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lizard-shifter-noms · 2 months

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Still Subject to Change Chapter 9 (NEW)

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i'm sorry.

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Seeing the forest come closer I was actually relieved to finally be out of here and looked over my shoulder to see that the tower really was built to keep big Monsters in there with its thick walls and embedded spikes.

I shuddered and hoped I would never see this thing again, so turning back I instead focused on the treeline and not stepping on anyone.

Yep, still weird to think about that I could end someone's life with a single misstep and I tried not to think about it, and instead just drag my feet over the ground so that if someone were to be there they'd get toppled over and not squished under me.

Reaching the Forest's edge I assumed that they would let us go now, but it seemed we were still too close to their Kingdom so we had to walk into the forest even further.

I didn't dare speak out of fear that they would shoot me, but Robin seemed to have no such concerns.

“When are we there? I want to talk to Donovan, also where's Arthur?”

I tensed at his last Question accidentally squishing Arthur a tiny bit making him move more than before and I hurried to hold my breath and cut off his air supply, however that worked.

He stopped moving after a few seconds but this sure had been a scare, if he had woken up and someone noticed it we would have been fucked.

I still felt incredibly guilty but it couldn't be helped, I just hoped he'd understand.

I almost missed the guy's answer as I was busy holding my breath and my attention was focused more… inwards.

“Oh you can talk to your big friend later ALLLLLL you want as for this Arthur guy? He's been taken care of don't worry”

I did Not like the condescending tone the Guard had used but I couldn't really do anything about it which frustrated me even more.

At least Rikaad was able to step between them and shot a death glare at the offending guard who actually backed up a bit.

We continued walking in silence, safe for the Guards communicating amongst themselves.

I could feel Arthur lying limply against my insides, only moving occasionally and sending a thrill up my nervous system whenever he made a bigger movement.

I tried to Ignore it but since he was literally inside me that was near impossible, and I couldn't help but worry about the feeling.

What if that's what the Bracelet made me do? What if one day it urged me to eat someone for real?

Shoving these thoughts down I instead focused on the road so I wouldn't trip, and I could see that the tower was a bit further away now.

I really hoped they would just let us be already but it seemed that we were still too close to the Kingdom for their comfort.

At this point we had already passed the spot where I got shot at and were led even deeper into the woods towards the mountain.

Coming to a bigger clearing they ushered Robin and Rikaad to be in the center and threw both of them a bag, probably their own stuff judging by the clunking sound of metal.

The Guards still surrounded me, but I wanted them to go away already so I could talk to Robin and try to find a spot where I could let Arthur out so Rikaad wouldn't see it.

Arthur himself was still peacefully asleep, courtesy of a low oxygen environment and had thankfully not woken up during all of this.

But I did dread the part where he would, I didn't know how he would react and it scared me.

I also had to fight to keep my hand from settling over the warm lump in my core so as to not give away anything to the Guards.

The Guards walked around me to stand at the treeline of the small clearing, I didn't move as I really didn't want to step on someone.

Suddenly a Horse came up with an ironclad knight on its back.

The rider removed the helmet and i could see that it was the king, nobody else i knew had such a monobrow.

Did he follow us? I immediately became worried, Would he tell the others that I ate Arthur? I hoped not.

The guards all stood in a line next to him with their crossbows loaded.

I had a bad feeling about this and I was proven right as the king suddenly had a wicked grin on his face.

“SOLDIER! AIM! SHOOT THE BEAST! I WILL NOT TOLERATE SUCH A MONSTER NEAR MY KINGDOM!”

Aa all the Guards suddenly aimed their crossbows at me.

I didn't even wait to see what they would do and Instead turned to run in the opposite direction, snatching up Robin and Rikaad as I did so and getting the hell away from there as fast as I could.

Ignoring Rikaads surprised shout i just ran towards the mountains to bring as much distance between us and Maringand as possible making sure to not drop either of them.

Feeling Arthur start to move again I held my breath once more hoping that he'd fall back asleep even with all the movement.

It took longer than before and sprinting while not breathing made my lungs burn but after about three minutes he was still again.

I really hoped none of the others had noticed him squirming but glancing down while running showed that Rikaad was focused on the way we came, probably looking for any pursuers and Robin was just Clinging to my fingers.

I ran until I could no more, occasionally holding my breath to prevent Arthur from waking up.

I didn't really know how long I had been running but as I looked back I could not see the tower anymore and it was well after midday.

I sank to my knees gently letting Robin and Rikaad to the ground while I panted, my lungs burned from running and holding my breath and I did my best to calm down as fast as possible.

I did not want Arthur to wake up now from all this, not now at least.

I was still trying to figure out how to handle this and having him wake up now would be extremely awkward.

Rikaad seemed to stand Guard and looked in the direction we came from.

“We should continue after you rested, then we can figure out what happened to Arthur and how to get him back”

Ah fuck i really needed to make a plan.

Looking at Robin instead to make sure he was alright too and I didn't grab him too harshly I saw him staring at me, or more specifically my middle.

While I sat there I had unconsciously put a hand over my Pouch where Arthur lay and I yanked it back, looking at Robin and putting a finger over my lips to tell him to never say a word about it.

He nodded but still tilted his head at me with curious look in his eyes, i would tell him later what had happened, when I got the chance to do that without Rikaad listening in.

Being hunched over like this made the weight in my core just a lot more prominent as Arthur was lying on what was previously the front wall.

Getting up again and holding my breath anew even if I still felt like I needed more time to rest.

And feeling Arthur slide around in my pouch when I was hunched over was a bit weird.

I wanted to go as far away as possible as fast as possible from that place so I forced myself to continue on.

“Alright let's go i want to never go near that hellhole again we can worry about Arthur when i'm sure i wont get shot again”

I slowly stood up and went to walk even more towards the mountain.

I was glad that riding on horseback through the woods was not a good idea, otherwise we'd have to worry about that too right now.

Holding my breath again I went in the direction of the mountains in a straight line, not like there were any roads here anyway.

Robin scrambled after me and Rikaad started to walk faster too to keep up.

“It is going to be dark soon we should look for a campsite if possible”

At Rikaads words i looked around, it was indeed getting darker, How long had i been running?

No matter right now I needed to get Arthur out without the others or at least Rikaad noticing and I still didn't have a plan on how to do that.

So we ended up setting up a temporary camp near a river, still far enough to not be able to see said river but close enough to get water, and I felt extremely awkward the entire time.

I had their Friend within me for fucks sake! And the only one that didn't know was Rikaad at this point.

It didn't help that I had to fight with myself to keep my hands from straying to settle onto my middle.

If Rikaad did notice my odd behavior he didn't say anything about it luckily.

I kept frequently holding my breath to make sure Artur did not wake up and hoped to God that this wouldn't give him brain damage from the low oxygen he had been exposed to for some time now.

The Dark came as soon as we managed to light a fire, The crackling sounds provided a soothing white noise and I finally got an idea as I saw in the glinting light how dirty my legs had become.

And not just my legs, everything about me was dusty and on some spots downright caked in dried or fresh mud.

So I stood up and on the other two confused looks told them what I was going to do.

“I'm going to wash myself in the river, stay here i don't want any of you seeing me without clothing”

Robin looked a bit confused at first but then nodded, motioning a thumbs up, he'd been weirdly quiet since the capture.

I would talk to him later to make sure he was alright but for now I had other things to deal with.

Rikaad just made a dismissive hand motion and instead focused on the fire so I left to go a good bit downstream, away from where they could hear or see me.

I went a good bit further than that to make sure that even if it got loud they wouldn't notice, which took about five minutes to walk.

I had stopped holding my breath while walking and I could feel Arthur start to move again as I took deep breaths to supply him with fresh air.

The movements were confused at first, then a curious hand prodded my insides before he went still again, not unconscious, more like a stiff weight that held itself and it seemed like he was terrified of moving.

I even heard him say.

“Oh fuck”

I finally allowed myself to put a hand on my abdomen and poked at him, receiving a surprised noise in response.

“Arthur? Are you okay?”

He shifted confusedly for a second before answering.

“What? You ate me, why would you ask that?”

He seemed still a bit groggy so I would do one thing after the other for now.

“I didn't really eat you, but can you tell me if you're okay?”

I was a bit worried over the fact that I had essentially kept him in a low air environment and hoped I didn't damage his brain or something.

“What do you mean by that? And uh… well i Feel fine? wait-”

He started shifting a lot and I had to bite back a pleased hum at the feeling of having my insides rubbed, I didn't want to scare him after all.

“What the FUCK! Donovan, what the hell is going on?!”

He suddenly was a lot more energetic, seemingly having figured out that he'd been in there for some time now and was still okay.

So best to finally explain this…chaos.

“First off you're fine! And you will stay fine! You're not in my stomach okay?”

“Where the hell am I then? You fucking ate me!”

Well there was the anger, but now I knew that beneath that anger was fear, so I would try my best to reassure him.

“You are in my pouch not my stomach, basically i have some of my organs doubled but not all of them work so you're fine and nothing will happen to you in there”

He seemed to freeze at my words, likely trying to comprehend what I just told him.

Then I felt an indignant kick against my insides.

“WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS SOONER!”

Now he really was angry instead of afraid and I sighed.

“I literally couldn't! Not with that Monobrow guy listening in! He would have killed us both!

Besides You said it yourself that you couldn't act to save your life! I'm sorry that I had to do this but it's better than death isn't it?”

He seemed to calm down at my words, probably realizing that I was right.

“So wait, are we still in the tower or why are you suddenly talking to me? And how did you manage to keep me asleep during all of this???”

At least those two questions were easy to answer but I hoped he wouldn't get angry again at hearing that I had deprived him of air.

“We are not in the tower anymore, i got us as far away as possible when we got out, as for keeping you asleep well uh- I just held my breath so you'd get less air?”

He didn't kick or punch me, instead he just flopped backwards against the walls of my pouch.

“You know what, okay why not? Are at least Robin and Rikaad okay? Wait, do they know I'm in here?”

I decided to try and answer the questions in the order I heard them.

“The others are okay, they are at out camp a bit away and no the don't know where you are, at least Rikaad doesn't, and i'd appreciate it if you'd never tell them about this, i'm not keen on getting stabbed by Rikaad to be honest”

He shifted again a bit and I had to suppress another delighted hum.

“So if we are away from the tower can you let me out? No offense but i don't like this and i never want to repeat it”

Walking a bit into the stream after chucking my shoes onto a boulder to keep them dry while he talked I could understand that he didn't want to do this ever again, so as long as he promised to not tell anyone I'd let him out as soon as possible.

“Of course I'll let you out just give me a sec, also can you promise me to never tell Rikaad about this? I'll help you come up with a believable cover story if you want”

Coming up with something would probably be difficult as he admitted to being a bad actor, so something simple would have to do.

Feeling him move again to sit up I walked even deeper into the widest part of the river, but the water still didn't go over my entire legs so I just stood there in the calves deep water listening for his answer.

“Yeah sure, i even swear on God to not tell Rikaad unless you tell me to, now get me out of here”

“Alright… try to go limp… i'm going to get you out now”

I felt a squirm of confirmation as I pressed in with my hand, and tensed up as I forced my body to throw up the form in my pouch.

Feeling something travel the wrong way up your esophagus wasn't by any means pleasant but I was used to it by now from the years of hiding valuables in there.

It wasn't long until I felt the cursing form of Arthur reenter my mouth and I plucked him out with two fingers, dangling him over the river in the pale moonlight.

“Fucking hell! How long was I in there? And set me down already! I hate this!”

I couldn't really set him down right now as I stood in the middle of the river and he would get swept away by the cool water that flowed around my legs so I instead cupped him in my hands.

He was a lot less slimy than I thought he'd be but still needed a wash to get rid of the bit of slime that did cling to him.

“One second, unless you want me to dump you in the river, also how are you? Are you okay?”

I walked back towards the riverbank so I could set him down.

“I've seen better days to be honest, and i'm sorry for what my uncle did to you guys”

Setting him down slowly onto the rocky dirt covered shore I went to wring out the hem of my shirt that had gotten wet when I bent over to get Arthur out before what he said registered in my brain.

“That Was Your Uncle??? What? Wait a sec, if that guy is your uncle then-”

He interrupted me before I could say another word.

“Yes my dad was the King, but frankly i didn't really know him aside from when i had to stand at his side during some stupid events, and no i'm not sad that he's dead i never cared about being some stupid royalty, at least i wasn't inbred like some of my other relatives”

He seemed to shudder at the last bit and not entirely from the cold.

“I thought Winton had told you who i am, ah fuck, how about you don't tell anyone about my royalty status and i keep quiet about the pouch thing okay?”

This did seem like a good deal but one thing confused me.

“Deal! Though, Who the fuck is Winton? Is that the monobrow guy? Don't tell me That ugly fuck is your uncle”

He flopped over into the mud of the riverbank groaning.

“Yes he is, i like to pretend that he's not though, i hate him”

That was completely understandable, I had only been around that guy for about a day and I already despised him as much as physically possible, and Arthur had to live with that for who knew how long.

Though now we needed to come up with a reason as to why Arthur wasn't kept captive anymore.

“So, any idea for a cover story? You know Maringand better than me”

He flopped onto his back in the dirt sighing.

“I'll just tell them i escaped through the sewers, as disgusting as it is it's believable enough and they probably won't ask for details”

That sounded good enough, I knew I wouldn't ask how someone crawled through a sewer, or at least not expect them to answer it.

“So can we go back now? I want to actually see Robin and Rikaad again”

That would be nice, but suddenly coming back with Arthur might be a bit suspicious, there was no way he would have kept up with us, especially since he had way shorter legs than I did and I had done an Adrenaline fueled sprint away from Maringand.

“Not a good idea, you suddenly turning up this fast is going to raise questions so maybe not today, ehh Night i mean”

It would be even better if he backtracked a bit so when Rikaad would usher us back to get him we'd ‘meet’ him on the way.

“Maybe even backtrack a bit? Rikaad is going to go back to get you anyway so if you go back a bit we meet you there and it's more believable”

He slowly sat up, now having mud stuck to the back of his shirt and put a hand over his face.

“Yeah that is a plan, not one im looking forward to but im not going to admit that i was eaten and didn't even do anything to stop you, that's just awkward and kinda embarrassing”

At least he shared my view on that point, so I went to sit next to him in the mud.

I would wash that anyway so I wasn't concerned with getting it even dirtier.

“Well you better get moving then, you have to go downstream and a bit to the right”

I pointed to where he had to go and he slowly stood up and started walking, even if his legs seemed to be moving a bit weirdly, they probably fell asleep in the time he didn't use them.

I was right in my guess as Arthur actually did comment on it.

“Dude my legs are wonky, how long was I in there? no wait don't answer I don't wanna know that, see you and the others tomorrow?”

The last part went an octave higher and I could clearly see that he was worried but did not want to show it.

Instead he started to walk through the woods and I hoped that I hadn't just made a mistake, After all, the woods were still dangerous and now he was unarmed.

I REALLY hoped I hadn't made an irreversible error but he was already out of sight so I went back to striding into the river, planning to finally get all the dirt out of my shirt and pants.

The cool water felt Pleasant against my sore legs and while I just let the stream wash away the mud on my pants I took my shirt off and swirled it in the water a few times to get everything out.

Dragging the now heavier shirt out of the water i wrung it out a few times before realizing that if i put it on again i'd likely get a cold or something, So the shirt had to stay off until it was dried.

Ah Fuck.

That ment i had to go back to the camp shirtless and try to dry it against the comparatively small fire we had.

I hoped no one would take offense to the fact that my top half was naked, but knowing Robin he'd more likely ask about my scars than complain about me missing my shirt.

Standing on the riverbank I wrung out my pants as best as I could while wearing them and slipped my shoes back on as I started to walk back, trying all the while to wring out my shirt as best as I could so it would dry faster.

I returned to a happily flickering fire and saw Rikaad inspecting Robin's face, apparently checking for bruises.

I realized with a pang that I might be too big to see small injuries, at least Rikaad was here to assess them.

Upon hearing me come back two heads simultaneously looked at me but Rikaad went back to checking Robin over who grinned at me.

Something was wrong with his teeth but I couldn't figure out what, I was too far away and probably too big too.

I sat next to the fire and put my shirt as close as I dared, I didn't want it catching on fire after all, then gave a worried look over to Robin.

“Are you alright? You've been weirdly quiet since we left Maringand”

He motioned for me to get closer and I bent down to be more at eye level for him.

He showed off his teeth and I finally saw what was wrong, The tooth behind his left canine had a small piece missing making his canine appear far more pronounced, like a fang.

No wonder he's been so quiet that must have been painful.

“How did that happen? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, making his messy ginger hair bounce around his skull.

“I'm fine, one of the Maringand Guards told me to shut up and hit my teeth, but that aside where did your shirt go??”

I was glad he seemed to be okay and gestured vaguely to the shirt lying next to the fire.

“I'm letting it dry before putting it back on, not keen on catching a cold out here”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rikaad nodding.

“A good idea, though we should rest soon i will take first watch”

He did have a point in that, we really should sleep soon and i could put my shirt back on tomorrow as embarrassing as them seeing my scars was i wouldn't risk a sickness right now.

“Is that where your kidney is missing?”

I flinched a bit at the question, it seemed Robin had come closer as I stared into the Flames of the campfire and was looking at the pale line of scar tissue at my side.

“Yeah it is, i'm glad i punched that guy when i did or had have killed me for sure”

He seemed to stare at it a bit longer before his gaze became that glazed over look again for half a minute.

He snapped out of it and shook his head.

“You have any more scars? You don't have to tell me though!”

Well I did have a few more but most of them were from mundane stuff like falling off a tree or climbing into small spaces, though there was a long thin line across my back doing shoulder to shoulder that I received from a blade.

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

#sstc #lizards writing #vore story #giant/tiny #soft vore #extreme cuddling #g/t story #g/t vore #v0re #sfw vore #Barmea #Maringand #magic

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onboardsorasora · 3 months

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Just a silly thing I thought of. Sweet and fluffy thoughts of Maxiel parents at the Renaissance Fair.

“Hanna banana do you want another– no don't eat that!” Daniel scooped up the toddler in his arms, tickling under her arms to get her to giggle. Her poofy princess dress floofed over his tattooed arms, making him look like he was holding a giggling ice cream cone.

Daniel smiled and kissed her ruddy, chubby cheeks, walking them back to their group that were holding spots in the little grandstands. They'd been at the Renaissance Fair all afternoon, seeing all the different acts and artisans. Now they were waiting on the final jousting show of the day to begin.

It was their last excursion of the afternoon, Max had eagerly wanted to see the thrilling conclusion after the Tournament of Champions turned into a fake bloodbath filled with intrigue and subplots of deception and political drama.

Hanna squealed a happy sound and reached out of the circle of Daniel's arms towards Max who grinned over at them. Daniel found himself struck dumb as always at how beautiful Max looked when he and Hanna looked at each other like they both hung the moon and stars.

Max took Hanna in his arms and the baby burrowed her face into Max's bare neck. Daniel reached over to flick an errant loc of hair from Max's eyes. His baby blues looked bright and especially vibrant today under his dark blue eyeshadow.

“Did you enjoy looking at the horses?” Max asked, using the billowing sleeve of his costume to wipe at a smudge of dirt on their daughter’s cheek.

“She didn't even like want to look. Started toddling towards the bar that one.” Daniel chuckled and Max exhaled a laugh, clutching Hanna close and kissing at her beaming cheeks.

“Oh no lil bean, you're not old enough to try mead yet.” Lewis leaned over and tickled Hanna’s side, grinning when she giggled into Max's skin.

Daniel packed away the half eaten snacks in the bag in their stroller and then slipped his now free arm around Max's tiny corseted waist. His red and blue wench’s costume was beautiful in how it showed off his neck, shoulders and chest.

“Daniel, could you– my knot came undone again.” Max asked sheepishly and Daniel pecked his cheek before kneeling happily at his booted feet. He made quick work of bunching Max's long skirts and knotting them at thigh height so that his darling wouldn't overheat in the humidity.

“Every time you knot it you go higher and higher. I think you are trying to expose me to all these people, maybe.” Max teased.

“Babe with those legs, everyone will be getting a treat.” Daniel smirked at Max's blush.

“God you both are gross.” Lando complained walking up to them, his hands laden with drink. He handed a copper tankard to a now standing Daniel, and Lewis.

“One day you'll grow up and find someone you can stand in the daylight young one.” Daniel teased, accepting a silver tankard as well and popping a metal straw in the sparkling liquid. He brought it to Max's pink lips.

Lewis snorted and sipped his own drink before getting everyone's attention. “We have to remember to take that group pic.”

“I wish we thought about it before Hanna spat up on Daniel's costume.” Max commented mournfully, looking over at the large three that adorned Daniel's chest instead of the vest and shirt that matched them as a pair.

“Eh, no sweat it Maxy. I don't think our little princess liked it as much as you did.” Daniel laughed. “Next year we can be a pirate family.”

“And if you're lucky, Hanna won't want to be a dinosaur.” Lando chuckled which caused them all to laugh.

#literally just wanted something sweet and fluffy #maxiel #max/daniel #my ficlet

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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

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Fight For Me

(C!Technoblade x gn!possessive!Reader)

Request 11: could I maybe request some c!techno x gn!possessive!reader fluff that follows someone trying to threaten techno while completely brushing off the reader only for the reader to step in and feral threaten them back (perhaps some fighting ensues with reader coming out on top) and then techno is awestruck by his partner which is then where the fluff comes in

Requested By: @bowlofsoup

I hope you like it!

“Sweetheart can you do me a favor and pass me the blaze powder,” Technoblade asked from his hunched-over position at his brewing station. He was wearing more casual clothes, his glasses loose on his nose, hair pulled back into a messy bun. You sat next to him on one of the chests, legs swinging up and down, you were wearing one of Techno’s oversized shirts.

“Sure thing,” You hummed tossing open the chest and handing him a bottle of said powder, he reached forward to take the bottle from your hands and you kissed his lips before he could take the bottle. Technoblade purred happily, his eyes going half-lidded at the surprise kiss, you chuckled against his lips as he flushed pink.

“Cringe.”

“Nerd,” You shot back with a smile he rolled his eyes focusing back on his potions, “Why’re you making these again?” Your gaze shifted towards the window. It was snowing again, it was always snowing. You hated that you were getting sick of the constant cold you wondered what the weather was like back at L’manburg or L’manhole was a better term for the once-prosperous nation. Technoblade looked back up at you, his hand reached out to interlock with your own, which caught your attention snapping you out of your daydreaming and you smiled back at him.

“Someone wants to buy them off me, figure sees what they’d offer me for it, not like I’m worried about getting jumped or anything,” Technoblade smirked coyly at you, almost like he was awaiting your praise. You didn’t fall for it though, simply letting out a little hum in approval, he frowned and cleared his throat.

“Oh sorry. Oh baby you’re so brave and strong, no one can take you down.” You pressed your hands together swooning sarcastically, Technoblade frowned and put you into a headlock. You laughed loudly instead of fighting against him you snuggled in his hold, “You’d never hurt me.”

“Try me.”

“Is that a challenge?” You mused with a flutter of your eyelashes, Technoblade flushed a little and grumbled under his breath. He could feel the smugness radiating off your entire being, if you were anyone else he would’ve sent you through a wall.

“Just shut up and grab a bag for the potions. They’re almost done.”

