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darsynia · 11 months

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Nearer, My God, To Thee | Stony | Ch. 1

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST NEXT

Written for ZaraMelMercury as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 3,603 words // light D/s themes For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Note: After years of being captivated by the wreck itself and the stories therein, I couldn't resist choosing a Titanic AU after seeing my giftee's request involving hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, and historical AU! Please note that this is not based on Jack & Rose from the film-- a Stony retelling of that already exists.

This is a fast burn, passionate romance between two people who happen to have met at one of the worst possible times. It's been pure joy to write, and I am so delighted to share it with you now!

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed

Excerpt:

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

Steve released the rail, noting the stiffness in his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said as he turned toward the speaker. The man was impeccably dressed, with facial hair that brought to mind a mythological satyr, but the most compelling thing about him was his eyes. Where every other inch of him spoke of elegance, class, and condescension, this gentleman’s eyes were warm and kind.

The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Steve realized he was staring. He stammered an apology using the only thing he could think of. In the handsome stranger’s breast pocket sat an elaborately embroidered handkerchief, the perfectly-even blue stitches standing out proudly in swirls and knots on the white cloth.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Oh, this old thing?” The man’s accent was American, but he affected a British one for his interruption, patting at the distinctive object. “It’s my signature. I’m never without it. Tony Stark, prince of industry, at your visual service,” he said, dipping his head in a small bow. His lips were twisted in a clearly amused smile that suited his devilish look perfectly.

Chapter One: There let the way appear, steps unto heaven

Being a Fourth Officer on the Titanic was a point of pride for Steve Rogers, even though in practice he spent more time in First Class keeping the rich passengers happy than fulfilling his maritime duties. Lightoller had already pulled him aside to ‘freshen’ his serious expressions into friendlier ones. He’d been reminded that there were no other American-born officers at his level, and that he was doing the White Star Line a service by offering their wealthy American guests ‘the sound of home.’

Steve knew better than to object that his accent had nothing to do with his skill at his job, and neither did the small talk with the Rothschilds or Astors. He kept his uneasiness at bay by stepping out onto the First Class deck space, hoping the brisk air would help calm his mood.

As always, his excitement to see his childhood friend once he arrived in New York kept Steve going; saying goodbye to Bucky Barnes was one of the hardest things about moving to London from America. Their letters to each other came few and far between, particularly now, with Buck in the Army, and Steve at sea.

For a man of limited means, working his way up at White Star was one of the only ways he could get to see his friend again. The promotion to Fourth Officer had been a last-minute surprise, but as much as he hated being cynical, it seemed that it was driven more by a hope to placate passengers than anything useful.

Once a half hour had passed, he was still frustrated. As they had the day before, the passengers outdoors had been delighted to call him over to stand quietly in his uniform as they chatted to each other. It seemed that his duty time on the bridge every day was to be his only respite from the upper classes.

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Sub-Lieutenant Steve Rogers, sir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Too late, Steve realized he used the convention of a regular introduction, not the more deferential one for men who were not equals. Before he could apologize, Stark waved him off.

“They’ve got you parading through here at every opportunity, it’s only natural you slip into a more familiar greeting. I won’t reveal your mistake if you don’t reveal mine.”

Steve was out of his element; Stark embodied a certain First Class playfulness without somehow grating on Steve’s nerves. Most of the others just gave Steve barely a glance, maybe a nod of recognition of his rank and then moved on, but not Stark.

The man in question lifted his head and sniffed in a full breath of the crisp sea air. He seemed disappointed. “You aren’t going to ask me what the mistake is, are you?”

“With respect, no sir. I am not.”

Stark’s sudden grin hit Steve in the gut in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “Good. I haven’t done it yet. I’ll let you know.”

A young woman walked over to Stark to engage him in conversation. She fully ignored Steve, which was more familiar ground. He stood politely with one hand on the railing, but to his shock, Stark reached back as though bracing himself-- except, he not quite. His hand, undoubtedly precisely placed, was now pinning Steve’s uniform cuff to the railing.

The move was so unhurried, so casually dismissive, that Steve would have been convinced it was exactly as it appeared, if it hadn’t been for Stark’s behavior in the following conversation.

The young woman was dreadfully dull, and his witting captor seemed to offload his annoyance in being stuck listening to her by feigning fascination. Every few minutes, the clever man’s hand slid further in Steve’s direction, taking Steve’s with it by necessity-- and every few minutes, the expression on Stark’s face grew more like a caricature of interest than it had before.

Tony Stark was practically embracing him by the time the young lady said something cutting and flounced off.

“That,” Stark sighed, “--was almost worth it.”

Without explaining what he meant, he stepped back and looked at Steve with a narrow-eyed speculation that made something tighten in Steve’s chest. The ache in his arm was gone in an instant.

“Am I right in assuming you’re tired of playing the toy soldier?”

The right thing to do would be to school his face to impassivity and espouse his duty, but the words died in Steve’s throat. He didn’t want to lie to Stark. Still, his loyalty was to his superiors, and--

Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t choke on the platitudes, man! I understand you perfectly.”

“My apologies,” Steve tried, but the other man shushed him.

“You’re here for my amusement second, and the pride of the Line first, I know. Speaking of the former-- did you know my father is an inveterate womanizer?”

All Steve could do was work to prevent his face from showing shock. This seemed enough for Stark, however.

“I am, of course, following in his esteemed footsteps, but for some reason, my dear papa finds that irritating. He deals with it by lobbing marriageable young women in my direction at every opportunity.” Stark turned to rest his forearms on the railing. “Perhaps we can be of assistance to each other.”

Steve thought about being asked to step into a conversation with any of the young, unmarried women of First Class. The resulting nausea prompted him to turn and face the sea as well, once again gripping the metal tightly.

“Precisely!” Stark said, nudging his elbow with his own. “That was unkind of me. My intention is to ask my father to intercede, state that I’m volatile--” He stopped, pulling out a pipe to absently shift between his fingers. “I am, of course --and ask for an escort, a goodwill gesture to protect the reputations of both passengers and ship. A respectable Sub-Lieutenant such as yourself would be a fine choice, even if you weren’t begging for death with every successive minute you spend in First Class.”

A whistle sounded before Steve could formulate his response. Stark slapped his empty hand on the railing decisively, tucking away the pipe.

“The womenfolk will spruce themselves up before luncheon, meaning I am free to speak with Major Butt about getting the President’s ear for our business. I have no intention of drawing you into my scheme if you’re unwilling, so what do you say?”

Steve took a moment to contemplate, and Stark’s patience during those seconds did a lot to recommend him. The man was certainly engaging, and the respite he was offering was too enticing to give up. “If by ‘scheme,’ you mean your intention to request myself as a personal escort, sir, I am willing.”

“Good man! I’ll speak with my father, then. Do us both a favor and appear exceedingly boring and unruffled by anything I say and do, eh? In public, I mean. In private, I’d expect you to treat me as an equal.”

Stark’s warm eyes and smile of approval sparked something in Steve’s chest, something not entirely made of pride. The ‘out of his element’ feeling returned, for a different reason, now-- but this he could do. Protect this fascinating man from the very things Steve himself was intimidated by? Absolutely. Spend more time together? Please. The chance to escape the strictures of toy soldierdom was a side benefit.

“I can, sir.”

Stark almost ruined things for both of them by reaching out and grasping Steve’s hand for a second. The facade of politeness on Stark’s face faded as quickly as the veneer of cold duty did on Steve’s. There was coalfire in that grip, enough to warm his entire body.

It was sheer luck that most of the passengers had already sought to move inside, and didn’t see them.

Steve was summoned by his superiors an hour before dinner.

“You’re to have priority for laundry, Rogers, as I’m certain you have but one dress uniform, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Howard Stark has requested to speak with you, something about his son and wanting a companion among the officers to keep him in line,” Murdock said. “Tell me now if you have any objections to get out of the way before I send you down to accept?”

That was loud and clear. “No objections, sir.”

“Good. Run and change into your best, then.” The First Officer made a face as he looked him head to toe. “I’ll do my best to find you some pieces to supplement with. If you’re to spend every waking moment with that upstart son of his, you’ll need them.”

The words ‘every waking moment’ fumbled Steve’s fingers on his buttons as he changed clothing in his cramped compartment. Thanks to his efforts in keeping quiet, his sleeping crewmates barely stirred, which was the most kindness he could offer given the lamplight he’d flooded the room with. He wondered if he’d be similarly able to filter out Tony Stark’s light in the days to come. The other man had been perceptive, and his provocative questions had sent Steve’s mind reeling even before he’d realized he was physically attracted.

He’d thought those feelings were behind him, in truth. Years working his way up in maritime commerce meant years surrounded by other men, and nothing had stirred. In a few brief moments, Tony Stark had brushed away the cobwebs, shining his bright smile into the darkest corners of Steve’s mind.

Steve looked down at himself, realizing he’d paused for contemplation at the very worst of times. Well, Stark had implied he would be a bad influence.

Once finished, Steve was painfully conscious of both his need to hurry and the desire to appear calm and unruffled. After all, a hurrying seaman on a ship such as this was liable to concern the passengers, and that was not at all appropriate.

He got to the designated suite of cabins and checked his pocket watch. He was right on time, which was a relief. Steve thumbed the empty place where the picture of his mother used to reside. It fell out in Southampton, and he wouldn’t be able to replace it until he was safely back in England.

Howard Stark turned out to be the back-slapping, gregarious sort. His son was nowhere to be seen, and Steve soon understood why-- Stark Sr. wanted to give him the third degree, asking about his childhood (he dearly missed Brooklyn), his hobbies (Steve kept his sketchbook double bagged at sea), even his love life (nonexistent and not looking). As the time passed, Steve’s legs hurt from holding himself so stiffly, and the thought occurred that Stark couldn’t possibly ask such invasive questions of the young women he sent after his son.

Then again, perhaps the younger Stark was right about his father’s view of women, and he wasn’t sending them over to share Tony’s mind, just his--

An internal door burst open, revealing Tony himself, a long metal tool of some sort in his hand. “Damned thing was locked! Imagine if I had to evacuate! You might have needed to look sideways at my mother to perpetuate the dynasty.”

Howard Stark’s demeanor closed off immediately, and his eyes rolled skyward at Tony’s impudence. “The dynasty is just fine, I’m planning to entrust it to this young man’s capable hands.”

The words may have been spoken with a clear intent to chastise, but with Howard’s back turned to his son, Steve was treated to the full glory of Tony’s reaction. His eyes widened in obvious delight, and one side of his mouth turned up, emphasizing his unique goatee in a way that felt decidedly naughty.

“I hope that means I’ve met with your approval, sir?” Steve said, his heart racing in his chest at the possible double meaning.

“Did you ask him about his hopes and dreams when he was a lad?” Tony asked, coming over to look Steve over as if he were a piece of merchandise. He was carrying the handkerchief that had caught Steve’s eye, and made sure to flick it in his direction a few times, much to his father’s annoyance.

“It’s for your own good, not that you know anything about such things,” Howard griped. “Well, young man, I see that you’re in your dress uniform. Since a different officer shared our table at dinner yesterday, it will be no unusual thing for you to appear there tonight.”

“Am I appropriately dressed? I haven’t shined my shoes since we disembarked, and I--”

Tony’s hand came down on his shoulder from behind as a brusque embrace. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! He’s worried about decorum. This will be fun.” The words were dismissive, but the reassuring squeeze at his shoulder before Tony moved away hinted that it was an act.

