#it's a runaway AU with a twist! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

orangelemonsstuff · 2 years

Text

Twst Runaway Noble Au!

Chapter I

GN!Reader

Summary: Your father had announced your marriage you nor he clearly do not want, thus he made your escape successfully.

tags: Forced Marriage, Mentions of Treachery, Angst, Not Proofreaded and Running awah

your teacup clicked its saucer rather loud for someone who should be doing it carefully and slowly if not wanting to damage the cup

"huh?" a question escaped your lips as your jaw dropped open on your father's news.

"a contract marriage to the Baron of Pigeoniel, your hand is already promised, we are to depart in two days from now." your eyes widen, your lips couldn't help but tremble and anger dwelled up your brain

"he already had returned to his own kingdom before us, now he is currently waiting for yo--"

"father, you never consulted me in this..." you argued refusing to believe your father had sold you calling it as a marital contract to a person you haven't even met once.

"im sorry my child, but i h-have to, it's for our househo--"

"Father." your chair scooted backwards making a deep screeching sound on the mahogany floor, your voice was shaking in distress yet still interrupting him making him quite alarmed with your tone.

"You have sold me?" your eyebrows scrunched up and your knuckles turned white gripping into nothingness. the upsetting word had sour your mood.

"Hatchling... i had not sold you to anyone, it's a marriage contract, you are not sold like a filthy slave." your ears wanted to fool you as if there's a truth in his words

"What's the difference of it, father..?" you stare at him in dismay and outrage, doesn't know what to feel whether betrayal or fury, perhaps both

"You had sold your own child calling it a marriage to someone they don't love or haven't even met once!?" your yell rang around the fancy room making the two servants inside with you flinch in surprise

"Child, please calm down" he shifted out of his seat and stood, put his hands up as he headed closer to your position.

he puts both of his hands on your shoulders trying to calm you

your expression carried the disapproval of the decision your father had made for you, a decision for you that you don't even had to say in it

"I'm doing this for you." liar

"It's for the better." LIAR

it's all for this ramshackle of a home

all for your father of a noble falling from his position yet not willing to give up his riches and land but has all the nerve to decide who's his child is going to marry without their will.

All for the money

you slapped his hands off your shoulders and turned your head back to his masked face, looking directly at his golden eyes with discontent.

"you can stop pretending now. i am not used at you using me as an excuse for your own benefit, my generous father." you throw his hands harshly back to his own body and stormed out.

you did not notice the teardrop dwelling up on your eye as your studded shoe walked on the marble floor of the luxuriant hallway of your home.

your household might be getting a small fund to keep the manor up or even still live at the manor but it sure didn't lose its elegance and damascene.

you're not sure if you lose the mansion and the life as a noble, you are ready to live a peasant life but you're sure your father can't. he is not used at being penniless nor even live as a lower ranking noble, after all he is a tad bit greedy as a crow for shiny things and already had married you off to some noble you don't even know the name of other than his title as a Baron.

you stopped your hurried steps to your chambers and looked back at previous ones you have taken before, your eyes bore into the woodsn door of office again.

the office you used to play when you were smaller, the office where you and your father had a lots of fun hanging out for breaks and tea.

the office where he told his own child that he is going to marry them off.

the upsetting feeling is stirring inside you again making it harder to prevent a sad sniffle coming from your mouth.

your hand aggressively flinged the door of your room to open and threw yourself right after to your bed, weeping on the silken sheets with sorrow, in the next two days you are off to be with a husband your heart don't desire.

•••

Dire plopped back on his chair, shaking his head and massaging his temples, he does not know what he'd do to a kid like you but after all you had a right to be mad, after all it is you that is going to be wedded to a unknown man you don't hold an affection for.

Dire doesn't like the fact that he had to marry off his own child to save his plummetting life, but he wanted to give you a good life, yes the Baron of Pigeoniel might have a shady background but he promised he'll keep sponsoring Dire and give you a "good" life once he gets your hand in marriage.

the moment that condition was mentioned, it felt like heaven and earth turned their backs at Dire, he didn't want you to be with someone against your will but he was also determined to save your names as nobles.

the Baron who happened to be staying at one of the patrician of the kingdom. called Dire into the villa, Dire was offered the contract immediately soon as he arrives, of course money is involved the Baron had it already prepared for him and he had to sign the paper on his face immediately for the Baron doesn't have that much time nor likes waiting.

you can't blame him, he was being pressured to make a decision fast, wether its you or the house, and though without your consent he took the pen and wrote your signature.

"aren't you so generous now Viscount Dire? i appreciate your loyalty to our allegiance." he smirked as he took the signed paperwork back staring at Dire's golden shifty eyes and forced smile plastered on his face yet sensing the guilt of a decision he made.

he have heard about the rumors circling the noble infront of him, a letch who knew nothing more than to have a taste of people that catches his eye and then abandoning them after he was done with them. rumors might be true to this one but he is still a supporter of Crows, Dire had to oblige

but who was he kidding? all this time he had been a selfish person, signing a marital contract for his child who did not consent or know anything about it, he just want to... save his title... unwanting to be stripped from being a noble... just for his own sake.

he sighed in guilt seeing you wearing an unhappy and so wistful of an expression, he never meant bad, it was unintentional to hurt you. no, he does not want hurt you.

what he wanted was just for his only loved child live a good and prosperous life unlike him. he wanted a good future for you even a happy one.

still he clearly did not want you to leave him for you are his dearest child and only relative left to also lift up and held the pride for the sake name of Crows. the only one who can continue the legacy of Crows.

the only one left who is rightful for the whole heritage of his bloodline. the only one he had left to love and always would held close dearly to his heart, about to be restrained, imprisoned in a unfaithful and lonely cage called marriage.

he doesn't want that to happen.

a idea sparked on the bird's mind, a plan.

he would not let that happen.

he called one of his advisors and some of the specific attendants

not to his precious one.

•••

Two days before you and your father to be shipped at the Kingdom of the Pigeoniel and be wedded to your future husband, you ordered your informat and other servants to gather intellect about the said Baron and their kingdom, apparently he is a dirty lecher, a scumbag who collects lovers and consorts of other people whether be it a man or a woman just to pleasure him.

the kingdom of pigeoniel allows nobles to have multiple partners and concubine meaning its filled with nymphomaniac like him.

you have caught his eye on a banquet you attended two months ago, for a reason he was also invited too, and that time you just happen to steal a glimpse of his eye and sparkle like gem you are in a bunch of gray plain rocks. he knew he wanted you.

not to mention he is vile and evil, anyone who dares to refuse his wishes gets harm or live no more the moment they displease him.

you groaned in disgust, he was a loathsome atrocious thing, after what you've heard on what he'd done to get rid other people who had distasted him, it nauseated you, it was too wicked.

why would your father wanted you to marry such a sick freak? did he hated you secretly? no, that can't be right... your father gave you affection and love ever since you were small.

ah that's right the baron is also known for it's wealth and assets, his connections, sponsoring merchants, nobles, and other aristocrats

including your father

he had him tied on his palm meaning he cannot refuse the Baron unless he wants the sponsoring to stop.

and if it did he'll still won and the both of you will lose the life you are used to

what a sick man.

