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iam-kenough · 4 years

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Will you ever notice me? (Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character)

Summary: Dutch and his boys found a girl hidden inside wrecked shack near their camp. She introduces herself as Iris and starts leading outlaw life with Van der Linde gang, quickly developing feelings towards one, special cowboy. However there is big year gap between them and Arthur sees Iris just as a kid...And girl won’t take that!

Authors notes: It’s another chapter and you can find the rest of them following masterlist on my blog if you want to read more of my fanfiction. Hope you gonna enjoy it! Words count: 2242 Chapter 12 Iris was at her tent, undressing herself with nose was patched up and she still heard Mrs Grimshaw's harsh yelling in her head. Her shirt landed on the floor as it was ruined with crimson of blood. - What the fuck were you thinking today?! - Arthur stormed inside her tent, completely ignoring fact she's undressed, wearing only her lingerie. - Huh? - she tilted her head to the side, looking visibly surprised. - You could kill yourself, you idiot, twice times today! - So what? That's my job - she shrugged - I'm an outlaw just like you. - Are you out of your mind? - Arthur looked furious, his voice harsh as gravel and eyes stormy. Iris was trying to reckon if he ever was furious like that before, but she couldn't remember. Not towards herself, at least. - What would be better in situation when I had choice to fall down along with the train, jump on my horse like you said and probably break my spine or risk life and jump into the water? - I'm not only about it - he growled, throwing his hands in the air and gesticulating with them, showing frustration - You're not going anywhere else with us! - Excuse me? I am amazing with getting things done, especially when you think that all Dutch's plans are stupid and naive while I can fix all of them. I am not gonna stop - girl shaked her head in disbelief.

- That's the problem, you are amazing with pulling these out, 'cause you are crazy! - Arthur grabbed her arm and shook Iris like it was meant to wake up her.

- Even if, what's bad about it? - Iris tried to back off, but couldn't as his fingers were pinning into her forearm.

- How couldya've said that you have nothing to lose? - Arthur said suddenly with much more silent voice, slowly looking away.

- But I don't and you know it's true! - Iris laughed but there was no joy in it

- My life? I'm gonna be dead sooner or later, I'm not a town girl nor wife sitting at home, I'm an outlaw just like you, Mr Morgan. The only difference is when I'm gonna die.

- I-I...How can you say things like this? They sound so easy in your mouth it makes me afraid - Arthur was disbelieving Iris's words with ''hurt puppy'' eyes.

- I always thought you're never lying to yourself, but here we are. What I'm saying is true, all I have is group of people in this camp, but everyone is risking, anyone can die tommorrow, or in two weeks, you just don't know it! You can't hold me away from all this dirt and...I needed this money.

- Money?! You were caring about the money?! - Arthur was starting to boil once more.

- I need it if I'm gonna move some day soon - she said and it made him freeze.

He threw her look of kicked dog. - What? - Iris noticed his intentions right away - You were thinking I'm gonna stay forever? I'm in my twenties and all I have is this tent and nowhere to go, no one to look after or no one to hold me there, isn't it obvious? I can go to New York, or even freakin' Tahiti, maybe become a doctor to make my life less boring and miserable. But that was exactly what Arthur was thinking. He just realized that now there was no strings attached between them and that she was thinking about moving, mentioning it in the past, when they were still friends, talking every night in the light of oil lamp. Arthur Morgan was always thinking that he has time but there she was, proving he's wrong and also a fool.

- Iris, I still need you - he said but she didn't hear him. There was screams coming from outside. At first, Iris bursted out, thinking that's it's something horrible, tripping over her own legs. But it was very opposite. Everyone could see like John Marston in kneeling in front of Abigail Roberts, holding an engagement ring.

-Oh my god, John, yes! - Abigail yelled with visible shock and disbelief in her eyes. Normaly woman didn't like being in the centre but marring John properly was her deep hidden dream.

- It's time for me, to do somethin' proper out of us, Aby. I want to make you happy - John was speaking quietly and with gentle manner but everyone heard it as no one dared to breath or else.

Iris was looking at pair, sharing few tears of joy. It was simply beautiful, somethin' she wished for them deeply in her heart. It was also something she was dreaming about for herself for short period of time and was moved that they were so lucky to have it. It was little proof for herself, that she could have normal life someday, that she could leave this camp and finally that they are were family. Disfunctional one, but family. She noticed with corner of her eye that Arthur was looking at her. She wiped her face from tears quickly, walking away to hug Abigail and John just like everybody. This evening turned away differently than everyone expected. People catched every bottle of booze they had and gathered around the fire. Soon they were singing every song they knew, laughing, talking and dancing. John was the one who's wasted the most, obviously, he liked to drink when he was happy and today happines weren't the right word. It was more than overjoy. There was also Iris with bottle in her hand, who was joyful enough to yell the lyrics of one songs they both knew, dancing with John as they were tripping over each other, making Abigail laugh as she clapped in the rythm her friends wasn't minding anyway.

Arthur was watching Iris carefuly. She looked happy, joyful even but it seemed weird and unsetteling. And then something clicked inside Arthur's head. Iris was drinking everyday, chugging down on bottle of whiskey almost every evening and now she, with her fragile body, was enough strong to keep up with John without getting wasted. She had also having this hip-flask that she was drinking from time to time. All puzzles fitted right now. - You're an alcoholic - Arthur hissed, when he catched Iris from between others and quickly dragged away, hiding they both in his tent. Man quickly pulled down flaps, giving this conversation needed privacy. Arthur didn't care much if it's uncomfortable for Iris, the way he just treated her - How many drinks did you have today, eh?

- Hmm...A bottle and still counting! - she said, giggling, completely clueless - Come on, don't be such sourpuss, Mr Morgan!

- You're an alcoholic! - he shouted again, much more agressively at her face and girl stopped smiling right away.