Dinner was simultaneously boring and exciting, depending on where Steve allowed his gaze. The scattered nature of seating at the table meant that Steve was across from Tony, who was only a seat away from his father. That left Tony able to make subtle faces behind his fork which Steve was obligated to remain composed in the face of. There was something so captivating about his impropriety, the kind of freedom that Steve could only dream of having.

He ignored the number of nightmares he'd had over the years that involved breaking protocol and reaping the consequences.

Howard’s interrogation made more sense now. An impressionable, fashionable young woman with the need to make a wealthy match would find it near-impossible to resist Tony Stark’s specific charms. The question was, did Howard have other concerns? Was Steve one of a long line of ‘reputation minders?’

“Sub-Lieutenant?”

Steve started in surprise, looking up to see the entire table’s faces arrayed toward him. He’d been staring down at his bowl for so long the shape was burned in for a few seconds. Tony’s expression was smug, as though he knew he was the cause of the woolgathering.

“My apologies,” Steve said, covering his discomfort by touching his lips with his napkin.

“Not at all!” one of the women at the table said kindly. “I confess I forget the question. Someone called out your name in concern you were fatigued, I believe?”

Thinking quickly, Steve decided to go for a kind of flattery. “I’m embarrassed to say I am not. I was caught up in memories of other lively conversations, which made me think of friends I haven’t seen for a long while.”

“I hadn’t considered that!” Mrs. Astor exclaimed. “It’s much harder to see them as often, when you’re away aboard ship, isn’t it?”

The unspoken sentiment that finances were the real impediment hung uncomfortably in the air for a few seconds, and Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony as he nodded.

“The prestige of this voyage should set you up nicely for years, I imagine,” Howard remarked, and the conversation passed to other things. Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony for the rest of the meal, but after a good ten minutes of this, he did notice more noises coming from the table across from him.

The impish man seemed to be baiting him. Steve’s instincts told him he’d be most rewarded by remaining stoic, just as Tony had instructed on the deck earlier that day. It was the first time he’d chosen to be cool and professional because it was exciting, rather than out of duty.

He only slipped up once, but the image of Tony Stark slouching petulantly in his chair, a golden fork in his fingers mid-strike against his plate for the fifth time in a row was well worth the split-second glance.

Unfortunately for the man in question, he was busy speaking to his father and missed it.

When the ladies and gentlemen broke to spend time in their respective after-dinner areas, Steve made his way over to the Stark men for instructions. Tony was already agitated when he got there.

“--tedious, and you know it. It’ll be better for business if I’m not there.”

“I don’t know how you could come to that conclusion,” Howard said drily.

“Just--” Tony broke off, dropping his gesturing hand to jitter at his side. Then he caught sight of Steve. “Just send me onto the deck to ‘think about’ my behavior at dinner and let Sub-Lieutenant Rogers explain all the maritime terms until my eyelids fall off. He’ll do it, look at him! He’s a statue carved by duty.”

The sharp look Tony shot his way certainly sliced through him, but it wasn’t duty that held the knife.

“Go on, then,” Howard said, lighting his pipe. “Keep him distracted from the ladies, would you, Rogers?” he added before turning to follow the group of esteemed men heading for the smoking room.

“I’m still not looking over at you,” Steve whispered to Tony. The act of even saying that sent his heart racing, and the two of them hadn’t even defined what it was that he was avoiding.

“You’re more nervous than a skittish thoroughbred!” Tony whispered at his back, as Steve led him out onto the promenade deck. There were few others out there, but he kept walking until they were standing at a railing the farthest from the door.

He turned around and anchored himself with one hand on the metal, just as before. His heart sank to see the way his companion couldn’t stand still, his eyes darting about. Was he drunk?

“Forgive me, Mr. Stark, but were you serious about the equals thing?”

Stark clenched his jaw. “It’s Tony, and yes.”

Using his first name seemed like acknowledging that there was something unspoken, and Steve was ashamed to admit he wasn’t brave enough. He sidestepped the issue by not using any form of address at all. What he wanted to do was confront Tony about his behavior, which seemed the height of reckless disobedience, exactly the thing Howard wanted Steve to curtail. Was this some sort of game?

It wasn’t like him to risk his employer’s reputation with that kind of confrontation. “You didn’t have to do that.” Tony’s furrowed brow and possible inebriation led him to elaborate. “Compli-- Speak of me on such high terms.”

“Oh, it wasn’t just for you. I was starting to worry about whether your smile joints work. Angering my father was gravy.”

“I noticed,” Steve allowed, somewhat mollified. He looked down at his shoes. “You told me to remain impassive.”

He could hear Tony’s grin in his response. “So I did! You were magnificent.”

Did the railing just give under his hand? Because he felt he could only say something this outrageous after a clear moment of goodwill between them, Steve said, “Was that all to get a rise out of me, or your father? With respect, I don’t think I’m a good target for such things.”

Tony stepped closer, his expression sobering. After a few seconds of scrutiny, he nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate your candor. Both, I’ll admit. I see now why you might have found it uncomfortable, rather than the game it could have been.” He set his hand next to Steve’s on the railing, without touching. “Can I guess at something?”

Steve nodded.

“The situation made you feel responsible for me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe that I was misusing my power over you? In creating culpability?”

The reluctance in Steve’s tone turned it gravelly. “Yes.”

“What if I told you I preferred it the other way? That I find it exhausting to always hold the power?”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest on hearing that. In fear, yes, but also some other motivator, one that hid in the shadows of his mind, sometimes warring with his sense of what was right, what was just.

“Rogers?”

His instincts told him what to say, but did he have the strength?

“I don’t mean to talk past you, do not trouble yourself. Just a gripe on the imbalance of--”

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted Tony. “Please use it.”

He shouldn’t, couldn’t demand, even though there was every indication that Tony wanted him to. The way Tony's whole body froze still for a second made Steve question himself, but then he turned around. The look of joy and relief on his face hit Steve as hard as their first physical touch had.

Next chapter...

Note: I couldn't resist having Tony reference Major Archibald Butt, a first-class passenger and confidante of President Taft. It was the loss of his friend that had Taft so infuriated at the conflicting reports and machinations by the Marconi company regarding the messages of rescued survivors directly after the sinking. I mention it here because not everyone might know of his existence, and that's quite a last name!

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idiotwithanipad · 3 days

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How Agatha met Rogh

(TW: Death, Injury detail, Panic, Trauma from past abuse, Blood)

Agatha couldn't feel anything. No pain, no weight about her chest and middle, no saturated burlap sack against her face. Her eyes adjusted and could see nothing, the candles must have burned out. The basement and it's lack of ventilation became a furnace flue in the dark, fresh air a blessing in this part of the manor.

Her hands still remained bound above her head, but she could no longer feel the rough ropes. Almost as if to test her luck, she tugged her arms forwards quickly and felt no resistance. They weren't tied anymore. Agatha sat bolt upright, reaching her hands up to the sack covering her head. She wrenched the foul bag from her head and dropped her legs from the side of the table.

A man stood before her. A different man from the last two. He looked strange, Agatha didn't get a chance to take a closer look at him, as the burlap sack somehow, in the blink of an eye, materialised itself back over her head, plunging her back into darkness.

Agatha released a shrill scream at the sudden realisation that another man was with her, and at the fact that the terrible bag was back over her head. Did he put it back there? Was she to be punished further? Yet, there was no time to worry about the bag. Agatha fell from the wooden table and splattered onto the floor on her side, quickly gathering herself and getting to her knees, her hands grasping and feeling around on the floor for the strange man's shoes.

"Oh please, sir, no more! I hath taken such beatings on this night, sir, I hath wailed so! I can take no more weight, sir!" Agatha pleaded and sobbed, tears pouring from her swollen eyes. Her little hands grasped onto an object, a soft object; it felt as though she had gripped onto an animal. The silence that followed only made her sob and quake even more, her shoulders and covered head wincing and shying away at every second.

The softness of whatever her hands grasped began to move, shifting slightly and brushing against her fingers and wrists, the heavy aura the man gave off seemed to hover over her like a giant. Unseen to Agatha, the man hand crouched down and began to inspect the heavily blood stained sack.

"I hath been falsely accused, sir. I committed no such crime nor sin, I hath only breathed for 11 years, sir. I hath never bedded another, nor hath I wished so". Agatha sobbed, her fingers still clutching onto what she assumed to be a large, fur lined coat.

A small sound caught her attention, even the snuffling of a mouse would've alerted her in this state; the slightest noise making her picture those two awful men charging back into the basement to tie her hands again and lash her with leather.

The sound rippled above her head, slight at first, but it's volume and intensity grew by the second. Fearing her pleading sobs had been taken as an offense, Agatha retracted her hands and held them together before her covered eyes, reciting the prayer that her mother had taught her in times of sorrow.

The sound was of a man, the man she had just managed to catch a glimpse of before her vision became clouded by the blood soaked burlap. Breathing. Inhaling and exhaling. Sniffing.

"Look like it hurt..." Definitely a man's voice, the gravely drawl of it seemed to send shards of ice through her flesh. Agatha froze as she heard the scraping of fingers against the burlap above her head.

"I beg of thee, sir... No more, no more... I cannot take no more..."

Her cries were cut short when a warm, somewhat calloused hand came to gently hold onto hers, the thumb rubbing softly over her bloodied knuckles.

"No more" The voice agreed. The tone and depth of the voice changed to one of pity and understanding, the kind her father would take to her when she would cry.

"Why does thou seek me? I am but a scullery maid, sir. Hath I overlooked a chore? The dogs hath their meats? The candles hath been lit? The fires been stoked? I should cease my tongue, lest I wish to have it torn from my throat" Agatha winced. The unseen figure remained silent for a moment, for what reason, Agatha couldn't tell, nor see.

"Not maid no more. No pain no more. No more blood. Bad man not squeeze feet in rocks no more. Is done now. No more"

Come to mention it, Agatha didn't feel anything, she could barely even feel the Rocky basement floor grazing her knees beneath her skirts. All she could feel was the man's hands slowly and gently move to her underarms, lifting her off of the ground and onto the table again. Carefully, being gentle so as to not frighten her.

"Feet in bad shape. Pressed too hard. Snapped. Broken like stick" The voice seemed full of pity and concern, yet Agatha couldn't feel anything which the voice described. The description the voice gave made her mind conjour images of what her abused feet would look like if she could see them, the very mental image of it turning her faint.

Agatha rose her hand to pull the burlap sack away once again, before the man's gentle hand came up to clasp at her wrist to stop her.

"No. No look. Won't lie, it big bad, but me not want little girl to see it"

Agatha jolted at the sudden contact.

"How am I to go about my chores, sir? I hath work to tend to. Must be nearing my time to awaken, I must light the fires to warm the house before the family rises for morning prayers" Agatha panicked, fearing another lashing.

"No need to work no more. You ghost now, same as me" The voice spoke, reassuringly. The word rattled Agatha's pounding brain.

"You die on table with two men putting heavy rock on chest, you stop breathing and spit blood. Now you ghost, so no more work and pain"

The man couldn't see, but beneath the burlap sack, Agatha's eyes bulged in horror and confusion. Agatha had always been taught that St Peter would greet her after death. But there was no St Peter here.

"Bad men, bad death, painful. Even other ghosts didn't want watch" The voice commented, followed by a stirring from the floor above. A second voice called down into the basement from the wooden steps.

"Have they stopped yet? I couldn't bare to watch it, turned me stomach and that's sayin' a lot" A man called, his face peering between two balusters, his jagged and awkwardly set teeth chittered in his protruding jaw.

