenting the faint freckles dotting his cheeks. A single drop of blood spattered over his chipped tooth, exposed through the snarl Shawn was making as he lowered the blood-covered weapon, staring down at the smug-faced severed head of the last born vampire in the country. The dagger made a dull clatter as it fell to the ground, and Shawn looked up to see Jameson across the way watching him, sword lowered as he held a tentative hand up to ask after his wellbeing. Shawn nodded his head slowly, rising to a stand and looking around at the carnage brought on by a senseless impulse.

The sun rose over a silent castle, birds singing as townsfolk woke up. In one room, a man stood before a dresser, carefully refolding his clothes and gently placing them inside the drawers, canvas mask sitting on top of the dresser. He was humming a song faintly to himself, occasionally glancing back to ensure the morning sun’s rays didn’t fall on the sleeping figure in the bed behind him, using slight finger movements to adjust the curtain with each check.

“Marvin.” He turned at his name, seeing Adam standing in the doorway.

“Sir Flynn would like to speak with you before he retires to bed,” the butler said, waving a hand down the hall, “He is in the drawing room at the end of the hall, when you are prepared.” Marvin nodded in response, returning to his clothes when Adam left.

“Marvin, please, sit.” Shawn smiled at Marvin, motioning to the seat opposite him as he drank from his glass. The heavy curtains were still drawn in the room, dying fire casting a pale glow to the area as Marvin sat down, declining Shawn’s offer of a drink.

“How is Jackie?” Shawn asked, sitting back in his chair with a look of concern on his face, “I remember Anti had pierced him with the silver-tipped arrow. I am so sorry I didn’t reach him before then,” he continued, placing a hand over his still heart.

“Jackie’s going to be alright,” Marvin replied, smiling at Shawn, “He’ll probably have a scar, but he won’t mind. I’m just glad Anti’s gone now,” he concluded with a dry chuckle, fidgeting in his seat as Shawn set his glass down.

“Yes, about that, it would appear I now command the castle with Anti’s demise,” he stated, folding his hands in his lap, “Do you think you would be able to help me in making peace with the townsfolk and establishing this castle not as a fortress but a haven?”

Marvin stared at him, eyes wide as he tried to process the request. After a while, he leaned forward and held out a hand.

“This castle has been a haven since you assured me you wouldn’t kill me,” he replied, “I’ll help you convince the townsfolk. Let me work out a time for you to meet them. Maybe bring Jameson with you.”

Shawn smiled, catching Marvin’s hand and shaking it, eyes warm with appreciation as he stood up.

“That is settled then,” he stated, adjusting his shirt and getting his glass, “I shall retire to bed now. Good day, Marvin.”

Marvin watched him go, heart warm at the realisation he felt safer in a castle full of vampires than he ever felt behind his mask in the town. It felt good to finally feel like he was part of something.

#writing #fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye #jse egos #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jackieboy man #shawn flynn #jameson jackson #robbie the zombie #antisepticeye #blood mention tw #blood tw #vampire AU

3 notes · View notes

cadrenebula · 1 year

Text

Alexois Dubeltaire

So in reblogging all that old writing from the earlier days of Alex... He’s really come a long way. So forgive me for rambling about my boy. He was created back at the very end of 2016. (Like days after Christmas.)

Alex started out as throw away villain, meant to die at the end of the plot for Destiney. Meant to kidnap her and likely die dealing with those coming to rescue her. And he nearly did. More than once he had a brush with death in the course of that plot and barely managed to escape each time. He wasn’t going to go down easy.

But when the dust settled and I was struggling to finish the plot’s end because some bad things happened... (Not going to get into that mess here though. It’s over and done and I’m not in the mood to dwell on it.) Alex found his place among my characters in a more permanent fashion while I tried to find a path for Destiney and Lancefer.

He fell in love with a girl just as broken and monstrous as he felt he was. Only problem is their relationship was started on a lie and wasn’t supposed to be that deep. But he fell hard for Aeri and by the time he was willing to admit that... She was already in love with another. She was the one that saved him when Soren nearly killed him. Taught him to fight with daggers instead of a spear. Started him on a path that would be good for him in the long run. She became a sister to him since he couldn’t love her like he wanted and he was okay with this in time. (She wouldn’t have been good for him anyways. She appealed to the darker sides of Alex.)

Over time Aeri helped saved him in more ways than one. It started a process where he actually wanted a chance to be happy. Got him through the plot with his mentor and all that entailed. And he dated someone else for a bit around the time he started going to the Gin Mill to work on his frustrations. Unfortunately it was not meant to be for him to stay with her for many reasons. (Yet another one I won’t get into. Things happened.) The best thing to come of his time with her was her getting him to pick his hobby. He started to learn to cook. He’s still no fancy chef but it gave him something to do with his hands that wasn’t violence or other things that dulled his pain.

It wasn’t too long after till he met his future wife. His injuries at Gin Mill sent him to Sanagi. And eventually she just started going to the Gin Mill because otherwise he waited till the next day or so to get treated. Alex tested their relationship with his own prejudices and behaviors. But he found he cared enough to work on being a somewhat better person. Is he perfect? No. He’ll never be perfect but Sana gets this and knows he’ll try if she calls him out on his worst behaviors. Because some of that behavior is so ingrained in him from the years he grew up in Ishgard and the following years in the Shroud among bandits.

He drinks and smokes a lot less since marrying Sana. Spends time making them nice meals and occasionally lets her help with small things when cooking. He even adopted a scruffy black cat with part of one ear missing. Still goes to the Gin Mill as his date night with his wife. Yes she knows he’s an assassin and she’s accepted him for who he is. (An she’s not as sweet and innocent as she used to be either since falling in love with Alex and having a plot of her own.) Because he no longer finds the thrill in his work. It’s a job that is necessary and what he knows best. Sometimes he’ll do some odd jobs to make up for the fact he won’t take just any assassinations anymore.

