#do not ask me what the fuck is going on with the tent flap shading there
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what if we were alone in the military officers' tent and i was so in love with you it hurt ha ha what if
(i know chrom's pauldron is completely wrong but i don't feel like fixing it so let's just say it's being repaired right now)
#fe: awakening#fe13#me.png#fire emblem awakening#fire emblem#chrobin#fe robin#chrom fire emblem#fe chrom#i hope the poses make sense#i always worry it's difficult to make out what my figures are doing#do not ask me what the fuck is going on with the tent flap shading there#it's a miracle i got this finished and colored in the first place
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Small Stories Hour: Darkspace Portent
Yalisian Summer
↳ Warren glanced up from the bar and his cocktail as Guetry burst into the building, out of breath and holstering his still-smoking gun while his ankle-length duster settled around his legs. The tattoo cascading from his neck flashed erratically and the triangular scar on his temple emitted a quick purple pulse that possibly mirrored his own.
Guetry's eyes darted around the mostly-empty hut and settled onto Warren, then the pink drink in his hand, and his face contorted into unadulterated disgust, which Warren anticipated pretty much as soon as he entered.
"Shut the fuck up," Warren yelled before Guetry could open his mouth. "I'm on vacation and I'm a grown-up, I'll do what I want."
Guetry tipped his head in a "fair enough" gesture and shrugged the duster off, tossing it onto a stool before sitting next to Warren. "Speaking of doing what you want," he grunted.
"He's late," Warren said. "But I didn't expect him to be on time. Tournaltis keeps him busy. What are you doing here, by the way?"
"I visit Yalis once a year," Guetry said, throwing a patient finger toward the lenayan bartender and tapping the stone bartop. He said a few words in Yalis dialect.
"But what the hell were you shooting at? Is there a mob outside or something?"
"Actually yes." Guetry nodded in thanks at the bartender, who glided over to him with a clear drink in a strangely normal highball glass. He threw them a mostly innocuous wink before accepting the order. "Superfans of Skywaste."
Warren almost inhaled his drink. "Did you just murder them?!"
Guetry knocked back half of the glass in one go. "Not this time," he sighed wistfully. "Not this time."
The canvas flap leading into the building lifted open and Thrive stepped halfway inside, frowning at something unseen near the beach.
"He's not dead," Guetry said over his shoulder. "I went for the knee at the last second."
Thrive and Warren exchanged concerned and bewildered expressions across the room.
"Uh…hi?" Warren said, holding an arm out. "How was your trip?"
"Peaceful," Thrive replied, ducking down to indulge him in a quick, sweet kiss before taking a seat on his other side. "Perhaps I should take a break from keeping a planet running more often."
"That's literally everything I have ever wanted, man," Warren lamented. "Been trying to tell you that for months."
Guetry leaned forward to look at Thrive. "Where's your cape, old man?"
"At home. Despite it being a cherished gift, I don't like wearing it when I'm not working."
"Want sex on the beach?" Warren asked him cheekily.
Thrive eyed him, clearly unsure which direction to take in answering the question. "Judging by your grin I'm going to assume that doesn't mean literal sex on the beach." He paused, then lifted his eyebrows. "Though maybe it does."
Warren chuckled. "It's a drink. Well…it's called something different here, and the ingredients are a little more local, but it's basically the same thing. Not usually my kinda thing, but it's beachy and fun and it's making me hate the heat a little less." He held his glass out to Thrive, straw aimed toward him. "Try it?"
Thrive obliged, taking a tentative sip from the blushing liquid. "Hmm. Not very strong. Hints of…sea sugar. If I'm going to imbibe, I may as well do so with this."
Warren swung around to Guetry, who was already on his second drink. "That's not gin, is it?"
"Hell no. Think I'd be caught dead drinking gin after I almost literally got caught dead drinking gin? No."
Once Thrive got his drink and Warren got his second and last, he suggested they stretch their legs on the beach. Guetry tucked his entire glass under his arm and whipped out a mirror and a thin eyeliner pencil, touching up his liner the instant they stepped outside.
Warren and Thrive watched him with interest, impressed at the sight of him further taking an eyeshadow brush and blending the deep blue outer shade with the black inner shade, all without taking a single misstep on the coarse sand.
"Christ, dude," Warren laughed. "You've perfected the art of killing it on the go."
"Damn fucking straight," Guetry muttered, spinning around to get better lighting. He put the makeup away and sniffed, peering out into the horizon. "This place is something."
Warren stopped walking and sipped on his beverage, eyes roaming the vast green ocean and the faded moons on opposite sides of the sky, framing the gray sun nearing the water. "I could live here."
"I'm sorry Tournaltis has failed you somehow," Thrive said facetiously. "I can have your things moved here first thing in the morning if you'd prefer."
Warren smirked. "You can't get rid of me that easily, babe."
Thrive gave him a subtle look that made him question rejecting the idea of sex on the beach so quickly.
Guetry laughed. "Gross."
"Don't be jealous," Warren said.
"I love you guys so much."
"Yeah, we love you too, G." Warren wrapped his arm around Guetry's. "Let's get you sobered up before you start crying and ruin your hard work."
The three of them ambled down the beach and spent the evening chatting, enjoying the local food, and reminiscing on all of their adventures thus far. It hurt a little to go their separate ways, but it wouldn't be too long before they could join up again.
Pretty soon, it was an annual thing. Meeting at the bar on Yalis, walking the beach, and enjoying one another's company. And that went on for many years to come.
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lead me into the light | emerald duo platonic soulmates
For all the years he has lived, Phil has lived without a soulmate, and as a result, without color. And he's perfectly fine with that.
Then he touches down on a battlefield for fun, and meets the eyes of a total stranger.
And as the world goes from monochromatic to full of color and more beauty than he had ever imagined, Phil knows that everything is going to change.
(But a mortal's life is only so short, after all.)
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My twitter account voted a series of polls to decide what fic I was gonna write, and they decided on an emerald duo platonic soulmates au fic that was angst with a happy ending ! Link will be in the notes, but here’s a bit of the start to get you into it!
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There are a few constants that Phil holds in his life, has always held, and will always hold.
The first, the most glaring, is the centuries that stretch far back in his past and the ones that he approaches in the present. It is the fact that he cannot die from old age or from hunger or from thirst, that it is only by injury that he could possibly be taken down for good.
The second is his lifestyle. Always a traveler, never with a permanent home. For fear of being targeted, or not wanting to cause that kind of disturbance, and because Phil truly desires to wander the world on his own terms, he travels. Visits every city and explores every nook and cranny of it as it changes over the months and years and decades. He visits fields where he spilled blood and watches others spill blood in that very spot a few years later. He carves out temporary places, favored nooks to fish in and well-loved corners of libraries or especially nice inns, but he never lingers around others who might question his unaging face.
And the third is the grayscale in which he sees the world, shades of black and white and everything in between, the only hues he’ll ever lay eyes upon.
(Soulmates are rare. They are not a common thing, they are often considered blessings by the gods to live your life devoid of color, the trials and tribulations to find your other half.)
(Phil has met quite a few gods, in his time of wandering. That’s just straight bullshit.)
He’s lived decades upon decades without a soulmate, and is perfectly content to keep living without one. Where others find agony in not being able to separate the color of the leaves in autumn, Phil has long since made his peace in seeking out the beauty of the world in other ways. The speckled patterns of a newborn fawn in spring. Waves darkening the shade of the sand upon an ocean. The way his lover’s hair seemed to melt into the endless night sky.
(Gods are exempt from the concept of soulmates, and Death had no answers for Phil when he asked her why he had been cursed to live like this, nor could she bring his sight into full color, even with all her otherworldly abilities.)
(“Maybe there is someone out there,” she said to him one night as he rested against her shoulder, looking up at the star-studded sky from where they sat within the earth. “And you just haven’t found them yet.”)
(“I don’t think I need to find anyone else, honestly,” he replied, turning to look at her. She was a thousand times more dazzling than any sky could behold on its own. “You’re all I need, I’m not letting this kind of stuff stop me from living my life any longer.”)
Their visits were infrequent, but time means nothing to a god and a human whose chances of death are slim as long as he keeps himself out of trouble.
Phil’s wings flare out as he touches down on a battlefield stained with darker shades of gray, determined to find go and find some trouble, if only because this past year has been incredibly boring otherwise.
“My name is Philza,” he introduces himself to the general of the army, hand raising in a salute that had definitely been appropriate last time he was on a battlefield, and he doesn’t really care much whether it still holds up. He takes his hat off as well, holding the striped material against his chest. “And I’m here to help, if you’ll have me.”
His reputation, that of the Angel of Death, precedes him. For all his intentions to keep away from sticking around civilians as they aged, wars and skirmishes would always be an exception.
It was a secret sort of thrill, to throw himself into the fray of a conflict he would hardly remember by the next one. To release the fearlity that he kept tightly wound up inside him, to splatter blood on a blade and sink arrow after arrow through the eyes of assailants. Nevertheless, the legends of his help follow him wherever he goes, and the look of relief on the general’s face says enough on that matter.
A night’s rest later, he’s led across the loosely set up encampment to one of the larger tents. As he walks, Phil tips his head up to gaze at the sky. There was no smooth texture, instead fuzzy clouds crowd the sky, and Phil tilts his head, noting the approaching rain.
Once inside the tent, the general nods at him, speaking before Phil can even courteously extend a greeting.
“We’re going to have you take command of the Red Snakes force, over here.” The general indicates to the map spread out on the table between them, pointing to a marker that Phil notices has a small symbol carved into it. It’s a small squiggle, barely noticeable, but it stands out against the other symbols carved into the various markers that Phil gathers to represent the different sub-forces that this general is commanding.
It’s helpful primarily, though no one knows of his own color-absence, he does appreciate the carved symbols. As an afterthought, it’s interesting. He wonders who else is color-absent this high up in the commanding forces. A rare thing, to be sure, not that he’ll bother to interact with them for that reason. He’s here to help spill some blood, not hear some poor sap moan about how they feel they’ll die on the battlefield before meeting their soulmate.
Phil’s eyes snap from the squiggly symbol back to the general’s words, tuning in mid-sentence. He’s definitely missed some information that was probably crucial, but he’ll get somebody else to relay it to him later. For now—
“Your co-commander already knows this, of course, but I figured I would inform you separately so you were up to date on our intel before you began discussing the best course of action.”
“Sorry, my who?” Phil blurts, brow furrowing, heart sinking a little.
“You’ll be co-leading this group, at least for now.”
Phil lightly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face schooled appropriately. He knows what this is. It’s a nicely phrased term to cover up the fact that he’s being babysat because they don’t trust him with their armies, so they’ve appointed another commander to watch over him.
On one hand, it’s fucking annoying to be watched like that. On the other hand, that does mean Phil can totally push all the actual commanding duties off to the other guy while he buggers off to do what he pleases. Maybe this won’t be too bad after all, honestly, it depends whether he gets some kind of suck up as a co-commander or not.
“Commander Technoblade has shown great leadership prowess in recent skirmishes, so it was determined that he could take up control of a new force until your support and guidance,” the general continues, and Phil’s heart sinks further.
Oh, gods, they think he’s some kind of trainer, some kind of mentor to a kid who’s been handed too much responsibility for his age and will die in a week. Not this shit again. “Sounds great,” he lies through his teeth. “When do I meet him?”
There’s a soft knocking against the flap of the tent, and the general lifts a hand. “That’ll be him. You can come in, Technoblade.”
“Yes sir,” a deep voice intones. There a shuffling of fabric just as Phil turns to greet whoever this guy is, and—
And his vision explodes with—
Everything is so bright, even brighter than the white gleam of the sun in his eyes. Phil blinks furiously as what he’s certain is color blooms across his vision, spreading outward until there’s nowhere he can look to escape from the blinding, unfamiliar hues. Gone is the subtle change of shade between the grass at his feet and the canvas walls of the tent. They’re two entirely different colors now, unrecognizable in this state.
#technoblade#philza#emerald duo#dream smp#technoblade fanfic#philza fanfiction#emerald duo fanfiction#antarctic empire#hhh.writing#my writing
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Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 5
Author’s Note: This took me literally forever to write😂 A lot will be happening in this chapter and the chapters to follow, but because of that, they may take longer for me to write. Thanks for baring with me guys and I’m so glad you all have been enjoying this as much as I love writing it!
Summary: The Silver Hawk competes in an archery competition at The Red Keep.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: violence, blood
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Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up.
The mantra played over and over in your head as you laced your boots. Your hair was braided down your back, but no matter how hard you tried, a few whips of hair fell over your face. You knew it would not hinder your ability, but it annoyed you all the same.
“You ready for this, Little Hawk?” Bronn clasped his ginormous hand against your back and you nearly had the breath knocked from you. You bit back a cough and tried not to seem shaken by his surprise endearment that really felt more like an attack.
“Of course I’m ready.” You replied simply. You were confident in your abilities, but something didn’t seem right. There was a feeling rooted in your gut that told you to run, to get out of this as fast as you could. But your mind told you you were too far to turn back now.
Bronn smiled before looking at the flap of your tent, the only thing between you, the arena, the challengers, and the high society of Westeros. “Shoot straight, girl. Stun the livin’ daylights out of ‘em. Make anyone who ever underestimated you regret it.”
You smiled softly at Bronn. He was alright...sometimes.
You both turned your head at the trumpets sounding just outside your tent.
“Think that’s my cue.”
“Give ‘em hell.”
You adjusted your brace, made sure your quiver was tightly strapped to your back, and your bow tight in hand.
Time for battle.
You walked out of the tent and forced your eyes not to water at the blinding sun. It was such a large shift from the shaded tent, were you not accustomed to training your eyesight in various types of weather, you might have shed a tear or two at the brightness. You wondered if the other competitors could do the same.
There were people on all sides of you. It was overwhelming. Normally you could scout your area, eliminate threats before taking your place to shoot. Here the threats were like your own personal wall, a couple hundred of them surrounding you, anyone willing to strike at any moment.
But above them all were the only two you were seriously concerned about. Cersei, and her son, King Jeoffry of the Seven Kingdoms.
You introduced yourself and gave a small bow. This was the first time meeting the king after all. Both looked less than amused.
“You’re the best archer in the seven kingdoms?” The boy-king laughed. “Is this a joke? I have squires bigger and more impressive than you. You’re a...woman.”
If the king was trying to mock you, he was going to have to try a lot harder than that. What he had said hundreds of men had said before. “My skill doesn’t depend upon physical stature. Only a steady arm and a sharp eye. I’d like to compete and give a presentation of my skill if it pleases the king.” You responded with all the airs of a highborn. Highborn. You were no lower than them. If anything, you were above them where morality was concerned.
“I hope your skill is more impressive than the sight of you. My uncle speaks of you very highly, and I don’t like being disappointed.”
Imagine how the rest of us felt when you became king.
“Your uncle hates being wrong as much as you don’t like being disappointed, your grace. I don’t think he would have encouraged me to enter this most esteemed competition should he think you may be disappointed or should put his intelligent reputation at risk.” You teased, not above mocking your friend in public.
He sighed and rolled his eyes, but knew he should choose his words carefully around the king. “You won’t be disappointed. I’m clearly not keeping her around because she’s good company.”
“She’ll put on a good show.” Cersei smirked.
It will be quite a show when you’re removed from power.
“We’ll see.” You took that as your cue to leave, knowing that was about as much as you could take from the Lannisters.
But when you turned around, you were finally met with the other competitors. They all looked intimidating, but you didn’t feel intimidated. You would only feel that once you saw their skill. You had learned a long time ago that many men liked to look tough without actually being so, and in the skill of archery, no amount of muscle or fancy armor would help you win a competition.
You estimated about 25 yards between you and the target as you stood before it. You had it targets from farther away, but whether or not you could hit the center of a target was another matter completely. You couldn’t remember the last time you had shot arrows for a tournament. Your arrows were meant for damned people, not for sport. But you could use more money, you needed money to survive.
At least that was how you were going to justify all this to yourself.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the sun catch something shiny and gold. You turned your head to find Ellaria in a peach-colored dress with gold embellishments, and Oberyn in a burnt sienna cloak with the very same embellishments. Both pairs of eyes had settled on you, sparkling with excitement. Oberyn gave you a small nod of encouragement. Show them what you have, brave girl.
“The rules are simple.” The squire began, bringing you and the other competitors to attention. “Whoever does not hit the center of the target is eliminated. After each round, the contestants will move back more and more until one person is standing. Competitors, draw your bows.”
Everyone did as commanded. You took a deep breath.
“Shoot.”
You let the arrow fly without a single thought.
It pierced the center of the target effortlessly. The tall, brutish man next to you did the exact same thing. You saw a few others had as well, and a few who had missed by just a sliver. The man glared at you, but you held your gaze.
You’re the competition here. Most of these people probably know who you are and want nothing more than to beat the legendary Silver Hawk. Do not let some man with more muscles than brains take your place.
“Walk 15 paces back.” The page instructed. You all did as you were told. When the page was sure everyone was in an even line, he signaled to draw your bow again.
“Shoot.”
Your arrow pierced the middle of the target once again, just a hair away from your last arrow. You were making this look easy. No one left this round. The obvious amateurs were gone within the first round. The real competition began now.
It was the same thing over and over again, and honestly? You were getting a little bored. Shoot. Walk back 15 paces. Shoot. Walk back 15 more paces.
Until it wasn’t that anymore.
You were at the edge of the arena. You didn’t even notice that it was only the brute and you. He had hit every single arrow in the middle of the target just as you had. You could tell his bow was handcrafted, and his arrows were from the smoothest steel. He was as knowledgeable as you when it came to wielding a bow, a worthy competitor too, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.
The target was easily 75 yards or so away. You didn’t know if even you could hit that. This was certainly the farthest you had ever been. You would have never taken this shot if it were an animal or someone you needed to eliminate. Was this easy for your competitor? He didn’t look even a tad nervous, you hoped you didn’t either. You did look focused though, as you considered the distance, the wind, your own strength. Would your bow even shoot that far?
Guess you were about to find out.
“Archers, draw your bow.”
You did as you were told, and closed your eyes, just for a second. You felt the fletching brush against the tips of your fingers, your hand holding onto the leather grip firmly, the cool silver of your arrow brushing against your cheek for just a second, your feet planted into the earth. The world fell around you. All you knew was the arrow, and how to make it fly.
And it did.
Flew just inside the center of the target, just barely making a bullseye.
The man’s arrow was just outside.
“Yes!!!” Bronn jumped up and pumped a fist in the air. “That’s our girl!!”
“Did you have any doubt that she could do it?” Tyrion asked cheekily, secretly elated that his champion won the whole tournament, that his friend had her moment of glory.
“It seems I will find myself short of some money.” Oberyn chuckled. “Your Silver Hawk, Lord Tyrion...she is very special.” He said, smiling at you from afar.
Tyrion smiled too. “Yes, she is.”
You let yourself laugh as the sound of applause filled your ears. Even your opponent offered his hand.
“You’re a fine shot. I’m just glad the stories are true. I didn’t want to leave here disappointed.” The man winked at you before taking his leave. You were about to take your leave as well when a voice called out over the cheer of the crowd.
“Wait!”
Your head whipped around. For a moment you forgot the golden-haired king entirely. He studied you with a vicious glare in his eyes that made you uneasy. You tried not to show it, but it was no use.
“Bring out the prisoner from yesterday.” The king commanded.
After a moment, the guard brought out a prisoner in chains. He was a big man, balding and bearded. He looked scared out of his wits and you were more nervous for him than you were for yourself.
“Chain him to a post.”
The guards did as they were told and chained the prisoner to one of the posts holding up the arena. The scared and nervous expression that matched his let him know you were not in on whatever this was.
“Place an apple on his head.”
Fuck.
A target was one thing, but a man’s life now rested in your hands. If you missed, it was his life in the line. The pressure was more intense now. The tournament was to uphold your reputation, it was all you had. But this was something much more frightening. To take the life of terrible people who hurt other people was one thing, to take the life of an innocent person was another, and even more so, to do it by accident.
“Shoot the apple.”
You once again scouted the distance. It was far, but you wouldn’t hurt this man. You would aim high, you’d rather miss far over his head than to pierce it. You gave a small nod to the man. I won’t hurt you, I promise.
You set your target. You aimed a bit higher than the center, not wanting the arrow to be any closer to his head than it needed to be.
1...2...
The juices of the apple ran down the man’s temple and dripped from his chin. The man looked like he could have passed out from relief, or maybe because he didn’t breathe that entire time.
“Oh sweet gods above, thank you! Thank you milady, don’t know ‘ow to repay you”
You smiled kindly at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “No need to thank or pay me. I don’t harm people without actual cause, and you’ve done me no offense.”
“Now shoot him.”
Your heart stopped in your chest. Your eyes grew wide, looking. To the other to make sure you heard that right, but his fear matched yours.
Even Tyrion looked to his nephew in horror. “Perhaps, nephew, you forget that this is a tournament and not an execution. This is not what she signed up for, this is not what we agreed on.”
“I don’t need to comply with your deal or her conditions. I am king, and you would do best to remember that, uncle, before you are the one tied to the post.” Jeoffey spat.