you gritted your teeth as you raised your hand to send off the servants in your room, they make their way out as your silhouette casted a shadow of your canopy window, the sun of mid afternoon warmed your skin and the hot breeze flushed your face, the branches of a nearby tree of swayed with the breeze.

you inhale the warm air to calm yourself, you looked around your room and how are you going to yearn for it once you're gone on another kingdom.

the things you treasure and pine for have been in luggage preparing for the departure two days from now

this room was what you would call a comfort place since you have all the privacy you wanted, although it'll be taken away from you with two more suns to go down.

you'll miss it

•••

two days had gone by and you finally got out of your room after sulking at your father. still ignoring him even after the servants persuade you to see him.

the whole ride on the carriage was awkward, he kept talking and rambling about certain stuff even asking you questions you don't answer nor look at him in the face prior to be stil angry to him, though it didn't stop him to squawk the whole time.

the moment you arrive at the port, a big full rigged ship loomed over you and multiple passengers that is happy to their leave, but of course not you.

he offered you a hand, a help for you to up the metallic stairs and you, forgiving him a little bit, accepted it making him beam as you two climb the metal stairs.

what seemed weird is some of your few servants came with you and your father, you think it's some business stuff he needed to deal with even while travelling on the ocean, your father seemed to be always looking at a pocket watch as soon as the boat started to depart.

the travel on a ship was exhausting, the floating feeling is nauseating it made you felt like you need to throw up, what's worse is you have you deal with it and get used to it for the whole day of your journey, the room assigned to you is a tad bit dirty and the only view you can see from your window is open blue sea making this whole experience all pretty boring and tiring.

of course it was a travelling ship, there isn't a banquet or a party held in it since it's not a fancy one like you and your father used to go to, so all you could do was stay in your room while your father do his work on a separate office. your room isn't that big in comparison in the one back in your home but it's close enough to make you comfortable.

however, the new life you are about to have once you arrived at your destination won't be comfortable as it is now. (you just hope that sleazebag doesn't force himself to you)

after a few hours of boredom and sitting quitely in your room, night had started to fall deep in the sky.

you can't sleep, the thought of being married to to a lowlife of a baron is making you feel overwhelmed and weary.

you sat up and scooted over to the only window near the bed, you sighed as your hand traced the wooden windowframe, you lean on the slightly squalid glass and gazed at the dark sky being lit with little stars, what a beautiful scene, you look back at the dark sea, the moon reflected on the darkest pit of salt water.

suddenly a knock was hit on the wooden carved door of your room, curious, you stood up and walked to check who it is

"its me" your father's voice, you sighed and roll your eyes as your door click open for the man to enter.

"come in--" your father seemed to be drooping, like a crow taken away from its shiny trinkets

"go and quickly change my dear, to a plain clothing, a attire a commoner would wear" his voice was raspy and breathless as if he just cried is he okay?

still, scoffing at the man, you stomped and sat back down at your bed and crossed your arm

"What do you mean? first you arrange a marriage on me, now you want me to dress like a peasant?" you turn your head away from him like a child sulking after getting yelled at

a moment of silence, he walked over to your sitting figure, making you stand up quickly to hear his scold as he pulled your hand and held you close to him, hugging you in a warm embrace, you didn't push away but that doesn't mean you are return the hug

you heard a sniffle as he caress your hair, holding you warmly as if he never want to let go.

"I've found a way for you to flee, to be free"

"...what?"

he leaned back to look at your face that wears the confusion and caressed your cheek with his gloved leather hand.

"once you get married to the Baron Pigeoniel, you would be a Pigeon and Crows will be forgotten as a name of a aristocrat." that's right, he still prioritize the family's pride even after getting hooked on a bait of some rich noble

he broke free from the hug and to your luggages

"our inherited name will go downhill if you are to lose it for a last name such as pigeoniel. i don't want that happen and--" he hooped his hand at the handle to carry the luggage and placing it on your bed, clicking both strap hinges of the antique suitcase pulling out

"i want you to still live on your life carrying our name, and... live happily dear child, i want you to live your life the way you wanted and not to be bounded to a marriage with no love and happiness like you say."

"Father--"

"Hush now my little crow... go change for your own departure, you have to be free even if you have to leave without me." he leaded you to the cheap dressing screen, you follow his order by taking the walking inside the three-fold, choosing called plain clothing if it was worn in a social gathering, you tear its accessories and design, wasting no time to make it look ragged.

you step out the dressing screen, holding your previous clothing and handing it over to your father, he let the ruffled and laced frilled fabric placed inside the suitcase in a hurry, he pulled out a blue cloak from the suitcase and robed it over you.

worry and confusion flooded your brain with all that is happening, you knew your father doing this to let you flee you will lead to a undesired consequence.

before you could ask a question he already had grabbed your hand rapidly and pulled you by walking, you two tread the wooden floorboard of the deck with hurry making it creak in a hush, his grip was tender but his steps are in speed while he continuously looked at his pocket watch.

the whole ship was dark except for some lighting the stars provided sl you can make some of its obvious details, like the ropes, the huge carriages, and the sail winding up wide to catch the wind,

the cold wind hit, unhooding you from the cover from your identity yet not stopping the rushed walking your father is guiding you

another ship stopped infront of you, more ragged and rusty as if a boat for shipping cargos and peasants who can't afford to travel in a cruise

two men appeared placing a big plank big enough to make way for you between the two boat

you halted and he responds in stopping his steps and turning his attention to you

"what about the fortune he promised you? do you not desire it anymore?" you have always knew that your father loves money and if that's the only thing making him happy you don't want to take that away

"what is money or spoils to me? if you are the one suffering for it?" your heart felt warm, you still realize the fatherly love he had for you still exists

"treasures, aristocracy, prosperity is nothing if you are not the one to be happy." he looked at your eyes with a loving look, caressing you face, still holding your hand he guided you to go down.

"but father i have learnt a news, the baron of pigeoniel is a cruel viscous man who does not forgive nor merciful, what would he do to you once he founds out you broke a promise, the contract? i don't want any danger to you for my sake"

by the pitiful look you are giving him, his heart strucked by a he held you close and whispered to your ear

"why can't you come with me? we could escape together...!"

"it is not an option for me my hatchling, if neither of us arrived at Pigeoniel, he'll have an order to find us and we'll never live in peace, and if they did find us somewhere, i do not what they'll do."

"i know what punishment is waiting for me as soon as i arrive at Pigeoniel but it'll be alright dear, do not worry about me." he kissed your forehead as he pulled down your hood to hide your face, handing you the suitcase that is now lighter without the expensive accessories you had bought with you

he nodded his head at the men behind you as they walked the plank instead to take your arm and pull you harshly to break away from your beloved father

you tried to struggle still wanting to bathe in his love for this might be the last time you'll see him smiling

"i would make sure no one will know that you got away..."

you muttered the word father as the plank let go of both sides and dropped on the vast dark sea, completely getting rid of the evidence you had run away with his help

fog emanating from the dark, blurring your vision as well as the ship you have been into

he is facing you yet the fog made his features blurry, you knew he is still looking out for you

you look at your father one last time as guilt and concern to him painted your face

a/n: this is way too long lmao sorry if mc/reader sounds a bit spoiled jere but that's how i think nobels or normal people act when they get married off without their consent (also Dire and Crowley are gunna be two different people)

(if some words don't make sense, English is not my first language pls understand)

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst fanfic #twst x reader #twst mc #twst runaway noble au #twst crowley #twst angst #gender neutral reader

137 notes · View notes

hollers-and-holmes · 2 years

Text

Arahad had never seen something like what had reared shrieking up out of the water. The smell like a long-dead whale on a sunbaked beach. He didn’t want to think about it again. The sea stretched all around their foundered little oil-ship and he could barely look at it. That was just the top. And the fresh wet clawing membranous memory of what had burst up out of that black surface made him want to scream at someone to flee with him back to safe and solid land.