- F'course I am - she spoke slowly, like was supposed to explain something to child - My daddy was and I am too, that's no surprise. Now I think I kind of get him, whiskey's your best friend. It always listens to your heart and it lulles you to sleep so easily, when all you see is dirty ceiling of your tent. It makes you warm, just like you were in lover arms - she looked dreamily now, smiling a little - That's why I'm gonna drink till the day I'll fall asleep drunk and choke myself with my own vomit. Cheers to that! - she took big gulp from the bottle, few drops falling down girl’s chin.

- No! - he grabbed her arm, tearing the whiskey away from her hands and spilling it on the floor.

- Ey, I payed for that! And you're stupid to think I had only one or two - she laughed but she was furious and it sounded more like barking.

-Get yourself together, eh?! - Arthur placed empty bottle on the trunk with loud bang.

- What?! You saying something like this? - she looked almost amused. Almost if only it wasn't for fury and fire dancing in her pupils.

- Yes, me! I won't let you ruin your life!

- And who you are to judge me, eh?! Big scary boys who clinged onto me when he gets drunk, crying because his lovely Mary won't have him nor now, not even in ten years, 'cause she's a bitch who uses him to run errands for her!

- Excuse me? - he froze, not knowing what's going on. It was his thoughts but he wasn't reckoning saying them out loud ever, especially to Iris.

- Oooh, bullseye, you don't remember it! - girl looked like she was satisfied as hell with this discovery - You seriously belived when I said you just blanked out after puking on my new coat the other night! But no, there's much more to that and I'm gonna tell you a story - she was pacing, looking at him with fury.

Arthur didn't say a thing, nor moved. He was to shocked, but God, if he knew what's coming he would sit down already. - So I was sitting in your tent the other night and you weren't there, as always. I felt frivolous enough to take a look around, finding maybe something funny I could torture you within' a while, but oh, I was so shoked! A pile of letters, love letters under your cot. You left me for Mary Linton, just cutting our strings lose, not respecting me enough to tell that out loud. But that was expectable, I've never thought well enough about myself to expect being treated nicely. I wanted to search for ya, I wanted honesty from your mouth - she stopped for a moment, collecting her thoughts - and I got it when someone shoot me, robbed me and left me to die.

- Iris, I- - Arthur choked on words as they fought to leave his throat.

- No, no, that's not the best one I have for you today, loverboy - she hissed - Because when someone found me and drove me to the doctor in Saint Denis, I've been told I'm gonna live because someone took a bullet for me and it was our child. I was pregnant and I found out about it like this. And I will probably never gonna be pregnant again - she lifter her chemise and there it was, fresh scar, shiny and pink, running from belly button to left side - How do you like it, Arthur? Look at it closely! I know I look beautiful like that - Iris's voice was malicious, getting every small amout satisfaction from relieving secret that would hurt Arthur just like he did hurt her. No, it was only very bad dream. He's gonna wake up and laugh it off. Even his life wasn't this much miserable. But no, it wasn't any fantasy and girl stormed pass him, going to her tent. Arthur followed her and when he entered Iris's tent she already was grabbing another whiskey, hidden under her cot.

- Why you didn't tell me straight away?! - Arthur was finally able to spit anything from mouth but his throat was numb, big gulp growing inside.

- You haven't even notice me missing, nor wondering why I lie in my tent all day and Dutch doesn't say a thing. Why would I tell you anything? - Iris shrugged, her face hopeless. How could Arthur expect anything from her?

- So I could protect you! I'm barely speaking english, how can you expect me to read your mind? - Arthur's eyes looked wet and red but not even single tear fallen down his cheeks. Man was to proud for this.

- Protect me from what? You should protect me from yourself, 'cause you're the one who knocked me over and left - Iris shaked head, face forming into a frown.

- Protect you so you would never get shot, protect you so you wouldn't work like that. I was doin' that with Eliza- - Arthur really tried to justify his need of protection but they both knew he couldn't, not right now.

- The girl I am similar to, but lacking her soothin' temper, eh? Oh I know all your dirty little secrets, 'cause you gave me no reason to trust you and I was right, never taking your presence for granted, nor your words. Arthur, you were going in and out of this relationship like my heart was made of stone - she sobbed, curling up in the very corner of her bed, cuddling a bottle of booze.

- I need you! - man looked at Iris hopelessly, trying anything he could try to get them both back on tracks. But for now there weren’t any right words.

- You merely remember to notice me, back then and now, Arthur - girl waved him off, ignoring confession - but I get this...After all I'm just a kid who can't even kiss you the way you like being kissed. Why would you ever got back to me? - she cried in despair but he just left, leaving her to herself. For Arthur it wasn't leaving because he hated Iris, he just couldn't deal with emotions that were tearing him apart right now, puting pins into his heart and causing migraine, pain pulsing in man's temples. But girl was thinking amiss, taking it as Arthur's giving up.

- Glad that I still have you - she whispered after a moment of looking into direction Arthur went, opening a bottle and downing it at once, then falling on her back and going asleep in yesterday's clothes. They simply weren't meant for each other.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original femal character #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan romance #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan angst #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fluff

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anuninspiredwriter · 6 years

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Selfish - Short Story

I had a lot of feelings today.. so this happened. Sorry that it’s bad. Also, yes, this a super unoriginal title cause I can’t think of anything else.

TW’s: This is hella angsty, love, brief hints towards past abuse, alcohol mention, death, slight violence, mentions of pain, sadness, anger. If there’s anything else, let me know!

She sounded like a forest.

Her voice was rich and deep, like thin, trembling, twisted branches, and tightly bound, sweet leaves. Her sound was full with weightless hummingbirds and strong-scented bark, and she sang in bursting color that seemed to take the form of flower petals.

Every performance was better than the last. From the moment she’d shyly hop on stage to the way she belted the ending, the audience was hypnotized. Her stage presence was amazing, and her songs were even better.

I went to every concert of hers that I could. It became a good escape from my normal life, and a way to forget my memories. The forest quickly became my favorite landscape.