You tried to clear your head. How could you possibly get out of this? “If I am to shoot him, I would like to know the nature of his crimes.” You demanded.
“He stole wine and has been rotting in a cell. He takes up space there. I want him disposed of.”
All of this for some wine? “Surely your grace can find some other use for him? There is much to be done around the palace with your wedding approaching so soon, is there not? Perhaps he could serve as staff around the castle or-“
“Look at him!” He spat. “He’s fat, pathetic, and lazy. He’s no use to me. Shoot him or die, those are your options.”
Oberyn stood before the queen regent, his fist balled. “Convince your son to forget this. The Silver Hawk has done her part, she’s won the tournament. She kills for Tyrion, not Jeoffey, and even then she does not strike me as the type of person to just kill anyone. Everyone’s been entertained enough.”
Cersei just smiled something wicked. “I have no influence over my son. He is king, his word is the law. If the Silver Hawk is as good as she says, she’ll be able to do this, I doubt you have any cause for concern.” She smirked before sipping her wine.
Oberyn gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the queen. “She will not forget this if you make her take this man’s life. She does not kill without reason, but the murder of this man would give her cause to take revenge in the future. Don’t put her through this, and don’t give her an excuse to send one of her arrows flying in yours or your son’s direction.”
Cersei laughed. “You think she would be so stupid? She won’t do anything, not if she values her life.” Cersei leaned towards the Dornishman like she was letting him in on a secret. “The Hawk needs to learn when she is beat, when her arrows can’t save her. This will just teach her. This is good for everyone.”
“Good for everyone? Or good for your pride?”
They didn’t call him the Red Viper for nothing. His tongue was as quick as a snake's bite.
Cersei narrowed her eyes. “Step down Prince Oberyn. You and the Hawk aren’t winning this one.”
Oberyn and Tyrion shared a look of dread before returning their attention to you.
Your mind reeled. Think, think, think. What would Tyrion say or do to get out of this?
Shoot him or die, those are your options.
You took your position and tried not to look at the man for too long. He was trembling, crying, trying to break free and you couldn’t take it. You let your arrow fly.
The man let out a wail as the arrow pierced his leg. But before Jeoffery could protest, you intervened. “You asked me to shoot him my lord, so I did. You wish to dispose of him. Perhaps, Prince Oberyn, you will accept this man as a gift from Kings Landing, welcoming you to our city, and being a most gracious and humble guest. Do with him as you please since he is not fit to stay here.”
Oberyn chuckled and gave a dazzling smile. Now how did she come to think of that?
“Of course. Dorne welcomes all people. You would be most welcome in my family’s city. I could use a court jester. Once I have him trained you may visit him in Dorne, King Jeoffery.” Jeoffery seemed to quite like the thought of that. But you knew better. The same Oberyn who spoke of equality among people, the man who spoke of love and compassion would not make a joke of a poor, innocent man. And Jeoffery would be too consumed with power to think about taking a nice little trip to Dorne. “He may return with Ellaria and I when we depart.” Oberyn nodded.
You knew it was dangerous to say anything right now, you were already dancing with death as it was. But your eyes met the Prince’s, and at once he understood your level of gratitude.
“Take him to Prince Oberyn’s quarters. Chain him up there. Let the Dornish deal with this filth.” Jeoffery scoffed.
Cersei looked as if she could order to have you killed right that instant.
“Why don’t we enjoy some wine of our own to celebrate my champion’s victory? All this excitement is leaving me parched.” Tyrion suggested before his sister could do something brash.
And just like that, the festivities came to an end. As soon as you were out of sight, you stealthily followed the guards to the Lannister brothel. Firstly to escape any harm, secondly, to find the man you had just shot. You entered the brothel through the window, only to be met with the shocked face of a young girl.
“Where’s the man with an arrow in his leg?” You asked one of the girls frantically but in hushed tones. You didn’t need the guards or other Lannisters knowing you were here.
“H-He’s up the stairs in the back rooms on the left. He’s in a bad way.” The girl croaked out.
Sometimes you forgot how intimidating you could be.
“Do you have alcohol? I have to tend to him. I need alcohol and some cloth.” You tried asking in a much softer, calmer voice.
The girl nodded and scurried off. You made your way up the stairs and found the farthest back room on the left. You found the man withering in pain on the bed.
“You need to try and control your breathing. I’m not going to be able to help you if you’re all panicked. I know it’s hard, but you have to trust me.”
The man nodded and tried to hold back the tears in his eyes. You took deep breaths, and he tried breathing with you. “You saved my life...damned my leg but saved my life. Went through an awful lot of trouble. I’m surprised Cersei didn’t kill you right there.”
You knelt next to the man to observe his wounds. “Cersei doesn’t scare me.” You said confidently. “Just because she has power doesn’t make her a true ruler, nor her son, or any of the Lannisters. They only have power if they think we fear them.”
“Most do fear them though. And if they ‘ave the power they can ‘urt us, they ‘ave ‘urt us. Nearly killed me over some wine.” He huffed.
“If more people stood against them they wouldn’t have so much power.” They would have their status, they would have their wealth, but if the people started revolting, the people would stand a chance. Sadly, you knew the Lannisters already evoked too much fear into the hearts of the people they’re supposed to be protecting for anything to happen, at least not now. “I understand...not wanting to stand against them. I’m under the protection of Tyrion so I have more freedoms. I’m just glad King Jeoffery reacted well to the decision not to kill you.”
“'Aye, that makes two of us.”
You turned your head at the sound of a door opening. You were expecting the young girl from before only for your eyes to meet Ellaria’s dark ones. She came in with the cloth and a bag of assorted ointments which she promptly dumped on the bed before unchaining the man.
“How are you?” She asked the man frantically, her mind only focused on helping him.
“Well, other than an arrow bein’ in me leg I’m just great.” He quipped.
“He’s calmed down a lot. We should be ready.”
Ellaria nodded her head, knowing what you meant.
“Ready for-“
Before he could finish, you quickly removed the arrow from his leg. He howled in pain, but Ellaria was working fast. She made quick work of using the ointments and tying his leg tight with the cloth to stop the blood flow.
The man was sobbing and gripping your arm like his life depended on it. It hurt, but you bit back your pain. Didn’t seem right to complain when the man just had an arrow ripped out of his leg.
Oberyn entered and knelt next to you, offering the man a cup. “Drink this. It will help with the pain and help you sleep. It’s a sedative of sorts.”
The man quickly downed the tea, willing to do anything to get rid of the ridiculous amount of pain. He handed the cup to you and laid his head back against the pillow. “Thank you, all of you. I owe you all my life.”
“Just get some rest. Your body has gone through a lot today and you’ll need sleep to recover your strength.” You chided, standing up to leave. Oberyn and Ellaria followed to leave the man in peace.
“Thank you for helping him, both of you. He is alive because of your kindness.” You thanked. You couldn’t help but be a bit surprised. Most royalty would not have cared about the life of one poor commoner, but neither of them wasted any time in helping him. The more you learned about the two of them the more questions you asked. Why were they so different from the highborn you’ve met? You shouldn’t like them as much as you do. Highborn were supposed to be snobbish, egotistical, and rude, they were supposed to be like the Lannisters.
But they weren’t.
“It is you he should thank. If you wouldn’t have tricked the king like that, you would have had no choice but to kill him to save yourself.” Ellaria reasoned.
But you were having none of it. “I still shot him with an arrow. He would still be in pain were it not for the ointments and tea. And you,” you began, turning towards Oberyn, “were you serious about bringing him to Dorne?”
Oberyn smiled and nodded. “Yes, though I am in no need of a jester, my family keeps me entertained enough.” He laughed. “But I will take him to Dorne. From there he can do as he pleases. If he does not wish to stay in Dorne I will find him passage somewhere else. Every innocent man should be free. Stealing some wine does not warrant death, nor imprisonment when they have enough Dornish wine to fill the Shivering Sea.”
“Thank you.” You smiled kindly, placing a hand on his arm. You both locked eyes for a moment and your heart skipped a beat.
What the fuck is this?
Why were your cheeks getting hot? Why did your whole body feel warm and light?
“Ahem.” Ellaria intervened, smirking all the while. You broke your gaze and returned your attention to Ellaria. “I am not as generous as my lover. I demand payment for my services. I spent good money on those ointments.”
You were surprised by Ellaria’s sudden shift in behavior. She had all the riches in the world and she wanted payment? “I earned my money and you have-“
“A dance.” She interrupted before you could rattle off your other five reasons why she wasn’t getting your money. “A dance at the boy Lannister’s wedding. One with each of us.”
Of course that’s what she wanted.
You wanted to say no, you almost did. But Ellaria had spared her ointments and Oberyn put himself in harm's way just by siding with you when you tricked Jeoffery. Sure, Jeoffery had been amused with the idea of the man as a jester for the Dornish, but Oberyn didn’t know the king would go along with it. And they both of them were certainly not going to be in the good graces of Cersei now.
Not that they were to begin with, but this certainly didn’t help matters.
“I don’t know if you even want to make that request, Ellaria. I’m not a dancer-“
“We will teach you.” Oberyn interrupted before you could protest more, clearly excited by his lover’s suggestion. “I am familiar with certain dances, but Ellaria is the best dancer in Dorne. She can teach anyone to dance.” He purred, pulling her closer to his side before they gazed at each other lovingly.
It was disgustingly cute.
Ellaria playfully hit his chest. “He praises me too much, but I will teach you. You are light on your feet, no? You will not be as bad as you think.”
You sighed, knowing you were going to regret this. “Seems I cannot refuse.” You gave them both a soft smile. “I owe you both, and seeing as I am employed by a Lannister, I can’t very well avoid paying my debt. I would be honored to share a dance with both of you.”
“Good.” Ellaria smiled cheekily. “And since it was my idea, I get first dance.” She teased her lover, in which he grabbed her waist forcefully and pulled her close to him, pecking her lips, but sparing you any more public displays of affection.
Secretly, you didn’t mind. They were actually quite cute when you didn’t have to scold them for trying to make you so flustered.
“I suppose I can live with that considering I will have the pleasure of dancing with the two most beautiful women in the capital.”
You smiled softly and blushed.
Then you quickly remembered yourself.
You cleared your throat. “Anyways, I need to return to The Red Keep. I’m sure Tyrion is waiting to scold me about infuriating his sister again. I better get it all over with now.” It was a lame and rather pathetic excuse, but if you didn’t leave soon you were afraid they would make some remark on the sudden flustered state you now found yourself in.
“We will see you in a few days then. Stay guarded, Silver Hawk. Our actions did not please Cersei, she was rather determined to see you kill that man today and she did not get what she wanted. Find us should anything happen.” Oberyn instructed, his sultry voice turning into something much more serious.
Ellaria’s eyes met yours. She was worried, genuinely worried. Every part of you wanted to somehow console her, to assure both of them that you would be okay. But you felt the beating of your heart pick up the pace. Tyrion, Shae, Bronn, they all worried about you, but it was always lighthearted, worry hid under a joke or a tease. But the Dornish knew no such thing, they felt everything, wore everything on their sleeve, and damned all who had anything to say about it. It was a different kind of bravery. It wasn’t charging head-first into battle, but it was more than you could ever muster, more than you’ve ever known or allowed yourself to feel. And it scared you. Because one person caring for you like this was intimidating, two people were terrifying.
“I will not hesitate to seek you both out should anything happen.” You promised. They had earned your trust, despite every bone in your body that still rebelled against them. They risked their alliance with the Lannisters and went out of their way to help a man they didn’t know, a man they didn’t have to save. There was something to be said in that.
You exited the brothel and returned to the palace. You stocked your arrows and checked your armor. The wedding would only be days away. What would become of the Dornish? Would they ever return? Could you ever go to them?
And why were you thinking of these things? It didn’t matter where they would go. They would do as they pleased and you would go where Tyrion led. Tyrion, Shae, Bronn, they were home. But when you slept that night, your mind was filled with flashes of warm oranges, golds, yellows, bronzed skin, sharp features, dark hair, and eyes that could switch between sharp and kind in an instant.
But you didn’t see red.
Not yet.
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Tag List (if I’m missing someone or if you would like to be added please let me know!): @ilikechocolatemilkh @rpcvliz @janelongxox @evyiione @grogusmum
#armor#oberyn x you#oberyn x you x ellaria#oberyn x reader x ellaria#oberyn martell#prince oberyn#game of thrones#game of thrones fic#got#oberyn martell imagine
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Secret Cupid 2021 (Part 2)
This @rdr-secret-cupid is for @outlawsworld ! I’m so sorry about it being a little late. I really hope that you like this, I really tried to incorporate horses and your appearance the best that I could without being overbearing.
Sorry about any formatting issues, I’m on mobile!
Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day!
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The Way He Touched You
Arthur Morgan x Reader
Word Count: 2,350
Warnings: None really, but there is briefly some hostile words and behaviors aimed at the reader.
You were a successful seductress and thief. You were making hundreds, sometimes thousands of money from tempting big burly oafs. They always figured you were no threat, with your small stature and physique. And don’t forget about your oh-so-charming Southern Belle act! These men were fools, and you played them like a fiddle.
Your mistake was staying in the same town and seducing every man who lived there. You no longer had an audience. No bites. No money. Until one day, when a new man rode into town on the finest horse you’d ever seen. He was loaded. But he was big, and strong.
You seduced the man, tricking him into buying you two a night at the nicest hotel around. Once you made your way into the room, however, that’s where things went wrong.
You’d gotten to the point in your routine where you would normally incapacitate your victim. Normally you would find an object close by, like a candle stick or a boot that had been kicked off. Well, when you smashed a glass dish over the man’s head, he did not pass out. Rather, he started bleeding profusely and screaming at you. You bolted out of the hotel, bursting through the door and jumping on the first horse you saw: his.
With a quick kick to the sides the Arabian horse went into a full gallop, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground mixed in with the angry yells of the man you just failed to rob.
Pretty soon, the law and the townspeople were on you. But your stolen horse was faster than them. Eventually it seemed that they had given up. You couldn’t hear or see anything. You slowed the horse and dismounted, giving it a nice pat and an apple (which was also stolen).
You must have fallen asleep, because when you woke up to the sound of thundering hooves and angry men the sky was a different shade of blue. Luckily the horse you’d stolen, who you now recognized was a girl, was still nearby, grazing on the overgrown grass. Unfortunately, she was not a very camouflaged horse. She was the brightest shade of white with a pink nose and blue eyes. The mob found you easily.
You ran and mounted the mare, kicking her to make her go. The horse bolted, and you made decent ground, but the howling of nearby wolves spooked her and she threw you off.
“Fuck!“ You were panicking. You had no other means of escaping. Horse theft was punishable by hanging. Is this how you would go? Suddenly a horse skidded and stopped beside you.
“Those friends of yours?” The man asked.
“No! Can you get me outta here?” You were on the verge of crying. You didn’t want to die.
“I can try! Hop on up here, miss.” You hoped you could trust this man. With a prayer you hopped onto the back of the man’s horse, and after grabbing hold of his shirt you were off. His horse galloped faster than the Arabian had for you, perhaps he was a kind and tender man with his horse.
The man, whose name you had learned was Arthur, took you into a concealed part of the wilderness. You were scared of where he was bringing you, but more scared of what would happen if you jumped off. You saw the dim light of a campfire, the sound of people talking, horses snorting back and forth as they noticed a stranger approaching.
You found yourself in a camp full of people. Arthur lead you over to a tent, where a man with jet black hair and a mustache greeted you. You told him your story, and he laughed and recommended you become friends with a girl named Karen. Apparently she was in a similar “business” as you.
That was almost a full year ago now.
Now you were a dutiful helper around camp. You of course did the regular chores that Ms. Grimshaw assigned you, but you had also become the caretaker of the gang’s horses.
Except Arthur’s. He insisted on taking care of his mare. The one time he had found you taking care of his horse he didn’t talk to you the rest of the day! You found it strange but you respected his wishes.
Currently you were grooming Taima, Charles’ Appaloosa mare. You were running a brush through her black and white fur, giving her encouraging words as you went on. You had finished your other chores: washing and drying clothes, washing bowls for the evening stew; the same old routine. A calm breeze drifted through the camp, causing leaves to flap around and Taima’s man to flow, ever so slightly.
You noticed the sound of hooves alongside the rustling of the flora around you. Arthur was riding in. He had been gone a couple of days on a hit. His horse looked exhausted, covered in sweat and mud.
“Hey, Arthur.” You greeted him. He tipped his hat towards you. He hitched his horse and walked towards you.
“Would you mind givin’ my old girl a brush?”
“I thought you didn’t like me tendin’ to your horse.” He sensed the slight attitude in your voice, you’d been holding a slight, although stupid, grudge since Arthur went silent on you.
“Please, (Y/N), she’s filthy. I can’t tend to ‘er right now...” Arthur headed off to Dutch’s tent, followed by the closing of the flaps. You gave Taima a once over; she looked shiny and clean. You headed over to Arthur’s mare, who nickered in response to you patting her hindquarters.
You gently brushed her, caked mud falling off with ease. She would need a real bath to return to her solid black color. You cleaned her as best as you could. Although her white socks were still a beige color, she looked pristine everywhere else.
Arthur soon returned, letting out a low whistle at the sight of his horse. Of course he didn’t like that he didn’t do it himself, but he praised you on your grooming work.
“You wanna go for a ride, (Y/N)?”
“Why?” You eyed him suspiciously.
“Do you wanna go for a ride or not?”
Without another word you got up on Arthur’s horse and wrapped your arms under his, your hands resting on his shoulders. The mare trotted into the woods, and once you all reached the main road you took off towards Valentine.
When you arrived, Arthur hitched his horse up outside of the stable. Was he buying treats? You followed him inside the stable, where he was greeted by the owner who was eyeing you suspiciously.
“Whatcha think about that one?” Arthur pointed towards a palomino American Standardbred.
“That’s a fine horse,” you said quietly. You didn’t have the money for such a creature, which you voiced with Arthur.
“‘Scuse me sir, I’d like to purchase this horse for my wife!” Arthur gestured towards the golden horse. Wife? Wife? Your face flushed red with anxiety and embarrassment. Arthur paid for the horse, your horse. He got you basic tack as well, and made sure you were good to ride. You didn’t know what to say.
You began to leave the stable, but the owner called after you.
“Wait! Here’s a brush and some treats... for... you...” A realization had been made. “Why— sir! That ain’t your wife! That’s the whore that stole all the men’s money in this town!”
“Don’t you call my wife no such thing.” Arthur warned the man, his hand gripping
his holster. You were flabbergasted, both at Arthur’s new title for you and that you had been caught... again.
The man grabbed at the skirt of your dress, trying to pull you off of your horse. You kicked at him, “Stop it!” You hissed at him, glaring him down. You weren’t scary at all, but perhaps Arthur’s presence gave you a leg up in intimidation. He grabbed at you again, his dirty hand gripping your thigh through the fabric. Without hesitation Arthur drew his pistol and shot the man, blood splatter making its impression on your dress and skin. Now you were certain your dress was soiled.
“Let’s go.” Arthur grumbled. Arthur called for his horse and mounted up. You both calmly left the stable, but you felt like you were burning alive with all of the eyes on you two. You could hear a familiar voice, the sheriff. As soon as you and Arthur had made it close to the outskirts, you bolted. You made a detour and headed towards Emerald Ranch, to avoid giving directions to camp if somebody followed you.
The sheriff and his deputies followed you, but gave up easily. Your horse was kind to you, and easy to handle. But he began to spook. You held on tightly to the reins, causing the horse even more irritation.
“Let loose on the reins, keep your ass in the saddle!” Arthur guided you. You already knew this, but you tried your best to follow his directions. Your horse did calm down after a moment, snorting at you after the ordeal. Arthur smiled smugly at you.
“So I’m your wife now, huh?” You teased Arthur, who was flushed a crimson red. He hadn’t really thought about that.
“In Valentine you are.”
If only he knew how you felt about it. You didn’t push it. You thanked Arthur for your horse, who you’d decided to call Flavian, after his golden appearance. Arthur thought the name was weird, but didn’t question it. The two of you rode off towards camp, traveling through the oil fields to get back. It was a long ride, but a safe one. The hot sun burned your skin, turning you pink. You didn’t think you’d be in the sun for so long, you hadn’t really prepared.
In a daze, you felt something hit your chest. Arthur’s hat. You looked at him, his head already facing forward.
“You’re turnin’ red. Just wear it for now.” You put on the hat, the scent of him forcing its way into your nose and causing a familiar heat to rush to your face. You reached the wooded surroundings of the camp, just as the sun began to set.
After you’d arrived Arthur grabbed a bowl of Pearson’s stew and retreated to his tent. You grabbed a bowl as well and followed Arthur, you needed to give his hat back. When you got close enough, Arthur was sitting and holding his head in his hands, frustrated.
“Arthur?”
“Yes, Miss (Y/N)?” He seemed startled.
“Your hat...” You pulled the hat off of your head, reaching it out for him to take. He looked up at you, beet red. He reached for the hat and gently took it from your hand. “Are you okay...?” You stepped closer, into his tent. He seemed a bit concerned about this, his eyebrows knitting together.