"Looks like they're gone now, Mick" A woman's voice soothed.

"They were 'oribble to 'er!" The strange looking man, presumably 'Mick' cried.

Agatha turned her covered face towards to source of the noise, but she still couldn't see past the burlap.

"Sir, this wretched bag will not keep itself from smothering me, sir. I cannot remove it" Agatha remarked, her fingers toying with the frayed fabric.

"You stay how you die. You die with bag on head, you stay with bag on head" The man said, almost too calmly, like he was well experienced. Agatha wasn't ready to accept that word, 'die'. Had she died? Is that why she felt nothing? How could she possibly survive a crushing that would kill even a grown man?

"Sir, I doth need air, sir. I must excuse myself" Agatha croaked, bowing her head slightly to the man and shuffling to drop herself down from the wooden table. Her twisted feet landed on the floor but soon after buckled when she took a few steps toward the stairs. She went hurtling forward, her arms flailing to find something to grab onto for leverage, only to collide with the stone floor.

"Oh. You okay?" The man called from behind her, shuffling closer and patting her back with his hand.

"I cannot seem to walk proper, sir. I'm to be given the boot, sir? Cast out to become a woman of the night?" Agatha whimpered, rubbing at the palms of her hands from her rough landing on the floor; she expected a few grazes, but felt no damage at all.

"No. You ghost, me told before. But can still go up there, come me show you" The man chimed. He carefully gathered the eleven year old maid into his arm and began up the stairs. The sickly looking, boil covered ghosts backed themselves against the walls as they watched the caveman pass. They looked at the state of the young girl, although they didn't see her face, they saw the state of her chest and feet, their eyes bulging in shock. One of them even started crying.

Agatha made sure to turn her face away from the man's; she was terrified that he too would scream and yell at her, her fists still clasped together as extra measure just in case she needed to say a quick prayer.

"There, this a big room, I call it 'Big Room'" The man finally spoke, Agatha could feel that he stopped walking and stood turning left and right in place.

"Sir, I cannot see much through this bag. Tis a task" Agatha mumbled.

"Oh... Well, is big room, red walls, picture of ugly man on wall with ugly woman and ugly boy, got swords on hip-"

"I should like to go back downstairs now, sir!" Agatha blurted, a harsh rattle in her voice.

"Ey? But only just got here. Said needed air-"

"Yes, sir, indeed I did, sir. And I hath gotten air now, sir... " Agatha's arms came up about her chest, forearms crossing over each other, the lace of her leather corset tickling down her cuffs.

The strange, still unseen man gave a small grumble of confusion and mild annoyance and turned on his heel, Agatha still in his arm. She flinched and practically buried herself under her own arms, snapping her face away from him and shielding her head with them.

"NO no, I beg thee, sir, don't!"

The man froze, his wide eyes stared at the state of panic the girl had gotten into from a mere few seconds; surely she didn't think that he'd hurt her, did she? Had he given that impression?

"Ey, me not hurt, have I?" He spoke, gently, being careful not to panic her further. It took a few seconds for Agatha's trembling to stop, her arms slowly lowered to rest neatly in her dirt covered lap.

"No, sir. Thou hath not risen thy hand to me in fury, sir..." Agatha agreed meekly.

The man began slolwy walking back towards the basement steps, carefully trying not to jostle her anymore, he didn't want her to think she was in danger.

"And my name not 'Sir'. It's 'Rogh'..."

#bbc ghosts #original character #robin the caveman #larry rickard

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poem-today · 2 months

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A poem by Jonathan Swift

Stella’s Birthday: March 13, 1719

Stella this Day is thirty four, (We won’t dispute a Year or more) However Stella, be not troubled, Although thy Size and Years are doubled, Since first I saw Thee at Sixteen The brightest Virgin of the Green, So little is thy Form declin’d Made up so largely in thy Mind.

Oh, would it please the Gods to split Thy Beauty, Size, and Years, and Wit, No Age could furnish out a Pair Of Nymphs so graceful, Wise and fair With half the Lustre of Your Eyes, With half thy Wit, thy Years and Size: And then before it grew too late, How should I beg of gentle Fate, (That either Nymph might have her Swain,) To split my Worship too in twain.

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

Note: “Stella” was the name Swift gave to Esther Johnson (13 March 1681 –1728). Journal to Stella, a letter-diary covering the years 1710-1713, consists of 65 letters addressed to her. Swift, 14 years older, first met Esther/Stella when she was about eight and when he was secretary to Sir William Temple at Moor Park in Surrey. When Swift saw her again in 1696 he thought she had become the most beautiful, graceful and agreeable young woman in London. After Temple’s death, Hester moved to Dublin even though she had no connection with the city apart from Swift himself. Some believe they were secretly married in 1716, but there is no evidence on this. In any event, he was inconsolable when she died at 46, and is buried next to her in St. Patrick’s Cathedral (Dublin).

Starting from 1719 Swift sent her a poem on her March 13 birthday. This resulted in a series of Stella’s Birthday poems ending in 1727, the year of her death. Swift wrote Stella’s Birthday, 1719 to celebrate her 34th birthday.

Image 1: Esther Johnson Friend Of Jonathan Swift; addressee of his Journal To Stella (Engraving by Dawson)

Image 2: Jonathan Swift Portrait by Charles Jervas (1710)

#jonathan swift #irish poetry #stella #birthday poem #charles jarvas

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unclewaynemunson · 7 months

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Oh kind sir? Could we please have more? It's so delectable! Please kindest sir! I beg of thee!

https://www.tumblr.com/unclewaynemunson/729365008820109312/bigskyandthecoldgun-made-this-very-big-brained?source=share

Aaah thank you so much for leaving me this message 💕 I am no sir but I'm happy to tell you part 2 is ready and waiting in my queue to be published so keep an eye out! (A couple people already asked for a tag so I'm happy to add anyone who asks to the taglist 🤗)

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thesquidsink · 10 months

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Daily #38: Perfect Circle

Leopold completed the outline of the summoning circle with his bloody brush, entrapping the runes in the same manner as he would trap the demon. He finished the chant, his arms raised, his voice shrill. "The sacrifice has been prepared, and I call upon you, Beelzemorkul, to fulfill our pact! I summon thee!"

An echoing roar as a rush of flame engulfed the chamber. Acrid smoke stung Leopold's eyes and throat. The candles danced in the tempest, and the runes of the circle flashed a malevolent crimson.

The demon arose from the center of the circle, clawed arms crossed over its horrific visage. Its wings unfurled and its tail snapped, its hooves cracked against the cobblestone cellar and its fur bristled.

"Wow," the demon uttered, "That's a really great circle. How'd you do that?"

"I... beg your pardon?" said Leopold, his arms still uplifted, his robes snapping in the hellbreeze.

The demon crouched down, forearms on its knees. "Wow," it said again. "I mean, wow. This circle is so... circular. It's perfect."

"Er," said Leopold. "If I may -"

"This is just... I can't get over this. Wow." The demon stood, held its arms out, and spun round, claws sparking against the bounds of the ritual. "So smooth. So precise. Really, man, how'd you do it?"

Leopold licked his lips. The ritual bound and shackled the demon until a demon was struck, rendering it completely powerless, but Leopold felt that he was losing control of the situation. "I merely painted the circle by hand, with a brush of goat's blood, just as the forbidden scrolls -"

"Hey, guys," shouted the demon over its shoulder. "Guys, come look at this." A smaller portal opened behind the demon, and horrific eyes and shapes loomed, unable to enter the material plane, but staring. The demon Leopold had summoned brought out a set of measuring tools: a small ruler, a string compass, a charcoal pencil. The demon fitted the parts together and traced the path of the summoning circle.

To a chorus of ghastly gasps from the hellscape beyond the miniature portal, the demon finished tracing the circle. "It's literally perfect," whispered the demon. "Oh, gosh. Not one degree off. I can't believe it. Never thought I'd see the day."

Leopold raised his hand. "Ah, sir, I beg your pardon, but -"

The demon flapped its wings and roared, summoning hellfire and brimstone and all that stuff. "Human! You who has summoned Beelzemorkul! Your sacrifice is NOT accepted, for you have impressed me to such a degree -" it paused and snickered - "that I shall grant your wish free of charge. Now, what is it that your heart desires, he of the perfect circle, o master of geometry?"

Leopold felt better about this now. Other than the annoying praise, this was how it was supposed to go - the demon submitting to its summoner. "I desire for you to remove my ability to draw perfect circles. From now on I desire to draw averagely imperfect circles."

"...what" said the demon.

Leopold sighed. "This ability has caused me no end of trouble. My whole life I have been told that I should teach geometry, for I can draw a perfect circle on the blackboard. They tell me that I should become an engineer, for my drawings would always be precise. I do not wish to teach geometry or to be an engineer! I desire merely a quiet life on a private estate, contemplating solitude and the beauty of nature, free from the ramblings of others."

"Er," said the demon. "What... what if I take the ability from you? Take it for myself?"

"Please do!" cried Leopold. "Free me of this curse!"

"Well," said the demon. "Uh. Sure. Okay." It snapped its fingers. "It is done."

"Huzzah!" screamed Leopold, tears forming in his eyes. He dropped to his knees, took the brush, and drew a completely average, somewhat messy circle. "The nightmare has ended!"

"Okay," said the demon. "Well, bye, then."

Leopold nodded and dismissed the summons. From somewhere far away, the last words he heard from the demon were: "Hey guys, look what I can do!"

____________

Based on prompt:

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tfwlawyers · 3 years

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Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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script-nef · 3 years

Text

#bokutoisblessed | Bokuto Koutarou

Category: crack, fluff

2.2k words; MSBY fans dying over Bokuto and his family

Bokuto uploaded another photo

It seems like just yesterday little Hana was swaddled in his arms and now look at her. Like. Holy [censored] look at the [censored] post.

Dudes like. She can walk now. Her steps are so wobbly but also so cute and my heart like????? Just exploded when we were gifted with the sight of her??? AND THE WAY SHE GIGGLED WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT HER MUM’S LAP A SAFJAKFDL I CAN’T BREATHE

Comments [Anon]: Honestly we the fans of Black Jackals are so blessed because we get to experience this joy and bundle of life thanks to our lord and saviour Bokuto Koutarou and his amazing wife, who will hereby be named Kami-sama. Because God is a woman I called it.

[Anon]: I agree with 97% of this, except for the Kami-sama part. She said it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing so we have to call her something else. How about Wife-sama. That should be fine, right?

[Anon]: Oh I saw that post Bokuto put up! Saying how much he’s thankful for the support but not to call her that! The upload was a short video of her turning red after he called her Kami-sama and it’s a treasure I will keep for the rest of my life. And into the afterlife. Death can try to pull it out of my cold, dead hand but I won’t let it. YOU HEAR ME DEATH???? YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS FROM MEEEEEE

[Anon]: Bokuto said Wife-sama is fine! Apparently she was still red and it was the cutest thing ever. Bokuto is so biased (*cough cough* whipped *cough cough*) but hey I’m not complaining. I don’t think my imagination will ever come close to the actual reaction but I hope it does.

[Anon]: Do you guys remember, when he just started dating her, how he flooded us with posts of her and her only? Like, practically 95% of my feed was her since he was putting so much of them up. She could literally be doing nothing and he’ll be like “HOLY [censored] LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!” Without swearing because he doesn’t do that, but still.