There were dead men on the deck now.

#whumptober 2022 #no.2 #confrontation #lotr #Tolkien #fic #A Right Different Tale AU #very alternate universe #age of sail elements #with an au twist #shipboard surgeon Elrohir #adventures at sea #runaways and stowaways #stories from Elrohir’s sailing days #Elrohir #Arahad II

14 notes · View notes

diddlydarndoodles · 1 year

Text

When a ghost forms, the last thing to return is memories.

#For a while Mari was haunting her home with no clue who was who #and with her own history of abuse at the hands of her parents #seeing someone called ‘Mari’ being hurt by their father was surreal in a twisted way #she would get flashes of memories that only confused her more #cw child abuse #cw body horror #omori #omori mari #omori sunny #runaway siblings au #ghost mari au #also fun fact #before she died #Mari took the brunt of the abuse to keep Sunny safe

15 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Text

Run Away To Me (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, blood, angst, protective Johnny, violence, hurt/comfort, speedy relationship, talks of sex/intimacy (nothing in depth) & virginity pertaining to marriage, religious symbolism & mentions, etc.

A/N: That's it for this AU - onto Werewolf!Ghost next.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You’re kept behind Johnny’s back as you both exit the treeline, and you feel yourself quivering with unease.

What would Lord Wilkin do to you? Drag you back? As the shelter of the trees leaves you, you tighten your grip on the blacksmith’s tunic, breathing out a shaky puff of air. Cobalt eyes look back at you, trying to reassure you as the first calls start up from the guards.

Johnny whispers out, his accent deep. “It’s gonna be just fine.”

“She’s here!”

Hounds dash forward but with a sharp bark of, “Get back!” They skid along the dewy grass and halt with rabid barks instead, fur bristled and spittle flying. The men surge forward, and you gasp as they grapple at Johnny’s arms.

One tries to snatch at the neck of your cloak, but a strong arm traps the armored wrist and twists it sideways, snapping the bone as you stare wide-eyed as the guard screams; jerking back and stumbling to his knees. With a fluid motion, Johnny grasps the handle of the downed guard’s sword as he writhes with agony, unsheathing the blade and laying it upon the breast of the other with a dim call.

He glowers and glares, eyes like burning coals.

“I suggest you step back,” you watch, holding your breath from over his shoulder as the blacksmith leans closer to the man, one arm kept behind him and resting on your hip. “‘Fore this gets bloody.” The guard raises his hands and backs up quickly, fear splashing his eyes.

All of the others watch nervously from the sidelines, either reigning in steeds or holding their hands to the pommels of their weapons. Waiting.

You swallow the saliva in your throat and ask, quietly, “Are you alright?”

“Don’t twist your head about me,” Johnny reassures, eyes traveling around the homestead as the guards shuffle and share glances. The Scot grits his teeth and tries to think of a way out of this.

If you had run, just as the man had anticipated, they would have caught up in no time.

The clop of hooves from your left draws both of yours’ attention in a quick succession of perked heads and pounding hearts. You feel your blood drop to pool in your feet at the face that meets you. Johnny growls and shoves you farther into his shadow as Lord Wilkin comes closer with a horse of bay coat, decorated with all the finery of his station. Gold, great coat with an embroidered tunic, and riding boots. Strapped at his waist was a dagger encrusted with gems made of blood and diamonds.

Never mind all that wealth, he looked ugly and cruel to you—a glint of arrogance in his eye. You glare and grit your teeth, rage coming off in waves from Johnny as well as yourself.

Wilkin’s old face is the same you remember smirking down at you as he drove the ceremonial blade into your palm, and your entire hand flinches in memory, digging your nails into the Scot’s waist.

He puffs a sound of reassurance but otherwise doesn’t move an inch from in front of you.

“And who might this be holding my bride hostage?” The Lord’s voice is sly. Black eyes dart up and down Johnny’s form and the man you latch to has to restrain a rabid grunt of anger. Stay his molten tongue. “A blacksmith?”

“It’s MacTavish, to you,” Johnny calls, tone dead and laced with danger. Your body restrains a shiver as his warm skin sinks into you; the memory of his lips on yours is addictive, even now. “Be best for you to remember it, eh? Considerin’ I’m the one who supplies your fucking guards with arms.”

Lord Wilkin utterly ignores him, his gaze sliding to you halfway through his sentence. You stay silent, lungs tight inside of your ribs. The unfortunate truth was that Johnny still had more standing here than you did, anything that you said would come up as null and void; in fact, it would be better to be completely mute.

But with how the Lord was looking at you, your teeth had to bite into your lip to silence yourself. You had to come up with a way out of this. Soon.

“Take my bride away from this brute. Chain him.” Wilkin hides a smirk, pulling at his steed’s reigns to shift the beast away with a snort and a flick of a dark tail. “I want his head on the block in the town square by tomorrow. I have a wedding to finalize.”

“Let the fires of hell go cold if I go anywhere with you,” you say, stepping out slightly from behind Johnny, much to his hesitation, but still, he watches over you and lets you do as you please. The blacksmith would rather not have this Lord’s eyes anywhere near you if he’s being honest with himself.

This Scot had made you bold—his words gave finality. If he said nothing would happen to you, you believed him. Perhaps that made you foolish, but his word meant far more than anyone else. Johnny kept his promises.

Lord Wilkin’s horse is jerked to a stop, its head snapping back and forth with a frothing mouth. His eyes travel back and a slow sneer pulls at his lips, sitting under a mustache of white hair. You restrain a cringe, and Johnny barks an order to the advancing guards to stay back as his large feet set themselves.

“If they grab me,” he mutters, speaking over his shoulder, “run, Little Lady. I’ll be sure to give you an opening.”

Your eyes widen in shock and horror, but before you can answer, your husband-to-be calls to you. The Blacksmith’s expression is the picture of defense as he angles the sword in his grip at the far-off Lord when even the barest hint of his tone indicates you.

A low grunt was ringing in his throat like that of an animal—as if the bear fur inside of the house had come to life and was a shield of muscle and iron shavings.

Your eyes blink, and something begins forming in your head, but it’s gone before you can really grasp it.

“My Lady,” Lord Wilkin states, his guards taking up places beside him, glaring. The hounds have still not gone silent, and Johnny eyes them nervously. “I believe you’ve been overcome by some…” He grumbles and gnashes his teeth in rage. “Spell of disobedience. I’ll have a physician examine you and keep you in my home for a stay of recovery—”

“The lady said she’s not goin’ with you,” Johnny seethes, pupils slits. Your hand rests on his back, spread over the swell of his broadness as you feel his pulse. Hot and racing. “So pack the fuck up and scatter! And take the bloody mutts with you!”