He’s still sometimes an asshole. But he’s improved a lot since his early days as a character. He has a family. Sanagi, the cats, Maeve, Valentin, and Aeri even if he’s still mad at her. A best friend named Arik. Kinda likes Elynni and Elliot. Likes Renaux even if all he does is threaten to punch poor Ren in the nose at Gin Mill and they give each other shit. Even has his former friend back, Lancefer. And I am proud of him. (And I love my friends for giving him a reason to exist.)

#ooc ramblings

8 notes · View notes

fireworkss-exe · 2 years

Text

Sand.

Night winds blew through the clusters of trees on the beach's edge, making the leaves whisper like restless schoolchildren. The shifting air smelled of salt and fresh earth, the aromas of the sea and forest mingling to create something entirely new. Roger Kovach could not savor it.

He lay in the unforgivingly scratchy sand, with a snoring, sweaty boy on either side of him, not even allowing him an inch of breathing room. There was no pillow for Roger to rest his head upon, no thick mattress to sink into, no quilt to keep the chill of night off his body. Just the grains of sand digging into his skin and the oppressively loud breathing from the boys sharing the ramshackle shelter.

Roger kept his eyes trained on the pathetic excuse for a roof that covered him and the others. It was hastily built, as the children assigned to constructing it were eager to finish and play games on the beach. It was composed of a hodgepodge of palm leaves, large strips of bark, and torn-up fabric from shirts. However, there were more holes than anything else, and if a sudden storm came over the island, everyone would be soaked in a matter of minutes. And what did rain bring? Sickness, for which the boys had no medicine.

Even if the others refused to accept it, the days of relative comfort and safety were like a stone tossed in a pool. Already the ripples were gone.

Each moment felt like the length of a whole day. Roger remained still, his body cramped by the boys laying beside him, and his throat dry. Every time he swallowed, invisible blades carved the walls of his throat. He glanced to his left. Jack was lying on his side, his copper hair disheveled and hanging over his pale face- his face that already possessed a sharp quality his peers lacked. Even in sleep, Jack was the very picture of arrogance.

Roger looked to his right- there was Robert, his body looking almost mangled, it was so twisted and disoriented. One of his arms was haphazardly draped over Roger's torso; the other was thrown back towards the far end of the tent. Robert snored the loudest; he sounded like a pig. Not just any pig, though- the grating noises he emitted reminded Roger of the massive hogs that wallowed in filthy cages while carnival-goers gawked at their size.

Enough is enough, thought Roger. He sat up, flinging Robert's invasive arm away and back where it belonged. Roger crept on his hands and knees and brushed aside the palm leaf that served as a makeshift door. The moment he ducked under the entryway, he immediately felt the sharp sting of night air against his skin. At least it was more bearable than the shelter's heavy humidity. Roger stood up, his feet sinking into the powdery white sand below him. It was quite alright when it wasn't being pressed into every crevice of his skin.

Crashing waves from down the beach swiftly muffled the snoring of Roger's peers as he padded further away from the shelter. Above him, the moon shone like a dagger, casting faint silver light on the ocean. To his right, the forest loomed, a mass of foreboding shadows where countless creatures lurked. It was old growth, gnarled with banyans and acacias, shot through with massive palms at its very outskirts. It was quiet as death, save for the restless rustle of the leaves.

All Roger's life had been spent in the same dismal halls, or walking the dreary neighborhood streets with their threadbare trees and permanent grey skies. Staring at the thick, mysterious, possibly treacherous woods, Roger felt the sudden urge to throw himself in, like a frog into a pond. Still, he remained on the beach, ambling aimlessly across the sand as the shelters shrank away behind him.

Roger continued to stumble across the beach, the dark woods always staying at the edge of his vision. No one else was around to stop him from going in, from disappearing into the shadowy growth and stepping into the unknown. So why didn't he go in? Why didn't he stop suppressing the urge to delve into the uncharted?

Just as Roger was about to say, "To hell with it," and throw himself into the forest, something near the ocean caught his eye. He turned, ambling closer. Was it a large rock, or something washed up from the depths of the sea? Roger's hand unconsciously went to the knife on his belt as he crept closer.

There was a boy lying facedown in the sand, his warm, tawny skin, dark curls, and long limbs identifying him as none other than Maurice. He wasn't dead, or at least he didn't seem to be- his torso rose and fell slightly with the rhythm of his breaths. Perhaps, like Roger, he'd wandered out onto the beach, but he'd fallen asleep in the process, but one could never be quite sure with Maurice. Roger looked him over for a moment, then poked his sand-dusted body with a toe. Maurice made a muffled noise and turned a bit.

"Are you laying in the sand?" asked Roger, although it was more of a statement of his amused disbelief than a genuine inquiry.

"What does it look like?" Maurice replied drowsily, remaining facedown. "Of course I am."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Maurice retorted. Roger could easily imagine him grinning defiantly, as he often did.

Roger rolled his eyes. "You'd have to be a dimwit to smother yourself in thousands of grainy rocks," he scoffed, trying to hide his amusement at Maurice's strange behavior. "But what else should I expect from the biggest idiot I know?"

Maurice sat up. Indeed, he was beaming. His face and hair were sprinkled with bits of sand, and he patted the ground next to him- an invitation. "Better an idiot than an absolute bore."

"You're unbelievable," Roger sighed, but he couldn't hide his smile as he perched himself on the ground next to Maurice.

#lord of the flies #lotf #lotf fanfic #lord of the flies fanfic #roger lotf #lotf roger #my writing #oneshot #lotf maurice #maurice lotf #lotf oneshot

9 notes · View notes