“Yes sir.” You saluted hopping off the chest to grab your bag from the coat rack, it was a soft brown bag covered in patches. Holding the bag open you allowed Technoblade to place the potions inside of them, “we ready to go?”

“You grabbed your coat and had breakfast right?” He raised an eyebrow, it seemed to be your turn to flush and Technoblade frowned, “Right?” Technoblade’s eyes narrowed in your direction and he watched you tap your fingers together sheepishly. “You’re a disaster, you’d be dead without me. Eat,” Technoblade dragged you into the kitchen and pulled out a roll for you to munch on, “Jam?”

“Yes please.” You gave a firm nod as he grabbed the knife and spread it on the bread before handing it to you.

“Remember to eat, can’t have my Starlight starving themselves,” The way you turned red made the hybrid smirk coyly at you. “You mean too much to me to go out in such a lame way, there has to be at least a little bit of bloodshed. Maybe some dismemberment if you’re lucky.”

“Damn and to think I was flattered for half a minute.” Techno chuckled at your comment, a deep rumble in his chest, you couldn’t help but smile yourself. You bit off a piece of bread, teeth tearing through the food easily “Ready to go now?”

“Finish eating then we can go. There’s no rush.”

“Isn’t someone waiting for us?”

“Let them wait,” Technoblade shrugged, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you close. You melted into his warm body closing your eyes, just taking a moment to bask in your love for the Blood God, how did you get so lucky?

Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the same thing about you.

Eventually, you pulled away from him, much to his displeasure, and reluctantly said you both should head out. He huffed in protest and you pecked his lips, assuring him that the long journey would be worth it in the end. You both slide on your winter gear and headed towards Carl in the stables, you scratched the horse’s nose and he whinnied at the attention from his second favorite person. Technoblade tossed him an apple to which he munched on happily before applying his saddlebags to the sides of the horse, he hopped onto him and held a hand out to you. You took the hand with a wild smile swinging your leg over the side of Carl and wrapping your arms around Technoblade’s waist securely. He looked at you over his shoulder and pecked your forehead lightly, you cooed at him in response, and just like that the both of you were off. As you traversed the Tundra, your adoring boyfriend decided it would be a great time to quiz you on your fighting skills. He always did this, especially when he was nervous about something, you concluded a part of him was nervous the deal would go south and you’d end up hurt. You squeezed him a little and answered all his questions in hopes you’d ease his worries, it seemed to work as he relaxed against your chest. You would’ve played with his hair if it wasn’t tied up in a bun, so instead, you settled for giving him gentle kisses on the back of his neck.

He was a wreck by the time you got to the meeting spot, all red-faced and embarrassed. You did feel a little guilty but it was also very entertaining to watch him slide off the horse all frustrated with your antics. “You’re lucky we have somewhere to be,” he vaguely threatened and you hummed,

“What happened to ‘they can wait?’” His red eyes narrowed into slits and Carl stomped his foot, “oh you’re such a party pooper.” You complained as the horse nudged you forward towards the meeting spot. Technoblade huffed now turning his glare on Carl for interrupting your moment. He adjusted the sword at his hip and marched forward expecting you to follow, you did, but it’s the principle that irked you. Walking a little way down the wooded path you came across a man in a beanie leaning against a tree, he had small yellow wings and a scar going from his right eye down to the top of his lip. Your head snapped to Techno and you hissed, “You didn’t tell me it was Quackity! The mother fucker planned your execution!”

“Hush.” He waved you off, “money is money. If he can offer us something good we shouldn’t complain.”

“But-”

“Finally!” The man groaned stretching his arms above his head, his small wings fluttered as he pushed off the tree, “Took you long enough. Who’s your little friend?” He raised an eyebrow at your stature and you glared hotly at him, already wanting to tear his throat out.

“My partner.” Technoblade answered monotonously, “Is that important?”

“Romantically or like your bodyguard.” He snickered at the mental image of the Blood God hiring a bodyguard for himself.

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, Technoblade’s hand squeezed your shoulder trying to calm you down.

“I suppose not.” Quackity clapped his hands together, his two golden rings bouncing off one another making a soft clicking sound, “let’s get down to business than Mr. Blade. I want the potions you have, what exactly do you want in return?”

“What can you give me?” Technoblade raised an eyebrow, his hand never leaving the bag of potions at his side, Quackity tapped his chin in thought.

“Anything you desire. I came into a… a lot of money recently, a lot of people owe me a few favors. So I can truly give you anything,” Quackity smirked as you noticed Technoblade’s eye twitch, he didn’t like the sound of someone having so much power, and to be honest you didn’t either.

“Huh. well alright then.” He grunted drumming his fingers against the bag, “these favors people owe you, what exactly did you do for them?”

“Are you asking me to spill all my secrets? Techno you dog.” He purred out teasingly, “they made some bets with me and they lost simply as that.”

“What did they lose?” You asked and Quackity rolled his eyes,

“You’re a talker aren’t you?”

“Back off.” Technoblade snarled earning another eyebrow raise from the man, but you did briefly see fear flicker across his eyes. “You talk to them like that again deals off and I take another one of your teeth, understand me.”

“Understood, big guy. No hard feelings.” He held up his hands in defense his tiny wings ruffling a little bit showing off his nervousness, “Although your attitude just proves my point. You’re a brute and you’ll always be a brute.” Technoblade didn’t respond to the harassing but had a feeling you might as the pressure on your shoulder increased. Your jaw was set hard, as Quackity continued, “you truly are more monster than human.”

Oh, he did not just say that to Techno.

In one swift movement, you pulled Technoblade’s sword from its sheath at his side and drew it in front of you, pure anger flooding through your veins. Techno tried to grab the sword before you did something stupid but you were already charging at Quackity. He looked a little frightened as an ax appeared at his side, “Take it back.” You spit as metal clashed against metal, your eyes blazing with unadulterated rage, “Take it back right now. He’s so much more than that.” You swung the sword back which caused Quackity to stumble backward throwing off his rhythm,

“Bite me bitch.” Quackity snapped back attempting to regain his footing as he blocked another blow from you,

“Don’t tempt me birdie.” You sassed right back, which threw him off his game again not expecting you to come back with a retort and a nickname. You kicked him solidly in the chest and he fell flat on his ass the sword swung and the tip dug into his throat. His adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped nervously,

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” He sputtered out as you narrowed his eyes, “look I’m sorry okay, okay! My mouth gets the best of me sometimes, I’ll admit that! I’m a humble guy!” You rolled your sharp (e/c) eyes at that statement, “Look, deal still on this time I’ll throw in two gold rings yeah?” He swallowed thickly “Also all the diamond I have on me and in my enderchest.”

Turning to glance at Techno for the first time he cleared his throat looking absolutely flushed. He shifted uncomfortably and marched over to the both of you a hand resting on your lower back. Technoblade glared down at the duck hybrid,

“We don’t want your rings. I want all the money you’ve won from your deals and a god apple.”

“I don’t have-”

“Then think of it as an I.O.U. birdy.” You pursed your lips feeling Technoblade squeeze your back, “Deal?” The tip of the sword dug a little deeper into his throat,

“FUCK! Yes, yes deal!” He squawked and you removed the sword, Technoblade immediately took it from your hands shooting you a look that screamed,

‘We are talking about this later.’

Technoblade tossed the contents of the bag at Quackity and he snatched up all the potions he could shoving them into his chest. Immediately handing you the diamonds he had on him, as Quackity scurried away Technoblade didn’t remove his hand from your back. Once his yellow wings disappeared into the treeline Technoblade spun you around and pressed a kiss to your lips. It immediately stole your breath away, as you stumbled back a few steps.

“That.” He kissed your jaw, “was the hottest,” he kissed your neck next, “thing we’ve seen in a while.” Technoblade purred pressing another passionate kiss to your lips, your hands desperately tried to pull out his hair from his bun to give it a hard yank. A louder purr rumbled from his chest as he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours,

“So the voices liked my badassery too?”

“Oh yeah,” his eyes fluttered a little his breathing hitching, “god they want me to just bite the shit out of you. Mark you all over. You can’t tease them like, they’re sensitive.” You cooed softly tracing his jawline with nimble fingers,

“I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to them once we get home.” His eyes shot up to meet your own lidded ones, with a loud whistle he called Carl over, he scooped you up in his arms causing you to laugh loudly.

You could safely say that was the fastest you and Techno had ever gotten home.

686 notes · View notes

ibis-gt · 3 years

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i made a fairytale au for cam and luther and then wrote nearly 5k words of fic for it?? which is wild bc i am not much of a writer. but. that’s under the cut. content warning for a pretty violent scene towards the end but there’s a happy ending i prommy

Once upon a time, there lived a prince. This prince, Luther by name, lived in a kingdom that was plagued by monsters. His father, the king, had gained his throne by feats of heroism, most notably by slaying a fearsome dragon that had ruled the land for years. The time came for Luther to prove he was worthy of the title of prince by slaying a monster of his own…

Down in the countryside, farmers have been complaining for weeks of an ogre stealing their cattle and frightening their children. So Luther sets off in a splendid suit of armor, with a sword sheathed on one hip, a quiver of arrows on the other, and his bow slung on his back.

Luther rides his horse down to the village where the ogre was last spotted. He talks with the locals and gets a description of the creature. At least forty feet tall, they say, with greenish-grey skin and dark hair and teeth the length of a man’s forearm. Luther leaves his horse behind with the farmers because he doesn’t want her getting hurt and marches off, following a set of giant footprints left behind by the ogre, sword in hand. He would have to admit that he isn’t the best at sword fighting, and that really he’s never faced a monster on his own. But his father gave him a crucial tip: every monster has a weak point. Find the weak point, exploit it, and you’ll win every time.

The footprints lead through the plains of grass, past the area where the farmers let their cattle out to graze, and into a dark forest. The sun is going down before he manages to find the ogre, so he sets up a little camp with a little fire and rests his tired bones. His armor isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but it takes forever to get on and off even with someone helping him, let alone by himself. He sits with his back to a big boulder so nothing can sneak up behind him and eventually drifts off.

Luther awakens the next morning and groans at how stiff and sore he is. He sits up and pauses, brow furrowed, remembering that he’d gone to bed sitting upright. But just now, he’d been lying on his back. And he’s not the best tracker, but those giant footprints look… disconcertingly fresh. These things add up in his mind. He just about passes out. He crouches down and puts his head between his knees for a moment until he can breathe again and his heart stops pounding quite so hard. He was right next to it! He fell asleep leaning on it! If his father heard about this he’d give him such a beating. How could he not have noticed that the boulder was actually -

His stomach rumbles, interrupting his panicked thoughts, and Luther remembers that the last time he ate was back in that farming village around two in the afternoon yesterday. He digs out a bit of beef jerky and morosely works at it. His father swears by the stuff, but it just makes his teeth hurt. Luther dreams of the kitchens back home and drools a little.

He gives up on the jerky and manages to take down a couple squirrels with his bow and arrows. He gets his fire blazing again and sets them cooking over it, and sits down to draw in the dirt and form a battle plan. He gets wrapped up in his drawing and loses track of time, but is startled violently back to reality as a deep booming voice from behind him says, “Your squirrel’s burning.”

Luther’s eyes snap up to the fire. He hastily pulls the stick with his squirrels off of it, waving it in the air to put out the bit of squirrel that had caught fire. He blows on it and inspects the damage. Not too bad, a little charred. Still definitely edible. Then realization dawns, and he slowly looks up and over his shoulder.

That’s the ogre. He’s unmistakable. Huge, greyish-green, with shaggy black hair and big tusks that jut out of his mouth. He’s down on one knee looming over Luther, modesty barely preserved by a loincloth stitched together out of the pelts of many different furry animals. Luther wills himself to not faint for the second time that day.

“You gonna eat that?” The ogre booms. “’Cause I will if you won’t.”

“W-well, yes, I was planning to,” Luther quavers, “But there are two, so, um, you can have one if you want? We can share?”

He takes the non-burned squirrel off the stick and holds it up. His hand only shakes a little. The ogre takes it carefully between thumb and forefinger and tosses it in his mouth. With such a tiny morsel, he’d usually just swallow it whole, but an interesting flavor makes him stop and savor it for a moment.

“What’d you do to it? Not like any squirrel I’ve eaten. And I’ve eaten a whole army of squirrels.” He slaps a hand on his formidable belly. The sound makes Luther jump.

“I- I didn’t do much, j-just some seasoning, I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, please don’t eat me next."

"You?” The ogre laughs. “Why would I eat you? You shared your food with me. That’s mighty polite. I’d say that makes us friends now, and I don’t eat friends.” He grunts as he shifts position, sitting down heavily and stretching out his legs. “Bad knees,” he grumbles. “Sat like that too long, but I wanted to see what you were drawing."

Luther is now horrifically aware that he is directly between the ogre’s legs. He is also horrifically aware that he was drawing himself hitting an ogre with a sword. He hurriedly kicks some dirt over it.

"Nothing. Nothing interesting. I’m a bad artist anyway.”

“Sure. What’s your name, little tin man? You didn’t seem too talkative when you snuggled up to me last night, but I thought maybe you were just tired. I’m Cam."

"L-Luther.” Oh god. He was supposed to kill this thing, it - well, no, not ‘it’, he can’t think of Cam as an ‘it’ now he knows his name - he’s terrorizing folks, stealing their livelihoods, he’s supposed to drive him away, save the day, bring peace to the kingdom. Instead he’s sharing his meager breakfast and making friends with the monster. How did it all go so wrong!!

“So, Luther, you made of metal? I thought you were gonna take all that off, looks pretty uncomfortable, but you wore it all night. Unless it’s like… you?"

"No, no, um, it’s just… it takes a long time to put it on and take it off? And I usually need help.”

"Well shoot, friend, why didn’t you say so?“ Before Luther can object, a giant hand descends and plucks him up. He panics, struggles in Cam’s grasp, and Cam tsks at him. "I can’t get all that off you if you don’t hold still. Don’t make me squeeze."

Luther goes still. If Cam squeezes the armor, it’ll stay squeezed. He wouldn’t want to still be in it if that happens. Cam clearly has no idea how to get someone out of armor though. He just pulls at clasps and buckles till they break, then shucks the metal off of Luther like an ear of corn. His helmet comes off first, freeing his dark brown curls.

“Aww,” Cam says, “lookit you. You’re kinda cute for a tin man.” He musses up Luther’s hair with a fingertip. "You’re like a little crab,” Cam chuckles. “Crack open the hard shell to get to the soft stuff underneath.” The food metaphor does not put Luther any more at ease as the rest of his armor is pulled off and tossed aside, piece by piece. Cam even strips the chainmail off of him and dumps it on the ground. This leaves Luther in his shirt and breeches, shaking like a leaf and terrified for his life.

“Oh, you cold? Here, I gotcha.” Cam sandwiches him between his hands. Luther awaits the pressure and the horrible crunch that will no doubt be the end of his short life, but it never comes. Cam just holds him there, and truth be told his hands are very warm, and it had been a chilly morning. Luther relaxes very slightly.

After a few minutes, Cam lifts one hand a little and peeks at Luther. “Better?"

"Much better, thank you. Even a little too warm, actually? Can I, um, come out now?"

Cam laughs and opens his hands like a book, then tilts them so Luther tumbles into the palm of his left hand. "So what’s a fancy little shrimp like you doing all the way out here, with that tough shell and those sharp weapons? You huntin’ something?"

Luther hesitates. It’s not… technically a lie, just an omission of truth, right? "Yeees…. Hunting.”

Cam laughs out loud, leaning back and slapping his knee with his free hand. “HA! You are just about the worst liar I ever met, Luther. Whew.” He actually wipes a tear from his eye. Luther feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment.

“I am hunting! I’m hunting you!” As soon as he says it he regrets it. He slaps his hands over his mouth and cowers back as Cam sits up straight again and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow.

“That so? Huh. Well, you found me, oh mighty hunter. And you fed me, and let me take your armor off you, and left all your sharp things on the ground while you sit in the palm of my hand. So, uh… how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“It… I… um… please don’t kill me?”

Cam grins. It’s not a nice grin anymore. It shows off too many teeth. “Lotsa folks have hunted me, you know. Not a one has succeeded. Most of ‘em can’t find me in the first place, not unless I want them to. Neat little trick we ogres have. We blend in well. The ones who did find me, they regretted it pretty quick. When I heard you clanking along with your silly armor and your little sword, I thought oh boy, here comes another one. But it turns out this one couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map, so he ain’t one of them legendary monster hunters lookin’ to claim some bounty. And he’s a little scrawny slip of a thing, too, and he keeps stopping to look at birds. I kinda liked you. And honestly, when you found me, it took me by surprise. Thought I had you pegged all wrong. Then you made your little fire, curled up next to me, and went to sleep, and it took everything I had not to bust my gut laughing right then and there. And now… well, I don’t rightly know what to make of you. Cute little thing, I know that. But cute won’t save you if you wanna tussle with me. So, little hunter… what’re you gonna do now?”

Luther’s nearly in tears. He manages to say, “Then… were you just… toying with me? This whole time? Waiting to see what I’d do?"

Cam shrugs. "Pretty much.” That does it. The waterworks are in full swing. Luther’s chin trembles, his lower lip wobbles, and then tears are streaming down his face and he’s sobbing.

“Y- you’re s-so-ho meeeaaaan,” Luther wails. “Y-you’re j-just making f-fun of me, I thought w-we were friends!”

Cam has absolutely no idea how to respond to this. For some reason he actually feels guilty. “Aw - no - now look, there’s no call for - just… just stop crying, okay? Please?” Luther continues to sob, heedless of Cam’s pleading. “There, there,” Cam tries, patting Luther’s head. “I’m not going to kill you. Okay? How’s that? I’m sorry I called you - well. All those things. I’m sure you’re a great hunter. Look, you got those squirrels. And hey! That one I ate tasted great. You got some real skill there."

Luther wipes his eyes and looks up, teetering dangerously on the edge of another sobbing fit. His eyes are all watery and a little red-rimmed. "R-really?"

"Yes! Of course!” Cam clings to the compliment like a life preserver. “I bet you’re like, like the king’s cook or something, right? Cause you’re the best in the land?"

Luther’s face crumples a little and he looks down, mutters something.

"What?” Cam holds him up a little closer to his ear.

“’m his son,” Luther mumbles again.

“His son? You’re a prince? And you’re all - oh, hell.” Now he’s really put his foot in it. Luther bursts into tears again and curls up in a little ball.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I - oh, ugh, you’re getting my hand all wet.” Cam picks him up between thumb and forefinger and shakes the little tear droplets off his palm. “Now look here,” he says, attempting a sterner approach. “You’re a prince, all right? You can’t be crying and going to pieces just ‘cause some big bad monster was mean to you. You gotta kill big bad monsters, right? So here’s what you’re gonna do.” Cam sets him down gently, picks up his sword and hands it to him. “There you go. You’re gonna take that sword, right, and you’re gonna really let me have it. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it?“

Luther purses his lips and looks up at him. "But… all I can hit from here is your foot. That’s no good. I need a shot at something vital."

"Oh fine, fine, Mr. Picky,” Cam grumbles. He shuffles his legs to the side and leans down til he’s practically laying on his belly. “Face shot. Free one for ya. Go on, hit something good.” Luther considers. Just as Cam realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is, he draws his sword back and plunges it into Cam’s eye.

- Almost plunges it into Cam’s eye. The ogre moves suddenly, turning his head to the side to avoid the blow. Luther makes a deep gash in Cam’s cheek, and Cam roars. “Oh, you sly little shit. Very good, very sneaky. You almost had me there. Fine. We do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet, draws himself up to his full, impressive height, and looks down at the dirt where Luther was a moment ago. Cam blinks in surprise. “Where’d you… goddammit…” He looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of where Luther could’ve gotten to.

Luther was not about to let the golden opportunity to run and hide during a big dramatic show of power go to waste. He slides into a patch of underbrush, catches his breath, and takes stock. He has no armor, no food, no bow or arrows. Those are all back at his camp, which is currently ogre territory. He has one sword that he’s okay at using. The ogre has the homefield advantage, and some kind of ability, possibly magical, to hide himself from those who want to find him. Luther shouldn’t let him out of his sight. But he should work on camouflaging himself. He takes a handful of dirt and smears it on his face and shirt. The sword he can’t do much about, he’ll just have to try and keep it from glinting. He glances to his left, away from where Cam still stands, turning in circles and peering around. Luther had only gone a little ways into the woods before he stopped for camp last night. He can almost see the forest’s edge from here. He could dart for the grasslands and try to make it back to the village, but he’d be in plain sight as soon as he’s out of the trees and there’s no guarantee Cam won’t just follow him all the way back. The further he goes into the trees the more firmly he is in Cam’s territory, but the more coverage he has.

Possibilities begin swirling around in his head. His best bet is trickery rather than a face to face confrontation. He’s got a running list in his mind of Cam’s weak points now. Food, monologuing, emotional outbursts. Although that last one’s probably off the table now. Bursting into tears isn’t going to get him out of a second pinch. Bad knees - if he can trip Cam up, he can get a shot at his face again, maybe cut his throat or get at his soft belly and sides. Cam’s a talker and likes to gloat, maybe if he gets him distracted by looking pathetic he could get him to walk right into a trap of some kind. He likes food… but Luther doesn’t have the resources to make a big feast to distract him or sate him, just a pouchful of seasoning that he never leaves home without. His lip wobbles again as he thinks about how that’s back at his camp… he may never see his precious seasonings again.

Meanwhile, Cam is getting frustrated. “Well, the little shit can’t have gone far,” he grumbles. “Just gotta flush 'im out.” Luther watches, petrified, as Cam lumbers over to a nearby patch of underbrush and without warning stomps down on it hard, twisting his foot and smashing every inch of it. He steps back and leans down to inspect what’s left. Luther bites his lip hard to stifle a whimper.

“Nope, not there,” Cam announces. “Eeney, meeney, miney…..” Another bunch of bushes are mercilessly ground into the dirt. “Moe. Hmmm. Where are you?”

Luther can’t stay in his hiding place for long. It’s only a matter of time before Cam gets to him. He needs an opening to make a break for it though, if he runs now Cam will spot him right away. As slowly as he dares, he picks up a large, flat rock, then skims it like a frisbee off to his right, where it hits a tree with a satisfying thock. Cam whirls around, and Luther bolts out of the brush. Cam hears the leaves rustling and turns back around, catching sight of him as he flees.

“There you are! Hold on now, don’t go running off! I just wanna talk, I swear. The whole monster-slaying prince thing not working out for ya? I got a better job offer! You can be my dinner!” Luther keeps sprinting as fast as he can, not even bothering to glance behind him. The last thing he needs is to miss a fallen branch or a groundhog hole and trip.

On flat, open land, the ogre would outpace him easily. But if he can get deeper into the forest where the trees are closer together, that could slow him down enough for Luther to get some distance and hide again, have a moment to breathe and think so he can work on his plan. He’s starting to get an idea of what he’ll need. He needs the element of surprise for sure, and he needs more than just his sword. If he had some rope he could set up a tripwire, maybe. He curses himself for not taking his father’s advice about packing, for letting Cam strip him, for being too weak and scared to do anything when he had the chance, for being born in the first place. His eyes well up with tears and he scrubs at them furiously. He can’t afford to have his sight blurred right now, he needs to keep his head clear and keep moving. He can hear Cam’s thudding footsteps behind him, gaining quickly. He can cover so much more ground in a single step. It’s simply not fair. The little bit of distance he was able to gain with his rock trick is disappearing fast and it won’t be long before he’s in arm’s reach.