You spare a worried glance at the back of his head. The blacksmith can’t possibly believe that threatening them will make Wilkin pull back, and when he meets your eyes, you know he doesn’t just by the wrinkles by the sides of his lids.

He’s nervous, shifting his feet in small increments to try and push you nearer to the tree line. Your body hardens.

You’ve already made your mad dash—there was no more running. Certainly not if your new center of affection and protective build wasn’t coming with you.

Wilkin raises a brow. “Quite demanding for the man surrounded…Woman!” You flinch at the sudden shout, the quick rage of his snapping head, and the quick switch. Johnny glares and his hands are strangling the hilt of the sword, white and held still. The Lord barks, “Your parents gained valuable gifts for your well-bred hand—would you enjoy them being taken away? I can do so.” Dark eyes sweep over you. A smirk. “Forget this spark of madness and consummate what you know to be done.”

Johnny lunges with a snarl, eyes burning with horrible anger and the intent to cut the head off the snake. The guards meet him as he yells to you, “Run, Dearie!”

But your feet are stone.

When the man realizes you’re going nowhere without him, his eyes gain a sheen of panic as his blade clashes with sparks of steel with another. A dance of feet and wit that speaks to years of careful study; practice from both parties. Wilkin looks smug as Johnny lets off a loud curse and has to turn his attention back to the fight.

“Seems the woman’s come to her senses. Praise God, perhaps there’s hope for her yet.” You breathe heavily, hands clenched under your cloak. Your mind wished for a dagger—one to show this pathetic excuse of a man how much it hurt to try and have someone mark you for the pleasure of ownership. Like some common branded cow.

Wilkin nods to you as Johnny gazes on in horror, narrowly dodging a swipe at his side before he elbows a guard in the face, splaying him out along the ground in a heap of leather and fabric.

“What are you doing?” He yells, voice booming out over the forest. You don’t look at him before you suck down a breath and steady your nerves; standing taller and setting back your shoulders.

The trained grace that had been shoved down your throat on a silver platter came back easily. Forks and spoons sliding under your teeth, all engraved with images depicting holy scenes of sanctity while the blood of your flesh spills at the poke of thorns sitting on your head. A halo of bloody martyrdom.

A tool.

You can be a tool, you decide, flinching when Johnny’s body is tackled to the ground; form ricochetting as he growls and writhes. His sword clatters to the ground. They have him in binds, cheek shoved into the dirt, and great shackles that skirt the line between animal and human restraint. A guard’s hand forces his face deeper into the earth and Johnny bellows, ordering with wild eyes, “Run, dammit! Get out of here!”

Sending a stiff glance, you stare blankly into cobalt eyes and blink away just as quickly, standing and staring down Lord Wilkin as he watches in contentment at the scene of the raging blacksmith and his seemingly placated bride. At the twitch of his lips, you raise your voice high.

“Release him.” Dark eyes turn to slits before they slowly slither back to you.

“Pardon?” You grit your teeth and feel Johnny glaring, a snarl ripping out of his mouth as he coughs through the grass.

“Dearie, no!” A punch hits his stomach as he’s jerked up to his feet and attacked; chains rattling as hounds bay for blood. You sense your gut roll with bile as Johnny fights back—tree-like legs laying a kick square into one's abdomen.

The two guards hang onto his arms, shouting at each other to try and restrain him further.

“I ask my husband-to-be to release the man that graciously gave me shelter during the storm,” staring hard, you’re trying to stop yourself from running to Johnny. You know you have nothing to help him with—it would be pointless and utterly stupid.

Your brow raises, but a nervous twinge is still in your voice. “Does My Lord not take pride in the fact that the men of his fiefdom are so open to taking in those less fortunate than themselves?”

Wilkin’s cheeks go tight, skin pulling as the eyes of the free guards travel to him. The struggle gradually dies down across the way; cobalt eyes darting back and forth with panic.

“Don’t bloody do what I think you’re doin’!”

A trade would happen, but only for a moment. In your head, you were whipping past possibilities and scenarios. There was something on the cusp of discovery—so close to giving you the upper hand, but what was it? Like a thorn in your foot, you continue to walk over it; ready and willing.

Johnny had your back last night, it was time you had his.

“Let the honorable blacksmith go,” you level. “And name your price.”

The response is immediate. A flashing smirk. “Deal. I’ll take my bride back, just as was intended.”

“No!” Johnny’s tunic is all ripped up, tears from gripping hands only making the damage larger—nail scrapes along his hardened flesh from the guard’s ruthless hold. Skin white from the force.

If you look at him, you’ll lose your mind.

Under your cloak, your hands shake as Wilkin descends his horse, coming closer.

“Keep your fuckin’ bastard hands off of ‘er!”

Think. His footsteps march closer—thin and sly-looking like a sharp-eyed Egret. Think!

Before his hand can snap at your wrist your mind sparks in a panicked moment, and you’re exclaiming with a loud voice before you can stop yourself or think the sentence through. You stutter at first but quickly gain your footing.

“I-In good faith, I cannot accept—I am unfaithful to you, Lord!”

The entire homestead goes still, and those struggling with Johnny’s binds freeze. Lord Wilkin goes confused, his wrinkled visage peeling in like a rotted corpse. But no faces are quite as good as the blacksmith’s, who goes so pale and wide-eyed before he can school himself in secrecy; his jaw loose. His heart pounds in his breast, shreds of tunic waving in the wind. You continue with utter conviction, so much so that you even start to believe the lie you’ve crafted with a swift mind. “See the evidence upon the blacksmith’s sheets—where we lay last night in the throes of lust; I am no longer a pure bride.” Breaths get caught in throats; eyes bugging to a nonsensical degree. You swear someone choke. Your face burns as you continue, faking a shameful falling of your chin.

“I cannot marry you!” It’s almost enough to break you, the realization on Johnny’s expression as he darts his vision to your hand—which you hide inside your cloak; wrapped around your waist with false fear. Blood on your hand.

Blood on the sheets.

“It would be shameful to do so, do you not understand? I am not but a used good.” Fake or not, the last comment still makes Johnny’s hands clench his jaw working itself with a restrained growl.

But pride furrows his brow. A smirk was forced back from his lips.

You just took away what Wilkin loves more than anything else—control.

The older man halts, his mouth going agape and a vile sheen coming to his cheeks. He stutters, “I...what?” It’s a violent snarl, but the man balks back from you as if you’re infected. “You dare lie to me, Girl? Play off this fallacy?”

“It’s no lie,” you say, gaining confidence with how Johnny watches you closely, only once rumbling at the guards that hold him when they tighten their grip. “The evidence is plain as day in the Blacksmith’s bed.”

Wilkin’s eyes flash, and he barks an order to one of his men to enter the main house. Only when his dark eyes are off of you do you spare a look at Johnny.

You sag softly, shoulders losing some tension.

Blue eyes lock with yours, firm. Sending an apologetic squint of your eyes, the man only slightly shakes his head, mouthing out, “Don’t worry your little head about it.” A quick, barely-there smile flashes his lips—but then you have to look away before you let the shaking of your body be known. No matter how hard you plead with your muscles to stop vibrating, they do so instinctually.