[Anon]: OH AND THEN HE GOT INTO TROUBLE WITH HIS SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER ASKJDSKDJF THAT WAS GOLD

[Anon]: THEY LITERALLY PUT A VIDEO UP OF THEM TRYING TO TELL BOKUTO WHY HE SHOULDN’T DO THAT AND HE CONSTANTLY SAID “BUT I’M DATING HER AND THIS IS MY WAY OF SAYING I LOVE HER!!” LIKE BOI WE GET IT EVEN ALIENS WILL GET IT

[Anon]: And it started up again when she was pregnant with Hana. Like I could make a time-lapse video or whatever of her pregnancy just from the photos he put up

[Anon]: I honestly wonder how many photos he has of her and Hana

[Anon]: Probably a couple thousand. I mean like, I have a couple thousand of MBSY members but my love for them pales in front of Bokuto for Wife-sama, so.

→ Continue thread

Holy [censored] I just met Bokuto

Okay so there was news about a new resident coming into our apartment, more specifically my neighbouring unit. It was previously occupied by this really old couple and we had this small farewell party. They dropped hints that the new residents might be kind of loud but that they were great.

A few days later, my doorbell rings and who do I see? It’s [censored] Bokuto. Like, straight up. In his casual clothes. Exactly the same as the photo on his Insta page where he said he was moving. Which I liked practically a few hours ago.

He was standing there with the biggest smile and saying that he’s the new resident and that they’re giving out homemade cookies because of the baby and Bokuto’s volume. And invited me to a small dinner. And I’m. Like my brain. Literally. Like my brain is even blank now. Bokuto. Invited me. To his house. So I could have dinner. And see his wife. And little Hana.

So I am here now, raiding my wardrobe to see if I have anything wearable because HOLY [censored] [censored] [censored] I’M GOING TO HAVE DINNER WITH BOKUTO AND HIS FAMILY I’LL REPORT BACK LATER IF HE’S FINE WITH ME SHARING THIS EXPERIENCE OKAY I REALLY GOTTA GO BECAUSE MY HEART IS BEATING WAY TOO FAST AND I NEED TO HAVE SOME MEDICINE

[Edit]: This was riddled with spelling mistakes because my hands were shaking from the aftershock.

Comments [Anon]: ???? What did you do in your past life to be awarded the opportunity of being neighbours with Bokuto???? Did you like, save the country or something? Is that what it takes to be blessed with him?

[Anon]: No you gotta at least save the entire Earth for this damn dude thanks for your service I guess

[Anon]: But if you gotta save the world to be neighbours with Bokuto, then what the hell did Wife-sama do to be married to him?

[Anon]: She saved the universe

[Anon]: But I think Bokuto will be the one to say he saved the universe to be with her that cheesy dork ugh I love you

[Anon]: LMAO I CAN HEAR HIM SCREAMING THAT

[Anon]: Are you back yet? Are you alive? Are you blinded by the magnificence that is Bokuto Koutarou and his family? I know I would be. So in order to kill me as well, TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED YOU CAN’T KEEP US OUT LIKE THIS I AM KNEELING ON THE FLOOR AND BEGGING FOR THE INTERACTION PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I BEG OF THEE I WANT SOME MORE SIR

[OP]: That’s really weird so stop that. I’m just about to go out now! I’ll spend the dinner over there, experience heaven, hope I don’t die of heart failure and possibly come back with a war story. If they allow me. Wish me luck guys.

[Anon]: GO BRAVELY SOLDIER AND MAKE US PROUD I AM PRAYING THAT THEY’LL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET YOU SHARE THIS WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE

I’M BACK

Okay so that could only be described as one of the best moments in my entire life. Don’t worry, they said it’s fine if I share this. #actualsaints

So I finally found an outfit and took the chocolate that I was saving for myself, but since I can give my arm and leg for Bokuto what the [censored] is a chocolate, right?

I’m greeted by Wife-sama herself. Like. Less than a metre from me, saying “good afternoon” and smiling like the saint of tranquillity. (A side note but how do you have that when you live with Bokuto? And a child? My brother wants to know your secrets.) And she’s wearing what I think is Bokuto’s shirt since it’s way too big for her, I mean the end comes to her thighs. Sharing shirts is the most romantic thing a couple can do I don’t make the rules I’m just the messenger.

Anyway she invites me into their house, their amazingly aesthetical and cozy house. There’s a display case for all of Bokuto’s trophies, awards, certificates and everything. There are photographs of them together all over the walls, hung from strings spanning the entire house. There was a wall section dedicated entirely to Hana-chan. I felt like an uncivilised cave gremlin there.

Wife-sama was still making dinner and I was going to help her but little Hana-chan came to me. Like, she tottered over to me in the blue frilly dresses and tugged on my pants, babbling and smiling. Y’all I nearly died. I literally saw the gates of heaven and had a foot in but Wife-sama saved me by pulling me back into reality. By asking me if I wanted to play with Hana-chan. Which killed me again. And she was apologetic about it too? Like she doesn’t think I would give my kidney to spend time with her?

So I was playing with Hana but sneakily looking at the two of them being cute as hell in the kitchen. Bokuto was attached to her at the hip for the whole time except for when she asked him to get some ingredients. He was a puppy incarnate. They were sneaking kisses, whispering to each other and it was honestly so cute like I was getting diabetes just from one night.

The food was amazing, the dinner talk was so fun and delightful, Hana-chan was the cutest little angel ever, this was probably the best day of my life. AND WHEN I LEFT FOR THE NIGHT, THEY BOTH HUGGED ME AND IT WAS LIKE BEING HUGGED BY CLOUDS BUT THEY SMELLED SO NICE!!

I shall never forget this day. Mark my words y’all.

Comments [Anon]: How beautiful was their place? I feel like she would go with a pastel tone or black and white. And have cute things littered around everywhere.

[OP]: The house was really unique in the sense that it felt like two houses smashed together. Like they took turns decorating each section of the house. Looked like polar opposites. It was kind of weird at first but the aesthetics flowed well the longer I stayed there, if you can understand what I’m saying.

[Anon]: The fact that Bokuto and Wife-sama are practically opposites in many things but still formed a romantic relationship with each other and the fact that their taste or preferences complement each other perfectly is proof that they are soulmates. In this essay I will

[Anon]: Where’s the essay. Dude where’s the [censored] essay

[Anon]: HEY MAN COME BACK WHERE’S MY ESSAY

[Anon]: NOOOOOOOOOOO THE SACRED TEXTS

[Anon]: Bruh just a kidney? Take my [censored] liver. Take my heart. Oh no wait, she already has it in her squishy widdle hands.

[Anon]: I bid my left arm

[Anon]: Right arm

[Anon]: Lungs

[Anon]: I really love my brain but I barely use it so off it goes I guess

[OP]: ???? Guys? What are you doing? Stop this illegal organ trade in my post.

[Anon]: Shhhhh we’re showing our love

I saw Bokuto shopping and it was so cute

I do not do clickbait, it was genuinely adorable and my cheeks are about to fall off. As was everyone else’s in the entire mall.

I was just doing some shopping, getting some snacks and popcorn for the movie marathon I was going to have and who do I hear? Yeah, it’s Bokuto. And little Hana-chan whining to Wife-sama about how she’s not getting the snacks they want. It’s from memory since I didn’t take a video, I’m not a creep and I understand boundaries unlike some of you assholes, but it went something like this.

Bokuto: But think of all the caramel popcorn we could eat! Hana: Mama, sweeties. Sweeties. (What an angel, am I right?) Wife-sama: I already said no, it’s going to ruin your dinner. Hana: But it’s tasty! Bokuto: Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase? I’ll do all of the dishes and cleaning today! Wife-sama: You already do that every day, Kou. It’s not much of a bribe. (Husband goals) And Hana, we have other snacks at home. Caramel is bad for your teeth. Bokuto: But babe! Wife-sama: I said no, and that’s it. Hana: Mama!

It was just this repeated for like 10 minutes with Bokuto and Hana-chan alternating their whines. I would have snapped after 5 times but wow, this lady has the mental fortitude of Fort Knox.

They both sulked and followed her around as she finished her shopping. I can tell Hana is Bokuto’s daughter because her hair droops down like his and a cloud forms over her head. It was practically magic.

In the end, they bought one (1) salted caramel popcorn because Wife-sama is too soft-hearted and they literally clung onto her for 5 minutes peppering her with kisses. And Bokuto actually lifted her in his embrace. In the middle of the sweets section. Where everyone was looking.

Needless to say, she was very very red.

Comments [Anon]: Conspiracy theory: factoring in Bokuto’s godlike physical ability, inhumane and endless sunny disposition, his hair’s ability to reflect his moods, it can be concluded that Bokuto is, in fact, a God.

[Anon]: Well someone has a big brain

[Anon]: Wait then Wife-sama would be a Goddess. Gasp SHE DIDN’T WANT PEOPLE CALLING HER KAMI-SAMA BECAUSE IT WOULD BLOW HER COVER

[Anon]: Oh yeah, it’s all coming together

[Anon]: I can kind of see Bokuto and Hana sneaking in sweets and snacks into the trolley while Wife-sama isn’t looking lmao

[OP]: THEY ACTUALLY DID THAT I nearly ran into them again and heard her berating Bokuto for sneaking in chocolate and shoving it beneath all the meat so she wouldn’t notice. My man, please. You can never outsmart your wife.

[Anon]: Next time I go to the MSBY fan meeting, I’m bringing all the sweets I can for Bokuto and Hana. It’s the least I can do.

[Anon]: They’re so cute and I can’t wait for the MSBY match in three days where Bokuto’s family is going to attend. I promise I’ll post about it afterwards.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto imagine #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu!! one shot #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#bokuto #bokuto koutarou #SNS format #crack #fluff #female reader

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

Howl

I said I'd make this a fic because people got the okie-doke with the fic within a fic. Still funny idc 😂😂 Oh, and this is horror.

T'challa's chest heaved in the dim light of the basement. His mind swirled with fearful thoughts. He was afraid of himself and what he knew he might do. He pleaded with his heart to stop pounding and the ache hammering in his temples to cease. He'd sweated through his clothing. It clung to his salty, dark and smooth skin. Sweat dripped from his forehead, from his brow, down his neck.

"Baba," he pleaded to the lonely light source above, dizziness setting in, cementing his high fever. He was seeing doubles. It felt like he was dying but he knew better than that. "Help me stop it, baba," he cried. His arms were cuffed and tied behind him. On top of that he was chained and tethered inside of an engineered metal cage. "Ancestors.. please," he sighed fatigued, "I beg of thee. Purge me of this curse. Guide me! If not, then reinforce these bars so that I must stay here.."

Even as he was speaking his request, he felt his mind slipping. There were moments when he could not remember what he'd last thought of or said. Small details were escaping his memory at a quick rate. His sanity was beginning to flee him. "Nalani," he whispered in deep mourning, "I am truly sorry."

The moon, fully round and white rose high in the jet black sky and Nalani drove on the highway getting as far as she could away from her beloved fiance with much regret and pain in her gut. She wanted nothing more than to hold T'Challa through his ordeal and soothe him, letting him know that she still loved him no matter what happened. She knew his heart well and he was a gentle man, one of the sweetest she'd ever known. She'd move mountains for him if only she could. However, the plan they'd come up with together was for her to tie him up, lock him up, then get as far away from him as she possibly could without him knowing where she was going. She had to follow the plan if she wanted to survive. This was a matter of life or death.