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, Cam lunges forward and takes a swipe at him, trying to knock him off his feet. Luther hits the deck and Cam overbalances, stumbling and crashing into a tree. The tree snaps when his weight collides with it, and Cam has to windmill his arms to keep from falling over. Luther scrambles to his feet and keeps running. He even manages to put on an extra burst of speed when he hears Cam roar with frustration behind him. He’s not as fast as he could be because he’s lugging the sword along with him, but he doesn’t dare drop it. It proves its usefulness in the next minute. Cam closes the distance and grabs for him. Luther sees the shadow fall over him and whirls around, lashing out at the reaching hand. He slices across Cam’s palm, and Cam howls with pain and pulls back. Luther dashes away, and Cam stomps his foot in frustration.

"Hold still, dammit! You’re just making it worse for yourself!” He takes off after Luther again, but his stamina’s flagging. It’s harder for a creature his size to haul himself around and he’s used to running down his prey in the first minutes of the chase. This has dragged on long enough to tire him out, but he’s not willing to give up just yet. “When I get my hands on you, tin man, you’re paste,” he growls. “They’re gonna have to come up with new words for how dead you’re gonna be.”

The trees start getting close enough together that Luther has to dodge around them from time to time. He can hear Cam behind him crashing through them, spluttering as he gets a face full of branches and leaves. Luther smiles to himself. That’s nice, at least. At last he gathers up his nerve and dodges to the side behind a particularly large tree, hoping that Cam’s too busy navigating the foliage to notice. His gamble pays off. A few seconds later, the ogre goes lumbering past him without so much as a sideways glance. Luther waits just a moment more, then bolts in the opposite direction.

He’s got a plan now. He probably won’t be able to find Cam again, but Cam can find him. So he’ll set up an ambush. He circles back around to his camp and grabs his supplies as quickly as he can, his bow and arrow, his helmet, his tinderbox, and most importantly, his seasoning. He hunts for deer, takes down a decent-sized buck, and sets up a new campfire, deep in the woods, where the trees are close. He’s hoping that Cam will think that Luther thinks he’s safe in there, and that the smell of the meat cooking will lure Cam in. He takes off his shirt and fills it with twigs and leaves, sets his helmet up on a stick driven into the ground, and makes a decently convincing decoy Luther that he leans against a log. The helmet tilts at an angle that makes it look like he’s fallen asleep. With that set up, and night closing in, Luther climbs up a nearby tree and waits, sword in hand.

He doesn’t watch the fire. He wants to keep his night vision sharp. And sure enough, before too long here comes Cam, moving surprisingly quietly for his size. He squeezes through the trees with barely a rustling of leaves. Cam’s eyes are fixed on the fire and the silhouette that the decoy makes against it. Cam gets right behind the decoy and slams his foot down on it. He grinds it into the dirt with a relish that makes Luther shudder. Then Cam looks at the deer cooking with that lovely smell rising off it, and his eyes go big and shiny. As Cam bends down to pick it up, Luther chooses his moment. He drops like a stone and buries his sword lengthwise in the back of Cam’s neck. The impact sends a jolt up his arms and he hangs on as tight as he can. Cam lets out a garbled scream of pain and collapses face first on the ground. Luther gets to his feet, pulls his sword out with some difficulty, takes a deep breath, and begins to chop.

It’s messy, horrible work. By the third swing tears are rolling down Luther’s cheeks. By the seventh, he’s sobbing. After the twenty-third cut, Cam’s head is finally severed, and rolls to the side. Luther stumbles back. He’s trembling, covered in blood, panting and crying, but it’s finally done.

And then Cam’s head says, “Wow, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Luther watches, dumbfounded, as Cam’s body sits up, searches around with its hands, locates his head, and puts it back on his shoulders as the flesh knits together again. Luther drops his sword in disbelief. He falls to his knees. That was it. That was all he had. He can’t even imagine what he could do against a foe who can just reattach his own head.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “Okay. Um. Make it quick, please?” Cam had been planning to crunch the little shit once he was back on his feet, but he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at how despondent Luther looks.

“Aw, no, no, don’t give up so quick! Really, you almost had me!” Cam scoops him up and pats him on the head. “Look, it was a good effort. I’m sure if you had known I can’t be killed, you wouldn’t have spent all that time and energy trying to kill me. Just do a little more research next time, yeah?"

"Next time,” Luther repeats, and gives a hollow laugh. “There isn’t going to be a next time. I’m not welcome as part of the royal family if I can’t kill a monster. Even my sister’s done her first slaying already. A whole nest of vampires! And I can’t kill one measly ogre."

"Hey, watch who you’re calling measly,” Cam warns, but his heart isn’t in it. “Jeez. You’ve got some issues, kid. Not much of a fighter, I take it?"

Luther shakes his head and sighs. "I’m just not very good at it."

"Well they chose one hell of a first mission for you, that’s for sure. Ogres are tricky ones. We’ve got a lot of defense mechanisms.” Cam thinks for a moment. “You know what you are good at, though? You’re a good talker. Very convincing. I mean, you really had me going, with the crying and all? It was a really good ruse."

Luther bites his lip. "Um…"

"Okay, so it was for real and not a ruse. But you made the best of a bad situation! That’s also a good skill for a ruler to have. You just gotta show your family that your skills are less conventional, but still effective! Like, okay, why do you have to kill me? What’d I do?"

“You’re eating all the farmers’ cattle and scaring people."

"I thought free range meant I had free reign. Eh? Eh?” Cam pokes Luther in the ribs. Luther frowns at him. “Oh, fine, whatever. No sense of humor. You know, that’s pretty important for a king too. Yeah, all right, I’ll leave the cows alone."

"And the sheep,” Luther says sharply. “And the pigs, and chickens."

"I haven’t eaten any pigs or chickens,” Cam protests.

“Not yet. I’m being proactive."

"There you go!” Cam says, beaming. “There’s that negotiator skill! But seriously, if I can’t eat the cows and sheep I’ve got to eat something. Can you make it worth my while? 'Cause I’m not going back to squirrels."

"Well…” Luther says slowly. “What if… I hire you?"

"You… hire me?"

"Yeah. Like, as a bodyguard or something. Then I’d have to pay you, right? I could pay you in food?”

Cam is quiet for a moment. He brings Luther up closer to his face and scrutinizes him. Luther’s heart is pounding out of his chest. For a moment he thinks he’s made some horrible mistake and offended Cam and it’s all over for him. "You’re serious? Not kidding me, here? That’s your offer?”

“Y-yes? Is that… is it bad?"