You know what lying about this will cost you, successfully or not. You’d be labeled for the rest of your life; separate. But Johnny’s eyes on you ease the pain. Lets you breathe. If the worst thing that could happen to you was living out your life in his homestead and being at his side, then perhaps social execution was the only thing that pleased you at the moment.

You just hoped that it didn’t lead to an actual execution.

“Lord!” The guard returns as Johnny continues to watch you, panting, with sweat dripping down his chin. His ribs hurt something awful, but he only glowered at the men holding him and stayed his violent tongue to let you work your strengths like fine iron wrought in the fire of his hearth.

Wilkin’s lackey was hurriedly carting the length of the Blacksmith’s sheets behind him—clutching in his fist the vibrant red stain of your blood and displaying it to the light. Thinking about what they saw it as, instead of your wound opening, you cringe and restrain a sound of disgust.

Even being around Johnny for as little time as you had, despite the kiss and infatuation, you had forgotten how crude the rest of these men could be. It’s like this sanctuary of trees and dew-soaked ground was in an entirely different world, and these intruders were wrecking it. By Johnny’s face, he felt the exact same.

Half of the Scot wanted to save your honor and tell them you were lying, but the desperation of the situation was far more serious than that. He couldn’t let you go back to Wilkin—he’d promised. So Johnny took down a tight breath and stayed silent; face burning and glaring at the ground with clenched fists shaking for blood.

The guards holding his arms slightly release their grip, listening intently themselves.

Blanking, the Lord’s eyes lock onto the stain as the man brings him the fabric. Not a moment later his hand snaps out to drag it to his face, looking daggers into the redness as his eyes snap from place to place.

“...You did this on purpose,” the slow dead tone takes you aback, hands around your abdomen digging further into your flesh as a dread spills into your stomach with blossoming unease.

“M-my Lord?” Johnny tenses, eyes sharp like a wolf.

“You did this so you could spite me, you little,” the encrusted dagger is unsheathed from its scabbard. “Whore!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The blacksmith bursts with wrath, jerking forward so violently that he drags the guards holding him along the ground, their calls of alarms making the hounds go ballistic.

You take a small step back as Wilkin gets nearer to you—the point of the blade setting itself right under your chin; tilting your head up. Breath going tight, you stare with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

He wouldn’t kill you…would he?

The Lord’s eyes are brimstone and deeper than Hell, holding sinners in the bars of his pupils while devils of brown specks prod the pool of obsidian. If a man could be on fire and still be living, Wilkin was an inferno incarnate.

“You belong to me,” he grits his teeth as Johnny’s voice blurs in the background, having to be forced to his knees by three men yet still nearly throttling one with the force of his arms. “I paid for you.”

“Then you should find it a lost investment,” you shakily reply, not knowing how you have the strength to stare into Wilkin’s eyes. But you do. You stare and you hold your hands tight into your flesh until the skin under your gifted fabric aches. A small prick of the blade makes you suck in a tight inhalation, a tiny droplet of crimson sneaking down your throat.

It’s a battle of wills, and before you say what you’re thinking, you’re nearly sure that in less than three seconds you’ll be grasping a slit throat.

You clear your throat softly and speak in a dim whisper. “How will your guards react to you killing a woman in anger?” Expressions freeze. “What does God say about that?” You swallow, throat bobbing. Hit him where it hurts. “...What would the townspeople say? Mercy is not above our great Lord, that is an earthly prospect. I believed that was your greatest quality, is that not what everyone believes?”

Wilkin stares, his mustache twitching. Dead face. Dead eyes.

It’s a long, long moment before anything else happens, and when it does, you flinch.

The dagger disappears from your chin and you instantly back up several steps, breathing unevenly. Pointedly, you place your uninjured hand on your slowly dripping skin.

Johnny’s taken down three of the guards, their faces bloody and your blacksmith’s nose broken. He yells and screams curses. You feel your heart constrict at the sight, pain zooming down your veins in bursts of adrenaline, but it’s seconds later that Wilkin speaks, loudly so that everyone can hear.

“I would never harm a woman,” you hold back a violent scoff as your hands shake, wanting to be taken into Johnny’s arms now more than ever—feel his heat and inhale his scent. Wrapped in a blanket of steel and ash. “In my good graces, I will pray for your salvation, Miss. But being soiled—”

“Bloody piss off!” You send Johnny a quick glance at the outburst. He’s forced back face-first into the ground with a grunt and sputtering of grass in his mouth.

“I no longer wish to be joined with you in holy matrimony. It would be dishonorable to my station.” Dark eyes swim with hatred, but the tone of his voice is easy and pliable. The Lord was a good fake—he plasters on an appeasing smile for his men and waves a quick hand in the air as he turns to his horse. “Release the brute. Let the pair roll in their sin of carnal desire. God will be their judge.”

Johnny struggles as they unlock his chains, but the second he’s out he’s springing full-force towards you; his skin sliding across your cloak as you’re guarded far better than any loyal hound or King might be.

“Johnny,” you grapple at his biceps, sighing raggedly in relief. He doesn’t brush you off, only curling his side around you and angling his head to the mounted horses; pupils slits and lungs heaving. His nose looks awful. “Don’t, don’t,” you plead, “It’s over.”

The man doesn't respond, looking feral as his hair goes this way and that; coiled around your body about to strike at anything that comes close.

“I’ll kill him,” Johnny grunts. “I’ll rip his damn throat out for speakin’ to you like that—for puttin’ a knife to your throat. I’ll rip him into bloody bits and pieces, you just say the word, Little Lady.”

Your arms encase the one of his you’re holding, dragging the limb to your chest. Cobalt eyes dart back to your face. It’s a long moment, but his expression softens slightly—the wrinkles beside his eyes easing while his lips twitch down. Blood drips off his lower face, spread around his under eyes, and stains his stubble with crimson gore.

“Please,” you mutter.

He looks down and nods stiffly, even if he doesn’t like it.

The horses are rallied, the hounds called, and with a throw of dirt from their hooves the convoy is off. Silence returns in slow increments of nothingness.

Wind, the call of a bird, and the babble of a far-off stream echo through the pines. Only when they’re entirely out of sight and the dust has cleared that Johnny swiftly moves, picking you up into his arm. You squeak as he carries you speedily into the main house, rushing to place your backside on the table.

His large hands immediately tilt your head up to spy the tiny mark from Wilkin’s blade, and you feel his shuttered breath against your throat as you go heated.

“J-Johnny, what are you…” But you don’t get an answer, the man disappearing before coming back with a wetted rag. Once more, the man cleans your wounds with delicate presses of the cloth—ridding you of all blood.

His jaw is clenched, and as you watch, your hand in your lap twitches.

In a broken act of pain, you lightly run your fingertips over the swelling of his nose. The man stops, but serious eyes stick to your throat—unable to meet your gaze; there’s a red sheen to his neck and ears. Anger or embarrassment, you know not.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, guilty, and his widened gaze rips itself to lock with yours. Your vision blurs, afraid to touch him fully as if it might burn him.

“No,” he’s shaking his head. “No, you never tell me that. What you did, Dearie…I,” Johnny stutters, closing his mouth before opening it again. “I should be apologizing to you. It wasn’t fair to make you do that. Any of it.”

A wobbly smile flicks your lips.

“Are you saying I should have left you?” Johnny moves his face farther into your hand, blood contaminating your skin but you don’t pull away. You let him sag into your palm instead, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against your soft hands.