“I’m fine, Miss (Y/N). Just tired. Confused.”
“Confused about what, Arthur?”
“You.”
“Well, what about me?” You kind of laughed, trying to conceal any nervousness in your voice.
“Well, I— It’s not important, (Y/N).”
You silently took a deep breath. You stepped closer to Arthur and sat down beside him on his cot. He recoiled a bit. Ouch.
“What, Arthur?” You were hurt at how repulsed he seemed to be by your presence. Sure, he bought you a horse, but probably because Dutch or Hosea told him to.
“The way that man touched you today. I didn’t like it.” He mumbled. He knew of your past, how you used to tempt men. What did Arthur mean?
The thought of you ever being touched by somebody filled Arthur with a quiet anger. He was jealous today. Jealous and protective and possessive. Over a woman that wasn’t his to begin with. He had been for months, and it worried him.
“I didn’t like him touchin’ you. I don’t like... I don’t like anybody touchin’ you!”
“Arthur.” You brought your small frame closer to him. This time he didn’t recoil. You turned your head to look at him, his eyes avoiding you. You brought a gentle hand to his forearm, his bright turquoise eyes met your green ones. “Arthur I’m in love with you... how could you not tell? Ever since you saved me...”
“You can’t be in love with me...” Arthur laughed with a hint of sadness. He turned to face you, your knees touching. He brought a calloused hand to your cheek, looking like he wanted so desperately to kiss you, but pulled himself away. He seemed ashamed.
“But I am. I am in love with you, Arthur Morgan.” You looked down at the ground, fearful of what he might respond with.
How could you be so vulnerable? How could you just tell him you’ve been in love with him for a year? What now? Were you going to tell him how every time he left on a mission that you’d be so sick to your stomach with worry that you were scared you’d vomit? How you felt a twinge of jealousy and then guilt when he interacted with any of the girls? How every time you saw him you’d try to take a picture in your mind, just in case?
Tears pricked at your eyes. Oh, great, you were crying now. Arthur lifted your head back up and wiped his thumb across your cheek, wiping your tears away. He smiled softly at you.
“We can talk about this later, (Y/N)... I can’t stand seein’ you cry.”
You latched onto Arthur, in the tightest hug you could manage. He brought his big arms around you, careful not to squeeze too tight.
You don’t remember much of anything after. Arthur had been right, you were both exhausted from the heat today.
The next morning you woke up, still encased in Arthur’s arms. It was still early, nobody else had woken up but you were sure somebody had seen the two of you. Arthur also seemed to be awake, and ran his fingers through your hair.
“I love you too, (Y/N).”
#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 fanfic#red dead redemption 2 fanfiction#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#rdr secret cupid 2021#mine
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Guardian of Creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 13
*Author’s note*
Well been awhile since I did an update for this series but here I am with another update! This time we’re gonna turn back the clock and find out what happened to our gang of mistfits when Serafina left them. So as I told you all before, Oded Fehr plays an allied wizard for John and Serafina, but now we get introduced to a new THREAT to our heroes. So I hope you all enjoy this chapter and until next time :)
Taglist:
@plethora-of-things
@waddles03
@psychosupernatural
@ixchel-9275
@simonedk
@queen-paladin
@queensdivas
@queendeakyy
@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels
@glitter-at-the-panic
@kinole009x
@geek-and-proud
@wormzteef
_________________________________________________________
Chapter 13,
The Ambush
*2nd Person POV. The morning after Serafina leaves*
The next morning you awoke to the desert sun shining in your tent.
“What do you mean she’s gone!?” you hear John’s voice snap with anger. You peek out of your tent to see the boys all standing around under the desert sun but Serafina was nowhere to be seen. John stood in front of Freddie, his hands fuming with his purple magic while his sons Seraffel and Thor stood behind their father, the same look of anger across their faces.
“I’m saying what is true. She’s gone on her own path.”
“What is it with you fucking Nagas and your riddle talk!? Where exactly did our mom go!? And I swear to god if you don’t start making any sense I’ll freeze you so bad you won’t start to thaw till the next Ice Age!” Seraffel warned.
“Always barking but never biting. Really Seraffel you’ve threatened me thousands of times since your hatching and you’ve yet to hold up to that threat. No matter how old you were.” Freddie spoke nonchalantly, like he didn’t even care for the ice dragon’s threat. You walk up to Brian and ask him.
“What’s going on here?”
“It would appear that Serafina has gone off on her own somewhere. John and Serafina have rarely been apart from one another, the longest I’ve seen them be apart is when Roger and I were first sent by Freddie to save them.”
“Freddie please just—just tell us where our mom’s at? She could get captured or-or killed!” Thor pleaded.
“Your mother can handle herself. Right now she needs to go on this path on her own.”
“Fred normally I would agree on with what you say but this is no time for a pissing contest! Grindelwald knew we were in New York, who’s to say that the rest of his family or even his spies could be out here looking for us right now!? What if her power alone is not enough?” Roger said as he paced back and forth with worry.
“For someone who claims to care for her you seriously underestimate her Roger dear.” Roger halted in his spot to stare at the Naga. “Serafina’s path lies on a different path than ours for the moment. This part of her journey will come to pass with what we need for the final phase of ending Grindelwald’s followers once and for all. Now will the four of you get your heads out of your arses and understand Serafina is more than capable of taking care of herself and isn’t some fragile little maiden that always needs protecting!”
Freddie’s eyes glowed a fearsome yellow and his voice grew deeper and more snake like.
“Now then, we should reach the Medjai coven by the sun’s highest point if we leave now. Burn the tents and get rid of any evidence of our trail here.” Freddie slithered onward.
As the boys went on with Freddie’s orders, you then ask Brian once more.
“Will she be okay?”
“Serafina is unlike any other witch I’ve met before. Elf or otherwise. She has power unlike anything I’ve ever seen. If I had to say who I should be more worried for, I’d say it’s whatever poor unfortunate soul crosses her path.”
Once the site was cleared up of any of your traces, you continued onward to the Medjai covenant. It felt like an eternity had passed until finally as you all came up over a hill and just down below, several village stood there in the middle of the desert.
“We’ve arrived.” John spoke as he urged his black stallion onward. You followed behind him, then his sons, Brian and Freddie, while Roger flanked in the rear.
As you all approached the entrance into the village, several men in black garb with most of their faces covered, held up their wands towards you guys ready to strike.
“Waqaf!” one of the guards spoke up. Your horse whinnied and reared on it’s hind legs. You held onto the reins as tight as you could as you tried to calm your horse down.
“Whoa, whoa boy whoa easy!” you tell your horse. John’s horse nickered and anxiously paced forward and back.
“We’re not spies! We’re friends with your covenant leader Ardeth Bay. My name is John Deacon and these creatures are my friends.” The guards looked at one another suspiciously when a stern but warm voice proclaimed.
“Let them pass!” soon riding on top of a camel was an Egyptian man with long black hair, two Arabic tattoos on each cheek and one across his forehead, and chocolate brown eyes. He sported a mix of a goatee and beard which went well along his strong jawline.
He was a big man on the muscular side, probably standing at around 6ft, maybe a couple inches. But it was the way he just seem to carry himself that made it seem like he was a true leader, a chieftain maybe.
“This man is under my protection. Anyone who tries to even lay a curse upon him shall face immediate exile, do I make myself clear?” the way his voice commanded these guards, it just made goosebumps come across your arms. The guards put their wands away and bowed with their left feet forward and their right arms crossed over their chests, hands going right over their hearts.
He then turned to John and soon his camel and John’s stallion stood face to face of each other.
“Welcome back my friend, it’s been a long time.”
“I wish the circumstances could be better Ardeth.”
“Well, it is most definitely an upgrade from being lost in the desert for days on end without water and hardly any food.” John chuckled embarrassingly but then the two men clasped hands with each other in a firm handshake.
Then they taking back their hands, kissing the side of their index fingers and placing it on their foreheads before placing their hand before their lips once again (must be an Arabic greeting).
“You and your friends have had a long journey not only from your last hideout but also across the desert. Come, satisfy your hungry and quench your thirst. And for two of your companions, regain their energy.” Ardeth said the last part as he looked to Roger and Seraffel who both looked practically exhausted.
“Thank you Ardeth. We appreciate you giving us a place to rest and regroup.” John thanked him. Ardeth bowed his head before urging his camel forward. You all follow behind the leader of the Medjai sorcerers and as you enter the village, you can see hundreds of Arabic witches, wizards and young children running about going about their day.
Some were selling robes, others had potions and spell books for sale, animals were also being sold at what almost looked like a petting zoo setup but it also had dogs, cats and falcons in their cages. Horses and camels were also on sale at the shop, each wearing a price board around their necks as they went about either pacing around the fence, drinking their water, or eating the food provided for them.
This entire marketplace was just a buzz with people. As you passed by, some of the Medjai wizards and witches looked at you and your friends. Some were in awe, others were skeptical, and the rest held respect as they bowed their heads to you and the others.
Soon you arrived at a large tent. It seemed a pretty good decent size (maybe about 8ft long and 13ft. wide) for all of you to fit inside. The front flaps were a stripped pattern of cream and, at least to you, an earthy kinda brownish-red. The rest of the tent was an earthy tone of dark green and brown stripped pattern.
You all unmounted off your rides and Ardeth walked up to the tent and opened it up for you all.
“Enter my friends, eat and make yourselves at home.” John bent down to take his shoes off before entering inside the tent. Brian did the same thing and gave Ardeth an Elvish thank you by placing his hand over his heart and bowing his head. Ardeth did the same motion and Brian entered inside.
Roger, Thor and Seraffel, then Freddie followed behind after Brian. You undid the last of your laces on your shoes and set them down beside the rest of the shoes that aligned the tent.
“You are the human savior the Naga Freddie has foreseen, aren’t you?” he said to you.
“Well—I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that. I mean yeah I did save John and Serafina’s sons from being imprisoned for all eternity but—other than that I’m not really all that special.”
“I disagree. You have a strong powerful aura within you. You may not yet realize it but it’s in there.” His strong, calloused hand gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Every creature on this earth whether mortal or mythical has that power. It’s only up to those brave enough to seek it out. Not all heroes are of just one image.”
He walked back over to the flap of the tent and opened it up for you to walk inside. You enter in and soon Ardeth follows right behind you.
Whoa! This tent was bigger on the inside! Various and beautiful kaleidoscope-like patterned quilts hung along the walls of the tent. There was a pool at the center of the tent and that’s where you saw both Seraffel and Roger, half naked, in the pool rehydrating themselves after being under the hot African sun for the past couple of days.
Thor was just drying off his wet hair (probably just getting out of the pool himself) wearing a white Arabic tunic. Freddie was curled up under the shade fast asleep, while Brian and John were conversing quietly to themselves.
“Hey (n/n) get in the water’s amazing!” Seraffel called out to you.
“It was amazing till you nearly froze it over yah overgrown icicle!” Roger snapped.
“Oh whatever you’re made out of water yourself you’re fine.” Seraffel waved off nonchalantly. You shook your head at seeing those two argue pettily.
“Maybe later guys.” You gave them an answer.
“I apologize for what happened with my guards out front. We’ve been needing to increase security for our coven.” Ardeth said as he went over to the kitchen to make some drinks for us.
“We understand Ardeth. My grandfather—is resilient.” John spoke lowly.
“He is. Unfortunately, it was not your grandfather or his followers that I was referring to.” At hearing this, most of you all look up at the leader of the Medjai sorcerers confused.
“What—do you mean then?” questioned Thor.
“It would seem Grindelwald has finally convinced an even greater foe to side with him.”
“Who?” you ask.
“The Shadow Sorcerers.” At hearing that name, everyone in the room went frigid with fear. Even Freddie’s eyes had opened at hearing their name.
“Who are the Shadow Sorcerers?” you ask.
“A separate branch of one of the most powerful and most dangerous wizards and witches. They branched off during the time of Thomas Deacon, they viewed his radical thinking of submitting themselves under the Sorcerer Supreme’s rule unlawful. So they branched off, became their own branch of sorcerers.” Freddie first explained before John joined in.
“Once my grandfather became Sorcerer Supreme, he tried to sway the Shadow wizards not as pawns, but an ally. A secondhand ally you may call it. Some of the Shadow covens agreed and allowed some of their students to transfer into our school. To study our way of magic. But they made for certain that they would never submit themselves under the rule of the Sorcerer Supreme. At least not without something to gain from it.”
“They value their pride more than anything else in the world. But it would seem some of the Shadow covens have decided to go fully under Grindelwald’s thumb. Their source of magic comes from the most ancient and most darkest of all magic. Using their very own shadows as an extension of themselves in order to take down any enemy.” Ardeth said.
“The Shadow coven takes their inspiration of their magic based on the animals that you humans refer to as Nocturnal animals. Even basing each specific family off the Latin name of said animal. I’ve even seen the Shadow Sorcerers even control other beings to their will by using their own shadows against them. A few of my people before the massacre learned that the hard way.” Freddie said.
“How many Shadow sorcerer covens are there?” asked Thor.
“There are 10 main covens of Shadow Sorcerers, and then depending on the Nocturnal animal they are inspired to emulate, the covens get subdivided into classes based off the species. The covens with the most subclass are the Felines, Rodents, and Mammalia clans.” John answered his youngest son.
“So that means we’re screwed.” Seraffel exclaimed angrily.
“Not necessarily my young ice dragon.” Ardeth added. “I said that some of the covens have joined Grindelwald. You see there are some that have remained either undecisive or wish to remain neutral. But I’m afraid the ones that did join along with Grindelwald, are one of the most strongest Shadow Sorcerers of all.”
“Which coven classes joined alongside him?” Brian asked. Ardeth sighed and said.
“I—truthfully do not know the exact number. But the one that has been skulking around here lately come from the Corvus clan.” You noticed John clenching his hand into a fist and even saw it tremble.
“So what do we do now?” asked Seraffel.
“Right now my friends you rest. And I strictly ask that you do not leave this tent as the sun sets. The shadow wizards tend to do their hunting at night. And whatever you do; Never. Turn on. The lights.” With that, Ardeth left you guys alone to your thoughts.
“Damn. Siding with the Shadow Sorcerers. Grindelwald must be getting desperate if he wanted to ask for their help.” Roger said.
“Does Grindelwald fear the Shadow Sorcerers?”
“To an extent. My grandfather is many things, a coward is definitely not one of them. But he is aware of who is powerful than even him. He must’ve sueded them to a deal that not even they could refuse.” John said. He lowered his head down to his hands and run his fingers through his hair anxiously. “I just hope and pray to Merlin that Serafina’s at least not in Egypt anymore. Or at least nowhere where a Shadow wizard could be.”
“She’ll be fine John. She’s stronger than you realize.” Brian comforted the anxious young wizard.
For the rest of the day, you all rested and pretty much stayed inside the tent because after traveling the desert for 2 days none of you even thought about wanting to go back outside.
When the sky became dark, it was as Ardeth said, no lanterns or lights were coming on in the camp. Not even lights from the tents or houses nearby were up.
“Man, Ardeth wasn’t kidding. Not a single Medjai has their lights on.” You said as you came back into the tent.
“Then we must do the same.” Brian said. He went up to one of the lanterns and turned off the flame candle inside. Roger did the same to his side of the room, and on and on until finally the entire tent was nothing but pitch black.
You adjusted yourself on the soft red velvet couch (well it felt more like a bed with how big it was).
“Goodnight everyone.” You say. They all reply with a goodnight and soon you all fall into a silent sleep.
‘(Y/n).’ a ghostly whisper calls out to you. You moan and try to go back to sleep but the voice calls out to you again. ‘(Y/n)~’ the soft gentle coo of this man’s voice reminded you a lot of your grandfather. The grandfather you lost back in the War.
He had moved to a small town of Leuven in Belgium after remarrying a woman named Pamela Janssens. She was nice and she really helped your grandfather out of his depression when your grandma died of a heart attack. He enjoyed the Belgium countryside and the people were nice to him even from being from America.
But when the German troops invaded Leuven, you were told by your mother (who was the daughter of your grandfather) that he had been shot and killed by a German soldier and Pamela had been raped before being brutally murdered and then their house was burned to the ground.
Your granddad was like a superhero to you. Even in his old age, he never let anything bring him down. That’s why he was able to still pick you up even as you became a teenager. When you received word of his death from Pamela’s sister, it crushed your entire world.
‘(Y/n)~’ the voice called to you again. No it—it couldn’t be him. There’s no way.
“Granddad?” you whisper as you sit up.
‘It’s me.’ You gasp and quickly hop off the couch. ‘I’m here.’ The voice called out again. You peek outside of the tent but it’s nothing but pitch black outside. The crescent shape moon hardly gave off any light but it was then a small blue flame stood before you. It danced and you swore that it had eyes staring up at you.
A trail of them soon popped out, leading away from the village. Something in your gut didn’t seem right but there was a magical force that was just beckoning you to go forward.
‘Hummingbird. It’s me.’ No way…..it—it was him. Only one person ever called you hummingbird and that was your grandfather. You then find yourself walking out of the tent and followed the trail of blue flames, each one of them disappearing as you walked through them.
*3rd Person POV*
Freddie’s eyes snapped open as he looked up in time just to see (Y/n) leaving the tent.
“Roger! Roger!” Freddie hissed quietly. Roger groaned and turned his back on Freddie, burying himself under his pillow. “Thor! Seraffel!” the dragons only kept snoring softly, well Thor was. Seraffel was mumbling incoherently in his sleep.
Rolling his eyes, Freddie decided it was up to him to get their human savior back. He peeked his head out of the tent, his tongue sticking out to taste the air, hoping to get a scent of where they had gone.
He left the tent and soon spotted some fresh footprints leading away from the village.
“Damnit!” he slithered forward following the footprints as fast as he could, hoping it wasn’t too late.
A few feet from the village, he soon heard the sound of wings flapping. Quickly finding a rocky ledge to hide under, he soon saw 4 figures land down a few yards away from him and soon the figures of 4 men in black robes stood there.
However one of them kept out his black feather wings out and he spoke to the three men.
“With them separated it’ll be easier to take them down. But leave them alive—for now.” The three wizards soon took off on foot now to find (Y/n). Each going a different direction in hopes of ambushing them.
Freddie kept his eyes on the leader who merely just stood there, scouring the entire desert sand. There was something off about this Shadow sorcerer just standing there, he had to be plotting something.
Suddenly out of nowhere Freddie felt three steel blades being shot into his back. He arched himself but as he turned around he was caught by surprise as the figure of the leader fired some type of gas at him, all the awhile saying BOO!
Freddie swatted the air but it was too late. His vision soon started flashing back to the day his entire race was killed.
“Aww, having trouble?” the leader’s voice (sounding thunderous, haunting, almost demonic). Freddie saw the leader’s eyes glowing the same haunting blue as Thomas Riddle Deacon’s eyes. The very same cold blue eyes that stared back at him as he slaughtered each and every Naga. “Watch the stars, have a drink!”
Freddie began thrashing around trying to get rid of this horrifying memory but all he kept seeing was blood spurting, the flash of green light, and the agonizing screams of his family. He soon felt some sort of liquid being dumped onto him as the Shadow Sorcerer continued to taunt him.
“You look like a snake who takes himself too seriously.” His palm soon sparked out a blue fireball and as Freddie finally went calm for a split second to look up at the wizard, he told Freddie. “You want my opinion? You need to lighten up.” He threw the blue fireball at Freddie and soon he was being burned alive.
The leader soon disappeared into the shadows as Freddie screamed in pure agony. The blue flames eating away at his coils like a hot grinder slowly and torturously burning away every inch of his skin. Somehow he managed to send a telepathic cry for help to John who immediately woke up.
“Freddie!” John shot up exclaiming which soon woke everyone up. Brian’s elvish hearing soon heard Freddie’s torturous screaming.
“Come on!” everyone soon left the tent and raced to help the Naga. Suddenly all the lights in their tent came on and the shadows soon came alive.
Razor sharp teeth and red eyes surrounded them as they now felt themselves being bound by the shadows. John tried to break free but he soon heard the very same thing happening to the tent next to them. And the home after that, until the entire Medjai was either screaming in terror or with their last dying breath.
“Hello John, remember me?” soon entering the tent with Ardeth also trapped within his grasp was a lean stature man with short black hair, ice blue eyes, a strong jawline and skin as pale as the moon. He looked to be about his mid-30’s possibly even 40s. But it was his voice.
His voice that was soft and lulling like a lullaby, but it held an icy, haunting tone to it as well.
“Jonathan Corvus.” He smirked.
“It really has been too long. How’s little Fina been?” John snarled softly but soon let out a groan as he felt himself being squeezed tighter by Johnathan’s magic. “And you know, it is very surprising to not see her here with you. I mean back at school you guys were—heh stuck together like glue.”
“Dad, you actually know this son of a bitch?” Seraffel asked.
“Now that is quite rude. Didn’t your parents ever teach you manners?” A shadow spear shot out and struck Seraffel in his thigh. He let out a painful scream.
“Seraffel!” Thor screamed. Seraffel groaned and growled in pain.