With her small form and beautiful features as well as her voice, she was a weekly staple at small venues, but she never performed at the same one twice. She was daring enough to turn down return offers, just to keep up her reputation. She was daring enough to venture into not-so-good places.

In one of those she found me.

My voice was wild and big. It was filled with horse whispers and too many cracks, and it tumbled and crashed against the rocks of my thoughts with vengeance; battling the sharp alcohol, smudged lipstick, and manipulation of my past.

Our meeting was a mistake. In a dark alley we bumped into one another. I spilled my drink on her skirt. Our apologies overlapped each other and my ocean crashed onto her forest floor.

I was quick to discover that she was much more than her sound. She was the adrenaline of late nights and spiked coffee. She was the careful nature of dirty converses and delicate dresses. She was the softness of a pink sunset, and the mystery of shadows in the night that follows.

After seeing each other several times, I noticed that her forest grew. I continued to go to her concerts, now in the front row instead of the back, but her shows took a new form. I began to hear changes: her rasp smoothing from my constant waves, the growth in her confidence and variety in her routine, and a pained look towards the end of her set.

She held more concerts, just to see me sitting in the front row. She wrote new songs, just to get my approval. She sang for hours, and she saw me smile. Her presence gave nutrients to my water, making flowers grow on sharp thoughts and feelings thrive undersea.

We grew even closer, and I kept adding more water to her land without notice. The pain in her throat grew, but she shushed my concern with soft, cherry flavored kisses and soothing lyrics. She gave me a CD of her music for my birthday that year, the only one she ever made.

I was too late in figuring out that I was being too much. I was flooding her forest by encouraging her new performances, and causing her to hurt her voice. The longer she sang, the more painful it became. Victim to illness, she stopped her work, and unable to sing, her fragile branches broke. Her leaves became so sour they snapped. Her hummingbirds became too heavy to fly. Her bark grew weak. Her flowers wilted and her rainbow paled. I stopped listening to the CD when she was around because I could always see the the tears she tried to blink away.

Late nights turned to late mornings. Coffee turned into the only thing that would wake her up. Her converse stayed clean because she didn’t leave the house. Her dresses were traded for sweatpants, and her softness grew fuzzy with time. Her mystery faded as we got married, and her days became too filled with apologies. I tried to soothe her worries with my own chapped kisses and rough sounding reassurances. She slowly stopped apologizing, and smiled at me with weak features. One night she smiled, laced her fingers through mine and told me how she loved me.

She said that my ocean brought life into her forest, renewed everything that was broken and made her plants shine. She told me that I was the paranoia of hastily drawn curtains, the warmth of sunshine on cold skin, and the intense smell of old spices. She made me feel lovely, and we fell asleep with soft smiles.

Today we woke up. She drank coffee and put on a dress. She kissed me long and sweet. She cooked breakfast and wished me a good day at work. I didn’t notice how pale she was. I didn’t see how thin and weak she was as she stood. I wasn’t there when she called an ambulance, explained that she was dying and waited. I ignorantly left, and was interrupted by the phone call before lunch.

It’s almost midnight. A few minutes ago I came home to an empty house.

I’m listening to the CD for the first time in months, and I’m crying. My mind is filled with “should haves”: I should have payed more attention. I should have drawn back and not damaged her trees. I should have given up my own desire for hearing her voice and payed more attention to her health.

I should have remembered everything my mother did to me.

A mourning should not be filled with “should haves” instead of “I did’s”, but even so, I should have made an effort to do more, because I knew all too well that human selfishness is ruthless, and can easily bring more pain than pleasure.

I sit there for hours, listening to the track repeatedly. I don’t move.

After the CD finishes for the fifth time, I stand, fiercely wiping at the tears on my face. I storm over to the music player, ejecting the disk before taking it in my hands.

I stare at it, bend it a little and wince at my reflection on the shiny plastic. A sudden wave of emotions rushes through me and I scream, throwing the disk across the room.

I don’t fight the new tears that run down my cheeks as I stand, livid.

“The forest is no longer my favorite”, I growl, looking around the room.

My fists clench as I see her book on the nightstand, her shirt in the open laundry hamper, a picture of us on the bookshelf. My heart protests my statement and my head screams at me for destroying the disk, but I shove these thoughts away.

“It’s too painful. I can’t anymore. The forest is no longer my favorite. I was selfish enough to not care for her health properly, I might as well be selfish about this too.”

My voice cracks halfway through my speech, and I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my middle, letting myself wallow in misery.

Taglist!: @nerdychef-jean if you would like to be added, let me know!

#angst #alcohol mention #tw death #tw alcohol #tw alchohol mention #short story #baaaddd short story #this was real bad tho #but I wantsd to post soemthing today so I guess i stuck with thus #sorry for that #my short stories

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laur-rants · 6 years

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Fic Update: Wolfbann

Chapter 2 - With Fangs and Fury

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: [Eventual] Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Synopsis:MORE WEREWOLF AU. Corvo needs to stop being stuck in prison, so let’s fix that. After that, this is gonna get hella canon-divergent, friends. Notes: I changed the name because I now have a concrete idea of where the story is gonna go. Wolfssegner is now Wolfbann! Wolfssegner will appear as the title for a later installment. >w>

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Dunwall, the capital of Gristol in the Empire of the Isles, is ruled by a single major clerical body: the Abbey of the Everyman. Their main stance is simply the opposition of the Outsider, a figure which they believe resides in the Void and from which all chaos is born. Anything leading to or originating from the Outsider is deemed heretical; bonecharms and runes carved from whales, for example, are a sure sign of heretic activities. Bearing a mark, or a sigil tattoo, was another easy way to identify a follower of the Outsider.

And the presence of magic -- of the ability to disappear, possess or even change shape -- is the highest sign of Outsider influence, one to be eradicated immediately.

So Corvo Attano, for all the horrid joke his life has become, cannot understand why he's still alive.