“I’d not see you harmed,” is all he answers.

You sigh and blink away your tears, stealing the man’s rag so you can dab at the bloody nostrils. Johnny’s pulse is still fast under you—like the pound of his hammer.

“Well,” his eyes dig into yours and you smile. “I believe my priorities are the same. I may have only met you yesterday, but I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

“Aye, well, everyone will know how fond soon enough.” He’s more worried about this than you are, a stubborn and almost grumbly tone to his words.

“Is my purity that much of a sore point for you?” You can’t help but tease him, even in the circumstances. “I had no idea.”

His face goes more crimson than his own blood, and he blinks at you rapidly.

“I…That isn’t what I…” You chuckle gently and press your forehead to his, whispering.

“I was just joking.” He sags with relief, his hands coming up to rest on your hips with the care of a man unbefitting to his station. Again, you have to ask yourself how an individual so intimidating can be, at the same instance, kind and generous.

His lips mutter, brows tight. “Are ya sure you’re alright, Hen?”

You think, wondering about the run through the forest when this all began, the plea for shelter. Such a deep coincidence that you’d end up here—perhaps the most safe place in the entire fiefdom. Everything had lined up perfectly, barring a few bumps in the road. You doubted Wilkin will mess with this place after the spreading of your ‘promiscuous’ behavior.

He was too sly for outright violence if given the option.

“Yes,” you know, and thin your lips. “What about your nose? A-and everything else?”

“Don’t think about it,” the Scot smiles, eyes still glinting with worry. So many hours and you’d barely gotten any sort of break. “I just want you to rest, then, eh?”

Maybe it was outwardly obvious, but the entire ordeal had left you drained; shaky, and still coming off of panic. What if they had killed Johnny…?

You’d go back to Wilkin and live as his wife, producing heirs and locked away in his estate for the remainder of your life. What kind of existence was that? No, you knew, you’d never live like that.

You’d never live like that here.

With a shaky breath, you watch Johnny’s eyes flash with concern for a moment by your silence, but before he can speak you’re pressing your lips to his in a firm and honest kiss—sinking in every emotion you could.

The man grunts in surprise, but doesn’t move back; if anything, his grip on your hips increases, sliding up to your waist.

After a moment of tasting flesh, you pull back and whisper, “Thank you.”

Johnny breathes heavily, a glimmer in his blues, “Well,” he grumbles, “I’d say you did most of the work.”

You both share a chuckle before you’re lifted again, carried gently over to the bed without sheets. You’re placed atop the bear fur and wrapped in that instead after your cloak is unclipped and folded neatly, set on the floor. Outside, the call of a far-off storm hits your ears and you blink to the window.

“Stay with me?” You ask before you can stop yourself or can even think.

The blacksmith’s breath catches, his fingers flinching as they were pulling the fur tighter around your neck.

It’s a moment before he asks in a quiet tone.

“You sure you want this, Dearie?” His lips go tight, eyes narrowing in inner conflict. You stare and already know the answer just by how he speaks to you. “I’m no King. I…I can’t give you fine jewelry or fancy clothes. There’ll be no grand suppers beyond the game I catch or what I can afford to buy. Long winters.”

The air goes quiet with worship, and your eyes go wide with care. His broken nose is crooked, but it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. You wonder if that was for your sake or his.

“I’m not someone worthy of your beauty,” he rubs at the back of his head, bending down by the edge of the bed. “Certainly not your smarts. I’m only a blacksmith, Little Lady.”

“Only?” You huff a chuckle. Johnny looks at you in confusion as the black clouds outside roll in, seen through the window of this quaint and lovely home. The hearth is warm, the scent of food still in the air, and the memory of a dash through the forest behind you.

“If you’re only a blacksmith, Mr. MacTavish,” you’re sent a fake stern look as the back of a hand goes to brush your cheek. You shiver. “Then I’m only a runaway bride.”

“Aye,” Johnny admits with a growing smile of adoration, “but still a bonnie one, at that.”

“...Stay with me?” You ask again.

The man breathes out, “Tell me why.”

“The trees do not deny what they need to make them whole, Blacksmith,” you whisper. “Why should I?”

He’s clambering under the fur, wrecked clothes, and blood on his face but never feeling more whole. Is so little a time enough to fall in love with someone? What deity had tied your souls together so soon with ribbon soaked in rainwater—tinged with blood?

His lips meet yours as you sigh into him, hands gripping his arms as they circle your waist tightly. Johnny breathes you in and lets his hands span your back, fingertips digging into your clothes. Into his mouth, you whine a plea for him to keep you close and hold you tight. It’s all your need from him. It’s all you want.

For the wise know best: there is nothing better than a simple life.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes

autumnmobile12 · 4 months

Text

My Hero Academia AU: Ambush Simulation

Aight, storytime:

So awhile back, I was thinking about Episodes 4 & 5 of the anime Soul Eater where the gang is tasked with capturing two villains, the zombie Sid and the guy who resurrected him, Professor Stein. (There’s also the added stakes that if they fail in this task, they’ll be expelled from school.) After a somewhat harrowing fight, defeating Sid and losing to Stein, the plot twist is this was never a real fight, Stein and Sid were not villains, and this whole thing was just a test that was orchestrated and sanctioned by the school and definitely skewed more toward hazing than actual education.

And I thought, what if that’s all the Vanguard Action Squad was during the Summer Camp Arc? Just a test orchestrated by UA that skewed more toward hazing than actual education. (Note: These are the traditional LoV members, so Muscular, Mustard, and Moonfish are not part of this line-up.) At the very least, that would probably be the meanest ruse Aizawa has pulled. And you can't tell me Principal Nezu wouldn't have been all in for this plan.

"It happened once at the USJ. Despite our precautions, it could happen again. Let's teach them how to prepare...by scaring the absolute shit out of them."

"Ambush Simulation" is playing off my earlier AU comic with Shigaraki being the adopted nephew of All Might and leading a pretty normal life. The rest of the squad is more or less in the same boat. For context, Touya’s canon divergence is he returned home after the three-year comatose and actually stayed there, but since nothing about that household environment really changed, he’s still an unhinged mess, but that is a whole other kettle of fish best saved for another comic. (Clearly getting a kick out of the prospect of scaring a bunch of kids, including his brother, half to death, though.) Toga’s home life is rocky at best after ‘the incident,’ but she’s no longer a runaway teen. Everybody else just kinda fell in with each other.

Their role as a vigilante team was inspired by the series Durarara!, specifically Kadota and his crew for anyone who's familiar. I genuinely forgot the Vigilantes spinoff existed...sigh, it's been awhile and I only recently got back in this fandom. The Vanguard is pretty much living by a 'you're only in trouble if you get caught,' philosophy. (And the nepotism has probably saved all their asses a few times because it doesn't look good for the No. 2 Hero if his eldest son is busted for vigilantism.)

Anyway, there's a few other details that I can't fit in this post, so head over here if you want to read more behind the scenes of making this thing.

411 notes · View notes

yumeko2sevilla · 5 months

Text

The Runaway AU

Runaway AU belongs to @anxious-twisted-vampire Regarding of this post.

Yukiharu:...Mother?

Kotoha: Nice to meet you again, Yuki. It seems you have befriended with troublesome individuals, hmm?