“Dragons always were quite brutish for my taste. But I guess that’s why you and sweet, sweet Fina adopted these monsters. Freaks till the end.” The shadow spear slowly went deeper into Seraffel’s thigh. The blood now starting to ooze further down his pant leg, he threw back his head trying to hold in his agonizing screams.
“What do you want from us Corvus!?” John demanded.
“Well truthfully we were ordered to take you and your little band of monsters to see your dear old grandfather but it seems we’re one short. So—you’re coming with us till you tell us where Serafina Black is.”
The last thing any of them ever saw was pure darkness as the shadows wrapped around them till they couldn’t breathe.
*2nd Person POV*
You kept following your grandfather’s voice until you came out towards the Nile River. Whatever light from the moon directed itself into the water, almost giving it a crystal like glow to it. Panting after running so hard you couldn’t hear your grandfather’s voice anymore.
“Granddad?” you called out. “Granddad!” again nothing but silence. Suddenly something whooshed behind you. “G-Granddad?” soon a figure appears out of thin air. He had a black hooded cloak covering himself from whatever light there was and he just stood there silently for what felt like eternity. His hands slowly came up and you were frozen with fear at just who was now standing a few feet away from you.
John’s grandfather, Grindelwald Deacon.
You quickly take out John’s wand from your hip and aim it at him. Even though your hands and legs were trembling with fear you tried to stay strong.
“You stay right there! I know who you are!”
“(Y/n) (L/n). I am not here to hurt you.” His soft whisper of a voice said to you. Hearing him speak in the flashback was one thing but now that he was actually standing here before you it—it made you feel……cold. “I only want to help.”
“Help me?!” you snapped quietly.
“Yes.” He told you. “You are so very, very far away from home. Far away from everything that you know, far from those that you love.” You thought back to your family. You hadn’t even really been keeping them updated on everything since you took the job in trying to discover John and Serafina’s secret club.
No, no he’s manipulating you! You’ve seen this before with John the night Serafina’s family was slaughtered don’t. fall. For it!
“I said don’t take another step!” you warned. But your façade was easily dropping as your hand trembled even worse. And still, he kept walking closer and closer to you.
“My child, I would never see you harmed. Unlike with what the Naga has told you.” What? What is he talking about. “Dear one, it is not your fault that your very birth was planned to go along with the Naga’s plan for vengeance. It is not your fault that you were forced into this world, if you were siding alongside me I would ensure that you were free to live your life. A world where your very existence is not meant to satisfy someone else’s gain.”
Even though you wanted to strike this man down, no matter how much rage and fear was starting to build up within you…….he was right.
Everyone so far has kept calling you the ‘Human Savior’. You didn’t ask for any of this. And why did it have to be you? Sure you might have gone along with it but now—now it was starting to feel like a game to you. That your only purpose for even existing was just to satisfy Freddie’s plan.
“I—I……” you loosened your grip on your wand. Grindelwald’s hand slowly comes up and wraps his fingers around John’s wand.
“You are an innocent. So go now. Leave this place, return to the life that you know.” With that he apparated into smoke and disappeared from your view.
You debated and debated long and hard. Yes you had come this far already but—was it really worth it? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t someone else take this job? Clearly John and Serafina have something to gain out of saving all these creatures as well as their entire community, why did you need to be involved?
Suddenly something pierced right through your back. Although no blood spurted out from you, you still felt like something was piercing your very soul. Your right arm suddenly shot out and twisted itself inward.
What—what was happening to you? You tried to resist but each time you did, you were forced to contort and twist about until you were pulled to your knees.
“What’s…….”
“Thought you would realize just what we were? Guess Muggles really are as stupid as they come.” Soon coming out was a strong-bulky looking man who had shadow-like tentacle arms coming out from behind him, his hands seeping out a black aura (much like John and Serafina’s magical aura).
“Shadow sorcerer.”
“Oh look it does speak.” You narrowed your eyes at the insult but your eyes were forced to go wide-eyed. “Such manners, nothing but beyond neanderthal anger. Running about like starving goblins.” You soon felt yourself being lifted up into the air, still unable to gain even the slightest ounce of control back.
“What did—you do…..with my…..friends?”
“The same thing I’m about to do to you, muggle.” In a flash, the shadows shot right towards you until you were cocooned in complete blackness.
#john deacon#john deacon x oc#john deacon x reader#brian may#brian may x oc#brian may x reader#roger taylor#roger taylor x reader#roger taylor x oc#freddie mercury#freddie mercury x reader#freddie mercury x oc#queen band#queen imagine#queen imagines#john deacon imagine#john deacon imagines#roger taylor imagine#roger taylor imagines#queen x reader#AU! Queen fanfic#queen fanfic#queen fanfiction#au!queen fanfiction#brian may imagine#brian may imagines#freddie mercury imagine#freddie mercury imagines#bohemian rhapsody#bohemian rhapsody fanfic
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Toujours Aimé
Read on AO3!
Four fifteen year olds, a bottle of fire whiskey, quill ink, and a sewing needle do not mix well together.
**Disclaimer:** sitck and poke tattoos scare the shit out of me and I only vaguely know how they work, so kids, don’t try this at home! And definitely don’t let a fifteen year old dumbass (affectionate) sitck and poke you in the woods with only fire to sanitize...
--
“OUCH!” James yelped dramatically.
“Hold still!”
“I can’t! You lied, you said this wouldn’t hurt a bit!”
“I said it wouldn’t hurt that bad, you big baby. I’m repeatedly stabbing you with a needle, of course it hurts!”
“I am not a baby! I just wasn’t properly prepared for the pain and suffering that I would have to endure for this.”
Bemused, Remus shook his head. He was trying very hard not to laugh at his friend’s surprisingly low pain tolerance, for at this moment Remus was trying to keep his hand as still as a statue has he held the needle next to James’ skin.
“It’s a stick and poke tattoo, James,” said Remus patiently, “the stick and poke part should have been a dead giveaway. Now, will you sit still so that I can finish this?”
James sighed, slumping back against the tree stump behind him. “Alright then, just hurry up. Muggles are mad, mad! I don’t know why I ever agreed to this in the first place!”
“Because it looks badass,” smirked Sirius, “Admit it, you’re hoping Evans will swoon when she sees that snitch across your shoulder blade when you inevitably take your shirt off in the common room gain.”
James blushed furiously. “Shut it.”
“I don’t think Evans seems like a tattoo-girl,” said Peter thoughtfully, “she’s rather uptight, wouldn’t you say?”
“Principled,” protested James, “she’s principled, not uptight.”
“Yeah, and her first principle is that you are an absolute git.”
“Shut it again.”
Remus loved nights like this. There were only two weeks left in the summer holidays, and then they would start their fifth year at Hogwarts. The lads had gathered at The Potters’ house earlier that day to set off on a muggle camping trip. They’d hiked to the top of a wooded hill for about two hours before they found the perfect spot, set up camp, and ate overcooked sausages and lukewarm beans from tin cans as the sun set. They were currently sitting around the fire passing around a bottle of Ogden’s under the vast sea of stars above.
Sirius had brought up a tattoo a lion that he’d seen on the forearm of a man in the muggle village they passed on their hike. Remus casually mentioned the process of how muggle tattoos were performed, and before he knew it the marauders were insisting that Remus tattoo them all there and now. Once he reluctantly revealed that he did indeed have a sewing needle in his camping pack the boys were decided.
Remus paused his poking to observe his work. He was currently working on the outline of a snitch across James’ right shoulder blade. He was pleased to note that the tattoo looked rather realistic. Remus couldn’t help but be impressed with himself, he always had a knack for drawing.
“Peter, distract me,” panted James, still shutting his eyes tight against the prick of Remus’ needle. “Have you decided on yours yet?”
“How about a wheel of cheese?” Sirius said seriously, putting a finger to his chin as if deep in thought, “Or, perhaps Mickey Mouse, right across your left bum cheek. That will surely impress the ladies,”
“Shove it,” barked Peter, looking annoyed. He was a bit sensitive about his animagi form and all cheese-related humor. “I thought about maybe the Hogwarts crest? Or a ‘G’ for ‘Gryffindor.”
Remus shook his head. “It needs to be something personal to you, something with hidden significance. It should be something only you fully understand, but that those who are close to you can recognize and appreciate.”
“Damn, Moony,” grinned Sirius, “that was deep.”
“I have my moments,” Remus said, blushing slightly.
“Right, I’ve picked mine then!” cried Sirius, clapping his hands together for emphasis.
“Go on, then,” James prompted.
Sirius paused for dramatic effect, then threw his arms into the air for emphasis. “It’s going to be a wolf howling at the moon!”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Remus’ needle lay limp in his hand as he let Sirius’ pronouncement sink in.
“A wolf... You mean like a....” James began cautiously, as if he wanted to be incorrect.
“Yeah, like Moony, get it?” Sirius beamed. “You know, because if we hadn’t met Moony and -- you know -- werewolf Moony, then we wouldn’t be the marauders that we are today!” His face was starting to falter now, as if he realized that this idea was not popular among the group at large. He frowned defensively. “The secret that really drew us together, the reason we did all that damn work to become animagi last year. Don’t you guys think that’s the perfect thing to commemorate?”
Remus’ heart had sunk into his stomach. The idea of his secret, the horror that lived so close to his surface every day of his life, would be displayed so publicly was almost to much to bear. So too was the idea that he himself was asked to etch his greatest shame onto his best friend’s skin.
“Mate, I don’t think that’s the best idea...” said James, a warning tone starting to grow in his voice, “maybe you should pick something else.”
“No, listen,” Sirius implored, “It’s going to be so cool. It could be like, I dunno, howling at the moon, or running through the woods, or--”
“Tearing itself apart, alone, in the shrieking shack?” Said Remus, his expression cool.
No one spoke. For a few moments all that could be heard was the crackling of the campfire and the rustling of the trees in the night breeze. Remus did not take his eyes off of James’ skin as he finished the last of the snitch.
“Look, Moony--” Sirius started, then seemed to catch himself, “Remus, that isn’t what I meant. But you’re right,” he looked panicked then, “you’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you wouldn’t want that, I was just being stupid. I only meant--”
“I know,” said Remus quickly, “I know what you meant. Let’s just drop it, alright?”
Sirius gazed intently at Remus for a beat, then nodded, “Alright, we’ll drop it.”
The four boys sat in awkward silence, watching Remus finish James’ tattoo. Once he was done, he put down the needle and stretched. “Alright, mate, you’re all set. Sorry that I don’t have a lollipop to give you for being such a good boy.”
“A what?” Asked James, flexing his right arm after over half an hour of sitting still.
“Never mind. Alright, who’s next?”
Peter and Sirius looked at each other. “I still haven’t thought of anything good,” shrugged Peter.
Sirius looked into his lap. “Yeah, well, neither have I, obviously.”
Remus sighed. This was certainly not how he’d hoped the night would go. He started to clean the dirty needle in the campfire flames. There is absolutely no way this is sanitary, he thought to himself, these better not get infected because if James has to go to St. Mungo��s for ink poisoning his mum will murder me.
“What about Sirius?” asked James.
“What about me?”
“No, git, what about ‘Sirius’ the star? What if you got the constellation, what’s it called again? Anus Major?”
“Canis Major,” corrected Sirius quickly, “I dunno, I suppose that could be good. But it’ll just remind me of my dear old mum and dad, and my family’s insane obsession with stars as family names.”
“How about a beater’s bat?” suggested Peter hopefully.
“Seems a bit obvious,” shrugged Sirius. “I need something obscure, something that has meaning.”
“Toujours aimé“ whispered Remus.
The boys looked up. “What?” asked James.
Remus lifted his head and looked Sirius straight in the eye. “Toujours aimé, french for ‘always loved.’ You know, a spin on that ‘toujours pur’ ‘always pure’ nonsense.”
Sirius looked dumbfounded. He sat staring at Remus with glassy eyes as something in his head seemed to click. He then smiled wider than he had all evening.
“My god, Moony, that’s it! It’s wicked cool, a big ol’ ‘fuck you’ to mum and dad, and it’ll look great on.” Sirius hurried quickly over to take James’ place next to Remus. He rolled up his sleeve and pointed to his forearm. “I want it right along here, along my left forearm. So they’ll know there’s no room for the dark mark they surely want to put there.”
Remus smiled at his friend’s conviction. Sirius was ever the Gryffindor.
---
Several hours later Remus lay wide awake staring at the roof of the tent. He’d tattooed ‘Toujours Aimé’ down Sirius’ left arm as requested. He’d chosen a simple yet elegant cursive for the font, and shaded the letters so that they seemed to pop against his soft skin. Remus shook his head vigorously. He had to stop thinking about how soft his best mate’s skin was. Or how his forearm muscles clenched as Remus stuck the needle into his skin over and over again. How Sirius would wince at the pain, sucking in a sharp breath so close to Remus’ ear--
“Remus?”
Remus started out of his memory. Sirius was sitting up on his elbows, looking at him from across the snoring forms of James and Peter.
“Yeah?”
“Are you awake?”
“Nope, just a perceptive sleep talker.”
“Ha. Well, I can’t sleep with these trolls. Fancy a walk?”
Remus nodded, taking care not to kick Peter in the head as he pulled on his long pants before stepping through the tent flap into the cool night air. He and Sirius fell into an easy step next to one another as they made their way back to the campfire. A few small embers still glowed in the hearth.
Sirius looked intently at Remus. “Remus, mate, I have to say again how sorry I am. That must have been awful for you, the idea that I would put you on display like that. That I could risk your secret. I shouldn’t have said it, I just got caught up in the excitement. You know, everything we’ve achieved and everything we’ve done together. I never knew that friends like you lot were possible growing up. I still can’t believe sometimes how lucky I got when I met you... you know, uh, all of you,” Sirius corrected himself.
Remus nodded as Sirius talked and waited until he was sure that Sirius had finished his apology. He was trying very hard not to make eye contact with Sirius for he was sure that his eyes would display the emotion he felt at Sirius’ words. He, too, had never known that friendship like this was possible. Remus had spent so much of his childhood completely without the company of anyone who could be considered a true friend. The day he’d met the marauders had changed his life. He understood completely Sirius’ hunger to brand himself with the connection they’d all forged. Finally, he smiled, looking back into Sirius’ face.
“I know all of that, mate. I know exactly how it feels. My life completely changed the day I met you -- and James and Pete, of course. I know you don’t see me as the wolf. It just throws me off, you know, every time I remember that you all know that part of me. I hate that you have to know that part,” he spat bitterly.
Sirius put his hand on Remus’ knee. “I love that part of you. I love every part of you, Moony. You’re my best mate.”
Remus smiled, suddenly embarrassed. “Come on, mate, be serious,”
“I am Sirius.”
“I really walked into that one, didn’t I?”
“Prat,” Sirius grinned.
Remus took a deep breath. “You know, that’s why I suggested ‘always loved.’ Because your parents and their mania aren’t what matter most to you. You know you would die for your friends, and that they would die for you, because the love you. Because we do, you know, love you.”
Sirius looked into the fire now, nodding slightly at Remus’ words. Remus was sure that he could see tears forming in his friend’s eyes. Sirius sniffed loudly and slapped Remus’ knee with the hand that still lay there.
“Come on, enough of this sappy nonsense. What say we finish off the rest of the Ogden’s and go to bed? We’ll surely have a long day of listening to James whine about his tattoo hurting all the way home tomorrow.”
--
An hour later, when he was back in his sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling again, Remus couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have his friends. They could have so easily denied him when they found out who he was, but instead they changed their whole lives for him. He felt his chest swell with emotion at the thought of all they’d done for him, the thought that they’d achieved the impossible for him... the thought that less than an hour ago Sirius had his hand on his knee.
Remus groaned quietly, rolling over to stuff his face into his pillow. He clearly had much bigger problems on the horizon than whether or not James got ink poisoning. f
#nina writes#wolfstar#wolfstar fic#marauders#marauders fic#remus lupin x sirius black#remus lupin#sirius black#cw: alcohol#cw: needles#tattoos#don't try this at home#poor baby bisexual remus#we've all been there budy#mine
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Accident (Tales From The Heart)
Fandom: One Piece
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Implied animal experimentation
Characters: Bepo, Law, Penguin, Shachi
One of Bepo's favourite things was to watch; to lay back in the open air on the deck of the Polar Tang, and simply watch his human nakama's antics on those occasions they had surfaced and raised the sail to glide on the waves rather than under them.
Law, of course, would protest at the implication that he was getting up to 'antics' and the immaturity that implied, but as Bepo was careful to never say the world aloud, and also offered himself up as a comfortable pillow whenever Law sought one, that was rendered a non-issue. (Penguin and Shachi most certainly got up to antics, and hijinks, and pranks, and whatever other childish terminology Law would come up with, usually with a small fond smile playing at his lips, but that was hardly a surprise to anyone that knew them).
What Bepo privately termed Law's own antics, in the safety of his own mind (because Law couldn't read minds, no matter how much he liked to pretend he could sometimes), could also be called experimenting. The abilities of the Ope Ope no Mi were numerous, and even years after he'd eaten the fruit he was still finding new ways to use it.
One occasion in particular would always sick in Bepo's mind with fondness. At the time it had been terrifying, all four of them fearful that irreversible events had occurred (none of them dared call it damage, because how could they when nothing was actually broken), but hindsight offered a new lens through which to view the events, and Bepo had heard Penguin and Shachi loudly recounting it to new nakama as if it hadn't been one of the most unnerving things they'd ever experienced.
It had been like any other day out on deck; the sun was shining, the wind was a calm breeze – enough to caress Bepo's fur in a soothing manner, but not enough to threaten the security of hats on human heads – and Law was using Bepo as a willing backrest while he poured over documents pinned down with old bottles that once housed tablets but had since been repurposed as paperweights.
Penguin and Shachi were lounging around, keeping half an eye on their sail and all but ignoring the fishing rods they'd set up to try and bolster their food supplies as Penguin good-naturedly teased Shachi about his inability to tan, shrugging the shoulder of his tank top down to show a very definite tan line. Shachi was scowling half-heartedly as he prodded at the sunburn he'd gained on his own bare shoulder after attempting to gain some colour to his skin (Bepo wasn't entirely sure what he had against being so pale, but he'd long since discovered that humans had some very un-Mink-like views on many subjects). Law had plastered the burns with ointment earlier before barking out an order to keep the area covered if he wanted to stay out on deck with the rest of them.
"Cover up or go inside," their captain muttered, shifting some papers around without looking up. The ginger's scowl morphed into a pout before he sighed and shifted his clothes around so they returned to Law's specifications. "If you do that once more I'm forcing you inside," Law threatened, holding one hand up in the semi-clawed position that indicated a Room.
"I'm done! I'm covered up again, see!" Shachi spluttered, leaning into Law's personal space to gesticulate wildly at the part of his body in question. Law held out his other hand, palm up, still focusing his gaze solidly on the papers in front of him. "Eh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"The fish," Law said bluntly. "And the crab. Give them here."
Bepo looked over at the bucket by the reclining Penguin. Despite only half-watching their rods, the other two had accumulated some catches, two of which a very confused Shachi fetched for his captain. Curious, Penguin followed him and the pair of them squatted down by the aquatic creatures, watching the poor fish flop around limply on the deck as the crab tried to scuttle away. Law caught it and dumped it on its back to stop it escaping. Bepo winced slightly at the sight. He wished Law didn't play with their food sometimes, although he understood that it was better to use unknown and unrefined techniques on their food rather than each other. Did they still have to be alive, though?
A twist of Law's fingers inside the Room that covered half the deck, and… nothing happened.
The fish still flopped helplessly, and the crab still struggled to right itself in order to flee. Bepo saw Law frown, and deduced that whatever he'd been trying to do hadn't worked.
"Ow, my arm!" Shachi whined, reaching up with one hand to subconsciously touch the fabric over the sunburnt area.
"That's what sunburns do," Law snapped, the failure leaving him on edge as they often did. He prodded at the fish moodily, only succeeding in making it flail more desperately.
"But Shachi's the one that's sunburnt, not me!" Shachi complained. Bepo felt rather than saw Law freeze.
"Yeah, but whatever Law did, I like it because my arm doesn't hurt anymore," Penguin said, sounding far too smug.
"…Shachi?" Law asked, raising his head away from the poor hapless sea creatures for the first time since they'd been presented to him.
"What?" Penguin asked, or as Bepo realised, Penguin's voice asked.
"Penguin?" Law continued, as if no-one had answered.
"Yes?" Shachi's voice responded.
There was a moment of stunned silence, before a single expletive slipped from Law's mouth, shattering the suspense.
"What the hell?" both older humans yelled at the same time, leaping backwards and pointing at each other aggressively. "Who the hell are you?" Bepo saw Law place his head in his hands despondently.
"Captain?" he asked tentatively, shifting his position slightly so he could place a gentle paw on the other's shoulder.
"Fuck," Law bit out again, his fingers clenching in his hair. Penguin and Shachi – or was it Shachi and Penguin now – paused to look at him in concern.
"What's up?" they asked in unison. That hadn't changed.