It is a constant ache to continue to live. After he had… had changed, Burrows had done everything in his power to lock Corvo up, throwing him in his pit of a cell, muzzle on his face, kicked like a dog and fed only scraps to survive off of. He could feel his body lurch and spasm -- something under his skin sang and thrummed and wanted so desperately to come out -- but he would only get through half of a blissfully painful transformation before he was tackled, thrown against the wall, his weakened body forced to let go and recede. He would look up, his red and bleary eyes meeting those terrifying, glowing orbs, teeth bared and fur bristling as he pushed Corvo hard against the concrete.

“You are an abomination,” a voice would say, resonating in his head. “And you do not deserve to live.”

And yet, here he was, his weakened state still lingering, carrying the name of a bird, the body of a monster, still clinging to the desecrated life of a man.

He had heard the stories, of course, when he was a child. Of whales that grew fur in the moon and walked on land, of cursed humans forced to transform at night. They would howl and scream and do the bidding of the Outsider; his mother had warned him to stay clean and good, because if not he would join them, the Outsider's whale-wolves. But he had never really believed her: when he grew up, he learned the howls he had heard over the mountains were nothing more than real wolves, lost in the Serkonan jungles. And then in Dunwall, the howls were replaced with the barkings of the Overseer wolfhounds, and he forgot the stories of his childhood, even while raising a child of his own.

Now, he wished he had remembered and taken stock in the tales his mother had warned him of. And in that dank and dreary cell, starving and weak, he couldn't help but wonder what he had done to be cursed with the wrath of a god.

------

“Rise and shine, pit hound,” a gruff voice of a guard said from down the hall, filling his stomach with sickening dread. Corvo looked up and over, eyes trying to adjust as his nose instinctively -- so many things felt instinctive now, things he didn't understand yet and nobody was around to explain to him -- sniffed, the intake of breath giving more than his other senses ever could. There was the stench of the usual guard but another musk hung under that, one he didn't recognize. He narrowed his eyes, body tensing, fist clenching.

When the shadow of a guard passed over his door, he did not rise and he did not shine, much to the armed man's disappointment.

“You have a special visitor today,” he slurred out, amusement coloring his thick words. Corvo's head inclined, trying to get a better look at the man; was something wrong with him? He inhaled through his nose again and finally identified that heady, wooden, sharp stench-- alcohol. It had been a long time since Corvo himself had drank much more than a glass of Cullero Red, shared with the Empress at court, but wine was noticeably sweet, the blow of fermentation softened by the enticement of fruit. Whatever this man's feet was unsteady on, it was made.of much heavier stuff than a fruit of the vine.

Corvo took the time to look the man up and down, and the guard paid little attention to him in his liquored state. Instead, he hummed under his breath, beckoned a friend over, and started to undo the lock.

“Yanno,” he spilled out, and Corvo wrinkled his nose in response, the stench rolling off the guard now bordering offensive, which was saying something, given the state of his cell. Regardless, as the door swung open and the man staggered in, Corvo jumped to his feet, limbs already vibrating with alertness. But the guard ignored him, continuing with whatever he was doing, ignoring Corvo entirely.

“We figured -- me and the boys -- that leaving you here in like this is getting damn boring. A heretic wolf? Think of the entertaining possibilities…”

Corvo watched him, ready to jump out of his skin if needed, body itching-- but whatever excitement he was starting to build was dashed as a second guard hulked into view, blocking the entrance.

And by his feet stood a growling, snapping, snarling pit hound.

Corvo looked down at the dog just as the dog found him and suddenly, it was lurching against the leash, barking, jumping up to go for the throat.

“So we figured if you're gonna be treated like a pit hound, why not fight one?”

Corvo backed up just as the guard backed out, releasing his friend's dog on Corvo in his tiny cell.

Corvo's breath hitched as the large dog became a fury of fang and fur. Before Corvo could really move, long teeth sank into his arm, immediately drawing blood. His heart pounded in his ears, muffling the laughing of the guards, their drunken cheering, and something dark and deep in his chest begged to come out.

He pushed it down, to the best of his ability. He didn't want to give in, to transform, not because of a dog. But the hound was trained, relentless; its long jaws bit at him again and again, fur bristling as it tore chunks from Corvo's arm. He tried to pry it off, but the blood just ran away from its mouth and its jaws tightened, digging strong fangs in, refusing to let go.

The hound growled and pulled. The guards goaded and laughed. And from somewhere against that blur of pain and searing flesh, Corvo snarled.

He would later blame instinct. That unstoppable force driving him now, telling his body what to do, superseding his mind’s control. There was so much that was instinctual now--the way he snapped up rats that wandered too close, the way he went limp when the large grey wolf pinned him down, the way he sometimes sang, calling for someone anyone out there besides him.

The way his claws grew just to rip a dog off of his arm, sending it across the room in a bid to save his own life.

His body trembled and the growl rolled out of him as his back hunched and ears and fur and tail and muzzle all simultaneously sprouted. The dog whimpered where it hit the wall, but courage was bred into it; it growled and barked even as Corvo's frame grew, bulking out and shadowing the dog even as it lunged again for the thick fur growing on his neck. Corvo dropped to all fours, roaring and shaking as his body erupted, moving to throw the dog off again. His jaws snapped -- but they were nothing more than a blunt object against the protective cage of a muzzle that rendered his fangs useless.

But Corvo was only getting bigger -- and the muzzle wasn't growing with him. The leather against his head strained and pulled, and he shook his head again, an unearthly screech erupting out of him that gave even the trained pit hound pause.

Even as Corvo's mind fled, his body was vaguely still aware of the dog barking, lunging for his face once again. It's teeth connected with leather and pulled away; the stretched skin snapped against his face but the pressure finally released and relief filled him, his fangs flashing, jaws clashing, finding muscled bone as they close down and crunch .