Epel, whispering: Oi Haruka, this is your mother?

Kotoha: *smilling* It's not nice to whisper, young man. Or should I said, Epel Felmier?

Epel: She- She knows my name!?

Minako: Tch. I didn't know your mother would be this bitchy, Yuki.

Kotoha: You know, running away from school isn't nice. They will catch you soon.

Yukiharu: Mother, do you...know about this all along?

Kotoha: Fufu, always the clever mind Yuki. It was the ritual that bring me back from hell, so let's say I helped them "a little".

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #yukiharu shirokami #yukiharu🌧️#runaway au

4 notes · View notes

marrondrawsalot · 5 months

Text

My brain: draw more elderich blot monster Darling

Me: *making another one* yeeee

No I will not stop and yes I can kinda do this. I’m testing my skills and I’m surviving college. I’m gonna shove pizza in my face tomorrow and all hail to the future king of the pirates.

@adrianasunderworld @mangacupcake @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind @skboba-stars @nproduction626 @rose-tea-and-strawberries @anxious-twisted-vampire (she simped the hell outta this) @yukii0nna @achy-boo (I already called her out but tag in if u want) @abyssthing198

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #marron ocs #twst oc #twst #marron draws #marrondraws #darling crowley #RunAway Au

18 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 10 months

Text

Royal Pain Part 1

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the story that has had my entire weekend on lock. Like every spare moment was writing this story. I wrote over 6000 words in two days. So yeah. Don’t worry. I’m still working on Boy With a Bat (I just need time to research season 3 so I don’t over step on the show’s timeline {like I did with “Little Runaway”}). And of course I love working on “All My Roads Lead Back to You” and will continue working on it as well. Also these first two parts are long. I don’t know if all the parts will be as long, but as you can see when you read them there isn’t a lot of places to stop (and not make them super short).

Summary: No Monster Modern AU. Eddie and his band, Corroded Coffin, have a steady gig at a bar in Indy where they play every weekend. Eddie's life takes a left turn when his regular tattoo artist, Max Mayfield, moves to New York with her boyfriend Lucas Sinclair, newly traded to the New York Knicks. Now needing a new tattoo artist, Jeff recommends "Royal Pain", which even Max agrees is a good shop. On arrival, Eddie is shocked to find Steve is the shop's artist. They hit it off, and slowly move from the barest of acquaintances to boyfriends.

***

“God damn it!” Eddie growled, throwing his phone at the sofa and snarling when it bounced to the floor.

“One day you’re gonna throw it so hard and it will break,” Gareth grumbled from behind his drum set.

It was Corroded Coffin’s weekly practice. They weren’t big or anything, but they had a steady gig at a local metal bar and it paid good money. They drew large enough crowds that they were able to play their own music.

Eddie hopped to his feet to retrieve the discarded phone from the floor. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered darkly.

“What’s got your panties in such a twist?” Jeff asked from the same sofa Eddie had tossed the phone at. He was tuning his guitar, ear bent toward the strings.

Eddie scoffed. “Like you have any interest in my panties.”

Jeff lunged and grabbed one of Gareth’s drumsticks from the bucket he kept at his side and threw it at Eddie.

“Hey!” both Gareth and Eddie protested.

“Just answer the damn question!” Brian sneered from his place on the battered old floral armchair. “You usually like bitching, so what’s your deal?”

Eddie flopped gracelessly on the lavender two-seater. “That was my tattoo artist,” he groused, crossing his arms petulantly. “Her boyfriend got traded to the New York Knicks so they are moving there and if I want to get my dragon finished before she leaves, I better ‘haul ass’ according to her.”

Eddie’s friends winced. They knew finding a tattoo artist you could trust in a style you liked was hard. And for Eddie to lose his? That sucked. Max Mayfield was one of the best in Indy and to lose her to New York? That was even worse. But her boyfriend, Lucas Sinclair, was an NBA raising star and she went where did. Which meant Eddie had to start all over with a new artist.

Suddenly Eddie straightened up. “Hey, Jeffie!” he said. “Did you ever get that tattoo you wanted done?”

Jeff lit up. “Oh yeah!” He set his guitar aside and rolled up his sleeve and showed them his tattoo. It was of a bullet tearing through the flesh. It was fantastically rendered, where you could see the torn muscles and broken bone. It covered the scar there perfectly. “Isn’t it fucking amazing?”

“Holy shit!” Brian cried. “That is so wicked.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder. “Yeah fuck, man. Where did you get that?”

“It’s this little place called Royal Pain,” Jeff explained. “The artist, Stevie is so fucking good.”

Eddie chewed on his lip, thinking hard. “Hey, can I get the number?”

Eddie was standing in front of a shop that he wouldn’t have in a million years would have even suspected was a tattoo parlor. It was a clean and bright storefront. The sign was black with a golden crown was on the R. It was a far cry from any other tattoo parlor he had ever been to. But despite his reservations, both Max and Jeff highly recommended this place and specifically this ‘Stevie’.

Sighing deeply, he yanked open the door and took two steps into the shop. The decor was nice enough, it had a ‘royal’ theme to it, he supposed, but he really didn’t look that much. Because suddenly Eddie knew who Stevie was. The name, the royal decor, and Robin fucking Buckley as receptionist.

He was going to kill Jeff. Or maybe just his next three D&D characters. Because there was no way on this insignificant planet did Jeff Lawrence not recognize King Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. They had all gone to school together. Robin was Steve’s best friend. His soulmate if the rumors were to be believed.

He was about to turn around and walk out, Jeff and Max’s recommendations be damned. Even he wasn’t that masochistic. But he was stopped by the cheerful, “Welcome to Royal Pain! How can I help you?”

Eddie winced and rubbed his eye in frustration, but made his way up to the counter. “Munson, Eddie. I have a two o’clock with Stevie.”

Her smile grew genuine. “Not your first tattoo, I take it.”

Eddie pulled down the collar of his shirt to show of his finished dragon tattoo. “Yeah, no. Some asshole jock absconded to New York with my tattoo artist, so here I am.”

She grinned. “Stevie will be out in a moment.”

Before Eddie could chicken out, the man himself came out of a backroom, wiping off his hands. Eddie gulped. Steve looked very much the same as he did in high school. Same hazel eyes, honey hair, tight jeans and a fucking polo. This guy couldn’t have looked less like a tattoo artist if he tried. Except for one thing.

He could see tattoos on Steve’s arms. He couldn’t get a good look at them without staring but yeah, okay. Steve Harrington, tattoo artist. Who would have thought?

Steve looked up and smiled brightly. “Eddie?” Eddie nodded. “Hey! It’s so good to see you. I had hoped when I saw the name that it was you. How’s it been?”

Robin tilted her head in confusion and made an odd chirping noise.

“Come on, Robs,” Steve teased her. “You can’t tell me you don’t remember Eddie from school.”

She looked Eddie up and down and then cocked her head. “You do look vaguely familiar.”

Steve laughed. “You know, ran the D&D club, had that rock band–”

“Metal,” Eddie corrected. “Not rock, metal.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right, sorry. Oh! And stood on tables ranting about the man and how schools fail the kids they are supposed to teach.”

“You stepped on my sandwich,” she said deadpan.

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Whoops.”