"Nalani.. Come, I must tell you something.. very important," he'd said soberly when they'd gotten serious as a couple. They were in his home and he didn't seem to know where to start, starting and stopping before looking her dead on. He exhaled. "I have.. a condition," he said carefully. Nalani waited before shaking her head impatiently. He exhaled again. "When I am in love, which is rare... a certain frenzy will come over me. It is an animalistic..," he searched for the right word, "obsession." Nalani crossed one thigh over the other, the high split of her dress revealing smooth deep brown skin. He looked away as she grabbed his hand to play with his long fingers. "I don't think you are grasping the seriousness of this matter," he muttered pulling his hand away when she attempted to kiss his pinky ring.

"T'Challa, I've been known to be passionate. You'll soon discover we have that in common," Nalani smiled moving to sit in his lap. He stood before she could.

"Nalani, on the full moon, I will transform into a creature of extreme animal lust. You will have to restrain me and get away, as far as you possibly can for I will hunt you and no one but you until the sun comes up."

"And if you catch me," Nalani teased. He was silent and his serious expression caused her smirk to falter.

"In the interest of full disclosure, those women are not on this earth today. Not in this plane. I understand if you wish to leave me. You would not be the first and you would be safe." The sad note of his voice touched Nalani's heart and she walked over to her man, hugging him near to her.

"I fear.. that my lust for you is too great," he sighed. "One of these full moons I will transform." He handed her a gun with silver bullets. "I trust you to do all you can to escape."

The gun laid in the console of the car. She prayed she wouldn't have to use it. A warm shining tear fell that she wiped away with the back of her hand.

The transformation was underway after many nights of false alarms. Tonight, it was actually happening and he could only think of one thing as the power of the curse flowed through his blood, charging him with dark purpose and rewiring his once sensible mind. Nalani. He wanted, no, needed Nalani.

No... Not just need.

T'Challa had been taken over. He yelled out in excruciating pain as his skull felt like it was being drilled into and stretched. Nalani, etched painfully through the bone. Where are you Nalani? He grunted yanking on the chain mixed with rope and cable that contained him.

Something broke. He went wild, thrashing and tensing. The strength that coursed through him was too great to be contained within his body and his desire, too strong. Like knives through his skin, it ripped through him until nothing remained of his psyche. Breaking the chains and ripping the ropes, he exploded free as if they were but plastic ties. Gripping the cage bars painfully, he strained against them, pulling them until they bent creating a path for him to step through, a new creature.

Nalani's scent was thick and fragrant in his nostrils. He could smell her hair, her skin, her soap. It was as good as a GPS.

The darkened heavens returned Nalani's shed tears, flooding her windshield as the ineffective wipers did their best to clear the glass. She'd escaped the state and driven further than she'd planned and she was tired, meanwhile, T'Challa's body resisted itself. His limbs cracked under the building weight of muscle and his joints twisted as he panted under the moonlight, a demon blitzing forward on bloodied feet to reap the soul of the damned. He dashed until his feet were raw yet continued through darkness that seemed eternal, the white moon a guiding light through time and the undeniable perfume of earthy blood, salty tears, hot rubber, moving metal, and skin driving his body. Through the sea of odors, the distinct scent of her bones sent his heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt.

Having felt she'd driven far enough, Nalani pulled off of the highway in favor of a brightly lit chain hotel beyond a sundown town. With gentle haste, she draped her charmeuse silk scarf over her spongy coils and around her neck dashing through the diagonal shower and black puddles into the warmth of the lobby to secure a room for the night with the silk pouch of emergency money she pulled from her pre-packed emergency bag. The thought of her kind-hearted, soft spoken love suffering on his own swept her up elevator's path into her room, and into bed to pray. "I entreat you to influence my fortune," she spoke. A message to her ancestors for divine guidance as she clutched her phone in small hands. T'Challa's pure and loving features were her fixation. He touched her with rare tenderness and patience. Love lived in the print of his hands and embraced her with a warmth second to none. Nalani battled the butterfly within her gut that willed her body to return. Only she had the key to that basement along with the key to that wretchedly cruel cage. On a small ring with those was the key to hand and ankle cuffs made to withstand incredible force and then there was the jungle of entertwined ropes rigging him into a strict position. He asked her to do all of this and she'd obliged. "Wait for my return, my king," she whispered to his likeness before closing her eyes, her damp lashes meeting to shadow over her tear-stained cheek. Resting proved almost impossible.

Her racing mind jolted her from slumber multiple times within the span of a few hours. "Grant me your safety," she whispered in the darkness. Locked in a fitful cycle of forgettable yet jarring dreams, she stirred between the sheets, her hands beneath the cool pillow.

Beginning with the point of his elbow, T'Challa's body crashed casually through two sets of glass doors as shards pierced the air with alarming noise, dropping with broken glass sheets and shattering. He appeared unaffected.

"Sir, are you.. okay," the nervous melanin deficient front desk agent inquired, shaky voice quickly fading from the lethal glare of the deep complexioned brawny tattered man soaked to the bone with eyes like wildfire. He retreated as the stranger's determined step never slowed. The tall aggresor was the personification of murder on the mind and the warmth that had been present in the air turned cold with a sharp chill no rainy night could conjure. Hiding away and with trembling fingers, the desk agent called the police and his manager. Then he called his mom.

"NALANI."

The menace possessing T'Challa's salty sweat, rain, and cut-ridden body knew no pain while fully engulfed in his lawless hunt. Pain was simply a mask worn by pleasure, the only thing his body sought. He could not idly wait for an elevator that would require him to stand still, he tracked down the stairwell, shoving a passerby to the floor with a rattling thump against the wall. Whether they were male or female, old or young he could not say for his tunnel vision made him blind to anything that was not Nalani. Reason and apprehension did not exist.

"NALANI," he wailed from his chest in anguish of her being so close yet so far from his clawed grasp. He could feel her proximity.

Nalani bolted upright instantly in her bed with wide eyes for the voice she'd heard was unmistakable, yet chillingly dissimilar as if he were a different entity all together. How could it be that he'd discovered and tracked her so quickly? Her troubled mind spun with wonder within a millisecond while she threw together her belongings. For the sake of their love, she had to escape quickly. She had to survive. Without a moment's hesitation, her body flew into action tying sheets, blankets, her scarf, clothing, everything she could quickly manage to create a makeshift rope. Shifting the big fabric chair to the window, she used its stable weight to sandwich the rope against the windowsill, the end tied to the immovable table as the other end dangled on the outer wall of the hotel. She dangled from it, feeling every ounce of danger as rain soaked through her satin sleep set as well as the cloth rope. Swinging her weight, she kneed the glass of the window below. When there was no answer, she shimmied further down, nearly slipping to her demise. With great effort, she kneed the next window which brought an angry red man to the window. He whipped open the curtains, but upon noting her sincere fear and helpless condition along with the nonthreatening frame, he helped her inside.

"Jesus, why are you out there," he exclaimed with attempts to dry her and gain an explanation but Nalani's sole mission was to survive the night.

Intoxicated by the scent of his target, so chokingly thick and near, his eyes rolled back. The wolf that was T'challa growled from deep within his core.. the rumble unheard in his ears as he ascended staircases, a hellhound with one lone purpose. A shrill scream could be heard as he bumped another obstacle over the railing to a crushing fall ending in their silence. His entire nervous system was alight. Nalani was on the move and he couldn't be anymore wired. Her goal was the car.. the same vehicle T'Challa had assisted her in preparing with gas, foreign money, food, and clothing for this very purpose. She'd taken him lightly and it would prove to cost her dearly.

"NALANI," she heard him howl. She raced into the first unlocked room she could find. It was dark and unoccupied. With deceptive calmness she approached the window and considered creating a shorter rope than before using the limited materials around her, but there was no time. He was too near. She'd already locked the door, but now she did not doubt that she was trapped and awaiting a grim fate. All she could do was crawl under the bed and pray yet again. Regretfully, her journey of love and life had come to a blunt end. "You can run, but you cannot hide," he called.

T'Challa trembled and panted in a deep and awful sweat. His once pristine nails were jagged and dirty with blood and soil and they dragged across the door with a menacingly slow scratch, trailing toward the knob. "Nalaniii..," he groaned, his hand ghosting his tightening groin as he listened. He could hear her heart race. Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. He could tear her completely apart with desire alone. "My dear Nalani," his voice deepened. "Come now, Kitten, do you truly believe I'd cause you harm?" His nostrils flared. "Show yourself to me."

Though terrified, Nalani desperately wanted to believe that T'Challa could overcome any obstacle that would threaten her life. He had the will of iron. She hoped he would somehow find strength within himself to walk away. His quiet laugh of depravity snapped her from her vain hopes.

She flinched and covered her mouth so not to scream at the terrifyingly loud hit that shook door. Like a scene from The Shining, he was determined to get to her, ramming the barrier. She flinched again when he followed with an aggressive barrage that collapsed the lock and the entire door. He broke it down like drywall and stood silently. She dared not breathe.

His worn feet broke her heart. They were damaged and he needed medical attention. They were all she could see from under the bed. His stride was slow, measured, and quiet. His low guttural growl was identical to that of an enemy tiger and it grew louder as he came nearer. She clamped another hand over her mouth.

T'challa salivated, swallowing before leaking another involuntarily deep growl. It rumbled through Nalani like a low grade earthquake. She watched as he stopped in front of the bed and bent, his veined hand touching down to the floor directly before her wide eyes. She gulped as his soil caked fingernails tapped the floor, the only movement in the darkness. When his hand withdrew, it left her confused. He climbed onto the bed above her, his weight collapsing over her back. Then his head popped into view. Upside down he hung, his inhuman eyes locking onto hers.

In a flash, she was dragged by her wrists from under the bed. "Fight it, T'Challa!" He tossed her and she wheezed as her back hit the mattress. His vice grip on her wrists was crushing as she wrestled for her freedom. "You don't have to do this, you don't have to. T'Challa, you can fight it." There was no recognition in his eyes at the the mention of his own name. She remained still as if she could play dead and when his teeth clamped hard on the base of her neck as if trying to rip her apart she reflexively kneed him in the groin. She screamed to the top of her lungs hoping a neighboring hotel guest would set aside fear and interject. His heavy hand clamped down on her throat, holding her down with his nails in her reddened skin, his fearsome eyes silencing. She held her breath as he bared his teeth, a genuine threat as his engorged member laid against her stomach. His snarl was in her ear, low and rumbling. "T'Challa, please! Remember who you are." His response was to tug roughly at her satin sleep set causing large rips while his jagged nails left fresh welts on her thighs and stomach. Fighting, she caught his hands, bringing hers to hold his cheeks. "T'Challa you have to hear me!"

This was not T'Challa. T'Challa had never been this rough. There was love in his every touch and affection in his kind eyes. He handled her like a high-priced gem, fragile and flawless, worthly of gentle fingers and heartfelt praise. No, this was an illness. The brutal creature above her was infected with a deadly condition. "Bring him back," Nalani begged as her body was yanked into position. His veined hands were strong and lively as he held her in place, little warning leading up to fevered thrusts. He smelled earthy and metallic. He grunted as he crashed with reckless abandon, seeking heat from the only hot and moist part of her body uneffected by the elements. Both of them were painted in blood and sweat, soaked through with rainwater.