"Bad? Bad? That’s the best offer I’ve ever heard! Pay me in food? HELL yes, kid! That’s what I like to hear!” The force of Cam’s enthusiasm knocks Luther over on his back. He stares at the sky for a moment. His life is so goddamn weird.

~~~~~~~~~

Luther’s father’s dragon slaying days are behind him. He’s an old man now. He has good days and bad days, but even on his best days he frequently needs help getting around. But when he sees that giant ogre enter his royal halls, he reaches for his spear. Luther eases it out of his hand.

“No, see, it’s okay. I didn’t kill him, but I stopped him terrorizing the countryside, and I kind of… hired him. As my bodyguard. This was easier, and we both benefit, see? Also, um, were you going to tell me ogres are immortal?"

"You were supposed to figure something out,” his father says. “Since you’re so damned smart."

"Well, I did figure something out. Just… maybe not what you wanted me to."

Cam waves lazily. "Hi, Yer Majesty."

"Cam,” Luther hisses. “We talked about this."

"Oh, fine, fine,” Cam grumbles, and takes a knee to bow low before the king. “I humbly pledge my service to your son,” he intones, hamming it up just a little. “Please allow me to protect him from all harms, and so on."

The king glares. His stabbing hand is itching. But he doesn’t currently have a better plan, and this’ll keep the peasants quiet for a bit. "Fine,” he spits, “But you’re taking care of him. Feeding him, walking him, cleaning up after him, whatever. No getting the servants to do it for you. He’s your responsibility now."

Cam grins at Luther. "So, speaking of feeding… when’s dinner?”

#art #writing #giant tiny #g/t #cam and luther #fairy tale au #to be more specific re: content warnings there is a beheading but he gets better so it's okay #tiny knights are very important to me as u can clearly see #there's just something about. someone who is sworn to protect others going up against a force so much larger than themselves #EDIT mobile hates readmores sorry if u get a three mile long post on yr dash :(

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alwaysbeliev · 3 years

Text

Snapdragons

happy (very belated) Valentine’s Day, @the-awkward-outlaw ! i hope you enjoy this!

summary: Arthur Morgan has never been very good at talking about his thoughts and feelings. He finds it much easier to show them, and he hopes he's doing it the right way.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x f!Reader

word count: 1838

link on AO3

The First

Sunlight filtered delicately through the trees in the early morning. Birds chirped somewhere above, hidden among the flourishing summer canopy, a shadow dashing here and there between the branches. A squirrel scurried around roots on the forest floor, pausing only to dig at a spot and sniff before deciding it was fruitless and moving on.

You idly watched them, bundled in your coat as you stood by the morning campfire, holding a tin cup of coffee in your hands. The heat had pierced through the metal and was warming your cold hands. In slow, deep breaths, you inhaled the fumes, grateful for the steam that wafted upwards. It would be another hour before the air truly started to warm up.

Most of the camp was stirring now. You heard the rustling of Pearson at his wagon as he dug through the cart in search of ingredients. Jack emerged from his family’s tent, Abigail’s voice trailing after him in kind fashion, followed by a grunt from John. Miss O’Shea was combing her fingers through her hair just outside hers and Dutch’s tent. It was nice to watch them all in these moments and learn more about them than they might know about themselves. They were tiny snapshots into their lives.

But the one person you enjoyed watching the most was markedly absent from the group. His cot was visible to all the camp in these summer months, the little table with the flower and the photographs pinned to the side of the wagon. There was no indication he had slept there last night. You inhaled deeply, allowing it to lift your shoulders as you took a drink from your cup again. You didn’t dare ask where he was. You were determined, for some unknown reason both to you and externally, that nobody knew you were sweet on Arthur. You were sure it might give people the wrong idea.

For several months, you had been learning about the van der Linde gang. You had found them in New Austin, scouting the streets of Tumbleweed, and Dutch thought you were after them. Instead, you partnered on a score, and were ultimately invited to work with them permanently. “Family”, he said they were. You had never really known “family”, but were happy to be included. Now, you knew it meant you belonged.

Arthur had been wary of you for a long time. It wasn’t until Blackwater when he started focusing on keeping everyone together that he softened. “Softened” was the mildest word available for it, as he merely stopped shooting you disdained looks and avoiding you, but shortly after, he started having actual conversations with you. Not much longer after that, you would even call him your friend, and you wanted to be more. You knew his past now, though, and were sure it wasn’t in your cards. For now, you were content.

As you finished your cup and stepped away from the fire, the sound of slowly approaching hoofsteps made your head turn. Arthur and Hosea were riding back into camp, the former atop a new horse and the latter looking his age. You smiled involuntarily and hurriedly turned away in hopes that nobody saw. You busied yourself with placing your cup near the dishes that needed washing, certain you would be asked to do those later, and tugged your jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Someone called your name. You were surprised to see that it was Arthur, approaching you with a hand behind his back. Jack had done the same thing to you more than once, gifting you both frogs and candies on separate occasions.

“Mr. Morgan,” you greeted with a genuine smile, “how are you gettin’ on?”

“Jus’ fine, thank you,” he replied. He smiled, too, but abashedly.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course, I just, ah… I ain’t very good at this kinda thing, but thought you might appreciate these.” With a clumsy flourish, the cowboy pulled a cluster of flowers from behind his back, gripped tightly in his fist. Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized your favorite, snapdragons, in the center. Your mouth dropped open and you fumbled for words. Emotions raced through your head too fast for you to capture any of them.

“I, er, heard you the other day,” he admitted, “tellin’ the girls that you missed having some color around. We was out huntin’ and I saw ‘em and, well…” Arthur was out of words. He offered them again. Gingerly, as if nervous they might disappear, you took them from him, carefully thumbing through them with your other hand to identify what else was in the bouquet. It looked as though they had all hung from his saddle on his return journey, the leaves a little wilted and dusty, but the gesture was enough to bring a small sting to your eye.

“Thank you.” You barely managed to get the words out. You swallowed the emotion before looking up at him again. “That was mighty kind of you, Arthur, thank you very much.”

“Course,” he muttered, one hand gripping his belt while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

The Second

The gang had to move camp. Again. It felt like there was no chance to make a real home, more and more trouble coming your way. There were rumors of Pinkertons out here. How they had followed you through the mountains, you were at a loss, but there they were and away the gang had to go.

Following Mrs. Grimshaw’s orders, you helped Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth pack up the bed rolls and take down tents. You walked Horseshoe Overlook back and forth to make sure no identifying items were left behind. Soon, you were sitting in a wagon watching the fading camp. Recent memories of laughing, drinking, and even dancing with Arthur rolled through your mind. Mary-Beth took your hand and squeezed it. You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

Since bringing you flowers, Arthur had become an entirely different person. There was a strange kindness to him. You had seen it before, but now it felt tenfold, and most of it was directed to you. He would share his treats, his coats, sometimes part of his meal if he thought you might still be hungry, even showing you some of the sketches he made in his elusive journal. Tilly and Karen hadn’t missed it. Mary-Beth even sighed dreamily over some imaginary scenario in her head and called it “romantic”. It made you feel giddy.

Charles greeted the head of the wagon train. After entering a cove of trees, the wagons rolled onto a grassy clearing that edged up to a lake. A large tree took up the center, providing a great ceiling to what you hoped was the last place you would have to make home. Everyone circled in and you were immediately put to work again.

Hours later, the sun was setting on yet another day, and you watched it from a log on the lake shore. The smell of the evening stew was drifting towards the water. You had finally cooled off-- as much as you could, anyway, with the humidity-- and were just beginning to think of going for your shawl. Gravel crunched behind you and you turned to see Arthur approaching. He seemed down, the golden light highlighting all of his scars and frown lines.

“Mr. Morgan.” You hoped your eagerness wasn’t visible to him in the low light. His face, however, lifted instantaneously.

“Hope your day weren’t too rough,” he mumbled, stepping over the log to sit beside you. Casually, as though he had done it a million times, Arthur pulled some flowers from his satchel. They were more snapdragons, different colors than last time, and your face split into a wide grin.

“Well, it’s much better now.” Feeling a rush of bravery, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was rough and smelled different than you expected, but it fit him perfectly. The tinge of red in his cheek might have been explained away by the sunset turning a shade of pink by someone who wasn’t paying much attention. The bravery was gone almost as soon as it had arrived and you turned your gaze back to the flowers in your hand, gently picking at the leaves.

“Anyway, thank you,” you murmured. He grunted about it being nothing and you fell into silence together, your head burning with questions you were too nervous still to ask.

The Third

Early morning in Saint Denis had its own little charms. The city made you uneasy, that was for sure, and you knew you would long to return to the untamed wilderness soon, but as you studied the way the light shone on the buildings and listened to the sounds of the streets waking up, you could understand the appeal. Vines grew up the balcony, bees buzzed lazily between the small buds, the occasional neighbor greeted the other. Slowly, you grew aware of your immediate surroundings; the soft blanket, the real mattress beneath you, the new pillow under your head. Memories from the night before were beginning to set in and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning widely.

Arthur had gone with Dutch and a few others to a party the mayor was throwing. You knew it was important, and what they were doing was dangerous, but he looked so good in his suit, you couldn’t find it in yourself to worry too much. The friendship between the two of you had blossomed into something more, something both soft and fiery, comforting and passionate. With the move to Shady Belle, you found yourself spending more nights in Arthur’s room inside of the house than on your bedroll outside. He seemed to have read your mind when he saw you looking at him dressed up, slipping cash into your hand and giving you whispered instructions to meet him at a hotel that night, after the party.

Inhaling deeply, you turned onto your back, stretching your arm over to find who filled the space beside you. It was surprisingly empty, and your head turned to find the blankets poorly pulled back into place. In the dip on the pillow, however, were snapdragons. Pink, red, white, mixed with a few other wildflowers. It was a bigger bouquet than he had given you in the past and it was tied together with a piece of twine. A paper with a short message was laying beside it. Picking it up, you read:

Went for a ride. We both needed to stretch our legs, you understand. I will be back soon. Stay in bed, I will have breakfast soon. Yours, Arthur.

He was yours. He brought flowers, he was bringing breakfast, and it was all for you. Finally feeling content, you closed your eyes again, allowing sleep to pull you away until he made his return. This was your happy place, you thought as you drifted off again. You could stay here forever.

#arthur morgan reader insert #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 reader insert #rdr2 #angel writes

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free-pancakes · 3 years

Text

the commander’s voice

LeviHan - a canonverse oneshot

Characters: Levi, Hange, Onyankopon, Jean, Armin, Sasha, Mikasa

Summary: Onyankopon gifts Hange a vinyl record player from Marley, and Levi uses it to help the dear Commander find a small moment of respite among her stressful duties.

Notes: Hange has been really sad lately in the anime, so here's a happy Hange oneshot. The song Hange sings is called “Mrs." by Leon Bridges

crossposted to AO3

The Commander’s Voice

Hange gripped her fingers gently around small cup of tea in her hands—she smiled softly as the warmth caressed her fingertips and the earthy aroma tickled her nose. She took a small sip, and stole a quick glance at Levi, searching for signs of his approval.

A tiny flicker in his warm, grey eyes signaled his liking. To everyone else in the room, Levi maintained an unreadable glare, but Hange knew better. She playfully tapped his foot with her own, with a sly smile plastered on her face. Levi returned the gesture with a swift kick to her shin.

Hange was already accustomed to arguing under the table like this, and quickly bit her tongue to keep herself from yelping out in pain. She quietly grumbled as he smirked behind the cup he held up to his lips. He hated when she could see right through him like that—but he supposed it wasn’t an entirely bad skill for someone around here to have.

“Is it up to your standards, Levi? It’s only the finest tea from Marley! I only have a few boxes stashed away with me.” Onyankopon looked towards Levi earnestly for a reaction, but per usual, his genuine friendliness was met with a blank stare. Hange had convinced Onyankopon to share the tea with their little group today, hoping it would convince Levi to trust their allies a bit more, and she panicked at Levi's seemingly negative reaction.

“No, no, Onyankopon, Levi thinks it’s delightful! Thank you for sharing it with us,” Hange said with a bright smile.

Happy conversation buzzed around them in the large tent, but their table was jarringly silent. Hange, Levi, Jean, Armin, and Onyankopon had a long day of planning their strategies moving forward, but since they finished earlier than expected, they thought they’d sit together, talk, and relax a bit. Sitting and relaxing clearly wasn’t an issue, but maybe they had too little in common to really have a casual chat.

The silence gripped fiercely at Hange’s sides, and it felt as though it was trying to squeeze words out of her— it was absolutely unbearable. She had to break the silence, and at least attempt to get these socially incompetent fools to talk to each other.

“Hey Onyankopon, can you possibly tell me the name of this song? I kept hearing it play on one of your comrade’s radios a few weeks ago!” Hange closed her eyes as she tried to remember the melody, and she flawlessly hummed the tune, filling in a few lyrics that she could recall here and there. The sound resonated in her chest, and the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed as singing this song made her ridiculously happy. She wondered if it was the song that made her feel that way or if it was simply the person that seemed to permeate her thoughts whenever she hummed it to herself while working alone in her office.

She opened her eyes, and cocked her head to the side in confusion at the sight. All of Onyankopon’s Marleyan comrades around them were turned, facing their table, all eyes on her. Armin turned to look at Jean, whose jaw dropped at the sound of Hange singing, and nudged him. “Jean, come on, you’re making the Commander uncomfortable.”

“What? Levi, what is everyone—“ she shifted in her seat, embarrassed at the sudden and unwavering attention on her. Before she could see Levi’s reaction, he was standing up, glaring at everyone in the room. “Oi, what are all you nosy scumbags staring at? Have some respect for the Commander,” he hissed with a threatening tone, evoking fear in all the people in the room. The sound of talking and commotion resumed quickly, maybe even louder than before as no one wanted to further anger the formidable Levi Ackerman.

“Wait hold on a second, why did everyone just—“

“It’s because you have a beautiful voice, Hange-san, I don’t think any of us have ever heard you sing before actually…” Armin whispered softly, with a bashful, yet encouraging smile on his face.

Hange felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands, twiddled her thumbs, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I um, sorry. I guess I don’t usually do that...in public. My apologies.”

Onyankopon gently touched Hange’s hand—“I know exactly what song you referenced. Here, how about you all go get some sleep, and I’ll give you something special regarding the song in the morning, okay?” He gave her a reassuring look, and Hange felt more at ease. They saluted each other, and four Paradisians retreated to their tents for the night.

————- “Hange-san, here you go—It’s all ready for you!” Onyankopon held a large, box-shaped device in his hands, along with what looked like colorful cardboard envelopes on top of it. He set it down on the table as Hange, Armin, Levi, and Jean hovered around it.

Hange and Armin bent down to observe the object closely, opening its lid to reveal a flat surface with a small spoke in the middle, and a metal arm jutting across with a small needle on its end. The two eyed each other, both utterly fascinated at the intricate device.

“This here is a vinyl record player, and I picked out a few songs along with the one you told us about last night. I marked that one, and wrote out the lyrics for you!” he exclaimed with a grin.

Hange’s eyes glowered at the wonderful gift, and couldn’t help but give him a warm hug.

Levi walked towards the two, inserting his arm between them, cutting their embrace short. “Okay it’s time to go, Commander,” Levi said curtly as he guided her shoulder towards the horses.

“Levi, wait it’s still early, we have a lot of time to—“

“Until next time, Onyankopon,” he muttered with a glare and gave a half-hearted salute. He grumbled as he hurried Hange away, while she tried to wave back at Onyankopon. Armin and Jean looked at each other trying to stifle laughter at the scene—Armin took the record player and vinyls, and nodded at Onyankopon. “Sorry about that sir, I assume you already know how that goes...”

“Yeah, the Captain’s pretty protective over Hange-san, isn’t he?”

“Yeah you could say that,” Jean said with a small laugh. He waved goodbye, and the two hurried towards the horses, as it seemed Levi and Hange were already set to leave.

————- Levi sipped at the tea Onyankopon sent them home with. He sat alone at a table, listening to the 104th crew talk and laugh animatedly a few tables away, bickering and yelling as they finished up their dinner. He hated to admit how relaxed he felt seeing them having fun like that—it reminded him a lot of how he, Hange, Erwin, Mike, and Nanaba used to be with each other years ago. He sighed and stood up with purpose—Hange skipped dinner again. He brought a sandwich with him as he silently slipped out of the mess hall and made his way to the Commander’s office.

He saw the glowing light spilling into the hallway through the slightly cracked-open door, and pushed it—he was met with bright light, both literally and figuratively. He looked at Hange busy writing, not even noticing him walk in and close the door.

He gently slid the sandwich towards her, and she slightly jumped in her seat, startled. “You gotta warn me when you walk in sometimes, yknow??”

“Eat, and meet me outside. The usual spot.”

“I have a lot of work to finish up! I don’t think I can take a break right now—“

Levi placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his eyes softening as he stared into hers. She returned his gaze, and he didn’t need to say a word for her to understand. She gave in.

“Okay, fine, fine. You’re right. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken a step back, hasn’t it...”

————- Hange stepped out into the clearing behind the barracks, the light of the moon melting over the cover the trees and illuminating the blades of grass beneath her feet. She heard a small scratching noise, and suddenly...music played. She turned the corner and saw Levi sitting on the ground with the record player. She skipped over happily and knelt down next to him. “Isn’t it amazing? You don’t have to wait on the radio for a song you like to play! You can just play the same song you like, over and over again whenever you want.” She stared at the spinning vinyl excitedly, and Levi looked at her, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. After they listened to the one song, Levi picked up the other vinyls—“Hey, so which one of these was the song you sang to us that night, the one that got that whole damn room staring at you?” Hange smiled shyly and felt herself blush. She reached over and pulled the specific record from the pile in Levi’s hands.

Inside the barracks, Jean, Armin, and Sasha walked down the back hallway on the second floor, exhausted. Suddenly, they heard...music? Jean and Armin made eye contact, and ran towards the sound. “Hey, wait up! What’s going on??” Sasha yelled. The two barged into the room where the sound was echoing through the loudest. Mikasa was sitting on her bed, folding her clothes calmly, unphased by the two breaking in. She gave them both a mostly blank stare, but a tiny hint of a questioning lingered in her gaze.

“Hey, rude! Dont just go barging into our room like that!”

“Shut up, Sasha! Listen!” Jean whispered aggressively. The calming sound filled the room through their window facing the clearing among the trees behind the barracks.

“Onyankopon said that sound is one of something called... an electric guitar?” Armin said quietly. The wonderful sound made them oddly want to sway, along with the mellow, waltzing backbeat of the drums underlying this so-called electric guitar.

“Hange-san sung this song to us at our last meeting with the ally Marleyans.”

“She...sang?” Mikasa asked, almost confused at the idea of Hange singing.

“Hold on, listen, listen!” Jean said in a hushed tone. The four of them pressed their faces up against the window, and spotted the Commander and Captain standing together out in the grass below, their figures shrouded by the white glow of the full moon.

“You really like the tea, and the record player. It was genuinely kind of him to share that with us—so why can’t you trust our allies?” Hange asked, an innocently questioning look in her eyes.

“You never know, Hange. It’s good to be a bit skeptical of them for now. But, let’s forget about that.” She felt Levi’s fingers search her skin for the ties of her medal, a symbol of her role as the Commander. He untied it, slipped it off from her neck, and placed it gently into the grass next to the record player.

“Tonight, you’re relieved of your Commander duties. Right now, you’re just Hange.” Hange lost herself in the soft grey sea dancing in his eyes, and fought back tears at Levi’s gesture, his attempt to help her feel like... feel like Hange again. The Commander role often seemed to strip her of the privilege to be simply, and unapologetically, herself.

He took her left hand, interlaced his fingers in hers, and gently placed his other hand behind her right hip. He slowly pulled her close, and she closed her eyes, finally relaxed from her duties, nearly melting in his embrace. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he felt even, puffs of breath from her nose on his skin—keeping him warm in the cool night breeze. He swayed her back and forth, and she followed his lead.

“Why do you like this song, anyway?”

“Because... the lyrics make me think of us a bit, Levi.”

His eyes widened at her words, and he wanted to listen closer now—and suddenly he had an idea.

“Can you sing it to me?”

Hange lifted her head abruptly, staring straight into Levi’s face. “So you did like my singing! I was wondering about that—sad I didn’t get to see your reaction.”

He was relieved she didn’t see his face in that moment—he had never felt so vulnerable. Her singing made his knees weak.

“Hmph. It wasn’t bad, four-eyes.”

The four watched the two start dancing, and when the sound of Hange quietly singing reached Sasha and Mikasa’s room, Sasha squealed in excitement. “Hey Armin, wanna dance too?” She gave him a big, goofy grin, and he agreed with a laugh. Jean turned to Mikasa, bowed slightly and reached out his hand, “May I have this dance, m’lady?” She let out a smile at his dumb little gesture, and took his hand.

They all couldn’t help but smile at the sound of their Commander’s voice along with the calming song as they swayed around the room—it was nice to forget about the weight of the world for a little bit.

She sang the whole song softly into Levi’s ear along with the record, singing one part a little louder than the rest:

“Sometimes I wonder why I went knockin' on your door. Then you come knock, knock, knockin' on mine and I remember—I remember how it felt the first few times. Skin-to-skin before you knew how to get under mine. If we get it, get it right... we'll be together for life.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin.

The two heard Jean, Armin, Sasha, and Mikasa's laughter from the only window with the lights on in the barracks.

“Looks like we aren’t the only ones enjoying the night,” Hange whispered happily.

Levi smiled. “Hey, can you sing the song again for me?”

“Of course. But only if you join me!” She playfully shoved Onyankopon’s lyric sheet into his chest. Levi grumbled in reluctance, but he gave in.

They let the song replay over and over again as they continued to dance and sing to each other, late into the cool, starry night.

#if yall only knew how soft this song makes me #and the idea of levihan dancing to this #*chefs kiss*#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levihan fanfic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #onyankopon #jean kirschstein #armin arlert #sasha braus #mikasa ackerman #snk #aot

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fuckingthefictional · 4 years

Text

Shelby’s stick together

A/N: requested by @shady80smusicsingercolor hope you enjoy, sorry it took so long- I’ve been super busy was college work! Xx

Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Sister! OC

Warnings: swearing, racist slur used in historical context, super fuckin long.

Olivia Shelby and Linda Shelby did not get on. Plain and simple.

They didn’t get on one bit.

Liv maintained that Linda had barged her way into the family and had forcibly changed Arthur into someone he quite simply was not.

Linda however maintained that Liv was just being bratty and selfish and that she was hogging her brothers all to herself and never wanted them to be happy.

Which was wildly untrue. After all Esme was Liv’s other sister in law and Olivia got on like a house on fire with her.

When they had first met they had only slightly clashed, it wasn’t a big deal.

Arthur strolled up the blackened streets of Small Heath, Linda grasped onto his arm out of what must’ve been fear or anxiety.

To Arthur however he owned the space, people feared him and this place was his home.

He had no issue with the workers or the fire fuelled factories, or the children running barefoot in the streets together- it was as normal as could be, even the whores that littered the corners didn’t cause him to bat an eye.

This was Small Heath. His safe haven.

Linda however was tense on his arm, her eyes shooting around frantically.

It was clear she was afraid of meeting the one and only Olivia Shelby.

Everyone else had been civil to Linda (for Arthur’s sake) but Olivia was another story.

Polly claimed that Olivia had the Gypsy blessing of judgement.

Or being able to tell what a person was truly like- or what their true thoughts were at first glance.

Making Olivia unpredictable in her reactions.

And that was where they first disagreed, The Shelby’s called this power a ‘gift’ or a ‘blessing’, Linda called it Witchcraft and blasphemy in the highest.

Unfortunately it didn’t take long for Arthur to locate where his youngest sibling was (thanks to Jeremiah)

She was down by the cut with Isaiah (which was unsurprising considering the two of them flirted back and forth continuously)

It wasn’t long before the eldest Shelby heard the giggles of Olivia, and the chattering of Isaiah.

“Now what are you two doing out here alone?” Arthur boomed teasingly, purposefully trying to frighten the teens.

“Shit!” Olivia jumped, tumbling backwards and landing with a splash in the river, “Arthur you fucker!”

Linda flinched at the language being used as the other boys laughed heartily and dragged Liv out of the murky depths.

“Liv, this is Linda.” Arthur gestured to the woman stood awkwardly on the bank, “My fiancé.”

Olivia took the woman in, she didn’t like the judgement that lay in her eyes. The slight frown that she tried to keep hidden suggested that she had negative ideas of Olivia already.

Liv was clear on one thing- she didn’t trust Linda one bit.

It was frustrating to Liv. She had always been feisty (courtesy of the Shelby genes and the Gypsy blood running through her veins) but when this ‘good Christian woman’ was around she couldn’t help but make snarky comments.

But that didn’t mean Linda couldn’t hit back with harsher, nastier comments.

The needle that broke the horses back occurred the day before- resulting in Olivia to purchase a train ticket to London to stay with Ada for a while.

She was desperate to get away. The comments coming from her sister in law were enough to beat her down day after day. Liv was certain that Tommy had noticed a difference in her, after all she was closest with him.

All Olivia did yesterday was glare slightly at her sister in law, and in return got a mouthful of insults from the devil blonde.

It hurt, it was embarrassing, and even worse it had hit a sore spot in her heart.

Because Linda had mentioned the Shelby’s mother- more specifically how Olivia was the cause of her own mothers death. How it was all her fault.

That one hit close to home.

And now here Liv was, sat on a train that was heading to London. A train that her family (minus Ada) had no idea she was on.

Tommy was stood at his sisters bedroom door, his fist pounded insistently at the slab of wood.

Every knock that he made were all answered by silence. It made him feel anxious- Liv always answered the door to him. Always.

“Liv?” He presses his ear against the door, “Liv let me in please?”

Tommy twisted the knob again, but the cool metal was still locked against the latch.

If there was one thing that Tommy prided himself on, it was being patient with his youngest sister.

Sure, he was protective of Ada and they got on- but they had never seen eye to eye on most things.

Olivia, however was Tommy’s soft spot. Ever since she was tiny, she’d been able to melt his heart. He’d learnt to be patient for Liv, and he’d continued to do so.

But considering Tommy had been knocking for a good 15 minutes to no response, his worry began to erode at his patience.

Weighing his options, Tommy quickly decided on attacking the door one last time...with a strong kick.

The door cracked and flew off the hinges, leaving splinters littered across the floor.

Only one thing was apparent to Tommy however, the room was empty.