The blood filled his mouth and washed hot over his tongue as the dog screamed, howling in pain. Instinct and energy coursed through Corvo and he bit down, again and again, relishing in the snap of bone, in his screaming prey, in his jaws causing a kill, the promise of food, of energy, of life, he could live with this, liveliveLIVE--

Shouts registered in his long, sound-sensitive ears, followed by the jingling of keys and tearful cries. Corvo turned, a rumble deep in his throat as he prepared to defend his prize, his prey, as a guard rushed the cell. He was so much smaller than Corvo now, who was finally --blessedly-- fully transformed. He reached the ceiling, a whale-sized wolf of folklore, and if perhaps he had been sober the guard would have realized how stupid it was to enter a cramped cell with a fully-fledged Outsider Monster, how ludicrous it was to step in between a wolf and its meal.

The shots rang out, feeling like hot stings against Corvo's abused and rage-filled skin. He turned his bloody head to the guard, the man's face filled with tears as he looked to his dog, his prized fighter, now long gone, the life running out just like hers did and suddenly, memory bubbled up unbidden and Corvo shuddered.

Trapped. Framed. Changed. Ruined. Monster. MonstermonsterABOMINATION.

He opened his mouth and howled, his cry like pained whalesong, screeching and eerie and like no sound and animal should ever make. The guard paused, frozen and terrified against the power of his pain.

The open door of the cell suddenly swam into view, and Corvo held onto his sanity long enough to understand what this meant, how he could take advantage of the drunken guard's hubris. He turned from his meal and leapt, ignoring the yells, ignoring the sharp smell of fear and piss as he surged toward the door, willing his body to finally, finally…

Be free!

Corvo choked and and whimpered as a part of him dissolved into smoke, allowing his hulking frame to slip through the too-small door frame. His arms reached out and the guards screamed in terror, as the monster of a wolf emerged from the cloud, dust and ash coalescing back into the solid form of muscle and bone and fur. Corvo was left panting from exhaustion and surprise but he did not wait, couldn't afford to think of anything but freedom, of getting out, of willing his powerful new legs to move to anywhere but here.

He smoked through the rooms in a fevered, instinct-driven fury, not looking back as his tongue lolled out, his eyes bulged, his nose leading the way to the yard, to the sky, to the smell of river water just beyond--

A howl, hungry and excited, sounded out. Corvo froze, heart hammering, brain reeling.

The Royal Executioner. He was coming. And his tone was after blood.

Corvo's pace quickened, his lupine body powered by adrenaline as it continued to surge forward, ghosting through doors and past guards in a cloud of dust and fur and light. He just wanted to get out and his instincts -- his will to live -- refused to let him die here.

Claws crashed against the floor of the courtyard as Corvo landed, hard and heavy, his eyes turned skyward for the first time in months. His nose pointed to the stars and inhaled , taking in the outside air of Dunwall, and his heart sang, his joy palpable as he let out a small howl to the sky.

If he had been human, or had his wits, he would have known such a cheer would have attracted attention, giving his position away. It was stupid to celebrate before the night was won.

But as thick, heavy paws jumped over the ramparts and into the yard, the Wolf named Raven suddenly realized the grave mistake he had made.

Glowing eyes. A bristling, upright frame. And a growl to match the anger in those long fangs.

The Executioner had arrived.

Corvo was large. This was a fact: he filled his cell, he was too big for regular doors, dwarfing human and hound alike. His weight was close to a metric ton. And yet, at full form, the executioner was even larger still. A giant of a dog, he lived up to the old folkname of whale-wolf.

He stood up and the power of him had Corvo shrinking back, the magic of his form something a mere Turned wolf could only dream of having at their disposal.

“You are not going to leave.”

The pressure of his bidding crashed into Corvo and he wheezed, his smaller body unable to handle the onslaught. He whined, claws flexing, tail tucking. The wolf stalked forward, the magic of him crackling, and Corvo bowed to it.

“What a foolish, stupid thing you are. Just like every other Turned, ” he snarled out, drool dropping, teeth gnashing. “You do not deserve this power. You do not deserve to live.”

Corvo whined, body shaking, ears down, not meeting the gaze of the monster before him. But as he stalked closer, something invariably stronger than even the Great Grey pulled on him, yearned for him, and he gasped as the energy from its source flooded him.

Get out. Climb. Defy him and find Me.

Corvo's eyes shot open and he panted, body paralyzed between two forces pushing against him. He looked up just in time to see the other wolf pull back, readying his practiced killing blow.

Come and find Me! You are not his, but MINE!

Corvo's claws shot out, smashing into the larger Wolf’s face with a resounding crash. Fur flew and skin peeled away, leaving angry red lines behind on a snarling muzzle. But Corvo doesn't stick around to admire his handiwork: instead he was leaping, his legs carrying him upward, towards the ramparts, towards the night sky and freedom.

The snarl followed him, loud and angry. The shots of the guards rang out. Hot bullet pricks turned into a spreading fire but still Corvo surged upwards, long strong claws scrabbling for purchase against smooth and heavy stone. He ignored everything around him but his instinct and a pull greater than himself telling him to come, to live, to belong.

He reached the top of the building and sang, the cold night air a blessing against his cursed and battered flesh. Below him, the compound erupted into chaos; more shots rang out, some finding their mark, others ricocheting off the stone.

But Corvo didn't care; finally, he was free. He was tired and wounded but finally he was out and as he leapt into the Wrenhaven River, his body and mind disengaged and let the river wash him away the cursed Coldridge Prison.

------

“Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”

Corvo gasped and jerked awake, drawing breath so fast his whole body spasmed. As he did, the world under him shifted before righting again, rocking back and forth quickly. A soft, tired voice was talking to him, muffled in his ears, hard to understand. But when the gentle hand touched his shoulder he jerked back and away, instinct taking over. His lip curled, the snarl ripping out of him before he could stop it, but the face of the boatman next to him is soft and worried, not scared or threatening.

His was certainly not the face of a Coldridge guard or the Royal Executioner.

“Woah, woah, easy there, Lord Corvo,” he said gently, hand still outstretched towards Corvo as his other steadied his rocking boat. Corvo took a breath and looked around, trying desperately to right himself and understand what was happening.