"Bring back my T'Challa." She willed him to fight as his weight dropped back down in a ferocious rampage that jiggled her entire body and made her cry out in eye-crossing ecstacy. Her guilt was equal to the strength of her high-powered orgasm. Shaking, she tried to pull away but he doubled down with her thighs around his waist, her small hands clutching desperately to his broad muscular shoulders, clenching his forearms. She guiltily dug her own fingernails into his unmarked arms and it earned another gut rattling growl. The room echoed the sounds of a barn of animalistic lust. His tiger-like growls mingled with her camel-like grunts and then he flipped her onto her stomach, her knee rising and arms stretching to grab the sheets. Her eyes were squeezed shut as he jabbed into her womb. He fisted the soft hair at the base of her scalp bringing a burn of tension and her hand swung back.

"OW, That hurt," she shrieked scraping at his hand which aggressively pushed her head forward, mashing her face into the mattress. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her down. She hated it, but she could not stop her release. His words when he'd explained this phenomenon in the past had returned to to bite her, literally, Nalani's neck was still bleeding.

"Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers. It starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters," T'Challa had whispered sweetly into her hair as she sat on his lap. She had nuzzled firmly into him then, feeling safe and not understanding his message. "Are you serenading me with Florence and the Machine?" She'd giggled at his approach.

"Ow," she breathed into the mattress for the umpteenth time. He clamped his teeth down on the back of her shoulder, desire unbound. When she attempted to climb the bed to escape, he gripped both of her wrists and locked them behind her in one hand. She was overheated and cramping. She felt that she likely had bruises all over along with her cuts that still ached. Her arm felt as though it would rip from the socket. She'd given up. Just then she saw the shade of the sky change.. Black to midnight blue. She begged for sunrise as his inner elbow locked under her chin. "..T'Challa," she strained feeling him choke her as she weakly tapped on his arm, scraping with her fingernails. He bit her again. The sky lightened to a dark denim. "T'Challa," she whispered nearly inaudibly, his heavy body still slamming hers unceasingly. Blood stained the sheets around her and the strong salty stench had numbed her. Her neck and chest felt sticky and she rushed the sky as it slowly broke into dawn.

"Nalani," T'Challa panted as he released her neck and collapsed, his full weight on her. He was having difficulty breathing, yet found strength to roll from the bed onto the floor.

"T'Challa," Nalani gasped, fearful. She heard loud voices in the hall just then. Police were on the way. "T'Challa," she cried willing him to rise. There was nowhere to go and she could not move. When the police arrived, they were both carted out on stretchers and taken away by ambulance. They were in terrible condition, but the both of them had in fact survived the night.

#original #tchalla #t'challa fanfiction #t'challa fic #black panther fanfiction

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undergrounddweller89 · 3 years

Text

NOTE : THIS IS A SPIES IN DISGUISE AU, WALTER IS THE CRIMINAL MASTER MIND AND KILLIAN IS THE SCIENTIST

THIS DEFINITELY CONTAINS SEXY TIMES

Not well written though probably and I tend to rarely go through my work to look for mistakes.

Despite Killian being kidnapped and handcuffed EVERY THING IS CONSENSUAL... Tristan is crazy obsessed with Beckett so he's very happy.

Now you've had your warning you read this instead of scrolling past that's on you, lemon is a tag used for stuff like this but if you feel like there are other tags I need to use please do tell me!)

The bag was stuffy, head phones covered his ears, they'd knocked off his glasses in their struggle to capture him, he could barely see without them.

Now his hands were cuffed behind his back, a hand on each upper arm, honestly Tristan was terrified, the car ride seemed a life time, though realistically it was only ten to fifteen minutes long.

He'd pleaded saying he was a no body just a scientist the agency threw in the corner and that no one ever took him seriously.

He was hunched, trying to tuck his head into his shoulders, so this was how he was going to die.

He felt every bump of the car and turn, trying to map out where he was going but he didn't recognise this route, usually he rode every where on his bicycle, deep blue with a silver bell and a basket on the front to pick up dinner on his way home...

Home where he could research the Criminal Master mind Walter Beckett ...to a near unhealthy obsession...alright it was unhealthy when you imagined him pushing you back against the table parting your thighs, fucking you and making you look at him by holding your head with his clawed hand....

Fuck was he going to die thinking about Walter, a man who didn't even known he existed...well he had no one, nothing living to care about...he might as well think of someone who made him happy even if only in his fantasies before he died right.

He was pulled from the car where he tried kicking at his handlers, Tristan didn't get very far though as one of them punch his gut winding him, he was wheezing as he was taken out of the vehicle.

"You know he's gonna kill you for that right."

The first handler smacked the second on the back of the head

"Only if this limp dick tells him, he's too much of pussy to squeal."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, but Im not covering your ass."

He was dragged through the facility, Tristan refused to make it easy to carry him and went limp.

Both handlers groaned, fuck, great a difficult one, well the first wasn't going to risk hurting him into compliance and the second knew he was on thin ice, if that punch had bruised him their boss was literally going to kill him.

Other workers watched as they went by, another two carried Tristans legs who now tried to struggle again, what the hell was going on!

He was sat in a chair with ease, after all their boss was right there, the workers didn't dare handle him as if he were anything less than a handle with care package with fragile taped all over him.

"Well are you going to take that off him, it's a little hard for dramatic entrances when he can't even see me."

"Yes sir, right away."

The bag was pulled off swiftly with the headphones clattering to the floor.

Tristan squinted, everyone looked like blurs, he could see faces only as different coloured splodges, his hair sticking up in different angles, shoulders aching now, he still sat up right, heart racing

"Where are his glasses?"

Tristan turned to where he heard the man speak, it was cold, commanded respect...familiar but no it couldn't be...

"Sebastian, where are his glasses?"

"I ah, James you see knocked them off in the struggle and-"

A metal arm, supporting four claw digits at it's end clasped his face

"What did I tell you about people with glasses, remove them, keep them what Sebastian."

He had brought the man to his knees holding so tightly Sebastian could feel his skull on the verge of cracking, he let out a cry as he managed to finish the sentence

"Safe!"

"Oh good you can listen to orders, now James..."

He'd let go of Sebastian and beckoned over his other crew member, Tristan knew this voice but it couldn't be him, he must still be disorientated.

"James, what have I told you about harming what belongs to me."

He said softly, curling his his claws around James's tie, Sebastian stepped back, well he had warned his coworker and with a snap and flick of his wrist the tie had been pulled so hard and tight the man's neck had been snapped.

"He had trouble following orders, first few times is understandable, you're settling into this new life but after five years it should not be that hard."

Tristan wished he'd had his glasses because if this was Walter Beckett he would have just witnessed one of Becketts trade mark moves and yes maybe would have gushed like a fan boy.

He was going to pretend it was him until he could see at the least and imagine he was kidnapped by Thee Walter Beckett.

He listened to him calling in clean up crew and for someone to bring up the glasses, his shape coming in closer and closer, it had to be him, the silver blurred limb was on his left, the hair colour.

"Awww poor baby..."

The younger man cooed.

Tristan tried very hard not to lean into his touch when his hair was stroke back and felt the Claws against his scalp

"Don't worry now, my useless men have been dealt with, come on now look up at me."

He didn't exactly give Tristan a choice as he place a claw under his chin

"See, now Mr Mcford I know I have my fans, the ones who do their fanart, their fictions whatever you will, I keep an eye on anyone who searches my name out of curiosity..."

He tapped his nose

"You Mcford like clock work will watch videos that have only the briefest flash of me, pour over articles, fictions..."

He smirked tracing one long metal claw along his jaw

"Reader x Walter Beckett, but you got tired of them, skinny little me always being pinned, submissive, no, no you wrote your own, named yourself Killian, nice name by the way, where I owned you, laid you back and made sure you knew who you belonged to."

Tristan was red, he was so fucking red and wanted the bag back on his head

"But Im not here to embarrass you, you're actually a good writer and it was the first one I ever enjoyed myself to."

Tristan wanted to implode, die right there, hearing Beckett had fucking masturbated to his little story, he let out a whine then hung his head, trying to hide how much that effected him.

The crew came up and pulled the body from the room and handed Walter the item he'd requested

"Face me now, unless you prefer being half blind."

Beckett held his face with his human hand, finger tip tracing a cheek bone, my they were sharp weren't they, what a pretty scientist.

Placing the glasses on, small lights flickered then settled.

"They read your eyes and the lenses adjust to the prescription you need."

Walter explained now casually sitting on Mcford's lap, an arm around the back of his neck.

"I'll cut to the chase, as I said we check everyone who even so much as types my name out of curiosity and when I found out you were working for the agency that has reaaaally caused a lot of problems in my life I researched you."

Tristan was staring, no way did Walter not feel the protruding problem down below, you would literally have to be either dead or have no feeling in your body to not notice that, he was still, he listened to him, was he having a wet dream, it had to be a dream right?

"Besides my uh Internet history...what...what did you find out."

"Oh you know, that you're an under appreciated scientist who came up with designs so dangerous they had to lock them away...and I may have slightly stolen them, now while I could personally and am the only qualified person here to build such delicious technology...."

He slipped his hand under Tristans lab coat, slowly rubbing his palm against his chest and smirking at the shakey breath and the way Tristan adjusted his hips, oh he could certainly feel that reaction

"I have an evil empire to run...I need you Tristan, I want you..."

He leaned in closer, lips nearly at his.

Mcford whined, fuck he was close Walter hadn't even done anything but the raised brow and smirk on Becketts face told him he could feel him twitch and gasped as the hand that'd been on his chest traveled down a finger tip teasing the head of his cock through his pants.

"How do you feel about working for me Tristan, build your machines and what ever else comes to mind, I need someone as competent as myself..."

Walter kneaded him slowly, to the point the slow pace was painful, his mouth was open and another ragged breath left him, this had to be a wet dream a really, vivid wet dream, please don't let his alarm go off...he pressed against his neck, forehead on his shoulder as Walter stroked the back of his neck with metal Claws, cool against his flesh.

Even if he was awake, of course his answer was yes....

"We could even build something together, I'm sure you'd just love to see me work..."

Beckett leered.

Walter was so warm, he was here, touching him, fucking touching him, dragging it out and making him nearly beg and he loved it.

"Yes..."

Tristan panted, lifting his hips trying to get more friction, he still had his handcuffs on he couldn't reach out and touch the man he wanted, his wrists struggling instinctively to part.

"Look at me and say it, Tristan."

That purr went through Mcford's entire being, lifting his head whimpering, biting his lip, he loved the tease, feeling so close to the edge and having Walter deny him...he begged to some god out there that Walter would finish it at least, it was so intense, he knew his clothes were stained with precum, Beckett seemed to enjoy reminding him he knew it was there by playfully tapping a finger over the tip of his cock where the damp patch was.

"Yes...I'll work for you....I have mmmphn wanted to since I ahh first saw you... Oh my god..."

Walter smiled, watching him, listening to him, oh how blue his eyes looked when his cheeks were this flushed, absolutely gorgeous.

"Oh Tristan there is no god, only me and my loving hands."

He returned, unbuckling Tristans belt and reaching in, blushing a little himself as he watched Tristans eyes nearly roll up, his head falling forward.

Tristan watched as Walter finished him off how desperately he wanted to hold onto him, press fingers into his back, he couldn't remember the last time he came this fucking hard or if he'd ever...he was speechless...breathless and fuck he'd made a mess of them both.

He was putty in Walters hands, feeling a claw lift his head again, moaning softly still, his body was tingling all over

"Welcome to the team Killian."

Beckett said sweetly before leaning in and kissing him.