She grinned and pushed his shoulder. “Just kidding. It was Tammy Thompson’s sandwich.”

“Isn’t she the one that sings like a Muppet?” Eddie asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Steve laughed. “That’s what I said.”

Robin looked between them both and growled, “I hate you both.”

“You’re only saying that because you had a crush on her,” Steve teased.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t know you swung for the other team, Buckley.”

She grinned. “What can I say, I do love a pretty girl.”

Eddie shrugged and cocked his head, nonchalant. “I wouldn’t know.”

Robin wagged her eyebrows at Steve, who rolled his eyes. He turned to Eddie. “So what am I doing for you today?”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment. “Oh!” He pulled out a picture from his back pocket and handed it to Steve.

“This is the Evenstar from Lord of the Rings, right?” Steve asked, tapping the picture. “Arwen’s necklace.”

Eddie lit up. “Yeah. I’m impressed, even uber fans have a hard time remembering that.”

Steve blushed, ducking his head. “I have this friend that hosts huge parties watching the extended versions of the movies every year. Complete with full Hobbit meals. It’s hard not take in something from the films.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked, suddenly feeling less like murdering Jeff with each passing moment.

Steve smiled back. “Actually, you might remember him. He was in your club, your final year at school.”

Eddie cocked his head. “Oh?”

“Actually, you had three of Steve’s nuggets in your club,” Robin interjected.

Eddie turned to Steve. “What nuggets would those be?”

Steve blushed again. “I used to quasi-babysit these kids. There were about seven of them, if you count Erica and Elle.”

“Which I absolutely do,” Robin crowed delightedly.

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he leaned forward. “You babysat kids?”

Steve shrugged. “They were good kids and their parents worked a lot, so they just kinda imprinted on me. Like ducklings.”

“Wait...Lucas, Mike, and Dustin, huh?” Eddie asked putting two and two together. “Holy fucking shit. I loved running their characters. The ranger, the paladin and the bard.” He couldn’t believe it. He had missed out the chance to run with their friend Will, but he had come back to Hawkins after Eddie finally graduated. “Which one was Dustin?”

Steve smiled and then ran his tongue over his teeth. “Floofy hair, trucker hats, Weird Al shirts, and a huge theater nerd.”

Eddie clapped and pointed, “That’s the one!” He tapped his finger over his lips. “Which means it’s Dustin that hosts the Lord of the Rings fest, isn’t he?”

Steve beamed up at him. “Yeah. Sadly I haven’t been able to go the last couple of years.”

Robin made a sympathetic noise.

“Why not?” Eddie asked, the curiosity getting the better of him.

“Migraines,” Steve said with a wince. “Too long staring at a TV set can trigger them, who knew?”

“That sucks.”

Steve looked back at the picture in his hand. “Did you draw this?”

Eddie grinned. “Sure did, big boy!”

“And would you want me to tattoo it in your style?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked rapidly. “You can do that?”

Robin folded her arms, looking smug. “Hell yeah, he can!”

“I mean, if you can that would be amazing,” he said breathlessly.

“Where is it going, the tattoo, I mean?” Steve asked.

Eddie tapped his chest. “Sternum.”

Steve chewed his lip thoughtfully. “That would be awesome, but have you thought about putting it on your back. Like a shadow covering your spine?”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up.

Eddie shook his head. “As tempting as that would be sweetheart, I have plans for my back.”

Steve looked a little disappointed. “And what would that be?”

“I want big black bat wings on my shoulder blades,” Eddie said gleefully. “I just haven’t found anyone who’s style I liked well enough to trust doing it.”

Steve hurried around the desk and pulled out a large three-ring binder. “This is all my work, flip through it, see if you like my style enough for me to do it for you. Because I would love to. So take a look and let me know if I could be your man.”

Eddie blinked. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve smiled brightly. “Great! I’ll go set up and I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” He practically skipped to the back room again.

Eddie opened the binder slowly and began to shift the pages. They were all amazing pieces of work that only seemed to get better the further he got into the pictures.

“These are amazing,” he breathed.

Robin leaned on the counter and stage whispered, “If you do not get his number after he does your tattoo, I will murder you and no one will find the body.” She leaned back to look down the hall. What she saw Eddie didn’t know, but she leaned back into whisper to him, low and menacing, “I am not paid enough to listen to his rom-com pining bullshit.”

Eddie looked behind her and then back at her. “I’m–I mean–what the hell?”

“Eddie!” Steve called.

Eddie slammed the binder shut and stomped to the back. He stopped short when he got to room. Again he was blown away at how opposite it was from other shops he’d been to. It wasn’t sterile white or anything like that but it was brightly lit and nicely decorated. It was a place that most ‘normies’ would feel comfortable getting their first tattoo. And he got the appeal.

Steve looked up at him with a lopsided smile as if he understood why Eddie was brought up short. “Other tattoo artists give me such shit about my set up, but it’s not about the aesthetic of what people think a tattoo shop should look like. It’s about people feeling comfortable about permanently altering their bodies.”

Eddie nodded. “No man, I get it. It’s just a pleasant surprise, you know?”

Steve grinned at him. “Thanks. Come on, have a seat. Take off your shirt. Relax.” He paused for a moment. “But not necessarily in that order.”

Eddie laughed and pulled off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby chair. He got on the lounge chair and laid back. He noticed the way Steve dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and smirked. Maybe Buckley was right.

“You’ve got a lot of great tattoos,” Steve said, wiping down Eddie’s chest with a mild anesthetic to clean the area. “Your old tattoo artist do those?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I mean most of them. A couple were stick and poke when I was high school.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Shit, really? I wouldn’t have guessed. They’re all really good.”

Eddie blushed. He figured Steve was just being polite because he thought it was fairly obvious which ones were the stick and poke. “Speaking of high school, I would have never in a million years thought that King Steve would become a tattoo artist. You been doing this long?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I got voted most likely to run my own business, but I’m pretty sure they thought something closer along the lines of hair care or some such shit.”

“At least yours was nice,” Eddie grumbled. “I got voted most likely to still be high school at the ten year reunion.”

Steve winced. “Was that the first time or the second time they held you back?”

“First.”

“That’s harsh, man,” Steve commiserated. “Yeah, no, I’ve been doing this for the last five years. Three years at my own shop.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait really? That’s epic, dude.”

Steve nodded. “I went with a friend of mine to see about apprenticing under Hop. He caught me doodling on myself because I forgot to bring my drawing pad and offered the apprenticeship to us both.”

“I can see why,” Eddie said. “You do some pretty impressive work. Who was the friend? Robin?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, no...I love Robin, and she is a lot of wonderful things, artist just isn’t one of them.”

Eddie laughed, too. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

Steve picked up his gun and sat down on the rolling stool. “Nope, Max Mayfield. One of my nuggets, as Robin called them.”

Eddie blinked. “Shit, dude. She was my old tattoo artist? You two really apprenticed under Hop?”

Steve hummed. “Yup.” He turned on the gun and then shut it off again. “I know you said that you wanted it in your style, but can I add my own flourishes to it?”

Eddie cocked his head. “Yeah, sure. I liked what you did with Jeff’s tattoo, so yeah. Knock yourself out, man.”

Steve grinned. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

***

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #tattoo artist steve #modern au #ladykailtiha writes

536 notes · View notes