"It was supposed to swap the fish and the crab," Law bemoaned. "I only know the theory, I wanted to test it to see how it worked before I tried it on humans." The unspoken on you hung in the air. Once Law knew his newly researched abilities didn't kill or irreversibly harm the animal test subjects, he'd taken to using a usually willing Penguin and Shachi to trial them on humans.
"You swapped our bodies?" Penguin yelped – or was it Shachi? Bepo wasn't sure which was which any more. That was more of a Shachi reaction, so he decided to assume it was Shachi, even if the hat on the man's head clearly said 'Penguin'.
"Is that even possible?" Penguin-in-Shachi's-body asked, frowning. He poked at his shades, lifting them slightly before pulling them back down with a hiss of pain. "Okay, that was snow blindness. Not my eyes."
"Don't just take my shades off like that!" Shachi-in-Penguin's-body complained. Penguin-in-Shachi's-body flapped a hand at him in what Bepo understood was supposed to be a pacifying gesture. The currently-not-ginger-ginger was not pacified at all, from the way his (or rather, Penguin's) chest puffed out and he crossed his arms.
"Look-"
"Can you two stop?" Law asked, sounding miserable enough to incite automatic obedience.
"Law?" the pair asked, crouching down beside him.
"I don't know how to fix this," the youngest human admitted, his hands curling into fists. Penguin and Shachi took hold of them and unfurled them gently.
"Hey," Shachi-Penguin said gently.
"It'll be okay," Penguin-Shachi told him. "You'll work it out."
"I can live in this guy's body for a few days," Shachi-Penguin grinned. "No sunburn and I can get a tan now!" Penguin-Shachi shoved him lightly.
"I'll take better care of Shachi's sunburn than he would, you know," he told Law. "It's going to be fine. Don't stress yourself."
"But-" Law started, only for the two humans to simultaneously press their fingers to his lips, indicating that he should stop talking.
"It'll be fine," they repeated. "We trust you."
Law still fidgeted, until Bepo heaved himself fully into a sitting position and enveloped all three of them in a massive bear hug.
"Don't worry," he told them, watching his frail-looking nakama sag slightly in his hold. "I'll keep everyone safe, Captain."
He couldn't help Law switch them back, and he couldn't help them adjust to each others' bodies. But they couldn't fight properly like that, and if there was one thing Bepo had always been able to do, it was fight.
Just as the silence after his words got too heavy to bear, he nuzzled them all affectionately, refusing to let them squirm away until he was certain the tension had defused.
Panic would do none of them any good at all. Law would fix it, and Bepo would have their backs like he always did.
#one piece#one piece fanfiction#heart pirates#tales from the heart#tsari writes fanfiction#trafalgar law#penguin#shachi#bepo#ope ope no mi
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Parkner #04 please! MJ, Ned, Peter and Harley are #squad, but Peter and Harley have a love/hate relationship (even tho it's obvious to everyone else they're idiots in love). I've blown through every AO3 fic and need more content :/ Thanks!
04 - “I’d punch you, but that’d ruin your perfect face.”word count: 2034 | if you enjoy this, buy me a coffee?
“Hey Penis, nice sweater! What’s it made of, your mom’s chest hair?- Oh, wait, never mind,” said Flash, pushing in front of Peter in the cafeteria queue. Flash’s little group of cronies forced their way in behind their leader and snickered, glaring at Peter whenever they could.
Harley smacked his tray down on the table Ned and MJ were sitting at. Ned jumped about a foot in the air and stared at Harley in shock. MJ didn’t even flinch.
“This motherfucker is really tryna make me hate Mean Girls.”
MJ looked up from her book. It wasn’t something that happened often, so Harley decided he would sit down. To, like, show her some respect. It wasn’t weird.
“Peter’s been leaving decathlon early for the last two weeks. He only does that so he doesn’t miss the train when he’s too sad to swing home. Some good news might be pretty good for him right now. And it might be good for you too. You can thank me later.” MJ said, breaking the illusion of disinterest that usually surrounded her. Her voice was always a little softer when she spoke about Peter.
Peter had that kind of effect on people. They would take one look at him, five foot something always clad in baggy cargo pants and a sweater that didn’t fit him, and suddenly every paternal instinct they didn’t know they had would come out to shine. Harley wondered if he bought his clothes like that on purpose. Maybe it felt nice being surrounded by so much soft material? Being six feet tall, fairly muscular and with very broad shoulders, Harley tended to be a larger size anyway, so he’d never really tried it. Sometimes he liked to imagine Peter in his clothes. Maybe in a hoodie, with the large hood pulled so far over his head it hung in front of his pretty brown eyes, or in one of his many flannels, complaining about how country Harley was while breathing in his scent. It was a pretty sight- or at least, Harley imagined it to be. He didn’t exactly know if he’d ever get the chance to see it in real life.
He was pulled out of his reverie when Ned spoke.
“What do you mean? What good news do you have Harley? Ned furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.
“Nothin’. None. Don’t got any news, I dunno what she’s talkin’ about.” Harley muttered. He hated that MJ could read him so easily. Nothing was ever going to happen between Peter and him, so he tried not to get his hopes up. Harley wasn’t even quite sure if Peter even liked him. He didn’t even mean, like, in that way. It was just that-
Peter was so damn pretty. And Harley really liked looking at him. And in New York, that was okay, but Harley wasn’t from New York, he was from bumfuck Tennessee, where looking at pretty boys got you hung from your itchy school tie on a clothes hook in the boys’ locker room. It was kind of traumatising, and so Harley had learned to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, which resulted in him ignoring Peter, or being extra cold towards him for no reason, which then resulted in arguments, and fights, and- yeah, there was no way Peter would ever like him. Harley hated being the reason Peter stopped smiling, but he had this bad habit where every time he caught himself getting lost in Peter’s eyes, or staring at his pretty lips, he would force himself to stop by saying something snarky to Peter that he one hundred percent did not mean. Then he would have to watch the corners of Peter’s lips turn down in confusion, and then his eyes would narrow and he would say something equally snarky back, and then they would be bickering again and Harley could feel his chances slipping away through his fingers.
*
It wasn’t so bad in the lab. At least, Harley didn’t think it was. Peter seemed pretty reluctant to fight in front of Tony. They would work quietly on opposite sides of the room, or when Tony was in the lab with them they would use him as a buffer for their awkwardness. If Tony noticed anything weird about how they acted around him, he didn’t mention it. Though Harley wasn’t entirely sure Tony ever paid attention to things outside of what he was fiddling with at any given time. It would explain a lot.
Today, they were alone in the lab. Tony had been forced out by Pepper for some business proposal, so he had reluctantly decided to just leave the two teenagers to their own devices.
“Try not to blow anything up!” Tony had yelled before leaving the lab, to which Peter had rolled his eyes, and Harley had replied “No promises!”
Peter was tinkering with his web-shooters, forehead creased and eyes squinting in concentration. He was so beautiful when he worked- and so clever, formulas and diagnostics dancing off his tongue, stars in his eyes as if the little pieces of metal in front of him yielded a whole world of opportunities. It was breathtaking to watch, yet also heartbreaking because Harley knew as soon as Peter caught him staring, the ethereal smile would slip off his face and he would bundle himself up as though he was trying to hide from the big bad world around him.
Harley gave up. There was no way in hell Peter would ever like him back, and he cared about the little shit too much to continue pretending to hate him. Harley would just have to suck it up, and try and be friends with Peter without falling infinitely more for him. He would start simple - get him coffee. That was a thing friends did for each other, right?
Peter didn’t notice when he slipped out of the lab.
*
Harley placed the grande Starbucks cup down on the workbench in front of Peter, who was still tinkering with the same part of his web shooter- albeit now with much less enthusiasm, bags under his eyes now much more prominent as he stared with blank eyes at the mechanical puzzle he couldn’t seem to figure out.
“What’s this?” He asked.
Harley shrugged and took a swig of his own black coffee. Peter eyed the cup apprehensively, before reaching out and taking a tentative sip. He looked up at Harley in confusion.
“How’d you know my order?”
“Dunno. Guess I just remembered it.”
That was a lie. He had a vague idea it was something with lots of caramel and sugar and whipped cream, but in hopeless fear of getting it wrong he had texted both Happy and Tony to ask. Tony hadn’t replied- not because he was in a meeting, he had read the message, but most likely because he was an asshole who liked to watch the world burn. Or at least, Harley’s world.
“Oh, uh, thanks,” Peter said, a pretty peach blush spreading across his cheeks. Harley felt himself melt at the sight. He took a step forward and put his cup down on the bench. Peter didn’t look up, continuing to fiddle with his project, so Harley grabbed the wheely chair from behind his own workbench and pulled it up to sit across from Peter. He faced the chair away from the bench and sat down on it backwards, with his chest resting against the padded back support, reaching his arms around to grab his coffee again.
“What’cha doin’?” Harley asked.
Peter wheeled his chair to the hologram table beside his workbench and gestured for Harley to come with him. He pulled up a projection of his web-shooters, and began taking pieces away and zooming in to the pressure sensor on the release mechanism.
“This fucking thing,” Peter said and Harley chucked.
“What’s wrong with it?”
Peter looked up at him incredulously.
“It… doesn’t work?”
“Oh. Can I take a look?” Harley asked. He wasn’t really as smart as Peter when it came to chemistry, but he was a mechanic, an engineer. He could do wires and metal. Plus, a fresh pair of eyes were always helpful. Peter nodded and the pair walked back to where the little demon device was sitting on Peter’s desk.
Harley picked it up gently, turning it over in his hands and examining it. He gently moved Peter out of the way and sat in the chair that was in front of the magnifying glass. He searched the table for something small enough to prod at the device- his fingers weren’t as dainty as Peter's, and they were callused from years of working with heavy metals and power tools. He found a scrap piece of copper wire and used it to pick up the flap of metal covering the pressure sensor. He held it under the magnifying glass, and-
“Peter, you’re gonna kill me.”
Peter choked on his coffee. “What’d you do? Did you break it? I swear to god Keener if you broke my web shooter you are replacing it yourself because I am so sick of-”
Harley cut him off.
“No, I didn’t break it. I found the problem,” he said. Peter’s eyes went comically wide, and Harley budged himself half off the chair so Peter could sit next to him. He was acutely aware of how close they were once Peter sat down- hips pressed together, Peter’s head only reaching his shoulder, but he forced himself to ignore it.
“See here?” Harley said as he lifted up the flap again. “The wire that actually connects to the pressure sensor is coming up at a weird angle so it’s attached when you look at it like this,” Harley held the device up for Peter to see, “but every time you actually hit the sensor the wire detaches and it stops working.”
Peter’s shoulders dropped and he grabbed the shooter back from Harley and stared at it, before turning to Harley with fire in his eyes.
“I have been working on this fucking thing for six fucking hours and I couldn’t figure it out and then you come here, look at it for TWO MINUTES, and you fucking figured it out. I can’t fucking believe this. I’d punch you, but that’d ruin your perfect face.” Peter ranted, although he didn’t sound angry so much as he was annoyed.
That shocked Harley, but he tried to play it cool. “You say fuck a lot when you’re mad. It’s kinda hot. You think my face is perfect?” he said.
Peter blushed.
“Wh- I didn’t say that” He lied. His cheeks turned a shade Harley could only describe as fire-engine red as he realised what Harley had said. “You think I’m hot?” He asked.
Harley smiled. “Yes, I do. And yes you did, you said you don’t wanna punch me ‘cause it’d ruin my perfect face. So which one you gonna do?”
Peter stared at him in confusion.
“The punch or the face?”
Peter still looked confused.
Harley sighed. “I’m phrasing that badly. I was tryna be smooth but it ain’t workin’ right now so I’m just gonna say it. Parker, I want you to kiss me until I can’t breathe. But if you don’t wanna do that, you’re welcome ‘ta punch me instead.”
Harley didn’t think Peter would punch him, but he braced himself anyway. Squinting his eyes shut and scrunching up his face, he waited for a hit he knew wouldn’t come. He wondered if the other boy could hear his heart racing. He could feel Peter’s breath on his face from how close they were sitting, and barely heard the faint whisper of his name before a pair of soft lips were pressing up against his, and Peter’s hands reached up to grab where Harley’s undercut was growing out. Harley relaxed and kissed him back desperately, sliding his hands up under Peter’s giant sweater to hold him properly.
This was not how he’d expected trying to be friends with Peter to go, but he couldn’t exactly complain. He supposed he would have to thank MJ after all.
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Chapter Six
Warnings: none?
A/N: I know jack about wine, go with me on it babes
w/c: 3.1k+
Chapter Six
The sight of him threw your whole world off-kilter. Matteo was standing with a small group, chatting animatedly with a Martini in hand — his drink of choice. It had been so long since you’d seen him, and you’d spent so long thinking about him, moving on from him. One glimpse of his face and you were plunged right back into that time. You were 22 again, falling fiercely in love with the handsome Italian stranger who sat down beside you when you were eating dinner at a restaurant alone one night, the man who made love to you like you were an ancient goddess, whom you had spent months crying over when you moved back to London. Nausea rumbled in your stomach. All that pain, all that growth from the last few years was wiped away in a moment. One look, one smile from him and you’d be putty in his hands again. The room felt like it was spinning, and you grabbed onto whatever was in your hands to steady yourself. It was firm but comfortable, and you looked up to meet Ben’s eyes. Ben.
His face was full of concern at your sudden reaction, your stiffness, the confusion and anxiety that was undoubtedly plastered all over your features. Maybe seeing Matteo again was some kind of sign, something to tempt you away from Ben. Maybe it was the universe telling you to steer clear of the blonde that felt so right in your arms.
“Y/N? Are you okay?”
You nodded tentatively, and offered an evasive mumble, hoping that would suffice. You detached your limbs from his, inhaling sharply at the loss of contact. Without him, you suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. You began to make your way off the dance floor towards your table, when Matteo glanced around the room and caught sight of you. You locked eyes and the breath flew from your chest, leaving you hollow. He began to take steady steps towards you and without your knowledge or permission your feet were leading you to meet him. Finally, seeing him up close, you felt limp. His features were as warm as you remembered; light brown eyes with flecks of bright gold that always seemed to be smiling, thick curly hair, just a shade lighter than black that you had always loved getting your fingers lost in, the scruff he used to sport on his chin had grown into a full beard. His smile was honey sweet and so nostalgic.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice like velvet. You always loved the way he said your name in his Italian accent, the way he used to moan it from between your thighs. He settled his hands softly on your arms and placed a kiss on each cheek. He was still using the same aftershave; the familiar scent whisking you back to warm Italian evenings, tangled naked in the sheets and in him, the balmy air and the glow of the dying sun and the melodic singing coming from the apartment across the street drifting in through the open window. Bliss.
“Hi Matty.” He smiled at the nickname and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, never shy about physical intimacy. The butterflies inside your stomach started flapping wildly.
“You look more beautiful than ever. Are you well, my love?”
You told him you were, and he replied that he was in London for work, just for a few weeks. He conducted conversation with causal ease, leading you along with him like a lost puppy. You couldn’t have walked away from him if you wanted to. The whole exchange was light and dreamy, and you got entirely lost in him, just like the first time you met. He had approached your table-for-two, occupied by one, and motioned to the chair, raising an eyebrow. You assumed he was asking to take the chair to another table, but instead he sat down and started talking with you. By the end of the evening you’d shared two bottles of wine, your life story, and your bed with him. Everything was effortless with Matteo, you’d fallen in love with him without ever realising it, like slipping into a deep sleep. It felt like you’d never been apart, like you hadn’t spent weeks vacating the contents of your heart through your eyes. The rug of five years’ worth of personal growth was pulled out from under you. After what could have been seconds or hours, one of his party came to tell him they were leaving. He nodded, and flashed you another one of those make-you-weak-at-the-knees smiles. You nearly collapsed.
“Well, my darling, I have to leave. But I must see you again, we have so much still to share. Come for dinner with me tomorrow?”
You agreed that you would, without even considering if it was a good idea, and arranged a time and place. He took your hand, his skin soft, and planted a kiss on the back of it.
“Alla prossima, angelo mio.”
With that he was gone, vanishing from your presence as quickly as he had appeared. You stumbled back to your table, to which Ben, Rami, and Joe had returned, and sat down in a daze. The guys looked between each other in silent conversation, waiting for you to say something. Ben was staring at you, wishing, praying, that you’d tell him the handsome stranger, who had absorbed you so completely for the last half an hour, was no one. If you didn’t his heart was liable to shatter.
“Um, Y/N,” Rami ventured, “Who was that?”
His words snapped you out of your reverie, and your eyes met Ben’s. Their pleading was clear, but for what you didn’t know. All you were certain of was your confusion. You had been convinced, very much against your will, that you were falling for Ben, then with one look at Matteo you could believe you were in love with him. But it had taken you years to move on from him, to repair the damage the heartbreak had unwittingly caused, to learn to love yourself without him, without anyone. You had learnt not to define yourself against a man, but against yourself. Against your hopes and dreams and desires; you were living for yourself. You had worked so damn hard for this life you were building, and your instinct was to push both men out of it for fear that they would destroy it like a bull in a china shop. But your heart longed to let one of them in — which one it wanted was uncertain.
“That was Matteo.”
“Your ex?” Joe confirmed.
“My first love.” You laughed half-heartedly to alleviate the tension, with limited success. You tried to ignore Ben’s burning stare.
“How do you feel?” Gwil asked, noticing your reticence and the flush creeping up your neck.
When the words came out they were barely a whisper: “I don’t know.” Tears pricked at your eyes, but you desperately held them back, digging your fingernails into your palms.
Don’t you dare cry. You were furious with your tear ducts for betraying you, your anger of course only making things worse. One conversation with Matteo and you wanted to collapse into a tear-stained mess. That should have been a warning to you, really, but you couldn’t see past the cacophony of conflicting emotions and doubts screaming in your head for attention. It was too much; you longed to hide yourself away in the safety of your bed and forget everything. The pain in your palms brought you back to yourself. You looked down at them to see eight deep, crescent-shaped marks, angry and purple. “I need to go home,” you rasped, and swallowed harshly.
“I’ll go with you,” Gwil said, moving to get his coat.
You shook your head, “No, it’s fine Gwil. Honestly, I’ll be okay, you stay.” As kind as his offer was, as much as you saw it came from a good place, you couldn’t bear the thought of having to sit with someone on the tube ride home. Having to make small talk, or worse answer questions, trying not to cry.
“At least let me call you an Uber.” You felt guilty letting him pay for it, but it was dark and you were vulnerable. You also sensed he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
You nodded, and wrapped yourself in your coat. You tried a feeble wave to the others, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at Ben. You were well aware of his stares, causing the skin on your neck to prickle.
“Thank you, Gwil,” you whimpered as you got outside, sucking the cool air in gratefully.
“No problem,” he smiled fraternally, and gave you a hug. You shivered a little in his embrace, so he rubbed your arms to create some warmth. The taxi arrived not long after, and you said goodbye, asking Gwil to give the guys your apologies and your love.
The drive went in a haze of streetlights, blurred by the tears that finally fell leaving track marks down your cheeks. You clambered up the steps to your apparent in a trance and climbed into your bed that had only sporadically been slept in over the past few weeks, The second your head hit the pillow your body pulled you into sleep, rescuing you from your thoughts.
Gwil had gone back to the guys after seeing you safely off. “She’s okay, she said she’s sorry for taking off,” he said as he sat back down.
“It should have been me,” Ben seethed, “I should have taken her home.”
“She wouldn’t have wanted you to mate, I think she just wanted to be alone.”
He ran his hand roughly through his hair, “I just fucking sat here. She was clearly in pain and I sat here! I should have been there for her, like she was there for me.”
“There’ll be a time for that, buddy,” Joe said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He mused, “It really affected her though, seeing that guy. I wonder what happened between them.”
“I don’t know, but I have a feeling it wasn’t just that,” Rami intoned insightfully. “Did anyone else notice that she never looked at Ben?”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he retorted, a little hurt.
“Well, I think you had something to do with why she was so upset,” Rami continued, raising an eyebrow to insinuate the words he left unsaid. Ben, however, did not get the hint.
“Me? What did I do?”
Rami sighed exasperatedly, “She has feelings for you! She’s confused, she doesn’t know what she wants, or what she can have.”
“You two do flirt constantly,” Gwil inclined.
“That’s just banter. She’s like that with everyone,” Ben argued.
“Are you kidding?” Joe exclaimed, “What was it she said the other day? ‘Your face it so pretty it hurts’? She has banter with us, she flirts with you.”
“But what about this other guy?”
“Exactly,” Rami reasoned, “She’s already confused about you, and then he shows up to throw a spanner in the works.”
Ben wanted so desperately to believe them, to believe you had feelings for him, “You really think so?”
Joe shrugged, “There’s only one way to find out. You gotta talk to her.”