He was in a boat. A small boat: wooden and rickety and powered by whale oil, it was perfect for traveling down the Wrenhaven and navigating its many tributaries. He looked up and down the huge expanse of water and his breath evened out as he saw that wherever he was, it was far away from the Tower and its cold, hate-filled prison.

Corvo chanced a glance back to the man. His lids hung heavy and he had grey hair, wrinkles, and mutton chops -- but a small smile was also there, laced with worry. No fear wafted from the man and Corvo squinted.

“Who are you?”

Corvo's voice was rough from disuse and abuse for who knew how many months locked in Coldridge. He winced at the sound of his words, and then again as his tongue rolled over teeth that felt to thick and heavy for his current human mouth.

“Samuel Beechworth, at your service, Lord Corvo,” the boatman said with a smile and the sweep of a sitting bow. “Couldn't believe when I found you half-drowned and half-naked among the reeds downstream from the prison. You've been giving the Lord Regent quite the run-around these last few days with your escape, you know.”

Corvo took a few moments to digest that. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing now; a nondescript pair of slacks and suspenders over a few well worn shirts. They smelled foreign, and he couldn't stop the way he nose curled as he pulled at the fabric.

Sam laughed, noticing. “Couldn't let you die of the plague, Corvo. Luckily, I had a few spare outfits stashed in the boat. Hope you don't mind the temporary dressings, I haven't exactly dried out your fancy Protector coat yet.”

Corvo didn't mind, but it didn't stop his muddled head from reeling, still desperately trying to play catch-up.

“Is that how you know who I am?”

“Oh, well that, and I don't think there's a person in all of Dunwall who doesn't know your face by now, Corvo. You've been a wanted man since the Empress died.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three months now, sir.”

Corvo choked and turned to Sam so fast, the boatman barely had time to register his surprise.

“Emily-- What about Emily?” His wrecked voice cracked and something inside him suddenly burned with a deep-seated need to protect. “Where is she?”

Sam looked nervously at Corvo, and his face said everything Corvo dreaded knowing.

“I was mighty afraid you'd ask, sir. The thing is, is that… Nobody knows.”

#dishonored #corvo attano #samuel beechworth #daud #corvo/daud #werewolves #werewolf au #WHALE WOLVES #dishonored au #fic #my fic #fanfic #my fanfic #LEAVE ME TO DIE #IM SO EXCITED FOR WHAT COMES #JUST #LKDJFSLKFJSDKJS #wolfbann #wolfssegner

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 7 years

Text

AFK: A Spark of Hope

WARNING: Some conceptual spoilers from Astraeus’ route.

Angered and hurt by what Voltage did to Hades in Astraeus’ route that was so incredibly out of character, allow me to provide - not an alternative Astraeus route, because I don’t really care that much for him - but a way out of some of the sting of having Hades behave the way he does.

WARNING... yeah another one: It WILL get worse before it gets better.

It’s his condo.

Not ours.

All this… it was all just one big illusion, this happiness I felt, I think… a part of me always knew, this mortal flesh no matter what divine potential is hiding within my soul… never really had a place at his side.

Pretending I did, wishing it was so, was never going to be enough.

It’s pride that keeps my tears from falling, inside I’m drowning – throw into the brine and not set adrift but shoved.

Promises.

Just words, warm in the moment but cold and dead in the aftermath.

“Hey,” Hades prompts, so much tension in a single syllable. “You should eat, even a little.”

There is a snapping retort trapped in my chest, a breath I can’t exhale and I look down at my dinner plate.

If I finish this meal, then what? Go to bed? Lie beside him like he hasn’t given me up?

And maybe, really, despite what he’s said, he was only ever with me because he was able to kiss, tenderly touch something, he could not truly have acted upon when Hera belonged to Zeus.

I was always her.

He never really saw me at all.

And my mother… was that all lies too? Did he lust after her too? Did he… could he have…?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he implores, putting his cutlery down as if to give me his full attention.

But I don’t want it, because I’m looking down on us having dinner at this table like we have so many times before; but in this picture, that woman isn’t me. She shines, radiates that perfect glow of godly power and smiles across at her beloved for all like everything is right with the universe.

My lips twitch, but I can’t manage to smile.

“You know what I’m thinking,” I say, and I hate how hollow my voice sounds in this place The chair scrapes against the floor with a shrill scream of protest. This, inanimate object doesn’t want us to part, I, don’t want us to part, don’t want there to be anger and betrayal building fortified battlements between us – but there it is, there they are, and I didn’t do this.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

He does not follow me with further inquiry or obstruction, doesn’t… try again to explain his choices or reassure. Perhaps he can finally see it, the resignation in my eyes, the death I’ve already suffered though, I have not yet come to stand before his gates.

Rushing water doesn’t clear my head, doesn’t quell the urge of my muscles to run. In fact, the swirling steam chokes, it suffocates like arms I thought were there for my protection, to be my rock when I felt weak - not to hold me to a fate he promised would never be forced upon me.

That’s what this is, it’s rape… rape of the soul and he’s going to hold me down while they do it.

“Do you really think I’ve let them do that to you, my blossom?” a voice enquires, and pink petals feather against my skin, stick there for a moment, clinging, before being washed away.

Like empty vows.

Even if I didn’t recognise his voice, the cherry blossom reveals the identity of my visitor. This was the titan, sentenced like the others to an eternity in Tartarus, who had pursued me even when the might of Hades’ dominance should have scared him away. This was the titan who had shown contrition, in whom, despite the violence against Olympus that had been perpetrated by his kin, I had seen just… a desire to be free from torment.

“Astraeus,” I exhaled, the moist air moving slowly against the uttering of his name. “Why are you…?”

“I came to save you,” he announced, as if as much should be elementary, and his outline appeared on the other side of the fogged glass. “You don’t want me to?”

But it’s not you who should be doing the saving!