#lemon #Spies in disguise #Walter x Killian #Au

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demon-winchester · 2 years

Text

Tremors Behind The Veil Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I heard a voice

"Sir, siiiir you need to wake up"

someone was nudging me.

I opened my eyes and I saw Henrik's face almost stuck on mine. I jumped back hitting my head in the back of the bed. "Jesus Christ Henrik, please don't ever wake me up again like this" I said spooked. "Where am I?" I continued. "Sir, you passed out last night from drinking and I brought you in the guest room" he exclaimed. "Well thank you for that, I'm usually a better drinker..." I replied, still rubbing my head from the hit. "Master Azrael has requested you, please follow me" he said and so I did.

I entered the garden and I saw Azrael wearing a sword fighting uniform and stabbing a wooden doll with a sword.

"Good morning" I said. "Good morning to you too Aiden" Azrael said taking off the helmet. "Even after all my research I never knew you were a light drinker.. " he continued with a light grin. "Oh well, tough week" I replied. "Most certainly and it's gonna get tougher before it gets better" he exclaimed with the grin lost from his face. "I'm ready" I exclaimed. "I hope..." he replied. "Let's go to the watch room" he continued.

I followed him back to the castle and we traversed through the corridors once again. This time we stopped in front of the third gates, he pushed them open and utter darkness, the only thing visible was a faint light in the middle of the room. "Welcome" he said, "Hold my shoulder, stick behind my back and do not look down".

Azrael was moving confidently even though the path was incredibly tight, I on the other hand was anxious from head to toe.

Something was moving below us. It sounded like a river though I was too afraid to look and I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. I could barely see Azrael and my face was a few inches from his back.

We reached the middle of the room and he started talking. "Flumen saeculi da nobis oculos a te petimus" he screamed (River of time grant us eyes we beg of thee). The light in the middle of the room started expanding and blinking, I felt its heat hit my face. Electricity started forming and lightnings emerged from every side of the room hitting the light source. I heard a shattering sound and for a moment everything turned white.

When I could see again the room had changed. The pathway we used had disappeared and we stood on a circle of glass in the middle of the room. The light source had transformed into a ball of colorful flame and everywhere around us were galaxies, stars and black holes!

"Welcome to the watchtower" Azrael said with a proud smile. I was left with my mouth open...

"Wh-What is this place..?" I asked looking around me. "This place my dear friend is singularity... The place were timelines, universes and words collide into this magnificent globe of energy that stands above us" he exclaimed. "Universes?" I questioned. "Well let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet... We can only move through timelines. Theoretically we could jump through universes but no one knows how" he continued. "Alright, so let's work with that" I said nodding my head.

He walked close to me, stood right beside me looking at the flaming globe and he touched my shoulder. "You'll need your powers if you want to bring her back to life" he said in a sorrowful tone. "I obviously know that, why do you have the need to tell me now?" I asked confused. "I need to know whether or not I should warp you back here in case you ask for a way out" he replied. "Under no circumstance should you do that if I don't have what I need" I exclaimed. "The place you are about to venture to has a single purpose and that is to kill you, I need you to understand what you're in for..." he said in a sorrowful tone. "I do understand... I can't bear a life where she meant her last words... Even if I die, at least I'll die trying to bring her back to me" I exclaimed. He nodded... "It's time then" he said. "Can I know where I'm about to venture?" I asked. "I need to break you in order to get your powers so we'll use all the trauma we can get so no, you'll move forward completely blind." he replied while he started controlling the globe of flame."Alright" I exclaimed. Suddenly everything went black once again... I heard him scream and we were now standing on a rock in the middle of the ocean. Sea was everywhere in the horizon yet the globe was still standing above us. The wind was howling and the waves were hitting the rock with all their power. Flames shot up from the globe and jumped on his arms traversing through his body. "When the gate opens, you jump in" he said grunting. I nodded positively and I got ready. He pointed his arms at towards the waves and the flames rushed down creating a blazing whirlwind. "NOW" he screamed. I was hesitant looking down on it... The distance must have been at least 30 meters. "I CAN'T HOLD IT OPEN FOR LONG" he continued screaming. I closed my eyes and I moved my foot forward. I took a deep breath...

A leap of faith . . . A moment is all it takes

I landed kneeling down. I was in some kind of a factory, most lights were off, cables had engulfed the walls and the place looked desolate.

Let's see what happened here. I started moving around but nothing too scary excluding the general eeriness. I traversed throughout the factory following the signs to the control room, a computer could help me understand what happened here...

I entered the room and I looked around. You could see the whole assembly line or whatever it was and the place was filled to the brim with computers. I flipped on a switch and some screens automatically turned on. "Hello friend, I'm Alcyone, what's your name?" said a female voice coming from the screen. "Umm Aiden" I replied. "Nice to meet you Aiden, how could I help you?" she said. "For starters, I'm talking to an AI, right?" I asked. "Not exactly, while I indeed am inside the computer I am an woman, it's just that my conscience is imprinted inside this device." she said and I was left startled. "Your conscience in a computer? Hey Alcyone, what's the date?'' I asked. "Oh, it's August 27th of 2139" she replied in a joyful tone. "HOLY FUCK" I screamed. I started getting anxious and cold sweat run on my forehead. "Alcyone, could you point me to the nearest exit out of the factory?." I said staggered. "Oh Aiden, that's not a factory and I don't advise you to go out... Welcome to Zeta... One of earth's last underwater bunkers" she replied joyful as ever. "WHAT THE SHIT" I screamed and I tried to calm my self down. I need to remember why I was doing all this.

breath in

breath out

"Okay Alcyone, I want to know the rundown of all major history points after 2000" I exclaimed... I was determined. "You got it" she said and she started talking. "The start of the new millennium signified a start for a new humanity. Technology took the word by storm. The internet expanded into something that nobody expected and by the end of the 2010s more people had phones than indoor toilets. People started tiptoeing closer to the idea of creating intelligent life themselves but we'll jump back to that in a bit."

I took a chair and I started paying closer attention.

"Issues in the middle east kept rising and war seemed inevitable. That's why the Alpha Foundation was created and funded by most west world countries. Its target was creating a powerful AI that could erase war from the horizon. 10 underwater facilities were created in order to create the AI with Zeta being one of them. 2039 came and the AI was finally created. Alpha Foundation named it Ceryx.

Ceryx had one central directive... To keep humanity alive at all costs. WW3 broke out in 2045, Ceryx tried to stop it from happening but the world leaders decided to shut him down. Within 1 month 90% of the population had died and one of the few survivors activated Ceryx... Humanity's last hope. By the end of 2045 Ceryx had transformed the 10 facilities into bunkers and transfered the survivors there, away from the nuclear fallout. Cables rose after Ceryx's command covering the entire planet to minimize the radioactive energy that plagued the planet. Ceryx gave survivors the means to evolve and he created a body to be among his humans. After all this, some people rebelled against him and they unfortunately were deemed a danger to humanity. I have notified Ceryx of your presence and he's coming here to meet you" she concluded in a happy voice.

"Wait, there are about 100 hundred years left" I said. "Oh don't let that worry you, nothing exceptional happened. Within these hundred years humans lived happily" she exclaimed.

I heard a noise from the assembly line and I saw someone approaching. "Oh that must be Ceryx" said Alcyone. The door suddenly opened and a man in a scruffy beard and worn out clothes appeared. "WE NEED TO RUN, FOLLOW ME NOW" he said. The room turned red and Alcyone started screaming "INTRUDER". Well, that's a bad omen I thought and I rushed towards the man. Before I could reach him blood shot out of his mouth and a weird hand emerged from his stomach. "Oh thank God Ceryx you're here" Alcyone said relieved. "Nice to meet you Aiden" said Ceryx in a robotic voice as the body of the man was slowly falling to the ground.

What the hell was that!

That thing is humanity's savior?!?!

He stood before me, he was about three meters tall and that thing he 'wore' wasn't even close to a body. It was a mess of flesh and cables with three empty holes on his face resembling eyes and a mouth.

I was startled and I took two steps backs. I looked around and a chair was right besides me. "HELL NO" I screamed as I grabbed the chair. I threw it on the glass overseeing the assembly line and I jumped down.

I got hurt from the fall and some pieces of glass had gone inside my skin... God, I miss having my powers.

I got up on my feet and I started running into the bunker.

The corridors seemed endless and bodies were smashed into the walls asking for salvation.

Screams of agony nurtured the atmosphere while Ceryx was still right behind me.

"Ha ha ha keep running... Welcome to the road to nowhere" he screamed laughing!

I kept running on and on until my lungs felt like they were on fire

I think I've finally lost him though absolute silence is never a good sign.

"Help me" I heard in a faint voice from the end of the corridor. As I walked closer and closer I saw a man, dyed blonde hair, earrings, probably in his forties merged into a wall. "Please end my suffering" he said in the faintest tone he could mutter. I signaled him to hush. "I'm trying to survive, why should I help you?" I whispered. "I was a good man before everything went under... I was a well respected teacher in an esthetician school, I haven't done anything wrong... Please" he said with all his hope lost. Fucking hell. I grabbed his shoulders and I dragged him off the wall. His skin was stuck to it and chunks were slowly getting removed from his body, his screams of pain filled the air. The wall started trembling and a disfigured hand came through, grabbing his head and throwing him away. "I found you little mouse" said Ceryx from behind the hole in the wall... He put his hands through it and he opened it to its fullest stepping out. I tried to run but gates fell from the ceiling closing every exit. "I control this place... You reached this place because I wanted you and after passing all those people that had actually done something good in their lifetimes you decided to help this worm" he said. "I DID NOTHING WRONG" screamed the man while he dragged himself away. Ceryx stepped closer to him, he grabbed the man by his neck and he raised him in the air. "I love it when you try to escape" said Ceryx. He hit his foot down and an operating cable popped from the wall. He put the man on it and he tied him there. I started running towards them but Ceryx sent me straight into a wall. "I want you to watch cause you're next" he said as cables rose from the walls tying me from my mouth to my toes."Now, where were we" said Ceryx. "Please don't" the man whimpered. He smashed his fingers one by one and then he grabbed his hands breaking them. He broke a part of the table and he stabbed the man in the chest dragging it through. Ceryx's laughs and the man's screams of agony merged like a melody from hell. Ceryx held his hand up and then he shoved it straight into the man's eye pulling it out. "Time for the other one" he said laughing. "Esthetician huh.... I have some great products for those eyes and mouth of yours" said Ceryx giggling as he grabbed the sewing kit. "But first" he continued as he pulled the man's teeth out one by one.

He stitched the man's eye sockets and mouth shut and he tore them from his body.... Muffled screams came from the man's stitched mouth. "He normally whould have shut down from shock three tortures ago but those are the miracles of the 22nd century Aiden. I can keep you alive and awake for as long as I want" he exclaimed with what seemed like a smile on that rotten face of his. The cables started operating, they moved my hands forming a cross and they opened up on my chest. Ceryx broke another part of the table and he stabbed me with it. I started tearing up and I felt the taste of blood on my tongue. I tried to summon my armour but it kept blinking in and out of existence. "Well that's new" he said.

He dragged the makeshift knife on my chest and I felt the warmth of the blood on my chest... Everything was turning dark...

#fantasy #dark fantasy #supernatural #darkfiction #book writing #writer #author #books #darkfantasy #ya #dark fic #young adult

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itssamfcknwinchesterbtch · 3 years

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soooo… since no one replied or messaged me with an all caps text saying “NO DON’T DO THAT!!!!!” and none of my ancestors have come down from the sky to make me stop, I’m gonna assume it’s okay for me to use whatever pics/gifs I need to as long as I make sure to credit the source in-post. cool? cool. moving on!