The wardrobe was cleaned out and Liv’s one and only stuffed animal which she slept with was nowhere to be seen.

Tommy’s heart was thumping out of his chest painfully. Olivia wouldn’t just...leave.

Unless she felt as if she was a intruder in her own family or was being pushed away.

He felt his feet thump on the floor, a sign that Tommy was in fact walking away from the room. Moments later he found himself in the betting den.

Esme, Linda and Lizzie were sat at their desks chatting away- as John, Arthur and Polly were crowded around one of the many finance books out of Tommy’s office.

Nobody had seemingly noticed his presence- until he spoke loudly.

“Would anyone care to tell me why the fuck Olivia’s room’s fuckin’ empty and her shit‘s gone.”

Everyone’s head turned sharply at this. Esme, John, Arthur and Polly paced forward- clamouring in confusion and fear.

The only person who was sat still and unbothered was the small figured blonde who perched on her chair, a smug expression painting her lips.

Kings cross station was always busy- it didn’t matter what time you arrived. It was always crowded.

So it was a blessing in disguise that Olivia Shelby was short in stature and could slip through small gaps in the crowds.

Liv didn’t have a plan if she was being honest. She had enough money for a taxi- maybe a hotel room if Ada wasn’t home.

With these new thoughts in her mind, Liv picked up her pace and rushed to the street outside.

It may have been just past 11 o’clock in the morning, when the taxi dropped her off at the street corner where Ada’s home was located.

Olivia, tired and mentally drained, ambled to the front door. She rung the doorbell, waiting as she heard the excited screeches coming from Karl on the other side.

Seconds later, Ada’s face appeared as the door swung open- immediately Liv embraced her older sister, trying to find some comfort.

She was upset and just wanted some peace and time away from the hurtful comments.

When evening fell and the sun crept beyond the horizon, Olivia was awoken from her slumber by the sound of the front door being opened and heavy, rushed footfalls running up the stairs.

Liv could feel her heart rate spike in fear, as she hid under the covers like a young child.

“Livvy?”

It was Tommy, immediately she came out from the linen sheets, and stared at her brother who came forward and embraced her in a tight hug.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he mumbled into her shoulder, “I thought something bad had happened to you.”

“I’m okay.” Liv whispered back, although it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as she spoke.

Tommy broke the embrace, as he cupped her face in his hands- searching her eyes for truth.

The moment she looked into her older brothers calculating gaze, Liv just found herself breaking down into floods of tears.

The older man perched on his little sisters temporary bed, scooping her up like she weighed nothing and cradling her in his lap- like he did when Liv was little.

Tommy continued to rock his sister comfortingly, it pained him to see someone he loved so much this upset.

Finally the question arose, “Livvy, What’s got you in such a state?” He asked unsure of the response he’d get.

Olivia took a deep, shuddering breath before responding, “Linda, we’ve been arguing for a few months now. I don’t trust her and she doesn’t respect me. I hit her with snarky comments and she hits me back with ones that hurt twice as much.”

Tommy nodded along, it was obvious the two girls didn’t get on. But Olivia just grit her teeth and bared it for Arthur’s sake.

“And for months she’s been saying this horrible stuff, ‘you’re ugly’, ‘you have witches teeth’, ‘freckles make you look like you’re permanently ill’, ‘it’s not surprising that the only boy who’s attracted to you is a negro’, and then yesterday she told me it was my fault that Mother died- that I killed her.” Olivia cried, tears breaking again, “And I hate myself Tommy, I’m unlovable- it should have been me that died not Mum.”

“No.” Tommy said firmly, “Don’t you ever say that- never say it again. You are my little sister, my little gypsy princess.” He stared at his young sister, “You are kind, brave, smart, loving and beautiful an’ Isaiah is lucky to have someone like you to love.”

At this point Olivia had tucked herself into the crook of his neck, almost as if she was hiding from the truthfulness in his words.

“An’ most importantly, you were not the cause of our Mothers death. You and Finn had no part to play- she was sick Liv, if she hadn’t of died when you were born then she would’ve died a day later.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you Tom.” Liv said in a apologetic tone, “And making you drive to London in a panic.”

“I’d do anything for you Livvy, you know that,” Tommy replied, hugging her tighter and kissing her forehead, “You’re a Shelby- and if that’s not enough for Linda then she can kiss goodbye to our family and Y’know why?”

Olivia smiled, “Because us Shelby’s stick together.”

#peaky blinders #peaky fookin blinders #peakyblinders #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #sister!reader #sister!oc #tommy shelby x sister!reader #thomas shelby x sister! reader #thomas shelby x sister!oc #tommy shelby x sister!oc #cillian murphy #request

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heart-eye-harrington · 4 years

Text

shooting stars never shine for me

Summary: When stuck in the elevator and Dustin can’t sleep he asks you, Robin, and Steve to tell him stories. Steve may let a bit too much slip. Luckily for him, you’re a deep sleeper.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of fear

Author’s Note: Hi! I hope you’re doing well! I hope you enjoy this! ♡

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

If this were a normal night, you’d have the windows of your room thrown open to let as much of the cool night air in as possible. Cricket chirps would mesh with whatever was playing on the small radio in the corner. You’d have just gotten out of a warm shower and scrubbed away any lingering sticky ice cream from your shift. Whatever thin oversized t-shirt you’d grabbed would hang loosely as you got ready for bed. Maybe don one of the sweatshirts Steve leaned you after leaving a cold closing shift. You’d be comfortable and content.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a normal night.

The concrete walls of the elevator shaft seem to suffocate you with their solidarity. Sitting top the elevator gave you a bit of relief from the tightness created by the shelves of boxes. Up here you could watch the elevator cables that twisted like lifeless vines growing into the unknown. You imagined them to be beanstalks, reaching into the clouds to a place of wonder and hope. Even is it was a castle inhabited by giants, at least you would know what kind of danger lied ahead.

The longer you stared into the void above, the more restless you felt. Once comforting sounds like Erica’s snores or Robin’s newest plan echo against the cement and drag you further into the abyss. Each passing hour sews the seeds of discomfort deeper under your skin.

Pushing yourself from your thoughts and spot on the cool metal, you start pacing. Each step brings small creeks from under your feet, adding another white noise to the humming of the fluorescent lights. You keep moving as if the cog in your head won’t turn unless the rest of you is also in motion.

Steve and Robin watch your pacing from their respective spots. Robin’s crisscrossed legs allow her to more easily trace the drawings on her shoes with the tip of her finger. Steve rests his head on the bent knee he’s holding to his chest, making sure you don’t trip over his extended leg.

Every so often your gaze wanders over to Steve, only to find him already looking at you. He sends a comforting smile, blanketing you with warmth like the worn cotton sheet waiting for you on your bed. It’s familiar and soft.

“Son of a bitch”

Three sets of eyes snap to the source of the sound. A yellow and green hat sat atop a head of messy curls pops into view from inside the elevator. Dustin groans again as he tries to pull himself up. Seeing as you’re closest to the trap door, you’re the first to his aid. Steve’s just a second too slow, standing behind you ready to jump into action in case he was needed. Dustin didn’t need much of a pull, just a hand to hold, one you’re eager to give. He quickly joins the three of you, finding a spot to sit next to Robin. You and Steve squat across from the pair.

“What’s up bud? Can’t sleep?” concern is evident in your words, causing the corner of Steve’s lips to tug up. The size of your heart could be measured in small movements like this. You show your unconditional love through not only action and your time, but also your words. It comforts Dustin as well, his shoulders visibly relax. He plays with the laces of his sneakers for a beat before answering.

“I think I did for a bit, but couldn’t stay asleep. I don’t know how Erica does it. She’s snoring so loud.” you all laugh and nod, the briefest flash of normalcy before you’re all plunged back in the rough seas of reality. The once calm waves seemed to turn into a raging storm, swallowing anything foolish enough to get close. The feeling of dread nearly drowns you, but Dustin brought a lifeboat.

“If you could be anyone else, who would you be?” his question seems to be pulled from a daydream, his tone soft and sincere. The question grabs on to your heart and gives it a gentle tug. You know what he really means.

He’s asking for a distraction, for the illusion of a different scenario. Maybe you’re all sharing a booth at the diner or at a bonfire swapping fantastical stories, like at camp. His maturity and intellect often make you forget that he’s still a kid. Hell, you’re all kids. Kids who’re trapped in a secret Russian elevator, unsure and questioning what’s to come. You can’t give him an answer, you can give him a distraction.

The three musketeers, a nickname you lovingly gave you and your coworkers, are called to action. Though not as fully equipped as you’d like, ice cream scoopers in your red canvas holsters instead of swords, there’s a different way to fight your way out of this. Hope.

You stir a bit, taking a moment to reach through the filing cabinet in your mind to find the hidden answer. It had been a while since you answered the question of “what you wanna be when you grow up?” with childlike innocence. You remembered your classmates’ answers; a princess, Spider-Man, a unicorn, James Bond, a mermaid like Ariel.

“I’d be a poet. Not like someone you’d read about in English class, I’d have magic. I’d actually be good with words for once, and anything I said would be beautiful. I’d share my heart and confess the things I yearn, write in verse, and all that cool stuff. It would be filled with jokes and wit, all timed perfectly. My stories would be so wonderful I could throw them into the night sky. The stars and moon could tell my tales”

Your words hang in the air, replacing the fear with happy contemplation. The story you weaved playing out in everyone’s minds. One part sticks out to Steve, lodging itself in his mind. I’d share my heart and confess the things I yearn. Before he can dwell on your words that tumble through his mind, Robin begins to speak.

“I’d be a Viking. I’d sail away, see the world. I’d feel the wind, taste the salty sea air. Plus, how badass would it be to storm some beaches?” she chuckles at her vision. Robin cocks her head to glance at Dustin. There’s a gleam in his eyes, a flicker of hope.

“You’d probably smell like fish.” his eyes crinkle with his small poke in her airtight plan.

“A small sacrifice for a daring life” a content smirk plays her lips. Content, Dustin’s gaze falls to Steve. He shifts under the boy’s watch, realizing he’s gonna have to come up with something too. He thinks for a moment, then it comes to him.

“I guess I’d be a hero. Have a sword and some cool armor. Go on quests, ride a horse.” he shrugs, hoping that would be enough. Of course, it’s not for the ever-curious boy.

“What would your horse’s name be?” Dustin stares expectantly

“I don’t know, I didn’t think that much into it” Steve’s brows knit.

“This is your wildest dream and you don’t have a name for your noble steed?” Steve doesn’t realize how close you were till he can feel the small vibrations of your laughter.

“Alright, alright. My steed-” he emphasizes the word with a laugh and extended hands, “-would be named Rocky. Ya’know, like the boxer. ” Groans and laughter fill the air.

Hours of stress finally start to melt away with the swapped stories. The mental exhaustion finally catches up to you, and you feel your lids get heavier. Steve’s voice and body heat lure you deeper in with a sense of safety, an invitation to rest. Before you have a chance to fight it, sleep pulls you in. Your head rests against Steve’s shoulder, quiet snores pass through your barely parted lips.

Steve’s eyes fall and meet Robin’s. She gestures for him to keep talking, to keep telling a story. When she’s faced with a quizzical look, she realizes she’s gonna have to coax him on. Tell us about a quest you’d go on she mouthes, feeding him a line.

“Uh-um, I’d be a hero who helps people. I’d be fearless, bravely running into danger to protect others. I’d use my sword to defeat the monsters. I’d have cool advisors who are wiser than me, like uh, maybe a wizard or a certain Viking.” Robin and Dustin laugh at his words, though Dustin’s is much weaker, as sleep begins to soften him. He rests his head beside Robin’s lap and nods for Steve to continue.

“On one of my quests, I’d hear of a treasure in a tower. Of course, I need to check it out. I console my trusty Viking friend and prepare Rocky. I ride through fields and swamps and forests before finding the dungeon. I’d climb the tower and find the most unexpected treasure. It’s a princess, with the most enchanting smile, the biggest heart, and cunning wit. I’d try to carry her away, but she’d be too stubborn and insist on walking on their own.”

You shift more of your weight onto him as rest pulls you deeper in. He wraps an arm around you, gently squeezing your shoulder, savoring the innocent closeness. Steve looks up to see Dustin’s eye almost fully closed. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working

“We’d make our way out of the tower. Standing guard would be a beast, and I’d somehow conquer it. We’d hop upon Rocky and ride off into safety. I’d get the girl. I’d take a breath, and I’d remove my helmet. We’d stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. She’d start talking first, cause I’m never good with words. We’d speak of love, maybe share a kiss. I’d have a hero’s ending, a perfect happy ending.”

Robin grins ear to ear, internally freaking out over Steve’s subconscious confession. Every tiny detail about this dream princess were traits in the sleeping figure curled into his side. Despite her own joyous feelings, she finds a sad expression etched into Steve’s features. He’s absently mindedly rubbing your arm, seeming lost in thought.

“Hey, Harrington” she whisper-screams to him, careful not to wake you or Dustin.

“It’s not for me.” sadness drips from every word.

“What?”

“A perfect happy ending, it’s not for me” His eyes are wide, tears threatening to break his strong facade. Robin had never seen him like this, and it was jarring.

“I was a real douchebag. You remember what I was like, I know you do. And I know she does too.” He loosens his grip on you for a moment. Your nose crinkles at the loss, which is permission enough for him to tightly pull you into him.

“I’m no hero. I don’t deserve the girl and the happy ending they bring with.”

“Steve, look at me.” Robin’s words are stern even in their hushed state, and it’s enough to pull his eyes from you to her.

“You were a douchebag, I’ll give you that, but you’re so much more. We all see it. Now, that’s as mushy as I’m gonna get. Now stop moping and maybe next time confess your feelings when she’s awake.” and with that, she quiets stands and makes her way into the elevator, leaving Steve to watch over the two left sleeping atop.

There isn’t even a minute of silence before Steve hears a faint noise. He looks to find Dustin slowly sitting up, groaning as if trying to shake just enough sleep out of him to stand. He’s successful and makes his way to Steve’s side where you’re not asleep. Dustin plops himself down, obviously still groggy.

“You’re a hero to me.” His words were soft, but the meaning behind them seemed to scream to Steve. He realized he saw himself through rose-colored glasses that had been punched in. The broken glass made things disfigured. He saw only the jagged and broken, the pain and hurt. He saw the King of Hawkins High who’d do anything to keep his crown.

Maybe that wasn’t true.

Maybe it was time to take the broken lenses and make them into a kaleidoscope. A new way to look at himself. To look to the light and see something beautiful. He could look to the future and be full of hope. He’d still have room to grow, but don’t we all? If he was good enough for Dustin and the rest of the kids, maybe he was good enough for you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fic

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winter-turtle · 3 years

Text

House Of Wolves - Chapter 3 - Winterturtle - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 3: Hope Is Fatal

(posting now because I'm a dumbass and I forgot to post it here after I put it on AO3)

Bound to a chair, he couldn’t move around too much. He was in pain.

“You need to learn how to be still.”

No, stop.

“The pain won’t be as bad once you stop squirming.”

He tried, but he couldn’t stifle the scream completely.

“Do you think someone else will give you a breather?”

It hurts.

“It’s for your own good.”

Peter’s eyes flew open with sharp intake of breath. He wouldn’t scream. He couldn’t. He’d learned long ago not to do it as it would show his enemies that he was weak.

And Peter wasn’t weak.

His hammering heart started to slow down to a more reasonable pace as his eyes adjusted to the dark, scanning his surroundings. The memory (nightmare?) began to fade into the back of his mind upon taking in the familiar shapes of his room.

When did he stopped thinking about it as a cell?

He was safe. Nobody could touch him here.

But… he didn’t fall asleep here. He didn’t remember walking back here either, so that only meant that someone had to carry him.

Again, he suspected who.

When one spends most of the time in confinement, it was only natural that they had a lot of time to think about things. That’s exactly how Peter was doing. He thought. He wondered. He went over every single interaction he’s had with the heroes in hopes of figuring out the reason why they were… trying.

More precisely why Stark was trying. Yes, the man might be persistent and his stubbornness seemed to turn everything into a disaster as the trip to the gym had proven, but Peter just couldn’t sense any hostile intent.

None of this made any sense. Why would people like the Avengers show any care to him?

“Hurting their own children is not something normal parents do.”

Peter shook his head. Those stupid words refused his mind since they left Stark’s mouth. “Normal parents…” he said softly under his breath, as if testing how the words felt. Normal. How normal parents behaved? How would his life turn out to be if he had normal life?

Then again, he never was normal, was he?

Deciding that the constant swirling of his thoughts won’t let him fall back asleep, Peter slipped from underneath the covers and walked towards the door. Moving around always helped. He stood there for a moment before placing his hand on the handle. What were the chances of it opening?

“Here goes nothing.”

He pushed and to his surprise, the door opened. “Huh.” Okay, so he wasn’t locked, but there was no doubt that the AI was watching his every move. Well, don’t look gifted horse in the mouth, he thought as he walked.

Turn the corner, first window, second window, third window…

Peter stopped before the fourth window. He didn’t get past this point the last time. “Okay,” he whispered to himself, raising his hand, “okay.” Ever so slowly and with bated breath, his hand inched towards the invisible barrier. His heartbeat picked up as he expected the stabbing pain any second.

But no pain came. No stabbing of needles, no sudden lightheadedness and no sudden loss of consciousness. Peter only released the breath when his hand was fully outstretched in front of him.

Peter put his other hand in front of him and took a step forward. Then another one. Then another one and then, when he realized that nothing was about to happed, lowered his hands so he wouldn’t look like a total weirdo that was pretending to walk like a zombie.

Stark kept his word.

Another speck of doubt fell on what once used to be carefully balanced scales, tilting it even more.

More or less, Peter found his way to the gym by following his nose. The room was dark, only illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the windows under the tall ceiling. The light fell on various machines which in turn threw long shadows all around the room. When Peter was little, he’d been terrified of shadows like these. He’d felt like they would turn into a monster that would drag him away.

And then he’d spent five days in almost complete dark all on his own.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” his mother smiled sweetly after he was let out, tired and with dried tear tracks on his cheeks. “The only monsters in the world are those people who call themselves heroes.”

Okay, no. He was getting side-tracked. A nice workout session was bound to clear his head.

Soon, Peter fell into a familiar routine. Warm-up, push-ups, sit-ups, some gymnastics… it did wonders to his mind. For the first time in four weeks, he felt himself truly relax.

Still, a tiny part of him remained on edge. Maybe it was the childish part of him that somehow remained in him despite the countless attempts to beat it out of him, but he could swear he saw the shadows shift every once in a while. Yet every time he looked, there was nothing amiss – just the same equipment sitting on the same spot.

Peter dropped down from the rings with almost inaudible thump. His eyes closed.

“A bit late for a workout.”

Peter whipped around, pinpointing the source of voice. Black Widow sat on a nearby bench, almost shrouded by the shadows, her gaze trained on the dumbbell in her hand.

So he wasn’t paranoid; it was most likely her who caused the occasional shift of the shadows. But that left one question.

Why didn’t his spidey-sense alert him to her presence?

“I must say, that was quite impressive set of moves.”

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked instead.

She switched arms. “I live here. Can’t I come for a late-night workout session too?”

Peter opted to remain silent. The woman continued through her set before standing up and putting the dumbbell to its original spot. “Care to give me a hand?” she asked as she lied down on a bench and grabbed ahold of a barbell.

Not a single of her footsteps could be heard, even with his super hearing. Peter found it impressive.

He didn’t know why, but he followed. He got ahold of the metal bar, securing it in case Romanov’s arms would buckle.

“You know,” she began, her voice slightly strained, “I always come here too when sleep seems impossible. Those night when something is keeping you up…”

Silence.

“So, what kept you up? You looked pretty tired at the movies.”

Peter huffed. “What kept you up?”

She shrugged. For a while, Peter thought that was the end of the conversation, but the universe loved to prove him wrong.

“It’s confusing, isn’t it? When two worlds clash and suddenly you are left to question everything.”

Peter didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. “What do you know?”

“A lot.”

Okay, even if Peter was vaguely aware of Romanov’s background, the answer wasn’t helpful at all. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Despite the warning, despite me saying what I did… you know I could just let go of this barbell and let it crush your throat. Nobody would be able to do anything to stop me.”

“Then by all means do. Feel free. You have a perfect opportunity,” she said, perfectly unfazed.

Peter stared at her as if she was a particularly difficult piece of puzzle.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

Why wasn’t she afraid of him?

The weight gave a sudden jerk down. Peter instinctively gripped it, preventing it from dipping further. His slightly widened brown eyes locked with Romanov’s green, trying to read them, although unsuccessfully. But whatever the woman was looking for in his, she must have found it.

With a final grunt, Romanov put the weight back and stood up. She gave Peter a onceover before nodding to herself and then headed to the door, dabbing her sweat away with the towel.

“Why did you come here?” he asked in lowly before she crossed the threshold.

She shrugged. “Just a late-night workout. Same as you. And with that out of the way, I believe the sleep will come easier. You should head to bed too. Growing boys need their rest so they can get big and strong.”

Peter stared at the spot until he was sure he was alone. His mind was whirling.

Was this some kind of test? It certainly felt like it. But if it was, it brought on a question of whether he passed or not. He didn’t know which option he preferred.

A glint coming from underneath one of the bicycles caught his eye. Peter, pretending to tie his shoelace, picked up the object. A smile slowly spreading across his face at the sight of the forgotten black bobby pin. The hair stuck to it was long, too long, so that ruled out Black Widow as the owner. Peter doubted she would be careless enough to leave this lying here.

Finally something he could use.

He resumed the “tying” of the shoelaces when in reality, he slipped the pin into his shoe. He stood up and left.

Getting the bracelets open took him longer than he would like to admit, but prying small panels off with nothing but a bobby pin wasn’t the easiest task. But here he was, sitting on a bathroom floor, staring at the exposed mechanism. If he was correct, these parts were responsible for dampening his powers.

Peter positioned his wrists so they would be in line with the ends of the bobby pin. He had to do it correctly if he wanted to succeed. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he messed up.

It could shock him unconscious, release a lethal dose of the sedatives… the list went on.

Taking a steadying breath, he curled his hands into fists, and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

“Three, two… one.”

He brough his wrists together in one swift motion, stabbing the exposed areas at the same time. The bracelets let out a single spark of light each and thin trail of smoke.

“Well, that probably short-circuited something else too,” Peter muttered as he closed the exposed areas. You could spot the faint scratches on the sleek silver surface only if you looked for them. After he removed the pin from the soap and tucked it where, hopefully, nobody would find it, he returned to the living area. Had had mapped the field the camera could see, which allowed him to pick the blind spot big enough to test the results.

He placed his palms on the wall. “Here goes nothing,” he said and jumped.

He didn’t fall.

He didn’t fall!

Grin threatened to split his face in two. “Yes! Yes!” he quietly cheered. Wasting no more time, Peter climbed the rest of the way up and nestled himself into the corner. The familiar feeling was soothing him instantly. Well, it looked like he was about to get first full night of good sleep since he ended up at this place.

That was his last thought before he fell asleep, the corners of his lips quirked upwards.

“Friday, is the kid awake yet?” Tony asked from where he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. When Natasha came to him earlier and told him her night encounter, it actually put him in a good mood.

“I am unable to get my eyes on Peter.”

Tony’s smile froze. “Is he in a bathroom?” The kid didn’t get sick again, did he?

“Negative, Boss. He left the bathroom in early morning hours and then I lost sight of him.”

“Bracelets?”

“I am unable to detect the location from those.”

Tony’s heart skipped a beat at that. “Comb through the footage.” With heavy heart, he abandoned the coffee and headed to the kid’s room.

Kid, for both of our sake, but mostly for yours, I hope you didn’t run.

Peter woke up to a sound that sounded suspiciously like a wheeze. He let out disgruntles sigh and turned his head to look over his shoulder. To his surprise, he found Stark below him, his arms awkwardly in front of him.

“Why do you look like you’re about to have a heart attack?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re stuck to a ceiling?!”

The brief flash of confusion turned into understanding once he realized where he was. “Oh. Right.”

“Oh? Right?! That’s all you’re going to say about it?! You could’ve fallen!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark.” Mr. Stark, huh? Now when did that happen? “I won’t fall.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I know,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “My powers, remember?”

Wait-

Oh shit, his powers! Mr. Stark knew caught him. “I, uh…”

Smart, Parker. Really smart.

“Right,” Mr. Stark said slowly, “how about you come down?”

Shit, shit, shit- Peter did his best not to outwardly show his panic. He messed up big time. And when there was a mess-up, a punishment usually followed. What a pity. He went so long without one.

Peter could’ve jumped, but he wanted to savor those precious seconds before the pain came, so he started climbing down. Well, the least he could do was to face it like a champ. Like always.

No place for weaknesses.

“Hey, is everything all—"

New voice.

Peter froze still stuck to the wall. Mr. Stark whipped around. It seemed like the time in the room stopped as Wilson and Barnes’ eyes slid from Mr. Stark’s form to him.

Maybe if I don’t move, they won’t see me, Peter thought.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to do that,” Wilson said warily and to be fair, Peter couldn’t blame him. He did attack the man before.

Peter soundlessly lowered himself to the ground, the slight shift of the two newcomers’ bodies making Peter’s own tense in response. He will defend himself should he be attacked.

Mr. Stark stepped in front of him, shielding Peter from the view. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Leave us. We’ll join you shortly.”

Wilson leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of Peter. The boy didn’t need to be a telepath to know what was going through the man’s head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Go.”

The man looked like he wanted to protest, but Barnes’ hand on his shoulder stopped him. The former Hydra assassin nodded towards the door. Wilson, though reluctantly, relented. “Okay.”

Once the two were out of the sight, Mr. Stark turned to face Peter and took a step towards him. Here it comes. Peter lifted his head, his jaw clenched as he waited for the blow to land. Will it be a slap or punch? Will it be just his face that gets struck or his torso too? Will he get kicked once he’s on his knees?

Two arms sneaked around his body, one around his arms and one burying itself in his hair, made Peter turn into a statue. But no pain came. The touch was… gentle, actually. The hand in his hair began to cradle through his curls. It felt like someone pulled the plug and all of Peter’s tension went down the drain.

“I’m not mad,” Mr. Stark murmured into his hair, startling Peter and making him free himself from the hold before he could sink into it fully.

“What was that?”

Mr. Stark quirked one eyebrow. “Me saying I’m not mad or the hug?” When Peter didn’t reply, the curiosity turned into a small frown. “Did you ever get hugged?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, plenty. All-all the time,” Peter rushed out, but the lie sounded fake to his own ears.

“Right, as I was saying, I’m not mad, but I have to ask – how did you disable it?”

Peter decided to take the risk and merely shrugged. He fully expected Mr. Stark to press further for the answers, but the man only nodded and said, “Okay. Now come on, breakfast is on the table.”