You were grateful for a day off the next day — you had been given one day’s grace before the next stage of shooting started. You’d woken with the weight of what had happened the previous night sitting heavily on your chest. Catching up on the mindless housework that had fallen by the wayside whilst on set, your thoughts wondered to your dilemma. You liked Ben, that much was certain; he was a valued friend and you enjoyed his company. Sure, he was maybe the hottest man you’d ever seen, he made you smile like no one else, and he made you feel more comfortable in yourself than anyone you’d ever met, but you’d decided that that was exactly why you couldn’t be together. Your friendship with him was too important to risk, and in the end your career had to come first. It had been a tough lesson, learning to put yourself first, but one you weren’t liable to forget in a hurry. You would have to deal with your feelings for him and move on. Part of you felt like the universe had dropped Matteo into your path to help you do that. He was a distraction at the very least. At the most? You supposed you’d find out at dinner.
By the time the evening started creeping up on you, a knot of nervous energy had formed in your stomach. You weren’t sure how the evening would play out, or what you wanted from it. You didn’t have a clue whether it was a date or not, which made picking an outfit particularly difficult. You stood in front of your wardrobe, wrapped in a towel with another one in a turban on your head, fully shaved and moisturised just in case. The gentle tones of Fleetwood Mac on vinyl filled your apartment. Jeans and a nice top? But the restaurant he had picked was fancier than that. You pulled out a red dress you’d bought for a party and only worn once. You’d been looking for another occasion to wear it, but it was a little too fancy (not to mention skimpy), and seemed inappropriate if it wasn’t a date. Nothing in your wardrobe was singing to you, until you eventually settled on a pair of pink culottes with a white blouse French tucked, a leather jacket, and heeled boots. Stylish, elegant, classy. With your hair styled and makeup done — natural glow and a red lip — you gave yourself a wink in the mirror, feeling confident for the first time in days, and headed out the door.
You’d agreed to meet Matteo at the restaurant, contributing to your unease as to whether it was a platonic meal or not, and arrived a few minutes after the specified time. It an Italian place (shocker), with artisan decor and Renaissance paintings on the walls — all together a lot more nudity than usually accompanied your dining experiences.
“Ciao, bellissima,” you heard his supple tones from across the room. The table was in a corner where the light was dim, below a copy of Titian’s Venus of Urbino, and you wondered if he chose the table specifically.
“Ciao,” you responded, kissing his cheeks, and said with a giggle, “I take it you picked this place on purpose?”
His laugh was like velvet, “I thought it would remind us of sweeter days.”
“Sweeter days? Are they not sweet now?”
He took your hand and kissed it, “They were always sweeter when you were in them.”
You blushed a little and occupied your fingers by toying with your hair.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine, I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he poured you a glass.
You took a sip; it was crips against your tongue. He raised an eyebrow to you, indicating for you to guess the wine. He had been teaching about wine when you were together, and he always made you try and guess the vintage.
“I’d say it’s Tuscan,” and he nodded with glee. The year was always the tricky bit, and you never got it right no matter how many times he tried to teach you, “2011?” you guessed.
He let out a rumbling laugh, “2007. You never learnt.”
The rest of the evening went in much the same fashion, reminiscing, catching up on your lives, gentle teasing. Physical contact was almost constant, whether he was feeding you from his plate, tucking your hair behind your ear, resting his hand atop yours. Had you been out with anyone else you would have been certain he was flirting, but this was Matty. He was affectionate, extroverted, Italian. By the time you were eating biscotti with dessert wine, you still didn’t know where the evening was going, but your belly was as full as your heart, and jaw ached from smiling. Despite your protests Matty footed the bill, and when you went back out into the crisp autumn evening he offered you his arm and crooned, “Walk with me.” So you did, through the still bustling streets of London along the Thames. You stopped to watch the lights bounce off the water, dancing arrhythmically. You felt peaceful, a welcome change from the emotional turmoil of the last few days.
“I've missed you, amore,” he purred, settling your body close to his. You looked up into his eyes and saw passion in them, his warmth pulling you in like a moth to a flame. He cupped your jaw gently and dipped his head towards your lips. You faltered, frozen in anticipation, suddenly unsure if you wanted him to kiss you. From nowhere Ben’s face flickered to your mind. You thought about the way you had danced together the previous night, about his hand on the small of your back, so gentle, as if he wasn’t sure it belonged there. But nothing had ever belonged more. You thought about how you had heard his heartbeat when you lay your head on his chest, how you had wondered if that heart could beat for you. You thought about how desperate you had been for him to kiss you, until you had seen Matteo. And now it was Matty’s lips approaching yours. They met, and he locked you in his embrace. The simple contact set off sparks in your body, a chain reaction that reminded every nerve in your body of how he made you feel. His tongue entered your mouth assuredly, and you dissolved into him. You disappeared, leaving only the vibrations of his touch. He detached from you, and you sucked in an unsteady breath of cold air.
“Come back with me, bella,” he said, stroking your cheek with light fingers, “Let us remember how our love used to feel.”
Despite the pulsing in your chest and between your thighs, you whispered, “I can’t. I have to work in the morning.” You knew full well that you could get from his hotel to set in the morning, but a slight unease sat on your shoulder and muttered in your ear to go home, alone.
“That is then, this is now,” he hummed.
You shook your head, “Not tonight, caro.”
Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, you turned on your heel and walked away, smiling slightly to yourself as you felt his eyes on you, watching you leave. But a racing heartbeat and hurricane of emotions hid behind your self-possessed exterior, and once again you were plunged into a whirlpool of confused desire.
tags: @anikatcmh @queen-turtle-boiii @orchideax @rogerspoison @my5secondsofneverland @mrsmazzello @ixchel-9275 @radiob-l-a-hblah @devin-marie @luvborhap @mercurycrowley @spaghetittiesbcimgay @valeriecarolinaw @saint-hardy @caborhapch @stephanie-everlasting @coldmuffinpartycloud
#kind of magic series#ben hardy#ben hardy x reader#ben hardy fanfic#ben hardy fanfiction#bohemian rhapsody#joe mazzello#gwilym lee#rami malek#queen#borhap
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Ring a Ding Run In
“Nice little set up you got here babe.”
I gritted my teeth and turned to a man standing in the darkness of the Mojave, the cigarette illuminating his face just slightly to let me know who it was. Not that I needed it, I had that voice embedded in my brain.
“Should I yell for Boone and Arcade or are we gonna talk? Huh?”
Benny chuckled and sat down on a rock across the campfire from me. He looked worse for wear, his suit torn and dirty. He had scraps across his cheeks, hands filthy.
Far from the man in New Vegas.
“Are you still traveling with those two bozos? Is this what all this is? Your little pack? Your gang? Tribe? Clan? What are you going by?”
“Just a group. Friends. Mostly Followers of the Apocolypse.”
Benny gave a gruff little chuckle, looking around at the makeshift tents pitched around him.
“Those finks down at the Mormon Fort came to trail you around? Bunch a losers if you ask me, your the only cat that can throw fists... well that and that army boy you got tagging along. Otherwise you’re all just a bunch o’ pansies.”
“Yeah hows that tribe of YOURS Benny? The Chairmen? You gone back to them or is that one guy still in charge, the one that looks and acts just like you.” I snapped back, giving a cocky smile as I saw his face twist in anger.
“Once I get my cart back on tracks it’ll be smooth, and I’ll go back to them. They love me, been waiting for me.”
“Then go.”
“What?”
“NCR runs the strip. I ain’t going back. You could have gone back a long time ago why the hell haven’t you? You just pop back up and follow me from time to time. Go back to your shitty casino and go back to scamming and ruining peoples lives. I don’t want anything to do with you, Ben.”
Benny snuffed out his smoke, blowing a puff of smoke not far from my face.
“I’d love to, but you put a big wrench in the plans, threw everything for a loop. Now i’m stumbling, doll. Platinum chip is in the NCR’s hands. Trying to get that out is bad news, i’d be shot on the spot. I’m looking for a way out, a loophole. Just haven’t found a good one. So i’m wandering, as much as I rather go back to living it up I’m looking for another one up. Just because Mr. House is out of the picture doesn’t mean my goals got squashed. I’m still gonna rule the Strip. And as far as you know, I haven’t been back. Truth is I’ve visited. Took notes.”
“Yet you’re traveling alone.”
“That you know.” He smiled, eyes trailing to something behind me, before his eyes focused back on me.
“Reason I’m following you is that even through it all your still here. You’re a regular miracle babe. And I like to keep tabs on the people that screw me over. No one screws the Ben man over. But I ain’t gonna off you yet, no I learned a lesson. You get into all kinds of trouble by yourself, find all kinds of things too. I’m gonna wait until YOU, find my ace, then i’ll double down and give you a nice new hole in the head, take it from under you, and rule the Strip.” Benny monologued, watching as I squirmed awkwardly under his gaze.
“Then why the fuck are you telling me this. It’s not good to tell the person your gonna be fucking over your plan to fuck em over.”
“Cause I know you can’t kill me, that itchy trigger finger can’t seem to make a lethal dent. And I won’t kill you. And as long as your kicking which for some reason you still are, I got a solid lead cause you just keep waltzing into real 20k situations.”
I gripped my hair, eyebrows furrowed as the stress of the situation caused my nosebleed to act up, crimson splattering against the dusty ground.
“Why do you keep fucking me over, can’t you just leave me alone Benny? Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage? Huh?”
Benny didn’t pay attention, running his hand through his hair and smirking as he got up, starting to walk towards me until he as a few inches away.
“You got red on you, darling.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, kneeling down and wiping my bloody nose for me.
In my haze of a pounding headache, my mind began to drift. When I got stressed the damage that Benny’s bullet did to my brain caused me to have bloody noses, and space out. Forget things at time.
The way Benny approached, the way he smiled like he knew he was invading my bubble and was so close and doing this intimate thing while I was half out of it, he must of known that I got loopy when I got nosebleeds.
“You’re...scum. If it weren’t for me... you’d be dead. Tops, Ceaser... why are you fucking me over.” I gritted my teeth, as more blood began to trickle down into Benny’s hankerchief.
“I can’t say. Sometimes I think of a different time where you and I bury the hatchet. Maybe we could have been pals. But you screwed the pooch and the pooch ain’t that happy you made a fool of him in front of all of the the Strip you dig? So i’m still pretty frosted.”
I closed my eyes, trying to think as my head began to pulse with pain, my world spinning for a moment. I was pissed, and I wanted to get something in but my mouth just didn’t work. It was hard enough to cough out those words before, but as it was getting worse, the harder it was to speak.
I leaned back a little, taking my shaking foot and planting it roughly against Benny’s chest, launching him into the side of a tent as I too fell to the ground, gripping my head.
I heard Benny began to thrash a bit on the ground, growling before sitting up and barking out a sharp, “KITTEN. Oohh i’m usually into a gal that can fight back but you.. you rattle my DAMN CAGE sometimes. If it weren’t for the lacky with the shades that’d be on a bloodpath to me i’d have you 6 feet under in a flash!”
He quickly closed his mouth, placing a palm over his lips as people began to stir, the sound of a rifle loaded with a round made the both of us turn to Boone’s tent, the tip of the rifle just barely sticking out of the flaps.
Benny raised his hands and flashed a fake smile as he took a step back.
“I’m going, i’m going. I didn’t touch the broad.”
Boone didn’t seem to believe him as a round hit the ground near Benny’s foot, making him scatter to the desert darkness.
People began to exit tents as Boone slide out of his, kneeling down beside me and helping me up.
“You gotta kill him.”
I only muttered out a grumble, bloody face pressing against Boone’s white shirt.
“You ok at least?”
I nodded, wrapping an arm around his neck as he basically lifted me off of the ground and towards my tent, place right next to Boone.
He pulled the sleeping bag cover over me, taking his shirt off and chucking at my bloody face.
“Rest up. I’ll take watch. If I see him I will shoot. I’m tired of running into him. Should have shot him at the Tops to begin with. He’s a snake.”
He paused before giving a small ‘Night’ and closing the tent flaps behind him, hearing him try to talk to the followers that woke up to see what was going on.
In wasn’t long until silence began to come back to the camp, like nothing had ever happened.
I stared at the roof of my tent for a while, thinking about the situation that just unfolded and how Benny should be dead. How I should have had Boone or Arcade or god anyone shoot him when I couldn’t. I guess I just had too much faith in the man, or maybe that bullet did more damage then I thought it did.
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The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 22 - A Little Persuasion
The following week, went slowly for Izzy. Dutch refused to allow her out of the tent, except for necessities. She became more and more irate, as the second week of being stuck in the tent commenced.
He would spend hours just sitting, reading to her. She wouldn't have minded that so much. But it was always the same. Mr Miller this, or Evelyn Miller that.
He wouldn't even allow her to sit at the desk, and study her maps. Because he didn't want her to strain herself.
On this particular morning, Dutch had as usual, gone to fetch her some food. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was determined today, that she was going to escape from the confines of the tent, if it was the last thing she did.
Unfortunately for Izzy, Dutch returned, sooner than she had anticipated.
"What do you think you're doing?" He chided. "You need to rest. I'll read to you in a little while," he added, smiling.
Izzy glared at him, "No!" she screamed, "I've had enough!" She picked up the book, that was laying on the table beside the cot. "If I have to listen to another Evelyn fucking Miller quote, I'm gonna shove his book up your arse." She paused, "sideways!" she screamed.
She threw the book at Dutch, who stepped backwards out of the tent, ducking as he went. The book went sailing past his head, and landed on the grass outside.
Arthur and Javier, who were chatting, saw the book sailing through the air, followed by Dutch retreating from the tent. The two men chuckled.
Dutch glared at the two men. "Havent you two got anything better to do," he growled angrily. He picked up the book and headed towards the edge of the lake, muttering under his breath.
Hosea had also watched the scene unfold. Once Dutch had left the tent, he wandered in.
He looked at Izzy, her face flushed with anger.
"Lets take a look, I expect the stitches can come out now," he soothed.
Izzy sighed, "honestly Hosea, I hope so. He's driving me crazy."
Izzy unbuttoned her shirt, so Hosea could get to the bandages.
Once he'd removed them, he examined the wound, which had healed well. He pulled a small pair of scissors from his pocket, and started to remove the stitches.
"Now just take it easy," he warned, "and go easy on Dutch. He worries about you. Especially after everything that's happened."
Izzy buttoned up her shirt. "Thanks Hosea, maybe you should let him know, I'm not made of glass."
She stood up. All the days of not moving around, made her a bit unsteady. Hosea offered an arm, which she happily took. After a few steps, she let go.
Standing in the middle of the camp, she took a deep breath. The fresh air felt good, and the sun felt warm on her face. She had missed the sunshine.
Izzy walked over to where the horses were tied, and found Duke.
She'd only seen him, when Arthur had brought him to the tent, over a week ago. Dutch hadn't let her out of the tent, not even to go and see him for a few minutes.
Izzy stroked his neck, and his nose. "I missed you boy," she whispered.
Arthur wandered over, to where Izzy was making a fuss of her horse.
"I hope you're not intending to ride him today," he quipped. "I think Dutch might throw a hissy fit, if you did," he chuckled.
Izzy frowned, "Its not funny, Arthur." She pointed at Arthurs head, "He didn't make you lay around and rest, did he!"
Arthur felt his head, the hair had already started to grow back, hiding some of the silver patch on his head. He grinned. "Well he did try, but Hosea managed to persuade him otherwise."
The smile faded, from Arthurs face, and he looked serious. "Don't be too hard on him, Izzy. He cares for you a great deal."
Izzy patted Duke, and sighed, "I know he does, I'm just not used to it. Certainly not used to someone telling me what I should or shouldn't do."
"Surely your parents..." Arthur stopped, and looked at the ground.
Izzy put her hand on Arthurs arm, seeing the look on his face. "It's Ok Arthur, I can talk about them," she reassured him.
Arthur sighed, his face slightly flushed, "I still can't...I find it difficult, because of what I did. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself, even if you do." He added.
Izzy reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "I have forgiven you, because I know it wasn't you."
Arthur smiled, "You're too good for us lot, Izzy."
Izzy smiled, "and no Arthur, not even my parents could tell me what to do. They tried, but in the end, I always got my own way."
Arthur chuckled, as he walked away from the horses, Dutch and Izzy, there were gonna be fireworks. It was inevitable, when two people who liked to get there own way, came together.
Izzy walked to the edge of the jetty, which looked out onto the lake. She took off her boots, and rolled up the legs of her trousers, and dangled her feet into the cool water of the lake. She realised how much she took things for granted sometimes. After being cooped up in the tent, for over a week. She realised how much she enjoyed being outside. She was going to get back to her treasure hunting, whether Dutch liked it or not.
Dutch looked at Izzy sitting on the jetty. She was so stubborn. He was only trying to protect her. Keep her safe for her own good. He walked across to the Jetty.
Izzy sat, making patterns in the water, with her toes.
She heard the footsteps on the wooden planks of the jetty, which creaked against the weight.
Glancing upwards, she saw Dutch, looking down at her. She was slightly surprised, that he wasn't angry. She knew throwing the book at him, was wrong. She also knew that doing things, without putting much thought into them, had caused her trouble, more often than once in the past. She thought back to the day in Valentine, when she'd first met Arthur. If she'd been polite, like her mother always told her she should, then her life may have taken a different turn. Or on the ledge, under the waterfall. She should have checked, before stepping on to it, to make sure it was sound. How many times had her father, drummed that into her. Check it, and check it again.
She stared at the ripples in the water.
Dutch crouched down, and put a hand on Izzy's shoulder.
"Will you walk with me, a while?" he asked. His voice was deep, and soothing.
Even from here, she could smell his scent. She took a deep breath, allowing it to fill her nostrils.
Izzy turned her head, to look at him, and nodded, as she pulled her feet out of the water.
Dutch stood up, offering her a hand, which she gratefully accepted.
She slipped her feet into her boots, as she felt Dutch, wrap his arm around her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his waist, as they walked towards the edge of the camp, underneath the shade of the trees.
Izzy sighed, "I'm sorry," she whispered, begrudgingly.
Dutch stopped walking, and turned to face her. He shook his head. He placed one hand gently on her waist, as he cupped her cheek with the other.
"But you're not, Izzy." he hesitated, "why can't you understand that I'm only trying to protect you."
"I..." Izzy started. But whatever she was about to say, was brought to an abrupt halt, as his lips pressed against hers in a long, lingering kiss.
She kissed him back, opening her mouth, enough to allow his tongue to dart across hers.
After a few moments she pulled away.
"I don't need protecting," she sighed.
Dutch smirked, "you've been mauled by wolves, shot, and almost hung. What makes you think you don't need protecting?"
Izzy glared at Dutch, "Alright then," she corrected, "I don't want to be protected, not by you, not by anyone."
Dutch was a little taken a back, but continued, "I'm sorry Izzy, but I care for you too much, to see you get hurt again. I'm gonna protect you, whether you like it or not." He stated.
Izzy narrowed her eyes, "Then don't be surprised, if I just up and leave. I won't be told what I can, or cannot do," she growled.
Dutch smirked, and took a step towards Izzy. Wrapping his arm around her, he slowly slid his hand up the back of her shirt, caressing the soft skin of her back, with his calloused hand.
The sudden feel of his hand on her back, made Izzy's whole body tremble.
As he pressed her body, towards his own, she wrapped her arms around him. The fingers of his other hand, threaded through her hair, as he gently tilted her head backwards.
He kissed her lustfully, not giving her the opportunity to pull away, as his hand flattened on the back of her head.
Izzy had no intention of pulling away, as she kissed him back needily. The electricity between them, palpable.
When he finally released her, he smiled. "You won't leave Izzy, because you need me, almost as much as I need you."
Izzy smiled at him, and gently stroked his cheek. "God damn you, Dutch Van Der Linde."
Dutch brushed a stray hair, from her face. He smirked and kissed her forehead, "and I love you too!"
Arthur and Hosea, watched as Dutch and Izzy, walked from the trees, towards the tent, hand in hand.
Hosea laughed. "looks like they made up!"
Arthur grinned, "lets hope he doesn't try and read her anymore Mr Miller!"
Izzy walked into the tent, and sat at the desk. She grabbed a map, and her magnifying glass from the chest.
Dutch peeled back the flaps from the front of the tent, opening it right up.
Izzy smiled at Dutch, natural light, was always better to study the maps with.
He turned and walked back to the table, where Arthur and Hosea were sitting.
"How did you convince her, to go back to the tent, or shouldn't I ask." Hosea joked.
Dutch smiled, "maps, treasure, and a little gentle persuasion."
Arthur frowned, "and what about you?"
Dutch leaned back in the chair, and lit a cigar.
"Me! He exclaimed, "plans, son, plans. We're gonna get out of here, so we can finally stop running."
#rdr2 fanfic#original female character#dutch van der linde#arthur morgan#hosea matthews#javier escuella
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The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“He touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.” - Richard Siken
-26 Days After-
Pheli’s boots banged down the stairs, her heart thrumming in her chest and her ears ringing from her close proximity to the gunshot. She couldn’t believe she pulled the trigger. Her hands were still shaking. At least it was finally over. Her watch beeped at her wrist, telling her that her hour was up. “Fuck!” She shouted, hopping steps, gripping the handrail. She ran, pushing forward, until she made it out into the street.
The Jeep was running, but hadn’t left three minutes later by some miracle. She flung open the back door and slid in. “Let’s go!” She said breathless, still trying to catch her breath from the run.