This statement is a desperate shriek that breaks a part of me not yet shattered.

“I want…” I begin, but I can’t tell him what I want.

And should I even want that now?

No. I suppose I shouldn’t.

It’s too late for that, too deep in disloyalty.

Cold meets my skin, the shower door opening, and Astraeus smiles.

But it’s not a lewd smile, not the smile of a pervert creeping obscenely on his crush – it’s a sad smile that acknowledges how deep the agony runs, how it flows in my veins and scorch like the most potent vitriol.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells me, and though I bite down on my lower lip as hard as I can, there is no way for me to replicate just how I suffer. “I already know what you want.”

He draws closer, one heavy boot straddling the threshold, one hand reaching through the miasma toward my cheeks wet with so much grief, but the thick violence of Hades’ aura rushes suddenly between us.

I find myself gasping, pressed against the chill of porcelain tiles as the bathroom door explode inward revealing the reaper’s master.

“Astraeus!” he growls, but the titan looks unfazed where he’s been forced across the room, slashing some space for himself with the fierceness of his own aura… and yet no more.

“Can’t blame a titan for trying,” Astraeus grins with a casual shrug, and I am thrown.

“Did he touch you?” Hades rumbles, so quick to give me up and yet still so possessive it seems.

Dark fascination claws at my focus – how lazily Astraeus rests now against the vanity; how complete Hades’ disregard of him is though he should have been seen as a threat.

“Get out,” Hades barks, not waiting for my response.

But he’s talking to Astraeus, the slight turn of his face says so, and while his tone is taut, it is a far cry from the venom I’ve heard there before.

With the shift of his shoulders first, Astraeus smirks and stands tall.

“I did warn you this would happen,” he threw over his shoulder as he passed behind Hades unhampered toward the bedroom.

Not poof and disappears, no, a relaxed stroll out of the bathroom but not the condo.

Consternation, frustration, all of which I’ve seen on Hades’ face before, suddenly seem somehow more defined, and as he stands with his eyes pressed closed a moment, fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, I see something.

A desperate man.

A man, a god, walking a very dangerous path.

“Come on,” he urges, snatching a towel from the rack and spreading it apart.

Does he really expect me to?

“Please leave,” I ask, and despite this new guise I somehow see him wearing, I am guarded against the rise of hope in my heart, burned and shy of further damage.

“Come,” he prompts again.

He says my name, and it’s like dawn over the darkness night, a shower of summer against winter’s pallid grasp over a weary heart.

I can’t remember the last time I heard my name from those lips… and actually believed it.

Frozen, I remain in place, and cautiously he stepped within the shower’s confines. Water turns his shirt transparent, and it sticks to his skin in a way I want so terribly to forget.

He doesn’t deserve these thoughts of yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping the towel outside behind him – two hands with which to grab me, to hold me to his will, not mine.

Frightfully aware of how raw I am, I thunder away from this insipid shroud I’ve allowed to wrap around me, and shove him away with all my strength – and he is caught off guard, or, perhaps doesn’t care to defend himself now.

He flies back, catching the metal frame of the glass wall with his elbow. Destruction follows his body across the room to where he lands amid chipped porcelain and sharp, watery shards. And he groans like any man would, but a bent heap of acceptance for what he has just been dealt.

I want him to know this pain.

Heedless of the cutting threat beneath my bare feet, I step toward where he lifts himself up on one elbow, and I feel suddenly light. Hate for him, for this ugly thing we’ve become, makes me finally feel strong – it takes the place of love for which I thought there was no match.

For lengths I thought he would go to protect me.

And I want to him to know my pain.

Not even my name from him once more can bring me pause.

“Don’t you mean Hera?” I spit, reaching for the very power that has led me here. “You wanted this all along,” I accuse, snarling through the statement. “I’m just a stepping-stone to her… unimportant…”

“No,” he disagrees, but I ignore his vehemence.

“… expendable…”

“No,” he repeats, trying to sit up, but the god-powered slam off my foot into his centre mass lays him flat in the debris.

“… just a vessel to be fill up,” a sob viperously through my teeth, “by her.”

“No, my lo…”

“DON’T!” I roar, and the sheer fury of it fractures every untouched surface. “It’s not love at all, it’s you, and them in control of everything, and everyone, and you don’t give a fuck about me or anyone!”

His lips part, lips I’ve kissed more times than I can remember – but I have to cling to this wrath if I want to be me for the foreseeable future.

“I should kill you, I want to kill you,” I sputter out, struggling to keep the momentum with him looking at me like that.

The past couple of weeks he’d pulled a veil over his emotions, distanced himself, I think, because he didn’t want to have to deal with my emotions, but now… magenta eyes unmasked – I stumble.

“I want to kill you,” I hiss thickly, swiping my arm irately through the air. “But I’m going to leave you here, like this, pathetic, miserable creature that you are – dishonourable, two-faced and alone. I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not, blossom,” Astraeus sighs from the door, and there he is, leaning comfortably and shaking his head in disagreement.

“What?” I cough out, shuffling back, out of Hades’ reach, and Astraeus hides again.

“Warned you it’d end this way,” he declares flippantly, crunching through the chaos to pick pluck a new towel from the rail – a rail clinging precariously to its moorings.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Hades grunts, slowly hazarding to sit up while, Astraeus folds the towel around my shoulders.

I want to move, I want to run out of there while I still can but…

What the hell is this?

“Hey, watch where you’re putting your hands,” Hades barks, eyeing where I stand, Astraeus behind me with his hands still on my shoulders.

“Astraeus,” I prompt.

Shivering and I don’t even realise.

“Come on,” he motions, and though moments ago Hades wanted the same thing from me and I denied him, I move along at Astraeus’ behest, out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “I really do want to mend you,” he tells me, sighing again rummaging through the closet. “And steal you away from him… but…”

“But…?”

My voice is so tired, all the strength from moments ago having drained away.

“But that isn’t really why I’m here,” he goes on, looking at the somewhat worn dressing gown he retrieves before kneeling down in front of me.