Peter could only blink after the man. Mr. Stark didn’t strike him. Mr. Stark didn’t strike him! Peter messed up, did something he shouldn’t have done… yet there was no beating. Not even after he refused to say how he disabled the bracelets. All those things would get him pretty beaten up back home, what the hell?

Safe, his mind whispered.

Peter mulled over the word. Safe. Yes, he was safe, wasn’t he? Mr. Stark stepped in front of him, shielding him with his own body. Mr. Stark hugged him.

Nobody could touch him if he was near Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark meant safety. Safety felt nice.

Peter decided he liked Mr. Stark.

The day was spent by the kid glued to the TV, watching one sci-fi movie after another. The rest of Star Wars saga, Alien, Back to the Future, Jurassic Park – it didn’t matter. It was like he tuned out the rest of the world, only acknowledging when someone joined him on the couch with brief glance. Tony couldn’t help the tiny smile at the sight of childish wonder in Peter’s eyes. With all of the training his parents had put him through, there was no doubt that the boy had any time to just… be a kid.

Tony decided not to do anything about the bracelets. That was another point he wanted to bring up – trust. And besides, if the kid wanted to run, he would have done that the moment he disabled the power dampener.

He made a note to clean and basically child-and-villain-proof his workshop. He wanted to see on what level the kid was despite never attending school. He had to have some knowledge if he was able to disable them.

The whole confrontation refused to leave his mind. Peter looked like a deer caught in a headlight once he realized he was sticking to the ceiling. Like he was expecting him to lash out.

The addition of Mr. and Miss in front of their names came as a pleasant shock. Well, except Steve. Steve was still called Call-Me-Steve. And to Steve’s annoyance, the rest of the team took on the nickname as well. Still, it helped to ease the atmosphere between Peter and the group.

The efforts seemed to start paying off, because the kid basically imprinted on Tony like a duckling, checking from time to time if Tony was nearby.

When Tony found Peter sleeping in the same corner the next day, he had a comfy hammock installed there. Though he thought the kid would appreciate it, it was also mostly for peace of Tony’s own mind.

And as it turned out, he was right. Peter’s whole face lit up once he spotted the little nest.

Tony’s heart flooded with warmth.

Tony craned his neck up. “You sure like that book, huh?”

Peter, sitting on a ceiling, glanced over the top before returning his gaze to the pages. “It’s alright.”

Over the days of interacting with their little charge, Tony believed he became fluent in the teen. He never expressed outward joy and Tony for some reason suspected that it was because of the kid’s fear of having the object of his joy taken away. That, or he didn’t know how to properly express what he was feeling, which Tony found relatable.

Another round of laughter came from the group huddled near the TV. The team had taken up watching the aforementioned PSAs, making their local fossil cover his face in embarrassment. Clint was bent over, holding his sides. “Aw, man, these are hilarious.”

“Play the one about reproduction. You can see Call-Me-Steve’s soul leave his body in that one,” Peter said without looking away from the page. Eventually, he looked, but not at the group. He looked at Bucky, who was only half-attempting to hide his staring. “Why are you staring at me so much?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Peter’s eyebrows knitted together. “Uh, okay? For what exactly?”

“For trying to kill you.”

“Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down? Many people tried to kill me. As you can see, they didn’t succeed.”

Bucky shifted, bowing his head slightly. “I tried… as a Winter Soldier, I was given the order to kill you shortly after you got your powers. I’m sorry.”

Aside from the rowdy group going crazy over the videos, everything was quiet in their little corner.

“Eh, it’s no big deal,” the kid said, making both men turn to him. “I don’t remember it at all, you obviously failed as I’m right here, so… no hard feelings on my side.”

“But I—”

“If you want to hear ‘I forgive you’ from me, then fine. I forgive you. You can cross my name off some list if you have one, but I literally couldn’t care less.”

Tony watched as Barnes’ shoulders fell in acceptance and mentally added him on a list of people that Peter started to slowly warm up to. First it was Natasha, then Rhodey and then Clint being, well, Clint, got jealous and practically started to buy the kid with chocolate. He puffed like a peacock when Peter told him ‘you’re not so bad’.

But Tony knew he was still number one and nobody could take it away from him.

His idle scrolling through SI documents that Pepper labeled as “important” got interrupted by an alert lighting up on his watch. Peter’s vitals were all over the place for the past five minutes.

Peter hadn’t moved from his spot on the ceiling, but it didn’t escape Tony how hunched over the book the kid was, wide eyes furiously going over the page and lips slightly parted. “Pete?” Nothing. “Kid?” Still no response. “Must be hell of a book,” he muttered under his breath.

A broom in the corner caught his attention. Shrugging, he grabbed it and then poked Peter’s side. The effect was instant. The kid yelped and if it wasn’t for his stickiness and quick reflexes, he would’ve fallen. “What the hell, Mr. Stark?” he cried out as he slightly swinged from side to side.

“Breathe!” Tony said, exasperated. “Or you’ll faceplant on the floor when you pass out.”

“You almost made me fall!”

Tony poked the kid’s ribs with the broom handle. “Well, what was I supposed to do? You didn’t react to anything else!”

“Well, maybe I acknowledged you with a hum but your old man ears didn’t catch that.”

Tony let out dramatic gasp. “You sassy little shit,” he said, flipped the broom over and began to playfully whack the boy with it. Peter giggled – actually giggled – and moved out of the broom’s reach. Tony gave chase, eliciting more giggles from the kid. “I’ll let you know that I’m not that old!”

“Whatever makes you feel better, old man,” the kid replied cheekily.

Tony huffed and shook his head. “Kids these days have no respect,” he grumbled. “Just breathe next time.” He went back to the documents, aware that Peter was following him to stay close.

And just when Tony thought that everything went well, of course it had to go to shit.

Tony heard the kid draw in shuddering breath, noticing that he made it through the book. But that wasn’t all that caught his attention. No, he tried and failed to decipher the emotions that rapidly flashed across Peter’s features. In one flash, Tony could’ve sworn that the kid was about to cry.

Just as fast as it appeared, it disappeared, Peter closed the book shut, jumped down, threw the book on the table and stormed from the room. Tony grabbed the book in hopes to find what had upset the kid since he enjoyed it so much. He flipped to the last page and he immediately understood.

“What was that about?” Rhodey asked.

“I’m going to get that girl from that bookstore fired,” he muttered angrily, passing the book to Sam’s waiting hands. Hope was apparently one of the themes; that was the reason Tony got it in the first place. “No wonder he’s upset with an ending like that!”

Sam passed the book to Natasha. “Well, it is a trilogy. If you wanted cliché happy ending, you should've gotten some standalone. Or different author.”

“Tony,” Steve said, “don’t—”

“What, Steve?” he snapped. “Don’t bother trying? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“No.”

Tony stopped.

“I wanted to say that whatever went wrong this time, you’ll be able to fix it. You always do.” Tony stared, dumbfounded. Steve continued. “I had my doubts before, but after seeing you two earlier… I was wrong. Whatever you need, we’ll help.”

“Huh. Never would have thought that we would see eye to eye, but… thanks, Cap. I appreciate it,” Tony said, and he meant it. But now onto more pressing matter. “Okay, I’m gonna go talk to him, make sure the kid’s okay.”

“Wait!” Clint called out, making Tony stop. “A bit of advice from seasoned dad to a new dad – if you push a teenager to talk when he doesn’t want to, you’ll do more harm than good. You have to let him blow some steam off first. And until then,” he opened a vent hatch and pulled out a chocolate tablet from now not-so-secret stash, “here.”

Tony accepted the sweet treat. Clint must really want to help if he was willing to pass up on an opportunity to bribe the kid into liking him. “Thanks, Clint.”

He was almost out of the room when he turned around so fast it almost gave everyone a whiplash.

“Hold on… what do you mean a new dad?”

In the darkness of his room and in the comfort of his hammock, Peter made up his mind. He was running away. He didn’t know where exactly he would go since his parents most likely changed the locations, but he could go to some of their old hiding spots. Those places still had running water and provided safe cover from the weather. Food will be a trouble, but he could figure that part out once it came to that.

He glanced at the chocolate in his lap that Mr. Stark brought him earlier and then threw it into the hammock because he couldn’t reach that high up and Peter refused to come down. He set it aside and jumped down.

He’ll miss the taste.

He’ll miss the comfort of the hammock.

He’ll miss Mr. Sta-

Peter firmly cut himself off. No. He had to stop this before he got in far too deep. Because if he dared to hope that things could be better, it would simply get taken away from him anyway. Hope was fatal. Better to spare himself the pain.

Assuming that all doors were locked for the nigh, Peter found a stairwell and bean to climb up in a search for the roof. Then he could scale down the wall and leave all of this behind.

He found the door at last. With a sense of finality pooling in his stomach, he gripped the handle and pulled the door open.

Peter looked up and stopped.

It was a good thing that Tony wasn’t asleep when Friday alerted him that the kid was on the roof. He put on one of his old zip-up hoodies and headed to his destination, not knowing what to expect. Aside from the time in the gym, Peter never wandered the Compound at night.

He opened the door and whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t a pair of feet hanging in front of his face. Ducking underneath them, it didn’t take long to find the rest of the teen. Peter was sprawled on his back above the door. “A bit late to be outside.”

“There are so many,” the kid whispered, pure awe in his voice.

Tony looked up at the inky sky littered with millions of tiny bright dots. “There sure are. Not a cloud in sight. Perfect time for stargazing,” he said as he leaned on the wall next to Peter’s legs. “You’ve… never seen the stars?”

“I never really left the city. You can’t see this there with all that light pollution. Plus, when we were doing night missions outside of the city, it was always on cloudy night for maximum cover.”

Yeah, that would make sense. Though Tony couldn’t help but feel queasy at the memories of being up there. It was enough to make his skin prickle.

“You’ve been to space, right? During the battle of New York.”

Dang, the kid had to bring it up. But he was talking with Tony willingly, so he wouldn’t let the chance go to waste. “Yeah. I was.”

“How was it?”

Terrifying. Traumatizing. Nightmare and panic attack inducing. “It was… big. Vast and dark.”

“I would like to see it one day.”

Tony huffed. “Let’s hope it will be under better circumstances.”

“Thank you for closing that portal. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”

“Wait, you were there?”

“Of course. Like every person in New York.” The kid paused, seemingly contemplating to elaborate. “I was outside when the invasion happened. I wasn’t fast enough to hide in the safehouse and those things cornered me. I fought but more and more kept coming… and then they all fell. The portal closed.”

Tony found himself sitting next to Peter. He pushed the memories away in order to focus on his young charge. “Wait, that was you?”

Peter glanced at him. “Huh?”

“There was a part of the city where we weren’t fighting, but we found a bunch of Chitauri that were incapacitated before the mothership was destroyed. That was you, wasn’t it?” But none of them were killed. That planted some serious doubt about Peter’s claims that he killed someone. Sure, he was way younger then, but child soldiers killed since very young age. Plus… “There were several civilians claiming that some enhanced human had saved them.”

The kid averted his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just protected myself.”

Lies. Tony never thought he would be grateful for those. “Well then,” he said with small smile, “whoever saved those people is a hero.”

“I didn’t save anyone.”

“I didn’t say that.”

More silence. About half a minute passed before Peter sat up, still looking up at the sky. “Do you really think that I can change? Despite everything I’ve done?”

The vulnerability in those words made Tony’s heart ache. “You just have to have a little bit of hope.”

“Hope is fatal.”

“Is it though?”

Peter shrugged, then shivered.

“Are you cold?” Tony asked.

Peter wrapped his hands around himself and shook his head in amusement. “The spider part of me doesn’t exactly like the cold.”

Oh. Right. Spiders can’t thermoregulate. Tony immediately shrugged off his hoodie. “Here,” he said as he wrapped it around Peter’s shoulders.

With wide eyes, Peter pulled the hoodie tighter around himself. “I- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this… or understand.”

“But you’ll learn.”

A brief hesitation. “But I’ll learn,” Peter repeated. “Thank you.”

Tony’s heart leaped with joy. A grin threatened to betray how he truly felt, but thankfully, he got saved by the kid’s stomach rumbling loudly. He laughed. “Hungry?”

“A little bit,” Peter muttered, his cheeks dusting pink. Another loud rumble could be heard. “Traitor,” he muttered, looking down pointedly.

Tony ruffled Peter’s hair. “Let’s get some food into you then. Nothing is better than the good old midnight raid of the fridge.”

They tinkered in comfortable silence in Mr. Stark’s workshop. If Peter counted correctly, tomorrow should be five-week anniversary of his capture. When he compared his current-self with his past-self, it was almost unbelievable how much has his attitude towards the heroes changed.

Where there used to be struggles and attacks and rude words, now there were group meals and playful banter. Peter still struggled with that one, but as Mr. Stark had said, he’ll learn.

And oh how Peter was willing to learn, especially in Mr. Stark’s workshop. So much technology in one place. It was a dream come true! Yes, he had restrictions because of his villain status, but he still made the most of what he was allowed.

Peter dared to say that he was… happy.

A sound of muffled explosion made his head snap up and not a second later an alarm started to blare. “What’s going on?”

Mr. Stark brought up a footage Peter couldn’t see. “We’re under attack. Don’t worry, just… stay here, okay?” he said, and with that, he was gone.

The tightness on Mr. Stark’s face, along with the churning of his stomach, gave Peter a pretty good tip on who was attacking. More explosions could be heard over the alarm. They were louder. Closer. Like they were on…

The roof.

Peter was torn. Why now? His own words echoed in his head.

“They’re just waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Dammit.

Mr. Stark told him to stay put. And he wanted to obey, he really did, but… the sound of the battle went on for too long.

Peter knew what he had to do.

With his features set with determination, he headed out of the lab, but not before slipping a metallic disc into his shoe. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he pushed the pulled the door to the roof open. Unsurprisingly, he was met with the sight of a battlefield. There were dents in the roof. Charred spots from where the explosion went off. Even some bloodstains.

“Peter?” he heard Mr. Stark say. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay put!”

Peter didn’t get the chance to reply. “Spider!” He knew that voice. That was his mother’s voice. “What are you waiting for? Come on!” Peter spotted her on something that resembled a helicopter. His father was piloting, but still shot small rockets at the heroes on the roof.

“Peter, don’t,” Mr. Stark pleaded, shooting from his wrist gauntlet.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and gulped. Then he began to sprint across the roof towards his parents. Someone tackled him.

“Pete, kid, listen,” Mr. Stark said, “you don’t have to go with them. Remember what we were talking about? You can be better! Don’t throw everything away. Please,” he choked the last word out.

But he knew what he had to do. So, flipping the man easily off of his body, he took off running once again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not sure if it could be heard through the lump in his throat. Peter came to the edge of the roof and jumped. His hand clasped around his mother’s extended one.

“Now!” his mother yelled at the same time as their hands connected.

An electric blast went through the tower, rendering all electronic on the roof useless. Peter heard the clang of Rhodey’s metal suit as it hit the ground. Peter risked the glance over his shoulder at the people he left behind.

“Nice one, Richard!”

“You were great too, hun!”

As always, no praise for Peter. A sudden stabbing pain came from around his wrists. Peter set his lips into thin like. “I forgot about these,” he muttered.

Well, he guessed he deserved it.

Darkness swallowed him.

#marvel fanfiction #tony stark #peter parker #villain peter parker #irondad #spiderson

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Working Like a Charm

Sammie Smith’s body ached. Every muscle screamed to the high heavens, lamenting long hours of work, telling a tale of soreness and overexertion. He could feel how sunken his eyes must have looked but avoided rubbing them.

Numb to the layers of grit and filth from the coal mine that clung to every surface of exposed skin, his weary calloused hands burned from clutching tools for as long as he had. Still was he clutching them now, carrying his heavy shovel and pickaxe on a shoulder. Part of why “Baron” Callan had hired him—he brought his own tools to work.

The day had been entirely too damned long, he thought. His head hung low, he looked forward to crashing into his creaky old rocking chair, warming up a bowl of beans, taking a bath, and getting a good night’s sleep. Night came fast this time of year, and the day had dragged on into overtime due to a cave-in, setting them back and subjecting the workforce to Callan’s barking admonitions. At least nobody had gotten hurt in the accident.

Sammie’s feet dragged and kicked up tiny clouds as he walked the dusty road back to his home on the edge of Dead End.

His shanty little shack stood amid a copse of trees, just far away enough from the town’s center that he needed not deal with the raucous noise from the saloon or the farrier’s daily toil or other busywork in the rugged frontier town, but not so far away that it made fetching water and supplies too much of a hassle.

He tripped over something, stumbled a few steps, and caught himself before gravity could drag him down. Sammie slowly turned to look at what had snagged his boot.

A linen sack. Sopping wet and dark in color. About the size of a human head.

It took him several moments to register what he was looking at. For the realization to sink in. He lost track of time, oblivious to how long he was standing there, staring at the linen sack, piecing together why his own brain figured it to be the size of a human head, or that the stain in the coarse cloth and on the dirt around it had to be blood.

And then his mind snapped onto a decision. He did what he believed every other conscientious citizen of their fine town should do upon finding a severed head by the roadside on their way home. He kicked it away with full force, cringing at the squelching sound and how little it flew past the shrubs, heavy with fluid, and it flopped unevenly, disappearing awkwardly into the shade of the underbrush.

He had been stealing pennies from Callan and often cheated at cards. He had pissed off plenty of people around town in some of his bouts of drunken aggression, and Sammie did not want to have Sheriff Moody on his ass for accusations of a murder he did not commit.

With a heavy sigh and hoping to leave the severed head behind for wild animals and vermin to claim, he continued his way home.

Only about thirty paces away from his shack, he stopped and groaned, beginning to second-guess and regret what he had just done. If it did draw wild animals, they would be a bit too close to his hut for comfort. And leaving it there for some rascal or dog to find might just make people think he did it either way.

Branches bent and snapped as he hastily dumped his tools by the side of the dirt path and started poking around in the bush where the head in the burlap sack had rolled off to.

Sammie swore up a storm as he searched. The blood drained more and more from his head with every second, a sense of dread forming a knot in his stomach as he could not find it and began to imagine people pointing and laughing while they hanged him from the gallows.

It had not flown far. How in tarnation could he not have found it already?

Glass shattered and metal clattered, and the burst of ruckus stopped him dead in his tracks. Sammie’s head jutted over, and he craned his neck over the edge of the bushes to peer at his shack.

Someone was in there.

The murderer?

He could feel his heart pounding away as it uncomfortably pumped blood through his throbbing chest, digits, and ears. Even his belly pulsed with his festering sense of fear.

Straining his eyes to see inside the darkness behind the small and shoddy windows of his cabin, he could not make out anybody in there. Eagerly awaiting a motion to make itself noticed.

He licked his parched lips and returned to his tools, keeping his eyes trained on his home. He ducked down, pawing at the first wooden shaft his hands found purchase on, then gripped the pickaxe in both hands.

Step by step, careful to not make too much sound as he approached, he drew his axe up high above his head, ready to swing it and kill if need be.

The closer he drew to the shabby front door of his cabin, the more subtle sounds he perceived from inside: scratching, followed by a man’s clipped cough, followed by wooden objects scraping against each other, followed by what sounded like someone smacking their lips—

Sammie arrived by the door. His heart throbbed with such pounding force that it felt like it was trying to escape every orifice, trying to drown out every little noise.

He kicked the door and started swearing once the sensation of the jolt reached his ankle and knee—the door just rattled in its hinges, refusing to yield anything but additional pain in his already sore leg. He lost balance and stumbled away, using the pickaxe to brace himself from falling, skidding across the dirt.

Whoever had invaded his home did not react to his fumbling around outside. Still sounded like someone was eating in there.

Was this rat bastard eating his jerky supplies?

The fury welling up in his gut—being stolen from, being possibly framed for murder, making a fool of himself in failing to kick his own door open, frustrated by the ghoulish foreman and “Baron” at work, being too tired for any of this—somehow eclipsed his fear.

Fuming, Sammie ripped the door open, gripping the pickaxe in one hand, knowing it might as well just scare off the scoundrel to show he could drive the pick right through him if he started messing around.

One step beyond the threshold, he froze.

Faint light from the setting sun poured in through the cabin’s small windows, revealing a cloud of dust motes to be dancing in the rays. The smell of feces and vomit lingered in the air, like someone had dragged the horse trough from outside the saloon into here.

A stranger sat at his table, eating. Eating what looked to be shards of glass in one of Sammie’s wooden bowls. The stranger smacked his lips and the glass crunched between his teeth as he chewed, with rivulets of blood trickling down his chin. He looked like he had once sported a dapper black suit and jacket, like someone far more well off than Sammie—like a businessman from Louisville—but myriads of dark spots and dust marred his attire, like he had been rolling around in the dirt and human refuse.

And his hands were slick and shiny with crimson. His fingers looked way too thin at the tips, all pointy and narrow, mismatched with the rest of his meaty palms.

The stranger met Sammie’s horrified gaze with an air of confounded indifference about him, idly crunching down on the glass being ground down between his teeth. His eerily thin fingertips gingerly grabbed another shard from the pile of broken bottles in the bowl in front of him and guided it to his mouth.

He opened his mouth and revealed a nightmare of blood and shiny jagged bits, teeth painted in black and red.

The pickaxe landing on the floorboards with a heavy thud helped Sammie break out of his trance. All semblance of fatigue had escaped his weary body and he now felt lightheaded, his stomach churning and turning upside down like it needed to expel his meager lunch, and his knees buckled for a split second before he braced himself against the frame of his front door.

The stranger stopped chewing. Swallowed with visible effort and a loud gulping sound to accompany it. Coughed, choked, gurgled. Swallowed again.

He tilted his head and stared Sammie in the eyes. Piercing, unblinking. Uncaring of the blood dripping from his own chin.

“I—”

The glass-eater spoke and coughed. He cleared his throat and coughed again.

“I, too, have discovered, that poring over the secret pages of Doyle, I sometimes feel the distant spirit of God,” said the glass-eater. Blood bubbled from between his lips and stilted his otherwise eerily calm manner of speaking. “On the whole, our questions are quickly eaten by the—by the—”

His words trailed off. His gaze remained fixed upon Sammie, going blank.

“W-who? Who are you?” Sammie finally asked.

He wanted to crouch down and snatch the pickaxe back up, but it was all too weird. The stranger, this glass-eater, had clearly lost his mind, but he was not threatening him in any way. Just sitting there with a calm that did not match the damage he was doing to himself in eating all those glass shards.

The glass-eater blinked, finally, reminding Sammie of a human. His focus returned; his gaze hardened again.

“Who are you?” the glass-eater echoed him, almost mimicking his tone.

Was that a mockery?

Sammie almost shook his head as much as his mind told him that was not the case. The glass-eater had repeated his question more like children learning how to speak by mimicking the words of adults they heard spoken.

He swallowed the dry lump of coal dust and grit and fear that had lodged itself into his parched throat and started thinking differently.

Maybe this glass-eater fellow needed help.

“You don’t look alright, man,” said Sammie. “I can get you a doc. You want me to get you a doc?”

Glass-eater tilted his head the other way and did not answer the question. Instead, without breaking eye contact, he picked up another shard and brought it to his lips, parting them and inserting it into his bloodied jaws.

Crunch, crunch.

“You, uh, you know where you at? This is my home,” Sammie said. “I can get you—I will go get a doc, alright?”

Crunch. Crunch. Dead stare.

“Maybe, uhm, stop eatin’ all that—uh, all that glass?”

Crunch. Staring unbroken.

“I will go find the doc,” Sammie said, walking out of his cabin without turning his back, not daring to turn until he had distanced himself from the door by several slow and careful paces, as one should in the presence of a beast in the wild.

Slowly peeling his gaze from their unnervingly long eye contact, he shot a glance over his shoulder every few steps, making sure that the crazy man still sat there and did not just jump up from the chair and give chase.

Instead, he continued to calmly eat more of the broken glass. With growing distance, Sammie could not hear those blackened teeth crunching down on the shards. He merely heard the haunting echo of it in his mind.

Crunch, crunch. Crunch.

His pace accelerated and he nearly jogged the last bit towards the rows of buildings that constituted Dead End’s main street. Bumped right into someone, nearly falling onto his ass as he stumbled sideways past the next person.

A man in black, standing tall, the powder of the trails sticking to a long duster coat. U.S. Marshal’s star on his belt, two six-shooters slung into holsters hanging from a belt around his hips. A visage featuring a symmetry broken up only by a milky-white eye, framed by a scar speaking volumes of a beast’s claw raking over the lawman’s face.

The marshal’s one good eye scanned Sammie up and down while he caught himself. Sammie nearly soiled his pants right then and there, at the mere thought of all the trouble he might get into if this lawman got on his case and misunderstood the situation somehow. Just find the doctor, now, and—

“What in the hell is wrong with you, son?” asked the marshal with a growl. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

He tipped his hat at Sammie and hooked a thumb into his belt, demonstratively flapping open one side of his coat to display the badge and one of his revolvers.

“O-oh, uh, it's—it’s, uh, it's—uhm, it’s nothin’, sir,” stammered Sammie. “Jus’ lookin’ for a, uh, physician, bit of a personal medical ‘mergency?”

He silently cursed himself for being such a bumbling coward, now of all times. Swallowed another lump stuck in this throat. His heart now pounded as fiercely as it had when he found the severed head.

Shit. The severed head.

Sammie had nearly forgotten about that.

The marshal took a step closer towards him and lowered his voice to what could only be described as a conspiratorial whisper, “Listen, I know there are strange things goin’ on in this town. You lead me to 'em, I oughtta have a shot at fixin’ these things somehow.”

He rolled his jaw and then set it while he awaited a response from Sammie. Sammie’s mind and thoughts however melted into a puddle of worthless soup.

Sammie blurted out the words, “Ah, shit, m-man—uh, I mean, uh—I-I need your h-help, sir.” He then lowered his voice to a desperately pleading hiss. “There’s some crazy man in my house. H-he's—he’s eatin’ glass, man. And talkin’ weird.”

He could get to the head later. Or maybe that would never come up.

Sammie held his breath, ready to soon be staring down the wrong end of one of those revolvers.

Instead, the marshal nodded and ordered, “Show me.”

He led the lawman back down the trail. Noticed a whiff of something dead and rotten about him, leaving him to wonder if something was not off about the marshal, as well. At the very least, Sammie hoped, that might throw him off from noticing a head in the sack out in the bushes nearby. Then he wondered if it was even a human head in there, as he had never bothered to look inside. Then he quietly scolded himself to shut about it already, like he might draw attention to the bloody linen sack if he thought too much about it.

Approaching the cabin, hasty step by step, he expected to find the glass-eater missing and putting him in the predicament of having to explain things. Things like this did not happen. Should not happen.

Some part of him dreamt that this was just a nightmare, and he was about to wake up anytime soon. No such luck, though. His body still ached from the day, the sun set on the horizon, and every step hurt his blistered right heel. It was all too real.

Like a dream, he hoped to cross that threshold and find no sign of the glass-eater. To find everything in its rightful place, to wonder if he was just losing his own damned mind.