Dean frowned at her. “Where’s Gordon?”
“It’s been sixty-four minutes, do you not follow directions?” Pheli asked, patting Ash’s shoulder. “Lets go!”
Ash looked back at her with a frown. “What happened back there? Where’s Gordon? We heard a shot...”
“He’s gone.” Pheli said flatly through clenched teeth. “We need to go. It isn’t safe.”
Ash exchanged a look with Dean in the rear view mirror and put the Jeep in drive.
Pheli watched the city bleed past her as Ash pressed play on his cassette. Her hands gripped hers and Gordons packs that sat on her lap. Dean took her trembling fingers from their tight grip on the fabric of the bag, and into his hand. “Rogues?” He asked her softly.
That would be easier, wouldn’t it? He could’ve been overrun, but she wouldn’t have escaped. They’d question that. A good hunter compared to a girl who still owns lipgloss in an apocalypse, who would believe that he was taken down? She tried to focus on her breathing.
“I can talk to Cas when we get back.” Dean offered.
He was too nice. Would he still offer if he knew what Pheli did? She felt sick to her stomach. “I’ll handle it.” She told him. It was time that she started doing things for herself.
They didn’t speak the rest of the ride. She just looked out the window and tried to think about how things would be better. She was still convincing herself as they pulled up to the camp. She hopped out of the Jeep before it came to a complete stop. “I’ll take the bag.” Dean said cautiously.
“Take Gordon’s too. I was able to grab it before...” She stopped herself.
“You got it.”
She nodded thankfully to him and jogged back to her tent. She opened the flap slowly to find Emerson curled up and still asleep, like she never left. She smiled at her sister, and shedded herself of her weapons and boots. Pheli climbed under the blankets and snuggled in close to her sister. “Em.” She whispered, pressing a kiss on her nose. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. I took care of it.”
Emerson’s eye slowly opened, confusion flooding her face. “What?”
“You won’t ever see him again.”
“Pheli, what did you do?”
Ophelia pushed Emerson’s hair out behind her ear. “I just wanted you to know that it’s okay now. He’s gone, and we will never see him again.”
****
“So I’ve been thinking.” Dean said, leaning against the tree outside of Emerson’s tent.
“God, Dean!” She shouted, holding her chest. She’d been inside of the tent long after Pheli left to go visit Sam. She was only leaving, because her growling stomach was keeping her awake.
“Man, you Maklen girls gotta stop calling me God, it’s just awkward.”
“You’re so annoying.” Emerson huffed, feeling her heartbeat in her ears.
“Like I said before you so rudely interrupted, I’ve been thinking.”
“Well that’s never a good sign.” She said, crossing her arms.
“Hurtful.” He raised an eyebrow.
“So you just wanted me to know that you were thinking? I know it’s rare, but not exactly news worthy.”
“No.” He said, grabbing her hand before she could walk away. She winced and looked down at their hands. “I wanted to talk. I was thinking we needed to talk. There’s been a big misunderstanding...”
She pulled her hand from his. “Dean...”
“Come on.” He said quietly, stepping closer to her.
She fought the urge to run, digging her heels in the dirt. She tried to remind herself that she wasn’t afraid of Dean, but it was hard to when he was blocking her way.
“Just five minutes, Em. I don’t...” He sighed. “I don’t want it to end like this. Not when this... not when we just got started.”
Her eyes flickered to his, and she swallowed the ball in her throat. “Five minutes.” She agreed.
“Come with me.” He offered her a hand, and she crossed her arms in response, but nodded to indicate that she would still follow him.
Dean put his hand in his pocket instead and walked toward the back of the camp. It was dusk, the sky a deep shade of blue, lit and glowing from the sun that hung low on the horizon. It was the time when day kissed the night. Emerson felt a chill run up her spine despite the heat of Summer that still was heavy in the air, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
They reached a solid portion of wall and Dean settled his foot in a crack in the wall and effortlessly hoisted himself up to sit on top of it, favoring his uninjured knee. He reached a hand out to Emerson, and she stared at his palm and extended fingers. “What are you doing?”
“Come on.” He said quietly, offering her a vulnerable smile. “I’m doin a thing.”
She sighed heavily.
She used to be afraid of Dean. She was afraid of the potential for pain. She saw him from the roof, sneaking out back to smoke a cigarette. She saw him kissing girls, pressing them up against the door of the Impala after he learned how to drive. She wouldn’t be one of those girls. She wouldn’t give in to the wiles of someone like Dean Winchester. She knew by looking at him that he could destroy her. It was easy to keep him at a distance then, before she really knew him, but as she looked at his hand and his kind face reaching to her, she knew she shouldn’t be afraid.
She placed her hand in his and let him pull her up. The wall was thicker than she expected, and she was able to easily settle on to it. It was about three feet wide, and she settled close enough to the edge for her feet to dangle. Dean did the same, his pinky brushing hers. “Alright, you’ve got me up here, what now?”
“Now we watch.” He said quietly, pointing at the glowing sky, and the stars that were appearing out of the darkness. “We haven’t really looked up since all of this started, have we?”
“This is what you want to talk about?” She complained. “You have five minutes and you want to talk about the sky...”
“Em.” He placed his hand on hers. “Just look, okay?”
She sighed again and turned her face up. Without the lights from the city, the clear sky was glistening with flakes of sparkling white. Little twinkles winked hello at them. There was still a hint of the sun on the horizon, but yet she was able to see the stars better than she ever did in the city. “Wow.” She whispered. The sight knocked the breath right out of her body.
“I figured we always had our best talks on your roof lookin at the stars. I missed that the most when I went away.”
Her eyes flickered from the speckled night sky to his face. He looked at Emerson like she imagined her face looked like when she saw those stars. His lips were parted, emitting shallow breaths, his cheeks were flushed, and his pupils were wide. “I missed it, too. I stopped going out there when you left.”
“I never wanted that. I didn’t want your life to change when I left.”
“But it did, Dean.” Emerson snapped a bit. “We were never together, but we were never apart either. You were always there, even when I didn’t want you to be. How was I supposed to just keep things the same when a permanent fixture in my life was gone? That’s fucking ridiculous.”
A grin grew on Dean’s face and he laughed a bit to himself. “I think I forgot.”
“Forgot what?” She asked, pulling her hand away from his so she could cross her arms.
“How cute you are when you’re mad at me. When I was away I always tried to picture your face, but it was never quite right. It’s this... this is what I was tryin to remember.”
“Well, I’m glad my annoyance is entertaining to you.” She huffed, turning back to the sky. “Is that all, Dean?” Her heart was tired, and the darker it got the more the fear bubbled up inside of her. It had gotten so much worse since Pheli said she’d taken care of it. Emerson knew that couldn’t be good, but she hadn’t figured out how to get the answers that she needed.
“No, that’s not all.” Dean said, clearing his throat. “This shit with Lisa... it’s caught me off guard, and I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to ever see her again and then there she was...”
“I get it, Dean. I saw the baby... he’s...”
“He’s not mine.”
“He could be. You wanted him to be, and it may be your only chance at a family. She’s single.”
Deans face scrunched up, his nose wrinkling, and his eyebrows coming together. “You’re not seriously suggesting that.”
“I am.”
“I don’t want to be with Lisa.”
“Can’t forgive her?”
“Don’t want to.” Dean grunted, staring at Emerson. He was waiting for her to turn her head and look at him, but she was planted with her chin up toward the stars.
“Seems unreasonable.”
“You’re being unreasonable.” He groaned in annoyance.
“Aww, I forgot how cute it was when you were annoyed with me.” She said flatly.
“Touché.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’m serious, Em. Lisa was never... she was never right for me. She was just there in my darkest time. She was there after my accident when I needed someone the most.”
-2 Years Before-
“Where is he?” Emerson asked as she ran through the hallway at the hospital.
Mary Winchester stood up from her chair in the waiting room, her tissue against her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs. John was nowhere to be found, but that was no real surprise.
Sam took his mother into his arms and they cried together. “He’s strong, Mom... he will make it... he...”
They were watching a movie at the dorm when they heard. Dean was in an accident. Some kind of explosion, and he was stable enough to be transferred back to the states for surgery. They didn’t have any other information. She felt sick, like the room was spinning. It was the feeling of being too drunk. It wasn’t fun, just dizzying. She gripped ahold of the arm rest of a chair and closed her eyes.
She wanted to channel anger and annoyance like she usually did when it came to him, but how could she when he was hurt? Her legs shook and she fell to her knees. He told her he thought he would die out there. His words from so long ago rang in her ears. “Part of me thinks I’m gonna die out there.” She gripped the small lobby trash can that was next to her and vomited.
It all seemed so stupid. All the times they fought, all the times that she pushed him away even though she wanted to pull him closer. She wanted to go back in time and beg him to stay. She wanted to kiss him at Happy Fun Land. She wanted to take it all back, so then at least if he died they would’ve had that time. Now they had nothing but missed opportunities and mistakes.
****
He came out of surgery a few agonizing hours later. They only allowed one visitor at a time in the ICU, so Mary went in, then Sam. Emerson and Pheli sat in the waiting room with their hands tangled together.
“He’s out of surgery, this is good.” Pheli said gently.
“Yeah.” Emersons voice was small.
“You know he won’t die, Em. He’s got to live another day to annoy you.”
“Sounds like something he’d say.”
“It is something he’d say. I’m sure he will tell you it himself when he’s awake.”
Emerson’s nose and eyes burned from the tears she was holding back, and her chest felt like it was in knots. “What if he... what if he doesn’t wake up, Phel? He was in an explosion... and the last thing I said to him was that talking to him was a mistake.”
“When was that?”
“Christmas senior year.”
“When you left the house? I knew it!”
“He just...” She let out a desperate gasp. She was drowning. She couldn’t fucking breathe.
“Hey, hey.” Pheli said, alarmed. She turned and grabbed the paper bag that held their earlier dinner order, and put it up to Emerson’s lips. “Breathe, come on. You’re hyperventilating.”
Emerson breathed into the bag. In and out. In and out. In and out until she was steady again. Until the tears stopped streaming down her cheeks. “Sometimes I think I’ve done everything wrong.”
“You’ve done your best.” Pheli promised quietly.
“I haven’t. I should’ve done more... I should’ve...”
Sam came into the waiting room, causing both of the girls to sit up straighter. “How is he?” Ophelia asked, because Emerson couldn’t find the words.
“He’s... he’s stable right now. The surgery went well, but they’re worried about infection. He was...” Sam’s voice cracked and it took him a moment to recompose himself before he met Emerson’s eyes. “He was left out there for a few days before someone found him. There’s a lot of damage, but they hope he will walk again.”
Her stomach dropped. She didn’t know what to say. The words hadn’t been created to describe what she was thinking. Or if they had, she didn’t remember them. She wasn’t even squeezing Pheli’s hand anymore. Her fingers were just limp inside of her sisters.
“Is he awake?” Pheli asked.
“No. They’re keeping him sedated... they say he will be in a lot of pain.”
“Can I see him?” Emerson found herself asking, before she could stop herself. She wasn’t family. She wasn’t his girlfriend. They didn’t exactly end amicably. She never sent him a letter back. She didn’t deserve to see him, but yet.
“That’s why I was coming out. I’m going to take Mom home. I was hoping you would sit with him. Phel, you mind driving? I don’t think I should.”
“Of course.” The girls said at once, and Pheli reached for Sam’s hand.
“Room eight” He told Emerson, before they hurried off to grab Mary.
She stared down the hallway and his room seemed miles away. She suddenly felt very small, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the one hurt. He was. So Emerson walked to him like she should have a thousand times before.
Sam didn’t prepare her, but when she looked at him she didn’t know how she would’ve taken it, knowing ahead of time. Dean Winchester wasn’t a small man. He towered over six feet tall, and he always had a thicker frame. He could’ve been a body guard or a football player, so it was heart stopping to see him laying a hospital bed looking so small. She approached him slowly, as if her presence would disturb him somehow.
There was a tube down his throat, and tape on his chin. His lips were chapped and cracked. He looked so pale. There were tubes going out all over him, and his leg was out and wrapped up in a metal contraption to keep it in place. The more she looked at him, the more stitches and cuts she found. He was bruised and beaten.
She pulled up the chair next to him and lowered herself onto it. “Dean.” Her voice came out small, like a child’s. “It’s me... Em, I don’t know if you can hear me.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back her emotion, and find the words all in one motion.
She decided to go with what was the most familiar. Something that was easy. “You just have to get all the attention, don’t you?” She forced a smile. “God, that’s so annoying. We didn’t forget about you, so you really didn’t need to go and get blown up to make a statement.”
Her fingers found his. There was still dirt under his nails. Why didn’t anyone clean them?
“This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve done to get me to come to you, but I’m here. Guess I’m the sucker, always falling for your tricks.” Her thumb rubbed circles on the back of his hand.
Her chest was tight and she sucked in a breath. She was suddenly aware of the sterile air, the constant beeps and hums of the machines. She wondered if he even smelled like himself and if he ever would again. “I told you not to die. You didn’t listen. God why don’t you ever listen? I’m so mad at you... I’ve been mad at you for a long time now, but this... I won’t be able to ever forgive you if you die. You hear me, Winchester? You know me, I have ways... I’ll...” She lifted his hand and pressed a kiss on the back of his hand. “I won’t survive that. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? If I lose you it’ll fucking break me. I know we aren’t... I know I didn’t write you back. I know the night you left was... I just know, okay? I know we aren’t in love. We aren’t together or meant to be or any of that shit that Pheli is obsessed with, but knowing that you’re out there just makes my life a little better. If I knew you were gone it’d just... it’d be a goddamn tragedy.” She reached forward and touched his cheek.
“I don’t believe in all that stuff. The stuff that people write romance books about, but you... Dean I could write a book about you.” She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
After a week Sam and Pheli had to go back to school. He was studying Pre Law and he couldn’t miss anymore class. Mary went back to work. Evidentially when the boys moved out of the house she kicked John out. Emerson was proud of her for that, and she knew Dean would be, too, if he didn’t already know.
Everyone left, except for Emerson.
Most of the next two weeks he was sedated. He developed an infection in his leg, and it was touch and go for awhile. They thought he would lose the leg.
“You aren’t losing this leg, Dean. You hear me?” Emerson said sternly. “I won’t let them cut it off, so you have to fight.”
She told him to, and he did. He had another surgery, and despite how mangled it looked, he was able to keep the leg.
“We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for this family, Emerson.” Mary said, as she offered Em a cup of coffee.
“It’s no problem, really.” She said awkwardly, shifting on her feet. She blew on the coffee before taking a sip. “If It were me he would be up here annoying me, so I thought I’d return the favor.”
“He was always a little lost on you.”
Emerson coughed in surprise, her coffee shooting down her wind pipe. “I.. what... how do you mean?”
Mary smiled bashfully, looking down. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. He was always looking at you through the window, or when he was working on the car. I thought you were much too young for him, but that was then. Age is more of a number the older you get, don’t you think? When he convinced Sam to ask out your sister, I was sure it was the start of something, but he is shy.”
“Dean never came across as shy to me.”
“He acts very confident, but most of it is a show. It’s a distraction from what’s real. It’s easier than being vulnerable. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I have.” Emerson said quietly, her cheeks warming up. “I just didn’t think... I don’t know. I thought it was all a game.”
“With you? No, sweetheart. It never was a game. Girls come and go, but you never have.” She offered a warm smile and pulled Emerson into a hug.
She left as quickly as she came, like she always did. Emerson watched her go with a wave and went back to Deans room. She opened the door and her coffee fell from her hand and crashed to the floor. “Dean?”
He was sitting up in bed, just barely propped up by a few pillows, but there he was. He was awake. He smiled at her. “Hey Sweetheart.”
“Oh my god.” She sloshed through the coffee and closed the space between them. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty.” He admitted.
She reached for her water cup and placed the straw at his lips. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He said After a few satisfying sips. “What happened, Em? I’m not dead, am I?”
“What? No... There was an accident... an explosion.” She pressed her lips together. She hoped for the moment that he would wake up. The moment he would smile at her, but she didn’t know what to say, not really. Nothing seemed like enough. “Sam got the call when we were all together, and I came. Of course I came.”
Dean smiled a bit. “Well that’s a fuckin relief. I was sure I was dead. Looked like heaven in here.” He tilted his head to the side.
“You’re medicated.” She said, trying to meet their usual snark, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She couldn’t hide how happy she was to see him up and talking.
“Missed me, huh? Couldn’t wait to run to my side.”
“That’s it.” She rolled her eyes. “Can’t stay away from you anymore, Dean. I’m head over heels.”
“Knew it.”
“God, some things never change.”
Deans face softened, his shoulders wilting. “Aw, Em. Hey, it’s okay.”
She reached up and touched her cheek. She was crying. When the fuck did that happen?
“I’ll try to not be such an ass...”
“No... Don’t. I’m glad it didn’t change. I’m glad you’re still you.”
“‘Mere.” He said, opening his arms.
Emerson moved before she could really stop herself, and she allowed herself to sit next to him opposite his bad leg.
“Nah, all the fuckin way.” He said, widening his arms and gesturing for her to come closer with his fingers. “I won’t break, promise.”
“You don’t know that.” She grumbled, but complied, laying down curled against his side.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Thanks for bein here.”
“There’s nowhere else for me to be but here.”
“How long has it been?”
“Almost a month.”
He frowned deeply. “Where are we? Shouldn’t you be in school...”
“No.” She said, sitting up a bit to look at him. “Everyone else had to go back. Your mom... Sam. I told you, I have nowhere else to be but here. I wasn’t going to leave you to fight alone.”
Dean looked at her, shaking his head with a smile growing on his lips. He brushed her hair behind her ear with his fingers. “You’re something else, Emerson Maklen.”
“You already knew that.”
“I must’ve forgot, because this... I dunno, this feels new.”
She had an unbelievable urge to kiss him in that moment. To hear the heart monitor on his finger send his pulse leaping. She wanted to feel him smile against her mouth and pull her closer, but there was time. Looking at Dean awake and smiling, laying in his arms, it felt like they had all the time in the world, so she laid her head back on his chest. “It’s not new.” She murmured.
They laid like that, her head on his chest, and his arms wrapped around her for what seemed like a life time.
They listened to the beeps of the monitors like rain on a tin roof. Emerson was so used to the sounds of the room, the chatter of doctors and nurses, the lights and beeps, the drips of his IV that it was almost soothing to her. She closed her eyes and thought that maybe; just maybe things would finally work out. After everything they’d been through it felt easy, it felt so damn easy. It felt like it was always like that, and would always be like that.
Emerson thought seriously then about telling him. She thought out the words in her head to say everything she’d wanted to say all those times that she held back, because there was love and then there was her and Dean. There wasn’t a name for it, and she was thankful that there wasn’t a monitor showing her heartbeat. It was flying away, a fluttering bird against her ribcage. She was desperate to know if he felt it, too.
She opened her mouth to tell him, to take the leap, the risk, because they were worth it. She opened her mouth to tell him, and his arm that rested on her hip fell limp next to her. She thought he’d fallen asleep at first, until she heard the endless beepof the monitor flat-lining.
It all happened so fast, in a blur. She sat up and saw his lips turning blue-gray. She blinked at him and before she could process, a team pushed into the room. A nurse removed her from the bed and another started CPR. They pushed on his chest hard, rhythmically. Emerson knew CPR. She learned for her mom, but yet she didn’t. It didn’t even occur to her. She just sat there, useless. “What happened?” She found herself asking. She wasn’t even crying. She was in shock.
“Somebody get her out of here!”
Emerson was pulled out, fingers wrapping around her biceps, taking her back out into the hallway. The door clicked shut, and she fell to the floor, her back pressed against the wall.
He had a Pulmonary Embolism. He threw a clot in his leg, and it caused cardiac arrest. His heart stopped right as Emerson was memorizing the sound of it beating. His heart stopped, and she just stared at him like an idiot. She couldn’t bring herself to call Sam and tell him that she felt Dean die. She couldn’t tell him that she felt his life leave his body.
Thankfully, for her, she didn’t have to. The staff got his heart back beating and started him on medication to dissolve the clot. He was sedated again. They called Mary, and she called Sam.
It felt like the pirate ship ride at Happy Fun Land. It was a massive boat with benches that swung back and forth. The higher it swung, the more the patrons felt like they were falling. Emerson lost her stomach. She felt like she was swinging higher and higher. She worried she would hit the stars and disappear. It was an eternal swing at the hospital. The moment it looked like things were evening out, it would swing the opposite way again. She wanted to get off the fucking ride.
Ophelia, Sam, and Mary arrived at the hospital later that night, but Emerson still felt impossibly alone.
Dean woke up two days later, but when Emerson asked Dr. Ramsey if she could see him, he informed her that Dean didn’t want visitors. He was back in the ICU, and he removed everyone’s name from his approved visitor list. Even Sam. He wanted to be alone.
“I don’t understand.” Emerson’s voice cracked. “I’ve been here the whole time… Why doesn’t he want me there now?”