It really doesn’t register I’m naked – that’s how much I don’t care.

He rubs the towel against my skin, over shoulders, down my arms, but he keeps it wrapped around me, keeps his hands in places appropriate as they can given the task – until he it tosses the towel aside and replaces it with the robe.

By this time, Hades has crept to the doorway, his own shirt off and towel around his neck. Blood pops loudly from the white fabric, though small cuts from his fall into the edged rubble have already healed away.

Good.

Guilt still stalks me though – I hate it.

I made him bleed.

Astraeus backs off, and I follow him with my eyes, fixing my gaze on his expression – I don’t want to look at Hades anymore, but he’s the one who speaks.

“Misguided, maybe,” he begins. “But not telling you everything… forcing you to go through this, it’s not what I wanted, it’s what I thought would protect you best until…”

“Until what?” I question.

A flat and empty sound, and Astraeus winces just a little.

“It had to look like I was giving in,” Hades admits forlornly, “like I would give you up, make you become Hera.”

Had to… look like…

My eyes drift to the floor, eyes stretched to their limit though there is nothing to see.

“Even you had to believe it,” he sighs, and though I can’t see him, I know exactly the movements he’s making.

The way he drags his hand forward from the nape of his neck through his hair and over his eyes, something I always thought was cute about him.

“Because if they saw through either of us,” he continues, and though I can tell from the volume of his voice he has drawn no closer to me, I can tell he wants to, “then things would be so much worse.”

“Nothing… could ever be worse than this,” I say under my breath.

Crying never solved anything before, and it won’t now, but they beg again.

What’s left of me that I haven’t already given? What words? What actions? What energy? Somehow, I find just enough to turn my head to him.

Just when I think there is nothing left to break, it takes the extraordinary, the truthful distress of his expression to find some new place to rupture.

“We are out of time,” he scowls. “The pantheon does need Hera, the world does, but…”

That last words hangs in the air, suspended there and coloured by all the ones that came before it.

I love you but we’ve tried everything.

I love you but I can’t think of any other way.

I love you but this is how it has to be.

I love you but I’m giving up on you.

“… but how could I give up on you?” he finished, and my eyes clench shut. “Even if you hate me, going with Astraeus now, making it look like he took you for his own reasons is the only way I can buy more time to freely find another way to restore Hera’s power without having to sacrifice the woman I…”

There he stops, collecting his thoughts as I weep, before starting over.

“And maybe this was too much, too reckless, and maybe I don’t deserve to feel love, let alone be loved, but I do.”

“You,” I exhale, such a piteous sound, “want me to go?”

“No,” he rushes, losing the battle with his self-control and falling down in front of me. “Not for all the power on Olympus,” he chokes out, his hands trembling where they hover over my knees, not quite able to bring them down and make contact. “But to keep you safe?” he ventures softly, sombrely. “To keep you safe, from Zeus, from the pantheon.”

Can I ever look at him again? And if I can, what will I even see?

Am I being played here? Tricked so I’ll give myself up willingly.

“Astraeus?” I question, head still down turned, eyes still closed.

When I can trust him, over the man I thought I could give everything to…

“Maybe I’d like to say he’s just trying to save face,” Astraeus replies from his place leaning against the wall on the other side of the bedroom, “keep you all for myself, this isn’t even just about you, blossom. It’s also about reconciliation, reparation, release of the titans who committed no crimes.”

“What?” I frown, my head now lifting, my eyes flying open, and Hades fills my field over vision.

“I have let Zeus wield his power like a belligerent toddler for much longer than I ever should have. And Hera’s death her… cry for help, that should have been my wake-up call,” he says passionately, and finally his hands fall against me.

Warm, large hands I should despise, thought I did.

“Maybe chaos will be the end result, perhaps my father will get his revenge for our overthrow,” he continued, honestly, “but with Astraeus’ help, with the titans who stand behind him and who just want to live free of pain, I’m going to depose my brother.”

It really doesn’t get much bigger than that.

“But he can’t see it coming, not even suspect,” Hades impresses. “And so I had to deceive you too, so he couldn’t, reach out to you when you weren’t even conscious of it and steal away those plans. Because even if he couldn’t kill me for plotting to betray him, he could still destroy you, and that… is a future I cannot bear to think about.”

I thought I was empty.

My head droops forward until my brow connects with the top of his head, and there I remain, still, while the tiniest of sparks reveals itself. Where it has been hiding all this time, praying it would not be extinguished, I do not know, but somehow now, there is light.

“I…” I murmur finally finding my voice again.

… can’t believe you.

… want to believe you.

“… believe you.”

Snuff me completely out of existence if I’m wrong this time, please, no more - but if I don’t stoke the fire of that little spark, why bother going on anyway?

Hades shudders.

He’s actually crying.

Astraeus’ leathers creak as he moves.

“Time to go, blossom,” he urges, ignoring the way my hands hand smoothed up over Hades’, how he turns his over to entwine our fingers.

“I love you,” Hades whispers, so very quietly, then pulls me against him.

Behind our embracing bodies, Astraeus clicks his tongue and turns away.

So I’ll go away for now. Leave Hades and the life I thought I would have with him… but not for good.

SO!

Okay, so it’s not the happy, or explosive ‘Hades will kill anyone who threatens MC’ that I initially intended it to be, but, in order for me to meld what Voltage did with Hades, with what we know and love about Hades, it had to hurt a whole lot before I could leave it on a positive note… sort of.

It’s funny, because Jazz and I were talking about it only the other day. We thought to start our bias’ here would battle it out until it seemed far better for them to team up against the REAL problem on this franchise – ZEUS. He’s sooooo screwed now.

<3 B

@mai-dreaming @kiniloves @reinasescape @smutmylifeup @hifftn

#voltage inc #voltage fanfiction #voltage should hire me #AFK #Astoria Fate's Kiss #Hades #Astraeus #fixing voltage's fail

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