But Sammie froze by the door. The stranger still sat there, gingerly picking up another shard of glass, bringing it to those bloodied split lips and the crimson fluids running down his chin in rivulets, and then chewing on the shard.

Crunch, crunch. For some reason, it reminded Sammie of bones now. Like this was the sound that bones made when something ate them. Snapping, cracking, crunching.

Crunch. Crunch.

A calloused hand clapped down on Sammie’s shoulder, tearing him out of this new daze of his. The marshal squeezed his shoulder for a second and then pushed past him, stepping inside the cabin.

“Sir?” the marshal asked. “This your home?”

Even with his back turned to Sammie, the marshal’s presence was imposing. All dressed in black and looking weathered, it was like he absorbed all the remnants of light in these gloomy cramped quarters, like he had a strange inverse halo about him where all light bent and gathered around him.

Crunch, crunch.

The glass-eater tilted his head again, just like he had when speaking with Sammie.

“Yes, of course this is my home,” the stranger spoke, another bubble forming between his tortured lips.

Unfazed by his condition and what all those shards must have been doing to his—in his—

Sammie fought the urge to throw up at the thought. The marshal cast an inquisitive glance over his shoulder, catching Sammie’s gaze. For a moment, he worried if he had to argue about some crazy man walking onto his property and getting other people to testify that this was, in fact his home.

The marshal did not question it, though, instead turned his attention right back to the glass-eater.

“All under the sky is my home, now, as we awaken, sea, by sea,” said the stranger, cementing what the lawman must have instinctively grasped. “You are a child of the mountains. I am the ocean.”

His thin fingers—and only now, somehow, as it grew darker, did it dawn on Sammie what was so off-putting about them—grabbed another shard from the bowl. His fingers looked the way they did because all the skin and nails from their tips had been flayed off somehow. Just bloodied skeletal husks of what they must have been, thinning towards the tips.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“That so?” asked the marshal. He shot another glance at Sammie, his brow arched.

The marshal knew. He understood the insanity of this situation. The madness of that man.

To the glass-eater, he then added, “You touch any… strange objects lately, sir?”

Crunch, crunch.

“You involved on the rail work between here and Louisville?”

Crunch.

The glass-eater tilted his head again. More blood trickled from the corner of his sealed lips. His eyes sparkled with something strange in the dying light.

Crunch.

“You even remember a name anymore?”

Crunch. Crunch, crunch.

The glass-eater grabbed another shard, not breaking eye contact with the marshal.

“My name is the many, and my song is the return. I am the ocean,” he finally replied, putting particular emphasis on the word “am”. It echoed in Sammie’s mind.

The marshal violently expelled air from his nostrils, something in between a sigh and a groan.

“Shit,” he said.

In a flash, loud claps of gunshots pierced the air. The stinging smell of gunpowder soon hit Sammie’s nostrils. The deafening noise startled Sammie, sending him reeling, stumbling backwards, away from the eruptions of muzzle flashes brightly illuminating the gloomy cabin for split seconds. Then another volley of shots ripped, fired from both revolvers, one in each hand of the marshal.

The glass-eater dropped the shard into the bowl and looked down at his chest, now pockmarked with pitch-black bleeding bullet holes. He probed one of the wounds with those skeletal fingertips, almost in disbelief. Not trembling with fear or weakness—no—with a certainty that seemed wholly unnatural.

More thunderclaps, more shots released from the revolvers until both weapons had been emptied through repeated fire. The glass-eater slumped over the table, the wooden bowl with the glass hurtled to the floor where the shards sprayed in every direction with high-pitched clinking, and the stranger stopped moving.

Frozen in shock, Sammie knew not what to do.

Why in God’s name had he just shot the man?

“Too late to save that poor bastard. Too far gone,” the marshal growled, followed by another sigh; almost as if he had read Sammie’s mind and responded to his thought.

The floorboards thumped and thundered, and spurs jingled, as the marshal strode through the narrow cabin’s interior, closing in on the dead body of the glass-eater. He poked him with the smoking barrel of one of his pistols, then used it to lift the lifeless head and ensure the stranger had expired. A veritable vomit of blood poured out from the dead man’s half-open mouth.

Still dumbfounded and with a panic budding deep down, Sammie was only moments removed from running away and looking for help. Because now he feared the marshal again, perhaps far more than ever before.

What if he found the head? Blamed it on him? Blamed glass-eater on him Gunned him down without question? Without trial?

The thoughts circled at the speed of a hundred miles a minute, but they also rooted him firmly in place while the marshal’s eyes scanned Sammie’s meager possessions around the cabin. Then their eyes met again.

“You hold on, sir,” the marshal said, taking a step towards him. “I will get this mess cleaned up, lickety-split. Damn shame he had to ruin your home like that. And I reckon I, uh—I apologize for the holes I put into your back wall.”

He had already holstered the guns, which had happened so quickly that Sammie never registered it. He wanted to back away, but now dreaded seeing those guns flash right back out, giving him the same treatment of judge, jury, and executioner, all in one.

Instead, the marshal dug around in his duster and produced a silver amulet. Its shape looked foreign, odd—not a crucifix, not a locket, not a pocket watch—before he could discern its precise form, the marshal clutched it firmly in his fist and whispered something incomprehensible.

A warm light flared up in the cabin for a split second. The stench of rotten eggs suddenly filled the air, adding to Sammie’s nausea. And he heard something fidget in there, just out of sight. The marshal looked at a corner—focused on something just out of sight for Sammie. He only needed to step inside to follow his gaze, but—

Something held him back. Something in there had appeared out of nowhere, and it unsettled him deeply. Made his mind race even faster, so fast he could not form a single coherent thought.

“You clean up here, alright?” the marshal spoke to whoever was in the corner.

Pause. Scratching sounds.

“No, we will not discuss this now. Just clean it up, and we can bicker later,” the marshal said, responding to seemingly nothing.

Another long pause, more scratching sounds. Someone else was in there. Or something.

The marshal walked outside the front door, paused, swiveled, and closed the door behind him. He cracked a feeble smile at Sammie, something that screamed of dishonesty. Or perhaps pain. Or regret.

Sammie did not know what to do. He had to tell others about this. Get word out. They might think he was crazy, but if the marshal was truly crazier than him and the glass-eater combined, then he might find protection in numbers. Hell, maybe even that useless sheriff might help cover him if the going got rough.

The marshal lifted the amulet to eye height between them and then let it drop. It dangled from its silvery chain and Sammie tried to study it as it swung back and forth.

Up close, it looked like a long, steel cylinder, roughly the length of half his pinky finger. Reddened grooves coiled around it at rhythmically pleasing intervals, and strange symbols etched into the side formed a harmonic pattern all over its surface. The symbols reminded him of arithmetic, for some reason, though Sammie was illiterate.

“Look at the amulet, sir,” said the marshal, his voice now flat and calm. Almost soothing. “Next thing you know, all these worries o’ yours will be wiped away.”

Another flash of light. Next thing Sammie knew, he was walking down main street, in Dead End. No recollection of anything that had just transpired.

His body ached. Every muscle in him complained about the long day of toil behind him. He just yearned to sink into a bath and wash off all the grit and filth from the coal mine. His weary calloused hands burned from clutching the pickaxe and shovel that he carried on his shoulder. His tired gait gained more zest as he veered off to the side, taking the open spot between the buildings and following the dirt path back to his cabin.

The day had been entirely too damn long, he thought. His head hung low, he looked forward to crashing into his creaky old rocking chair, warming up a bowl of beans, taking a bath, and getting a good night’s rest.

Night had somehow come faster than it should have, he reckoned. They had worked late, but he must have been so tired that he did not realize how fast the sun set on his way home.

Must have just been that time of year.

Sammie’s feet dragged and kicked up tiny clouds as he walked the dusty road back to his home on the edge of Dead End.

He did not trip over anything this time. He did not notice anything amiss in his cabin when he plunked down his tools on the table and looked around for some jerky to bite. He went about the rest of his evening. Oblivious to what had happened here earlier.

Something had reached deep inside his mind and scrubbed it clean. No head, no glass-eater, no marshal, no shooting, no talisman. Just some missing time he could explain away.

The marshal’s talisman worked like a charm.

—Submitted by Wratts

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randbwrite · 3 years

Text

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 1 Part 2

Words: 1907

TW: Blood, graphic violence, death

CW: War, attempted assassination, vampires

B: Near silent footsteps didn’t announce Derrick’s presence so much as the scampering of a happy stoat pattering across the stone ahead of him did. The man was massive, how on earth he could move so quietly was a mystery Rapscallion wanted to solve one day. Whenever he got around to it.

“They’re waiting for you upstairs.” With his bland tone of voice, Derrick could’ve been discussing the weather.

For all that Rap could be seen to care, they might as well have been. “I know.”

“It’s inadvisable to make them wait.”

“So?” Indifferent shrug.

“There’s a difference between cute and stupid. You crossed a line earlier, and you’re going to drag your feet now?”

“Yep.”

“They want me to drag you if necessary.” Both of them knew how that would end.

“Aww, I knew you cared!”

“Never tried to hide it, unlike some people.”

“Oh stop it, you’ll make me blush.” Rap’s devil may care smirk nearly brought one to Derrick’s expression, but he had to be serious!

“Palavering isn’t going to change the situation...”

“Yeah, but!! If they’re annoyed enough, they’ll give the orders without the imperious preamble and pomp. Here’s your orders and off you go! Works like a charm.”

“Right.” Massive arms were crossed over an equally broad chest, the quirk in his eyebrows reminding Rap his friend really will carry him off if need be.

A huff lifted a pesky lock off his forehead momentarily, exposing the brilliant emerald orbs beneath. “I’m going, I’m going! I’ll catch ya later. Or not.”

Derrick shook his head, one scarred hand messing up the extraordinarily unkempt rusty mop Rap called hair. He knew what was meant. They couldn’t promise anything, nor really ask, but the unspoken request every time was to take care. Try and survive, eh? Wouldn’t be quite so exciting without the other around. They should probably wonder about how much nonverbal communication went on between them, but such was life. Full of the oddities that made it...so alive.

.....

The board of impassive faces that met Rap would be unreadable to most. Decades of training had refined their poker faces, but everyone has their tells. Tiny twitches, the way certain coifs had been fixed endlessly before he arrived, notebooks, bracelets, rings all adjusted to the nth degree...they should really watch their perfection of accoutrements more carefully. It all but telegraphed their mood. Course they’d never asked him.

Uhhh...okay, wait. They all had that same creepy dead look in their eyes except one. Dude off to the left, madness gleaming usually signaling blood lust. Did he do anything to tick that one off recently? ...No, not that he could remember...few times over the years, sure. The last prank hadn’t been his, but he took the blame for it. The crazy stunt had gotten a larger contingent of the assassins caught up in it and made them all want to kill him for a few weeks. That wasn’t too much of a deviation from the norm however. With a bit of time they’d all drop it, move on to the next frustration or take it out on their targets. They’re not allowed to kill one of their own anyway.

Missions were usually handed out by one person. Not a tribunal. Must be another meeting taking place, killing two birds with one stone. This wasn’t set up as a retribution either or he’d sense more of his fellow assassins in the shadows. That’s a delayed relief and he knew it, but hey! He’ll take what he can get.

“So! Whatcha got for me? Who’s incurred the wrath of the great and powerful Assassin’s League? Besides me of course.”

A minuscule draw to the head assassins’ brows was his reward, but the gleam in the other’s traveled from his eyes to a wide, manic smile. It was also he from whom the instructions came, a mission that per the norm wouldn’t allow for denial in accepting.

“Your target is la Comtesse Arcanum. She will be taking part in a battle between the French army and the German forces. Shoo now. Off with you.”

A noble. Right! That should be easy enough. So why was that gleam now being shared among most of his peers? He almost preferred when they all were content to be blasé about everything to...this. Esh.

Rap was on his way quick enough. It only involved avoiding the booby trap someone had set for him in the hallway to his storeroom. Place didn’t so much count as a bedroom as he rarely bothered to sleep there: gathering up an array of...necessary supplies and hopping a horse he’d leave in the nearest town to the battlefield; he was good to go.

Mission was simple, least to his mind. These commanders tended to do their leading from behind, strategizing based off of reports and keeping themselves safe in a tent far removed from those who gave and lost their lives for whatever ideal or land being quibbled over. Surrounded by soldiers, they thought themselves to be safe. Protected. Untouchable. Heh. People assume in order to be an assassin you have to melt into the shadows. Not true. Humans jump at shadows! They distrust their own even. Disappear into the mundane though...no one will look twice.

Think about it. Your water boy scurrying to keep the retreat horses fresh? What about the cook’s kid running rations, a medic’s assistant supplying fresh bandages, even an officer with the bearing and urgency demanding he not be stopped for anything or anyone, ducking into the command tent. It was always some variation and pretending to be in a hurry was the only steady requirement. When he got to this battlefield however, he couldn’t stop the swear word from being muttered.

“What the—? Lemon juice.”

No bustle to a central command tent. No commander in that one large, ostentatious tent either. A map, little flags which could surely help anyone intending to spy on their contingency plans, but no female commander. He was going to have to go into the fight himself, and he was beginning to see why they’d thought this would be such great fun. Fun for them.

A survey of the map showed him the general lay of the land, an idea of the commander’s intentions, how she had spread her troops, and where he might lure her to take her out. It wouldn’t be easy as she had plenty of people who were going to be trying to kill her. An entire army as a matter of fact. But if they sent him out there, the army wasn’t going to be enough to take her out.

Something about how the pattern was laid out was bugging him: only when he discerned she wasn’t the singular high ranking officer on the field did he understand. Sort of. Who fought with their own vanguard rather than dividing forces? There must be a purpose for it... He was going to need a vantage of the battle before he went out to join it.

Donning a uniform of the French army, he fished out a spyglass and took a cursory view of the battlefield, suppositions holding true. A maelstrom of blood and chaos was the field, soldiers and grass on fire, blades flashing, one of the soldiers fighting seeming to be made of fire and still plowing on. It was a mess. Rap shrugged and put away his tool. He’d picked out a spot to lead la Comtesse and his target to distract her with, which just so happened to be the second most dangerous force on the field to contend with. Who was on fire. According to the excited rumors in camp, that was the man he was looking for all the same. His own eyes confirmed it from the way the two moved in concert as well, even if logically what he was seeing was defying rationale.

By the time his traps were laid, set for both his target and those who may get between them, the battle had become more of a slaughter than an even fight. It was a matter of time before the opposing commander sounded the retreat; with the lack of officers on the field of battle it seemed surrender wasn’t to be the intention.

Anyone approaching the man on fire had been incinerated, disturbing visions of boiled metal and bent airwaves lending credence to the notion that whatever was actually happening over there and however the frak it worked, it wouldn’t be a bright idea to get anywhere close. Instead, Rap took advantage of the pile of discarded corpses surrounding the indefatigable duo and...played dead. The winds were probably changing soon, based on the way the clouds were moving. He was gambling on the hope this fire man wouldn’t want to risk accidentally burning his commander or allies, never mind the fact Rap had NO IDEA how in the name of insane bonfires anyone could survive being in the middle of those high temperatures, let alone send them off.

It worked. It worked!! Fire man moved with the wind, using it to carry his incendiary discharges towards his enemies rather than risk his own. A useful breeze, the coat that surely served to project further fear in his enemies and protect the backs of his legs lifted. Just enough. A series of tainted projectiles fired in quick succession, more than half hitting the small target that was the back of fire man’s knee. Good thing Rap had gone with his metal options rather than the more innocuous wooden ones. Easier to hide the evidence afterward, but they wouldn’t have survived the heat. Then again, usually his targets weren’t walking infernos. A notion for further consideration later. Much later.

It didn’t take long, though fire man must’ve had an elephant’s metabolism to not have dropped immediately, but in under a minute he was finally down on one knee. It would continue to work through his system; the flames guttering along with his strength. The delay gave Rap enough time to move into position though. He would lure the commander to his choice in battlegrounds. Not far from where they were, but just enough that his traps would remain untouched by the unwitting and unintentioned. He held his blow gun aloft, a short sword in his other hand. France’s coat of arms emblazoned on his chest and a very unsoldierly smirk on his lips completed the visage.

Make her feel rage. Take away her calm. Peel back the strategy and finesse that made her a terror in her element. Force her to step into his world, one without rules of combat, and that would be the only chance he had to take her out. Then again...something made it seem like all his efforts wouldn’t matter. As if she would step just as easily from her realm into his and beat him at his own game. He would not, should not consider defeat. That would mean accepting death, and this had only just begun!

The cocksure rise of lips and brow would not betray fear’s frigid grip trailing sweat down his spine nor the faint tremor of nerves knowing this time, among all the others, the League had no intention that he should come back alive. They might just be right. But he’d never willingly give them the satisfaction.

Standing stock still in the open went against every single instinct in him, nearly all the training he’d received and the adrenaline screaming he move! Fight or flee, pick one!! But for this to work, she had to come to him. A few steps were all it would take and the first of his traps would be sprung...

#tw: blood #tw: violence #tw:death #cw: war #cw: attempted assassination #cw: vampires #oc #dark fantasy #fanfiction #au #ikemen vampire #whump #rapscallion #comtesse #assassin #battle field #derrick #whumpfic

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mybrothershands · 4 years

Note

Would be very interested to read about the spoon incident...If you ever feel like writing it?

as you wish~

(sorry if this posts as one long blurb, I cant quite figure out how to make the Keep Reading tab work for those on the app)

"I'm just afraid he'll hurt someone," they would whisper in the streets. He tried not to let it bother him as he carried his drunken caretaker back from the tavern yet again. Maybe the people thought he could not understand them. Maybe that was it.

"Cairo," asked the boy as he knelt beside the man's doorstep in the dark. His voice was thick with lilt as he formed the question, "Why did you take me in?"

The man stared up at the boy, his head flush as he stumbled backwards onto the ground. He smelled of spirits, and his beard was sticky with mead. Though his eyes still seemed kind, his words flowed too easily, as if the gatekeeper had fallen asleep. "Because you're useful, Ka," Cairo had said. He then left into his house where the boy could not follow.

Even though the words said had been in the kindest tone, sweet as honey wine, they still felt rank as they slipped into the young giant's ears. He remained knelt by the doorway for several moments, eyes distant, before he got up and made his way back to the barn he called home. At least he could be alone there. He rubbed his arm against the cold as chained dogs barked at him. To be alone… yes, that was what he needed.

The boy rolled back the big barn door, revealing a few changes of clothes folded atop old hay, a single plate with one each of fork, spoon, and blunt knife, and a burlap blanket was draped over a stack of hay bales. In the corner lay a few logs, each at various stages of being whittled into crude animal shapes. He was in the process of taking his shoes off when he heard a knock against the wall. In the bay was a man on horseback. The farmer.

"The sun is not up yet, sir," said the giant, as best he could.

The buckskin fidgeted under the saddle, but did not move. The rider had his whip today. "Don't argue with me, boy. If you want to eat tonight, you'll work today. Now get your sorry self up," said the old man as he backed the horse away and started down the road at a canter.

After he had his shoe back on, the boy stood, left the barn, and followed at an easy pace. A few miles later, they came to a field, edged in forests. The two skirted around the edges until they came to the very back, where trees and rocks lay piled up on one side from the day before. Drawing his horse around, the man stopped near a stack of oak logs. "I want two sections cleared off- rocks, roots and all. That brushpile needs burned, too. No excuses."

Ka clenched his jaw, but did not argue. Arguing meant more work, so kept his mouth shut and took up his hatchet. By mid-morning his stomach growled, but after noon it grew quiet- replaced with a dull anger and a muffled ache in his back. A tree felled on his knee, a stone dropped on his toe, a branch jabbed him in the eye, it just seemed he could not focus. When the farmer returned to find him sitting down, he gave him a third task of lopping branches. Though the boy did his best to comply with the nit-picking, it wore on him like a blister.

No sooner had the man left than Ka started mumbling to himself as he hacked at a stubborn root. He worked until dusk, then returned home- throat raw, hands bloody, and body aching to find Cairo waiting for him atop a stack of hay bales with a lamp in his hand. The giant glared at him. "What do you want?"

Cairo shrugged, "To see you. You've been gone all day," he said. With a sigh, Ka took a seat, angled pointedly away from the man, who cocked his head. "What, are you not talking today? What's the matter?"

"You want to guess?" he sneered. his face was hard as he cast a glare back at the man, who blinked in surprise.

"What did I-" He stopped himself, seeming to remember something, and thought for a moment. "Did I… I didn't say something while I was drunk, did I?"

Ka was silent.

Cairo got up, lamp in hand, and walked over the row of hay bales towards him. "Look, I don't know what I said, but-" He sighed, staring up at the back of the boy's head. "Lempkins brought your dinner over."

He glanced over to his plate, piled with oatmeal and a few dozen apples. Horse food, Ka thought. "I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are, you haven't eaten all day," the man quipped. He watched Ka cross his arms and then slur something in his native tongue. Cairo set his lamp down roughly and stood up straight. "Look, I don't know what happened, but I'm not going to have you acting like this."

"Or what? You'll kick me out?" Ka snapped. "You're not my father. Don't tell me what to do."

Cairo rubbed his face then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to kick you out, Ka," he groaned.

"I know you won't. You won't because I'm useful. Useful for taking you home from the bar at night and saving you every time you get into a fight. Meanwhile I don't even have a proper bed to sleep in- or a blanket for that matter," he said as he grabbed the burlap blanket and pitched it across the room, surprising even himself that he had done it. What was worse was it made him mad that he had not restrained himself. He probably looked like some kid throwing a tantrum right now.

Cario approached the boy, grabbing his sleeve. "Now you quit throwing things and calm down! Tell me who told you that," he demanded. At once the giant turned and swore at him again, ranting in words he did not understand. The human glared up at him even as the voice came in roars, then spread his arms and curled his lip. "What is wrong with you today?"

It was then Ka grabbed the spoon, a metal one with a wooden handle. He pointed it in Cairo's face. "You are what's wrong. All you care about is yourself and your liquor. I thought you were my friend."

The man stared up at him, stunned for once. He brushed the utensil aside. "What did I do? Who told you all this?" Though he tried to mask it, there was a trace of a quiver in his voice. Still, he stood his ground.

"Oh, what, you're afraid too, now? Like everyone else in this stupid town?"

Cairo shook his head, then turned to leave. "No, you're out of control. You won't talk to me, you're throwing things, and you're acting a fool," he growled as he picked up his lamp. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"So you are scared," Ka sneered.

The human wheeled around, spread his arms, and flipped his hands. "You want to fight? Okay, we'll fight!" He bellowed. He took his lamp and pitched it at him, breaking the glass against his shoulder.

Ka let out a yelp. Brushing out the flames, the glass dug deeper into his skin. Even in the dark, he could tell Cairo had not given up his ground, arms still spread in an aggressive stance. They sat there for a moment, neither one moved. Ka gripped the spoon handle tighter. At last Cairo spoke up. "You see? Not afr-"

The next thing Ka knew, the man was folded up on the hay, and he was drawing his hand away with the spoon still in it. Certain it had not been that bad, Ka crossed his arms and looked away. The boy felt something rising in his throat, and swallowed hard. He would not cry. Not over someone who saw him as a tool. It was several good moments before he Cairo make a noise.

"Shut up, I did not hit you that hard," he said under his breath, still looking pointedly away. The barn grew silent, save for the sounds of night creatures as their howls floated in through the open barn door. He brushed some of the glass off his shirt, feeling a wet spot where the oil had gotten on it, and then brushed that off of his hands by running it over his pants. It did not stick into his palms. They had become leathery and rough since he had started clearing land for Lempkins. He glanced over to find Cairo still curled up on the hay.

"Quit being so dramatic and get up," Ka growled, setting the spoon back up on the plate. He took a single apple and popped it in his mouth, determined not to worry. When he could stand it no longer, he turned around. The boy had not really intended to touch him, but picked the man up anyway, holding him in a fist. "I said get u-"

His voice died in his throat as he felt tiny crinkles against his palm where ribs should be. The human tried to cry out, but it ended in a twisted squeak as the pain reached his lungs. Every ounce of anger Ka had had in him was replaced with raw, unadulterated fear as the man kicked and beat feebly against his fingers. Cairo never struggled. Not ever.

Ka brought his other hand up and laid the man out flat in his palms as he stared, not quite understanding. He felt his body grow weak, then start to shake. What have I done?

He got to his feet and bolted out the door, rounded the side of the barn, and pounded up the street. The few who were still about dove out of the way. A toddler screamed for her mother. A dog ran under a henhouse with its tail tucked. Men grabbed their wives and children and ushered them inside. They were right about him; they had been right all along.

At last he fell to his knees beside a two-story home, one with a fire still alight inside. "Doctor Baker?" the boy called inside. His hands were too preoccupied to knock on the door. He called again, "Doctor Baker!" He heard a shuffling inside, a thump, and then a woman's talking voice, shrill with worry.

It was then he felt a shuffling in his palms, and looked down to find the human staring up at him. He did not seem angry nor afraid. In fact it was hard to tell what he was feeling at all.

Ka's hands were beginning to shake now, and he steadied them on his lap. "I'm… I am..." He searched for the word as tears began to well. He shook his head. "Tha mi duilich."

The second story window opened, and a man of about twenty-five stuck his head out, his day clothes still on. Dr. Baker glared up at him at first, about to snap, when he saw the fear on Ka's face. The man paused a moment and then ducked back inside without a word. In a moment, the door opened, but only a head peaked out. "What happened?" he said, not daring to take a step further.

"I hurt him, sir…" he said, his breath shaking as he held out his hands. "I- I hurt him bad."

#mbh shorts #mbh answers #mbh #my brother's hands

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hetalialoverwrites · 4 years

Text

The Plagues

Marinette paced back and forth in her room, pulling at her pigtails. “Tikki, the akumas have been getting stronger, more dangerous. What if I’m not able to fix all the damage after every fight? What if I fail the next time? Chat is trying to help, but the two of us aren't enough. Hawkmoth keeps getting stronger!" Tikki looked at her chosen with an encouraging gaze, flying in front of her face. "Marinette! You've been getting stronger too!" She pointed out in her cheerful voice. Marinette groaned, "But Tikki, we can't keep fighting the akumas and just hoping that one day Hawkmoth will just stop sending them. We haven't come any closer to finding out who Hawkmoth is and Paris keeps getting hit with disaster after disaster. Sure, some akumas don't make a lot of damage but..." Marinette trailed off, her face growing pained as she remembered the worst ones. "Like Syren and Frozer... And Chat Blanc..." Tikki's smile faded, "Marinette... Chat Blanc never happened here. You made sure of that." "I know, but it did happen once. And we saw how that turned out. We can't let that happen. We can't keep letting Hawkmoth terrorize all of Paris. But what can we do?" Marinette sighed, not noticing Tikki staring at her with a saddened expression.