Dr. Ramsey sighed, and he took Emerson’s hand. It was a kindness, but it felt more like a betrayal. “He doesn’t remember much from the last month, if anything at all. He was very out of it from all of the medication. We were prepared for that possibility.”
They’d discussed it before, but to call her prepared was a bit of an exaggeration.
“But he was awake…”
“I know this is difficult, but this was his decision. It’s not uncommon for short term memory loss after a major cardiac episode.”
“Will he ever remember?” She asked, her heart sinking through her chest, and stomach into the floor.
“There’s always a possibility, but it’s unlikely. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nowhere else for me to be but here.” Emerson grabbed her bag and walked out of the hospital, not turning back no matter how much she wanted to.
-26 Days After-
“I understand.” Emerson said softly, staring back out into space. It was impossible to see the city scape in the darkness.
“I don’t think you do. Just because she was there then doesn’t mean she didn’t throw everything away. Doesn’t mean I owe her...”
“You don’t owe me, either. I wasn’t there, after all.”
“That isn’t what this is about.” He sighed. “This is coming out all wrong.”
“Things usually happen the way they’re supposed to, Dean. It isn’t a coincidence that she’s here, it can’t be.” Emerson said, trying to lean into the idea that her distance was from Lisa. She wished it was that simple.
“The universe is a sick fuck, that’s all.”
“That’s one thing we can agree on.”
“Let’s not let it ruin this.”
“It already has.” She murmured into the breeze.
—————
Chapter Eighteen
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Here’s a drabble for @writeblrsummerfest‘s “OCs at a beach bar” prompt!
None of this is canon (unless I get ideas lol) but I just thought this was too good to pass up.
Warren glanced up from the bar and his cocktail as Guetry burst into the building, out of breath and holstering his still-smoking gun while his ankle-length duster settled around his legs. The tattoo cascading from his neck flashed erratically and the triangular scar on his temple emitted a quick purple pulse that possibly mirrored his own.
Guetry’s eyes darted around the mostly-empty hut and settled onto Warren, then the pink drink in his hand, and his face contorted into unadulterated disgust, which Warren anticipated pretty much as soon as he entered.
“Shut the fuck up,” Warren yelled before Guetry could open his mouth. “I’m on vacation and I’m a grown-up, I’ll do what I want.”
Guetry tipped his head in a “fair enough” gesture and shrugged the duster off, tossing it onto a stool and sitting next to Warren. “Speaking of doing what you want,” he grunted.
“He’s late,” Warren said. “But I didn’t expect him to be on time. Tournaltis keeps him busy. What are you doing here, by the way?”
“I visit Yalis once a year,” Guetry said, throwing a patient finger toward the lenayan bartender and tapping the stone bartop. He said a few words in Yalis dialect.
“But what the hell were you shooting at? Is there a mob outside or something?”
“Actually yes.” Guetry nodded in thanks at the bartender, who glided over to him with a clear drink in a strangely normal highball glass. He threw them a mostly innocuous wink before accepting the order. “Superfans of Skywaste.”
Warren almost inhaled his drink. “Did you just murder them...?”
Guetry knocked back half of the glass in one go. “Not this time,” he said wistfully. “Not this time.”
The canvas flap leading into the building lifted open and Thrive stepped halfway inside, frowning at something unseen near the beach.
“He’s not dead,” Guetry said over his shoulder. “I went for the knee at the last second.”
Thrive and Warren exchanged concerned and bewildered expressions across the room.
“Uh...hi?” Warren said, holding an arm out. “How was your trip?”
“Peaceful,” Thrive replied, ducking down to indulge him in a quick, sweet kiss before taking a seat on his other side. “Perhaps I should take a break from keeping a planet running more often.”
“That’s literally everything I have ever wanted, man,” Warren sighed. “Been trying to tell you that for months.”
Guetry leaned forward to look at Thrive. “Where’s your cape, old man?”
“At home. Despite it being a cherished gift, I don’t like wearing it when I’m not working.”
“Want Sex on the Beach?” Warren asked him cheekily.
Thrive eyed him, clearly unsure which direction to take in answering the question. “Judging by your grin I’m going to assume that doesn’t mean literal sex on the beach.” He paused, then lifted his eyebrows. “Though maybe it does.”
Warren chuckled. “It’s a drink. Well...it’s called something different here, and the ingredients are a little more local, but it’s basically the same thing. Not usually my kinda thing, but it’s beachy and fun and it’s making me hate the heat a little less.” He held his glass out to Thrive, straw aimed toward him. “Try it?”
Thrive obliged, taking a tentative sip from the blushing liquid. “Hmm. Not very strong. Hints of...sea sugar. If I’m going to imbibe, I may as well do so with this.”
Warren swung around to Guetry, who was already on his second drink. “That’s not gin, is it?”
“Hell no. Think I’d be caught dead drinking gin after I almost literally got caught dead drinking gin? No.”
Once Thrive got his drink and Warren got his second and last, he suggested they stretch their legs on the beach. Guetry tucked his entire glass under his arm and whipped out a mirror and a thin eyeliner pencil, touching up his liner the instant they stepped outside.
Warren and Thrive watched him with interest, impressed at the sight of him further taking an eyeshadow brush and blending the deep blue outer shade with the black inner shade, all without making a single misstep on the coarse sand.
“Christ, dude,” Warren laughed. “You’ve perfected the art of killing it on the go.”
“Damn fucking straight,” Guetry muttered, spinning around to get better lighting. He put the makeup away and sniffed, peering out into the horizon. “This place is something.”
Warren stopped walking and sipped on his beverage, eyes roaming the vast green ocean and the faded moons on opposite sides of the sky, framing the grey sun nearing the water. “I could live here.”
“I’m sorry Tournaltis has failed you somehow,” Thrive said facetiously. “I can have your things moved here first thing in the morning if you’d prefer.”
Warren smirked. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, babe.”
Thrive gave him a subtle look that made him question rejecting the idea of sex on the beach so quickly.
Guetry sighed. “Gross.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Warren said.
“I love you guys so much.”
“Yeah, we love you too, G.” Warren wrapped his arm around Guetry’s. “Let’s get you sobered up before you start crying and ruin your hard work.”
The three of them ambled down the beach and spent the evening chatting, enjoying the local food, and reminiscing on all of their adventures thus far. It hurt a little to go their separate ways, but it wouldn’t be too long before they could join up again.
Pretty soon, it was an annual thing. Meeting at the bar on Yalis, walking the beach, and enjoying one another’s company. And that went on for many years to come.
#prompt#this was fun to write actually#I love their dynamic#this may actually end up being canon after all#I'm gonna have to see what I can do
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Rendevouz
Hey guys! This is my first time writing anything Choni related, but since they only mentioned their rendevouz, I thought I'd give it a try. Hope you like it.
"I'm still not used to how hot you look in that jacket." Toni mumbles against Chery's lips and grabs the flaps of the mentioned red garment to pull her girlfriend's body even closer to hers. The ground feels hard under her back, but the weight of Cheryl's body on top of her makes it all worth it.
Cheryl doesn't answer at first, too busy hungrily tasting Toni's lips. She slides her tongue into the brunette's mouth tentatively, her hands brushing the toned abs displayed by the short crop top Toni had conveniently decided to wear that day. Cheryl rarely got to be in control like this, and she loved it. She loved the feeling of Toni's chest heaving under hers, the soft moans that escaped her mouth when she bit that delicious bottom lip, the delicate fingers traveling down her spine, all the way to the waistband of her pants.
"Maybe you should take it off me then." Cheryl finally breathes, looking directly into Toni's eyes.
The wind ruffles the tent slightly, and the distant mumbling of the very drunk Serpents, Sweet Pea and Fangs, is the only other sound other than the ragged breaths escaping Toni's lips. Cheryl runs her index finger all the way from Toni's cheekbone, to her jawline, to her throat and down the middle of her breasts. She rests her palm there, feeling the thumping heartbeat against her hand. Toni doesn't say anything, too mesmerized by the figure laying on top of her.
Cheryl soon grows impatient. She props herself up and straddles Toni's hips. The brunette widens her eyes as Cheryl slowly removes her red leather jacket. Even though they still haven't gone all the way, this isn't unexplored territory for the couple, but the way Cheryl is desperately taking control takes Toni by surprise. Cheryl then proceeds to take of her shirt, revealing the silky porcelain skin, now only covered by the red see through bralette.
"Cheryl..." Toni finally mutters and moves her hands to the uncovered abdomen in front of her. Her hands are a little cold, but as soon as she meets her girlfriend's skin, her entire body feels on fire.
"Yes?" Cheryl replies with a cheeky grin. She bends her body forward and places a wet kiss on the angle of Toni's jaw.
"Fuck." Toni mutters, still unable to complete a sentence, and stretches her neck to give Cheryl more space to explore.
Her wishes are soon met. Cheryl moves her lips to Toni's pulse point. She kisses the spot hungrily, the delicate skin getting warmer and warmer. She flattens her tongue soothingly against it, before continuing on her feast.
"Don't worry, I won't leave a mark." The newest member of the Serpents says, softly biting the area, before changing her spot of adoration. She moves further down, focusing on the perfectly displayed cleavage by the halter crop top Toni has on.
"You are..." Toni starts saying, but swallows hard when she feels Cheryl squeezing one of her breasts.
"Sensational?" Cheryl replies, and pulls herself back up to face Toni. She leans forward and kisses the already swollen lips.
"Yeah, but I wasn't going to say that." Toni smiles into the kiss. She props herself up on her elbows, making some space between them.
"What were you gonna say?" Cheryl says, taking advantage of Toni's new position to slide the black Serpent jacket down her shoulders.
"Horny." Toni replies, gladly allowing the removal of her jacket, and places both hands around Cheryl's ribcage. She immediately sees her girlfriend's eyebrows shoot up and her cheeks match the shade of her bralette.
"Oh, fuck you." Cheryl laughs shyly and pushes Toni's hands away from her.
"Please do." The Serpent says with a suggestive grin and pulls Cheryl on top of her.
Their lips meet again, more passionately this time. Hands roaming through wild locks of hair, heavy breathing, soft moans.
"Take it off." Cheryl whispers on Toni's ear and pulls on the hem of her shirt.
She immediately follows command, and after struggling for a couple of seconds, Toni manages to get rid of her crop top. Cheryl wastes no time before exploring every inch of Toni's uncovered chest with her lips. She moves down towards her stomach, lining the very defined abs with her tongue. A sigh escapes Toni's lips when she feels Cheryl's hand over her breast once again. This time, the redhead sneaks her fingers under Toni's bra, and softly turns the erect nipple between her fingertips. With her other hand she fumbles with the button of Toni's high waisted pants, but manages to pop it open.
"Wait, Cheryl." Toni breathes sharply and places her hand on the side of her girlfriend's face. Cheryl looks up at her, focusing her sole attention on Toni's eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Of course, babe." Cheryl replies with a smile and kisses Toni's stomach. "Don't you want me to?"
"Yes, but I don't want you to feel forced."
"Toni, I want to do this." Cheryl says reassuringly. "I lo..." But then she stops, halfway through the sentence. Toni's eyes widen slightly, but then her face relaxes into an adoring grin.
"Say it." Toni whispers, rubbing Cheryl's cheekbone with her thumb. "Please, say it."
"I love you." Cheryl finally says nervously. "God, I was dying to say that." She adds with a relieving chuckle.
"I love you, too." Toni says happily, and leans forward to kiss her girlfriend passionately on the lips.
"Now, can I get back to business?" Cheryl says tugging on Toni's waistband. The brunette nods grinning and pecks Cheryl's lips one last time before laying back down.
She has never done this before, but the instinct inside of her controls her moves. Cheryl pulls down Toni's pants slowly, and slides her hands up the bare tanned legs. She places a kiss on the inner part of Toni's thigh, and immediately feels her girlfriend's hand gripping her shoulder. She tentatively touches the waistband of Toni's underwear, her confidence from before vanishing as she faces the real thing. But she wants to do this so bad, and she doesn't want to mess things up.
Cheryl applies some pressure in circling motions on top of the lacy fabric at first, waiting to see the reaction she gets from the brunette. Toni instantly pushes her hips forward, as if she had been craving that contact for quite some time now. A hard grunt encourages Cheryl to continue, more daringly this time, but as she's about to remove Toni's underwear, an arrow flies through the tent, just a couple of feet away from Toni's face.
"What the hell? Are you okay?" Cheryl says sitting up straight, and holds Toni's face between her hands. The arrow went dangerously close to her eye.
"Yeah, I'm fine. What was that?" Toni asks frustratedly. They both soon hear Fangs and Sweet Peas drunken voices closer and closer to their tent.
"Now that makes sense." The redhead sighs and makes sure Toni's face is unharmed. They had both been extremely lucky, that arrow could've caused them some serious damage.
"I'm gonna destroy them." Toni grits through her teeth, and tries to leave the tent, but Cheryl holds her wrist.
"Babe? You might want to get dressed first." Cheryl suggests, and not so discretely eyes her girlfriend's barely covered body. "Not that I'm complaining about the view."
"Good point." Toni calms down a bit, and leans forward to shortly kiss Cheryl's lips. "You should come with me. We can tell Jones and let him handle it, while we finish what we started back in Thistlehouse. If you're still up for it." She adds and runs her hand through Cheryl's hair.
"Sounds like a plan." Cheryl replies handing Toni the pair of white pants she had tossed to a corner of the tent. "Don't get too comfortable in these, I'm gonna take them off again soon."
"Is that a challenge, Bombshell?" Toni asks with a questioning eyebrow kink.
"Maybe." Cheryl says simply and puts her shirt back on. She scoots closer to Toni and places both hands on her but cheeks. She inches closer, their lips just barely touching. "I guess you'll have to wait and see."
"I hate Fangs and Sweet Pea so much right now." Toni complains and tries to kiss Cheryl, but the redhead teasingly pulls away every time their lips brush. "But, I really, really love you."
"I love you, too." Cheryl smiles and leans forward, but places a chaste kiss on the corner of Toni's mouth instead.
"You're unbearable." Toni chuckles rolling her eyes.
"And you're horny." The newest member of the Serpents states and winks, before grabbing her red leather jacket and getting out of the tent.
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♥ :3c
acts of affection meme: @brknsh
Molly tosses his fourth pebble in the air, catches it, and has his arm wound back when the window finally unsticks open with a shriek.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
Molly shades his eyes and peers up at the face floating over the sill.
That…isn’t Caleb.
It isn’t Nott, either, unless they’ve become Dragonborns sometime in the past seven hours. Stranger things have happened.
He’s also smoked a lot of weed.
“Uh,” he says eloquently. “Is Caleb in?”
“It’s two in the gods damn morning, Miss! Some of us have work in a coupla hours. Try using the blasted door for your booty calls!”
Molly tosses the pebble aside and bounces on the balls of his feet, hands clapping together. “Sorry, dear! You’re absolutely right. Please, uh, don’t call the Crownsguard!”
He doesn’t stick around to see himself waved off, scrambles back through the building to clamber up the stairs as quietly as possible. Bit difficult with heels as high as his. He fishes his phone from his boot, sucking his teeth at the 4% flashing him a warning as he pulls up his texts.
He’s being left on read. Okay, so Caleb’s totally awake and ignoring him. That’s fine, he isn’t bothered. His friends leave him on read all the time.
[ txt ] im outsideeee let me innnn plssss
He wobbles to a stop in front of Caleb’s door and knocks with both fists, paf paf paf paf! then braces his hands against the frame, tail perking when he hears footsteps on the other side.
“Caleb,” he stage-whispers, butting the door with his forehead. “It’s Molly.”
The door cracks open. Molly beams, swaying forward into the sharp-eyed wizard’s space and he very nearly kisses his nose in gratitude. This close up he can tell that he has been awake—reading, if the redness around his irises is any indication. He looks comfy and a little ruffled, and Molly shifts from foot to foot, ears flicking with sudden warmth.
He’s cute.
“Me and Yash’ were at, at…that bar with the uh, spell name?” He snaps his fingers, jewelry tinkling as he tips his head back and forth in attempts to dislodge the name. “Dimension Door? You know which I’m talking about? All the bartenders are assholes. Anyway, we were playing darts and I—hang on, can I come in?”
Molly had no idea a blink could be so pointed, “Mollymauk. It’s–”
“I know, I know,” he says, flapping an errant hand. His bangles clink and jingle. “Two in the morning. Your neighbor told me.”
“My…neighbor?” Caleb’s so confused and muzzy that Molly’s insides just about go sideways with want. He scratches his claws through the hair at the nape of his neck, smooths the curls down.
“Mmm, I texted earlier and you didn’t respond so Yasha drove me over.” He makes a motion like he’s revving a motorcycle, and for some reason that’s enough to get Caleb shifting to the side. Molly swans through, bending to tug his phone from the top of his boot. He flashes it close to Caleb’s face, illuminating his flinch and squint.
“Ah. That. Isn’t me, though,” is all he says.
Molly pauses. He turns his phone back around and sees that the string of semi-coherent texts he’d sent Caleb had actually been….
Oh, he’d sent them to Yasha.
He flushes and cracks a grin that bubbles into a wild giggle, then a full-blown cackle until his eyes fracture with tears. He bends in half, tail lashing, and heel-palms the corners of his eyes, smearing his makeup.
“Oh gods, no wonder!” The smile he fixes on Caleb is all fangs, and maybe it’s the dim light, but the wizard looks a little like maybe he’s smiling too. His carmine eyes glitter. Molly pats Caleb’s bicep, keeps his hand there for balance as he starts unzipping his thigh highs. “Well, I’m here now! Anyway, what was I saying?”
“Dimension…Door?”
“Mm! Right, that.” Molly kicks his boots off, evening their heights, and pulls away to wind his way around the books strewn in little molehills on the floor. He wide-steps up and over the arm of the couch, legs folding under him until his ass hits the cushions. The alcohol buzzing through his system begins to settle until he’s centered, heavy. It’s warm here and he thinks, given the rumpled blankets and the little aborted noise his friend makes from the foyer, that Caleb was sat here reading. Molly settles in, tail curling across his bare thighs.
“So I was with Yasha,” he continues, dragging a spare quilt across his lap, nestling into the Caleb-shaped space left in the cushions. “And I remembered the name of that movie about the bear, and I thought—I thought, I need to tell Mister Caleb!”
He twists, hooking his arm against the arm of the seat, smiling. Caleb lingers near the front door, looking for all the world like he’s got a bit of whiplash. Molly knows the feeling.
“So you…came over? At two in the morning.”
“Mhmm,” he says. The quilt is very soft. Molly smooths his calloused fingers over the fabric, over the needlework stitching the muted squares together. He pulls it up around his shoulders. “So I came over.”
Caleb is finally moving, going around the perimeter of the apartment with a little bit of silver thread, and Molly follows him, lax as Frumpkin in a beam of sunlight. He’s not entirely sure what he’s up to, doesn’t feel the need to ask, but he likes watching him just…exist in the same space as him. His phone beeps under his thigh, and he shifts to tug it free, unfolding his legs across the couch.
Hm.
He scoots down a bit more, resting his head back.
“And the name of the movie?” he thinks he hears Caleb say, but Molly isn’t certain. He’s too warm, too comfortable, and by the time Caleb turns around to check on him, very, very asleep.
Molly doesn’t dream, but when he wakes up he’s thinking about bears escaping the Feywild and that’s almost like dreaming. The caravan is exceptionally quiet this morning, none of the usual slam of camper doors, grind of gravel underfoot, or Ornna shouting across the grounds. Maybe no one’s up yet. The light behind his eyelids is soft, gray. He tugs his blanket up over his nose and inhales deeply.
It doesn’t smell like incense. It smells like—his stomach swoops, trembles. Oh. Molly squints when the end of the couch depresses with weight.
“What,” he begins in a scrape of Common ( he thinks ). He shoves himself up onto a hand and tilts his head, and the world tilts with it. Alright, so still drunk. “Time is it?”
“Mmh, six. In the morning.” Caleb’s voice is pleasant and low and careful, like he’s trying not to wake Molly, who is mostly awake now. His tail-tip curls and curls at the sound of it.
“Okay. Alright. I can’t work with that,” he huffs. Molly wavers in his spot, then he’s shifting around away from the arm of the couch and butting his head under Caleb’s hands. He drops against his lap with a whump, and he feels his thighs tense up beneath him. Molly ignores that, yanks his quilt back over his body, and even with the weight of his gaze on him he keeps his eyes shut. “Five more minutes.”
“And then?” Caleb sounds…well, not upset, even if he isn’t exactly relaxed. It makes him a funny pillow. Not quite the worst thing he’s ever rested his head on.
“Then,” Molly sleepy-slurs. “We’ll watch Homeward Bound. That’s the movie. The one about the bear.”
The world stops spinning, goes Bic-lighter warm at the edges. His chest is pleasant and heavy. Caleb’s hand lands on the base of a horn, curious and tentative, and the thighs beneath his head relax in degrees. Molly smiles.
Later, he’ll swear he never purred.
#i just wanted to write molly dropping in like a bad sitcom neighbor#and then this happened???#8(#brknsh#( ASK. )#anyway in this universe homeward bound is a biopic about vex's bear trinket#no one can tell me otherwise
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