Tikki knew what she had in mind was drastic. Reckless even. She was honestly surprised that she was going to suggest it even though that Stinky Sock's style, not hers. But Marinette was right. They couldn't wait any longer to get rid of Hawkmoth especially since they were alone now. Marinette didn't have Master anymore and she was starting to crumble under the stress. "Um... Marinette...?" Tikki called softly, snapping the girl out of her mumbling. Marinette turned to the kwami curiously, "Yes Tikki?" She asked before noticing the kwami's somber mood. "I have an idea, but I don't think you'll like it," Tikki admitted hesitantly. Marinette sat down in her computer chair and held her hands out for the kwami. Tikki floated over and rested herself in Marinette's palms, "What is it Tikki?" "Well, there was a time before when a miraculous had been taken and used for evil. It was the duty of the Ladybug at the time to get it back and nothing else worked. She tried everything that she could, every other miraculous. In teams, by herself, every idea but they never worked." Tikki looked down at her pads. "And then we came up with an idea. We would send a few tragedies out, each created to help Ladybug force the user out of their hiding place. Into the open where they could fight. We used our last trick, thinking that we could use the cure to fix everything. We found the miraculous and Ladybug went to fight them with her team. Sadly, in the final battle, my holder died before we could reverse all the damage. It was a catastrophic event." Tikki told her.

Marinette looked at Tikki worriedly, "What event?" Tikki shifted uncomfortably, "You might know it as... The Ten Plagues of Egypt." Marinette gasped and stared at her kwami wide-eyed, "What!?" "It was the only thing left we could try! And it worked, we just couldn't fix the damage. I knew you wouldn't like it, but you're the Guardian now Marinette. You should know every option available to you." Tikki looked up and managed to smile at her, "It's up to you if you want to use it Marinette. As long as you have your team with you and you're careful, we could get rid of all the damage." Marinette hesitated, "Tikki, I'm not sure that's a good idea..." She was also uncomfortable. Sure, all the damage would be fixed and everyone would come back to life, but... Would the city forgive her for it? She felt a tiny pad tough her cheek and she blinked. "It's okay Marinette. I just wanted to let you know." Tikki said before hugging her cheek. Marinette hugged her back before pulling away with a determined gaze, "Teach me how to do it." Tikki's eyes widened in surprise and she gasped, "Are you sure?" Marinette nodded firmly, "The safety of Paris comes first. If you're positive we can reverse the effects then it will be worth it. Even if no one forgives me." She added, her jaw clenching at the thought. Tikki stared at her for a moment before nodding, "Okay..."

Marinette had to wait until after an Akuma attack that had an Amok as well to make sure that Hawkmoth and Mayura were still in the area. After defeating the Akuma and Amok, she ran home to the miracle box and grabbed the fox, turtle, and bee miraculous. Moving to leave, she paused and felt a tugging back to the box. She looked back and opened it once again, taking out the snake, the monkey, the rabbit, and horse. "That's a lot of miraculous Marinette," Tikki observed. Marinette nodded, "I trust everyone to give them back. And we need to make sure everything goes smoothly so I can turn things back." Tikki hummed and nodded, "Okay." "Tikki! Spots on!" Ladybug looked down at herself, feeling different in her suit. She almost gasped in surprise when she saw herself. Her normal suit had added armor pieces on her forearms, legs, and chest. She reached up and felt her hair, it was still tied back, but felt more secure with the small braids keeping her bangs away from her face. She looked down at her yoyo and noticed that it too had changed too. Unlike the softer edges it had before with it's more rounded form, it was now thinner, sleeker, and the ends looked almost like blades. "I guess you weren't kidding Tikki..." She mumbled before steeling herself. This was going to be the final battle. She could only hope that everything would be okay.

Ladybug spent the next hour gathering her team and calling Chat to the Eiffel Tower. Once everyone was there and waiting for her plan, she started, "I had a conversation with my kwami about what we should do. And we have come to a decision. Tonight is the final battle." Ladybug's eyes gleamed dangerously, the seriousness of the situation starting to dawn on everyone. "I will be using power from my kwami herself and Hawkmoth and Mayura are going to try to stop me at any cost. Do not use your powers on any akumas that might come. Hawkmoth and Mayura will be forced out of their hiding and will come to fight us. We need everyone for the fight." Her eyes glanced over everyone. They all seemed nervous, "Milady... What are you going to do? You seem different." Chat spoke up, taking a step forward and looking at her curiously. The pain that entered her eyes set everyone on edge. "I will be evoking nine of the ten plagues of Egypt." Ladybug spoke calmly, closing her eyes as her team was sent into chaos. After a minute, she yelled out, "This is the only way!" They all silenced and stared at her with varying degrees of horror. "Hawkmoth has been sending stronger and stronger Akuma! The city has been flooded and thousands killed! Bunnix has shown me an Akuma that destroyed the entire world and the moon!" She yelled, her hands balling into fists. "We can not let him keep them any longer! We have to do this!" She shot a sharp glare around, "I don't want to do this anymore than any of you do, but it is our only choice! We don't know where he is, who he is, or why he wants the miraculous! Any damage will be reversed when I cast the cure like it always has."

"Paris won't forgive you." Someone said. Marinette didn't know who it was, but it hit her heart. Ladybug closed her eyes, "I know. But their safety is more important." After a few moments of silence, she felt a hand on her shoulder and she opened her eyes. Chat was smiling at her, "I trust you, milady." Rena and Carapace stepped forward as well, "We do too. For Paris!" The other heroes smiled and threw their fists into the air, "For Paris!" Ladybug slowly smiled, "For Paris." She agreed before looking at Chloe. Taking a step forward, she took her hands, surprising the worried blonde. "Don't worry Bee. No one should know it's you with your suit's changes." She reassured her. Chloe, or Red Wasp, blinked in surprise before smiling and hugging her, "Thanks Ladybug." Ladybug hugged her back before pulling back with a smile. "Everyone ready?" She asked, looking around. Grabbing their weapons, the team nodded and Viperion used his second chance just in case. Taking a deep breath, Ladybug stepped towards the edge of the platform and closed her eyes, taking her yoyo in her hands and pressing it to her forehead. The weapon started to glow, "I send a pestilence and plague into your house, into your bed, into your streams, into your streets, into your drink, into your bread." Ladybug chanted, holding onto the string of the glowing yoyo and letting it drop down slowly. As the yoyo touched the metal at her feet, all of the water in the city turned to blood. Fish died and frogs ran away from it, flooding the streets and waking the population near the Seine. All the food in the city started to rot. Then, there was a dark swarm of ladybugs flooding out from her yoyo.

"Upon your cattle, on your sheep, upon your oxen in your field, into your dreams, into your sleep, until you break, until you yield!" Ladybug's eyes snapped open, glowing like her yoyo. "I send the swarm, I send the horde. Thus said Ladybug." Around the city, the rest of the citizens woke up screaming by bugs crawling in their beds. Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie both awakened at the same time covered in ladybugs that were biting them nonstop. Gabriel jumped to his feet and tried to swat them off of him while Nathalie ran to her boss's room. "Mr. Agreste!" She called, knocking on the door. He opened it to see that Nathalie was also being covered in the pesky creatures. "Nathalie what is going on!?" Gabriel hissed as her. "I don't know sir, but I'll find out." She winced in pain as the biting continued. Pulling up the news on her tablet, she saw Nadja reporting from the Eiffel Tower. "This is Nadja Chamack reporting live from the base of the Eiffel Tower where it seems Ladybug and the entire miraculous team are. It seems that Ladybug and her yoyo are glowing while a swarm of ladybugs fly out of her yoyo. We don't know exactly what she is doing, but people have been waking up to frags in the streets, ladybugs covering everything, all of their food rotting, and the Seine is filled with blood! We haven't seen any akumas around yet, but I'm sure it will show up soon!" Nathalie remained quiet as she thought about what was going on.

"I haven't sent any Akuma to do this! What's going on Nathalie?!" Gabriel yelled. "Sir... I think Ladybug is calling down the plagues of Egypt." Nathalie spoke, looking a little confused. "What?" Gabriel rose an eyebrow. "I'm not sure, she shouldn't be able to do that, and based on her file, she shouldn't want to do it either. But if I am correct, next will be animals dying or running wild, then boils, fire and hail, locusts, three days of darkness..." Nathalie gasped as she came to a realization. Gabriel tapped his foot irritably, "What? What is it?" She looked at him in horror, "The last plague... The death of the firstborn." Gabriel's face changed from annoyance to horror, "Adrien..." "Sir, we have to stop her!" Nathalie insisted as Gabriel pushed past her and headed to his lair, "We will." He growled. Taking out his miraculous, he pinned it on and watched as Nooroo flew out. "Nooroo. Tell me, can the ladybug miraculous mimic the plagues?" Gabriel asked immediately. Nooroo gasped and their eyes widened, "They're using those?" "Nooroo! Answer me now!" Gabriel ordered with increasing anger. Nooroo nodded, "Yes master. The Ladybug is the one who treated the plagues. Any Ladybug can use them." "How do I stop her?" Gabriel glared at the annoying creature. Nooroo stared at Gabriel for a long time, expressionless. Gabriel wasn't afraid of the creature, but the look in its eyes made him uncomfortable and on edge. "Oh master..." Nooroo sighed and closed their eyes. "You can't stop the plagues once they've been called. Only a Ladybug can do that."

Ladybug had waited a few minutes to see if what she had already called was enough for Hawkmoth to come out. Sadly, with no sign of him nor an Akuma, she had to continue. " I send the thunder from the sky. I send the fire raining down. I send the thunder from the sky. I send the fire raining down I send the locusts on a wind. Such as the world has never seen. On ev'ry leaf, on ev'ry stalk until there's nothing left of green. I send my scourge, I send my sword. Thus saith Ladybug!" Ladybug chanted, raising a hand to the sky and creating a large black storm. From the center, cracks of thunder and lightning rang out and a swarm of locusts flew out. Then, the fire hail began and boils started to appear on only three people. Lila, Nathalie, and Gabriel. Luckily for Paris, Mayura and an akumatized Hawkmoth appeared along with dozens of akumas. Ladybug nodded only once and the team, minus Chat, lept from the tower and ran to fight the Akuma. "Shall we, Milady?" Chat asked, bowing slightly and holding a hand out to her. Ladybug turned to Chat and smiled, her eyes still glowing as she reached out and placed her hand in his. Chat sucked in a breath as power surged within him. His eyes and weapon started to glow as well and he let out a shutter at the odd feeling. "Let's go Chatton." Ladybug smiled and stepped off the tower, followed by Chat. The moment their feet hit the ground, the atmosphere changed. Hawkmoth and Mayura felt fear pierce them as the unfocused glowing eyes locked onto them. Then the battle truly started.

Thanks for reading everyone! This is my first fanfiction for miraculous ladybug that is normal. I typically write reader inserts. So sorry about any issues in the pacing or writing!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #miraculous plagues au #ml #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #tikki #prince of egypt

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poppy-battenberg · 3 years

Text

nine lives // self

The first time Soleil should’ve died was when she was just a newborn. Her mother and father were starving, and it was a cold night. They feared even their adult bodies would not make it through the night, let alone their infant daughter’s. They huddled around her as her body went still. They set her on the stoop of a foster home, unable to afford even a tiny casket.

She was found, alive but barely breathing, before dawn the next morning. She was wrapped in warm blankets and held.

The second time she should’ve died was around the age of two, when a particularly big piece of bread got caught in her parched throat. She was all alone in the kitchen, because the Fielders didn’t think their children needed much supervision. Coughing and sputtering, until her vision went dark, her young brain could only understand the concept that she might be falling asleep.

But the walls of the house were weak. Some of her older neighbors were wrestling nearby, broke right through the back door. They spotted the little girl in need and whacked her on the back until the bread flew out of her mouth.

The third time she should’ve died was around the age of nine, when she decided to run through the fields as they were chopping down grain. The Fielders, as always, weren’t looking out for her. Her imagination ran wild in the summer heat. She imagined she was dodging among the pyramids she’d seen in the Games that year. That the golden wheat was really warm sand. A scythe cut through the air, the worker unable to see the spritely little girl running on the other side of the stalk.

But a rock caught her foot. She fell forward, the scythe swinging through the air where her neck should’ve passed. She went home with a stubbed toe and a bloody knee, but nothing else.

The fourth time she should’ve died was only about a month later. She was sitting in the schoolyard, helping some of her friends with their math homework. It was a question about how much grain could be produced if a mill worked a certain amount of hours a week. They were all so caught up, no one saw the cart pulled by a spooked horse coming toward them.

A wall from the flimsy schoolhouse came down suddenly, though, deterring the horse from its course that was on a track to run off the group of little girls circled in the dirt.

The fifth time she should’ve died was when she was twelve, and she found herself locked out of the Fielders home. Maybe they thought she was asleep. Or they simply didn’t care. Unsure of where else to go, she wandered through the darkness on a familiar path toward the schoolhouse. She curled her body up tight against the side of the building, but she still stuck out enough to be noticed.

Especially by a mean drunk. The woman clamped her hand around the little girl’s throat and refused to let go. At twelve, she was to die at the hands of a stranger, apparently. She barely struggled. She didn’t want to go in a way that wasn’t at least peaceful. The grip released suddenly, as the woman fell to the ground on all fours and threw up whatever had brought out such vile behavior. Soleil ran.

The sixth time she should’ve died was around thirteen, when boy brought a knife to school. He wasn’t violent, had just taken it from his father. There were other violent boys at school, though. They took the knife and decided to play Peacekeeper, holding the sharp tool up to the throat of anyone they caught off-guard. They never pushed hard, just wanted to scare. What else was there to do in Nine but scare people for fun?

She thought she’d successfully avoided them all day, until there was suddenly a cool metal at the side of her throat. It stung as it slice through some skin. The boy who held the knife had a look she’d never seen in someone else’s eyes before. But a teacher was taken an early smoke break, and threw a mug at the boy’s head to distract him. Peacekeepers descended on him quickly. Soleil never saw the boy again.

The seventh time she should’ve died wasn’t much later, when One Panem sparked riots in the district. Soleil had been at a friend’s, studying for an exam that her friend said would probably be their last before they had to get jobs. Soleil refused to believe it, but the argument didn’t last long before there was commotion outside. Soleil was certain she could run home before she could be put in the line of danger.

But the riot was even faster than her feet. Bullets and small explosives and knife and rocks and every other form of weapon someone could find was hurled through the air. The pristine outfits of Peacekeepers were soon starting to stain with blood, but she kept her focus straight ahead. A knife flew right for her back, but the hand that threw it was inexperienced. It turned and turned in the air - until the handle hit Soleil’s spine. She let out a gasp but didn’t stop.

The eighth time she should’ve died was when she was eighteen and drunk on moonshine. She’d managed to crawl her way up into her loft bedroom, but she wasn’t yet ready to sleep. She moved some of the roof boards aside and pulled herself up onto the roof. She slipped at first, but managed to catch herself and turn to look up at the stars. They were beautiful, she realized, even if they now danced more than she ever remembered from the past. She wondered if she might become a star when she died. She once had a teacher tell her that some people believed you turned into something else after you died.

She wondered if she could even die. After all the broken bones and bruises from her childhood, maybe her body was indestructible. She used to accept bets to jump off higher and higher places. Moving slowly toward the edge of the roof, she looked down but saw little below in the weak moonlight. The ground never hurt that much, anyway. With wobbling legs, she managed to stand up at the odd angle of the roof and pitch herself over the edge. As she sailed through the air, she smiled. She always loved this weightless feeling. The hay she hit below was only a disappointment.

And the ninth time, she did die. The particulars of this incident have already been broadcast on every television in Panem.

And in District Nine, Goldie Silo and Omer Wheatie watched the 123rd Hunger Games in their separate homes, with their separate families, on separate ends of the district. They watched as their daughter suffered at the hands of a man she loved nineteen years after they thought they’d said their final good-byes to the daughter their separate families knew nothing about.

They watched with tears as they grieved again for their daughter, with hair from her mother and fast feet from her father, who they’d given the most beautiful name they knew.

#tw:death #tw:drowning #tw:blood #tw:violence #the end #nine lives #th:self #self-para #para

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

12. Watch This

"Okay," Erik paused. "Wait." One more shallow curve of his small black blade. "You can look," Erik breathed, eyes alight with excitement. Slowly, his face lowered closer to her thigh, catching the details of his work. He had gone over it twice ensuring that the lines were cut evenly in width and depth, the curves round with no breaks or edges, the picture pristine and clear. There would be no mistaking this time of what he had crafted. He was sure that what he made.. was absolutely perfect. His best work yet.

Briefly he glanced at Ivy's face strewn with tears which stained her youthful cheeks and reddened her once cotton white scleras. She hadn't made a peep, but she couldn't stop her tears or the lip she'd bitten throughout the process. He thought she'd chew through it. That would've been fun to watch.

His thick fingers traveled through blood from her thigh, rubbing it between his stocky fingers, allowing to stain his skin red.

"Such a pure red."

Touching the droplets of blood once more, he tapped his stained fingers to his tongue. The taste was metallic from the iron.

"You know this shit is lethal? Yeah, that vampire shit is bullshit. It looks fun until you end up in the hospital." A lightbulb went off in his head.

-----

"Hey Ivy," his head tilted watching her with the sickly ghost of a smirk. Ivy could hear his breathing pick up. It was a bad sign. Tired of his games and exhausted from the knife torture, she refused to respond. Not even a look in his direction. She continued to purposely ignore him until she saw him lift the knife in his hand. She watched from the corner of her eye.

"I see you looking at me. Watch this."

Blood began to drip down his forearm from his hand. It seemed he'd stuck himself in the hand with his knife on purpose. Ivy frowned, her lip twisting like her brows.

"Now you just sat up here and said that shit would send somebody to the hospital. You ain't got nobody else to fuck with as it is. One half dead, already in the hospital, one hate your fuckin guts by now, and here you go again... on that bullshit."

"You calling me out, Ms. Stevens? You think I'm reckless?"

"Why the fuck you gotta bleed cuz I'm bleeding? We both injured in this bitch because you wanna be a serial sadist. For no reason you on that bullshit!"

Turning his arm, he held his hand to her lips. "Drink," he commanded, smearing it on her lips when she refused.

-----

Ms. Stevens was a firecracker. Even under her current circumstances, she was on his ass and Erik couldn't help but to smile. It was refreshing to deal with a woman who was not so easily tamed. It meant she could take more of his art.. more play.. and he could push the envelope even further. , his attention returned her thigh. It looked even better with his changes.

"If this shit wasn't toxic, I'd lick it off your thigh," he sighed rubbing the skin he hadn't cut. He couldn't drink it because of the amount of iron that's in blood. A slight muscle movement drew his eye to the junction of her thighs.

"Wait, did that turn you on?"

Ivy's face screwed tightly into a tiny expression that read 'how the fuck?'

"Are you on crack cocaine?!" She was so fiery.

He hoped that part of her was actually turned on. Not that he'd fuck her, but he'd have a lot of fun exploring why exactly she was turned on.. making her explain it to him in detail. Maybe he'd cut her a slight break and leave her tied up for the night, check on her mom, carry on the next morning. It sounded like a plan.

"Whose this," he mumbled pulling his phone from his pocket. It'd vibrated and looking at the screen, he could see his security cameras had picked up a police car outside. He had company. If it was that dick-hungry officer, then maybe he could really have some fun.

"You stay put," he pointed to Ivy leaving her on her own still tied as he closed the soundproof door. He'd had installed and tested with the twins. Standing on one side, he'd had them yell as loudly as they could muster the other side. No sound had come through. This meant Ivy had no chance of ruining his fun.

He had to rinse his hand and arm of blood, bandaging it quickly and he had to check his clothing for blood. Finding a spot on his shirt, he scooted quickly to his bedroom hamper to toss it in. The doorbell alerted him that he had no time to waste. Chest bare, he walked coolly through his corridor to the front door, cracking it to where only a sliver of himself was seen

"Officer Howard," he greeted brows high. Perfect.

"You have a good memory," her head tilted looking him in the eye.

"I don't forget beautiful women easily, especially the ones who bring their own handcuffs," he smirked.

She shook her head. He could see in her humored expression she was into him, but why had she come?

"What brings you over here Officer?" He blatantly looked her up and down hoping that she noticed. His eyes roamed details of her uniformed curves before moving back up to focus in on her flattered freckled face. She was alone, no backup.

"I'm actually here to ask you a few questions.... What else can you tell me about Ivy Stevens?"

This late? Damn.

"You mean the young lady who tried to ruin my career and try my character," Erik sighed resting a hand high on the door frame so that his body was even more on display. What was she asking him for? Did it look like had anything to do with that girl?

The way Officer Howard ogled his chest and arm muscles, looking over his pattern of scars, he wondered if she'd actually drop her guard. Then he could have the upper hand. She gave a tight smile, nodding empathetically.

"Sorry to bother you at home, but as I said.. protocol. You mind letting me in?"

"You gonna arrest me if I don't?"

Her eyes narrowed but there was a hint of a smile on her.

"Cuz I might like that," he teased holding out his wrists. When Officer Howard smirked, he chuckled and opened the door wide for her. He had the perfect spot to lead her to.

In the parlor, he went straight to the bar which was covered with various liquor bottles. The custom wine rack was of reclaimed wood and held 40 bottles of wine. He held his hand out over the bottles on the bar.

"Pick your poison."

-----

"Rum and coke."

Settling on the white plush velvet couch, Trinity looked around the room noting the paintings. This was a man who loved art.

"..Since you're offering," she added.

The art seemed purposely rough, textured. Wild horses mid-run and green forestry. It all seemed average enough.. masculine and active. Seemed to fit Dr. Stevens well.

"What's that," Trinity nodded toward the glass Dr. Stevens hovered above. He'd just drizzled an off white semi translucent glaze into it.

"Coconut syrup..," he paused. "You ain't never mix it in your rum & coke," his brow raised. Trinity rolled her eyes as he tsked. "What type of wackass liquor you been drinking Ms. Howard?"

She bristled at the unexpected profanity. She knew she had a potty mouth, but his caught her by surprise. She was really in his house. He was definitely more comfortable and free compared to when she'd first met him. He'd seemed a bit more uptight in his office. Blinking, she watched as he rubbed his hands together as if getting serious. This relaxed side of the good dentist really turned her on.

"I drink STRAIGHT rum mixed with coke," Trinity stressed slowly.

"Watch this." He ducked low and when he came up, he produced silver tongs holding a large clear and perfectly square ice crystal cube and a small white sack which he removed a brown mallet from before dropping in the cube.

Trinity was impressed. In level of class, he'd already surpassed every excuse for a grown man she'd been with. He knew how to cater to a woman like a real man ought to. If she could end this Ivy Ivy Stevens situation and confirm her location off in the islands or, hell, Mexico.. wherever. As long as she was breathing.. she could make a move on this man and claim a husband.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Trinity watched his thick forearm as he slammed the mallet against the sack holding the crystal ice block. He had aggression, but it didn't touch his baby-like face.

"You caught me just in time. I was just about to shower," he smiled up, dumping the crushed ice into the glass filling it passed the rim.

"Mhm. Your markings," she gestured to her own chest, "Those are unique. What's uh.. what are those about?"

Someone had scarred him all up. That was worth remembering and recording. He didn't seem shy or ashamed, in fact he appeared to be parading his markings. Maybe he liked them. Maybe he'd had them done for whatever reason, which was odd. She hadn't figured him for a guy into those bizarre modifications. But then he surprised her with his profanity as well. He seemed more extreme or mischievous than what she'd originally thought. The thought came to her that maybe she should question him a bit more just to be thorough.

"My family is officially from Africa and in our tribe, it's not abnormal. It's simply cultural."

Trinity nodded as he juiced a fresh lime into the glass chasing it with half a can of coke, and topping it off with rum. After stirring, he handed her the rum and coke in the pint glass and returned to the bar pouring shot of vodka for himself.

"Cheers," he said raising his glass.

Trinity watched him as they drank in silence.

"You said you're from Africa. What country?"

"Wakanda."

"Isn't that near Kenya?"

"It is, you been to Kenya?"

"I haven't been past Mexico," Trinity scoffed. She'd gotten piss drunk there with friends after calling off work with a fake death in the family. It was a trip she couldn't miss. "I went by your office earlier to speak with you but it seemed that you were closed."

"No appointments. I went ahead and let my staff go home."

"Speaking of staff, how's Draya," Trinity stared, sipping her drink. She watched his eyes narrow briefly before lowering to his empty glass.

"She's in the hospital.. I'm sure you've heard about the attack."

"An ex attacked her," Trinity nodded. "There is something that's been bothering me." It was a thought that had only recently come. She decided to go ahead and get his reaction. "Reports say that Draya was covered in scars. Is she from Wakanda too?"

He met her eyes then, quiet. She'd touched a nerve.

"No, Ms. Howard. She is not."

"Had you ever seen her scars?" Trinity took another sip, watching the irritation build in his eyes.

"I have not. In what instance would I have possibly seen them?"

"You tell me," Trinity squinted. "And what happened to your hand?" This was actually going somewhere and she hadn't expected it to. He was defensive

"I have a suspicion," Trinity stood looking around. She walked around the room touching random items that stuck out to her.

"And what is your suspicion?"

She turned at the edge in his voice. She was really hitting on something now. His brow was raised, arms crossed.

"I'll ask you once more time about Ivy Stevens. I'm beginning to think you did something to the girl. Unless you can change my mind, I might have to make you my suspect number one."

-----

Erik watched as Officer Howard moved around. She was getting nosier and thinking entirely too much. It was irritating and the more it went on, the more he couldn't hide it.

However.. He'd anticipated this when he'd seen her face. It was a good thing he'd invested in soundproof walls, she'd have probably called the department and had Ivy escorted out by now.

He poured himself another shot as she watched his movements.

"I told you what I knew," he said simply, a countdown starting in his head as he took a sip of his drink. He watched as she paced and moved his items around.

30 seconds.

Her feet crossed. She'd almost lost her balance.

"I somehow doubt that and I'm going to find out your level of involvement because something ain't adding up."

"Mhm," he sighed with another sip. As she rambled, he counted. 15, 14, 13..

"You're awfully silent now," she frowned. She looked physically uncomfortable, overheated. Her freckled skin developing a sweat sheen.

"Am I?" He chuckled.

"That's funny to you?"

"You're a joke," he laughed. "Don't hit your head on the way down."

She lowered her chin, a threat in her eyes. "Excuse you?"

"You feeling dizzy yet?" He could tell she was. She reached for her pocket and he ducked behind the bar, popping with a gun before she could touch anything in her pocket. He didn't even get to threaten her, she passed out, her body thudding to the floor, her head hitting the corner of the couch. He checked to see if there was blood, but there wasn't. She would probably wake with a heavy headache.

#original #dentist

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