I’m gonna talk about Bravetown for a minute. I watched this for the first time when I was having a really bad day, and it quickly became my go-to comfort movie. Lucas does such a good job, and as a victim of abuse myself, I was able to connect with his character Josh in a way that I don’t often do. and the rest of the cast was absolutely amazing! looking at the limited tumblr content for Bravetown, I saw a lot of praise for Josh Duhamel? the actor that plays Alex? I’ll have to check out some more of his work sometime.

I do have to say, though, that I wish they’d done things a bit differently. this isn’t really the kind of movie to get a sequel or a tv show, so there’s a lot of stuff that was left unexplored. I agree wholeheartedly with @teamimprov’s post about it as well (I would link it but I have no earthly clue how, so sorry) – Josh did kind of end up seeming like a side character in his own movie. it started being more about Mary and her family’s problems than about Josh, and while I was glad to see Mary find some closure, it felt like it came at the expense of Josh’s development. and at the expense of further angst, which is a crime that cannot be forgiven. I thrive on angst.

things I loved:

that last counselling session when Alex and Josh talk about Martha. the acting in this scene is incredible, and I nearly cried the first four times I watched it. made me feel really sad for poor smol child Josh.

all of the patriots’ dance performances were!!! so good!!! and the remixes, all the music, fuckin bless.

the fuCKING JEANS. FUCKING BRAVETOWN FOR MAKING ME FEEL SO FUCKING EMOTIONAL OVER A FUCKING PAIR OF JEANS DAMMIT-

Josh and Tony’s friendship? the purest. adorable. amazing.

that scene where Angie squeals and hugs Josh makes my heart and soul do loopty-loops. first because of Angie being so damn cute (and the height difference!!!), then because when Josh walked in on Mary and Angie arguing he closed off and left, but Angie opened up to him and he gave her a soft lil smile and said he’d help and he got a hug and aghhhhhh they’re both such adorable babies-

“I sure would like to come and see you guys.” “then come.” !!! just!!!

Alex and his genius ways of getting Josh to open up to him. the soccer and pizza to make the sessions feel less like a court-order and more like two people just hanging out, swearing and getting mad at the tv to get Josh to see him as just some weird dude, telling stories about himself to relate to Josh and make Josh feel less pressure. maybe I’m reading too much into it, but c’mon. we’ve seen this guy do serious and professional. he’s perfectly capable of doing serious and professional. but he doesn’t with Josh, and I think it’s not only intentional, but really considerate. and oh my holy hell, the “why would I be there for anybody else” conversation. agreeing and then talking Josh around himself to come to the conclusion that he’s not as selfish as he wants everybody to believe – an absolute Einstein move, good sir. hats off to you.

Tony. that is all.

Josh being so sweet and gentle with Annie – talking to her quietly, asking to see the photos, laughing and giving feedback. this boy thinks he’s tough shit. he’s a fluffy adorable puppy and he doesn’t fool me. I have so much to say about soft!Josh.

things I would’ve loved to see:

the dance team’s relationship with Josh outside of his music. something I noticed in the movie was that – other than Tony, Annie, and Michael – no one had a relationship with Josh that wasn’t founded on responsibility (Alex, Josh’s parents) or Josh’s music and what he could do for them (the dance team, his “friends” in NYC). that isn’t to say that they didn’t want a relationship with him, but it wasn’t really shown that they did except in the case of Jim and maybe Mary. I think that Josh and Angie would’ve been an especially good friendship.

more relationship development between Josh and Jim. Jim seemed to honestly want to have a good relationship with Josh, and the morning of the invitational, Josh seemed to be willing to try too. can I please just have the two of them doing father-son stuff? please?

Alex being a big brother/weird uncle figure to Josh. I beg thee.

that being said, it would be very, very nice to see someone other than Alex learning about Josh’s trauma and being supportive. Josh and Mary’s argument doesn’t count. at all. speaking of…

Mary was a little bit of a bitch to Josh for the majority of the movie, and Josh was the only one I saw say sorry for anything. granted, what he said sorry for wasn’t even his fault, and he definitely should’ve apologized for the parts he played in their arguments, but at least he seemed to actually be apologetic. it also only felt like he was the only one putting any effort into their relationship, so it’d be nice to see Mary seem interested in him outside of the dance competitions and the couple times she said she was glad he was there/didn’t want him to leave. and yes, I understand that she was going through a really rough time in a difficult situation, but that’s an explanation, not an excuse.

Mary and her family going to Robert’s grave. maybe with Alex and Josh, but at all would’ve been cool. I get that baby steps are a big thing with Annie, but Tony lost Robert too. that kid does not get enough appreciation or support, and he deserved closure alongside Mary and Alex at the tree.

obviously I understand that movies can only be so long and can only show so much. but that’s the downside to a great movie – people want more of it. the deleted scenes were great, too. extra canon, yes please. I’m fairly certain today was at least the fifteenth time I’ve watched Bravetown. first time I watched it was in December, and geez if that doesn’t seem like forever ago.

#bravetown #lucas till #josh harvest #josh duhamel #alexander weller #bravetown 2015 #things i loved + things i wanted #catch me in the woods behind my house #going absolutely fucking feral over a pair of jeans

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rosedavid · 5 years

Note

Cyrus has to babysit for a family friend and calls tj to help.

“Teej!” Cyrus whispers frantically into the speaker of his cell phone.

On the other side of the line, TJ frowns, turning up the volume. “Cyrus? Why are you whispering?”

“I’m hiding,” Cyrus explains vaguely, as if TJ’s supposed to just understand what he’s talking about.

“Hiding? From what?”

Cyrus hears giggles growing closer, and grows silent for a moment until he hears the pattering of footsteps pass safely by him. Afterwards, he breaths out a sigh of relief. He’s safe, for now.

“Cy?” TJ asks again, starting to get more concerned for his boyfriend.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “I just had to make sure they didn’t find me.”

“What the–Cyrus, did you get kidnapped or something?!”

“No! But it’s almost equally as bad…” he trails off. “I’m babysitting my cousins.”

TJ suddenly snorts, racing heart calming down. He drops down onto his swiveling chair in his room. Typical Cyrus being overdramatic about everything, although that’s one of the reasons TJ likes him so much. He’s not afraid to express his emotions, even if they may be over the top sometimes.

“Babysitting? Cyrus, they’re just little kids. And you’re hiding from them?”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” Cyrus explains. “I’m safe from dealing with them for a little bit, at least until they find me. That’s why I’m calling you! I need your help with these devil children.”

“I highly doubt they’re devils, but of course I’ll help. I love kids! Are you at your house?”

“Yeah, I–” Cyrus cuts off.

Shrieking and giggling echoes through the speaker. TJ can make out a few of the jumbled, excited words.

“We found you!” A young voice laughs.

Another unfamiliar voice joins in, “Now…something else…painting?”

“No,” Cyrus disagrees. “We can’t paint the walls!”

It definitely sounds as if things are getting a bit out of control. Shaking his head in amusement, TJ begins to pull on and lace up his shoes as he listens to the background noise coming through the speaker. About a minute later, Cyrus reappears breathlessly on the other line.

“Please get here fast,” he begs with a whine.

“I’ll be there in ten,” TJ reassures him. “Think you can handle the devils for that long?”

“If I’m dead when you get here, don’t forget my sacrifice!”

…

When TJ arrives, Cyrus exhales. Although his little cousins are adorable, Cyrus knows absolutely nothing about babysitting. He’s never babysat in his life before today. Sure, he’s done pet-sitting before, but that’s completely different. Dogs and cats are just content to be petted or thrown a ball for hours on end. These kids, on the other hand, seem to have endless amounts of energy. They refuse to sit still to watch a movie. They don’t want to play with any of the toys his aunt (their mother) left for them. All they seem to want to do is get into the most trouble possible while Cyrus is left trailing behind them trying to clean up their messes.

At the sound of the doorbell, the two kids perk their heads up and race toward the front door. They stand on their tiptoes, taking turns peaking through the class at the unknown figure. Have they never heard of stranger danger?! Cyrus gently moves them out of the way so he can open the door.

“Hey,” TJ greets, holding back a smile.

Inside, Cyrus glares at his cheekiness. He’s at his wits end trying to entertain these kids, so his mood is not the best right now. Luckily, TJ knows how frustrated Cyrus is and doesn’t seem to be offended by his nasty look.

“Who’re you, mister?” The younger cousin, Ariella asks with curiosity.

Cyrus goes to explain, “This is my boyfriend, TJ. I thought he could hang out with us for a while.”

“Yay! More playmates,” The slightly older cousin, Marcus, beams.

“It’s so nice to meet you both!” TJ grins, crouching down so he’s at their level. “What are your names?”

“I’m Marcus!” Marcus introduces.

“Ariella!” Cyrus’s other cousin shouts.

TJ holds up both hands for a high five from each of them. “That’s awesome! So, Marcus and Ariella, how do you feel about building a fort?”

“A fort?!” Ariella shrieks. “Like a castle!”

“Exactly! And you can be the princess of the castle.”

Marcus chimes in, “I wanna be a knight!”

TJ bows his head slightly. “Well then, Sir Marcus, should we get to building the kingdom?”

“Yes!”

Cyrus is baffled at how well TJ immediately warms up to his cousins and gets them to actually do something that’s not destructive. He knows that TJ has experience with little kids from his job at the gym, but he hasn’t seen much of TJ actually playing with kids outside of work. Watching the joy and wonder sparkle in TJ’s eyes as he talks animatedly to Cyrus’s cousins makes Cyrus smile. Before meeting TJ, Cyrus would’ve never thought that the Scary-Basketball-Guy would be such a softie, especially with children.

“Cy!” TJ shouts out, carrying an armful of blankets. “Help us build our kingdom!”

Normally, in a situation like this where they’re playing pretend, Cyrus would feel awkward and have no idea what to do. Now, though, with TJ there by his side to help him, his mood lightens. He heads over to TJ, sharing some of the load of the blankets and pillows as they finish dragging them into the family room. TJ then gets to work with Ariella and Marcus on building the fort. They use pillows and cushions from the couch to build the structure, draping blankets across the tops as roofs. The entire time, Ariella and Marcus are having a blast.

Once they finish their castle, Ariella comes up with a brilliant idea according to herself. “I know! If I’m the princess, and Marcus is the knight, we still need a King and Queen!”

“But who’s gonna be the queen?” Marcus asks, crawling around the corner of the fort.

“Hmm…” Ariella thinks. “What if they were both Kings?! King TJ and King Cyrus!”

Even though it’s just a silly game of make believe, it causes Cyrus to blush a deep red. TJ smirks at him, pulling him impossibly closer inside the makeshift castle.

“I dub thee Kings!” Marcus declares, bopping them both with a pool noodle on their shoulders.

Of course, the pool noodle definitely doesn’t fit inside the castle well, so moving it around causes the fort to partially collapse in the middle. Suddenly, both Ariella and Marcus appear close to tears at their destroyed fort. Ariella turns, glaring at Marcus. It looks like a fight is about to start. TJ looks at them with concern, getting ready to mitigate and calm them with whatever happens. That’s when Cyrus get’s an idea.

“The castle is under attack by a ferocious dragon!” Cyrus shouts, startling all of them. “Hurry, we need to protect what’s left so we can rebuild later!”

“A dragon!” Ariella gasps. “Oh no! Hurry, Marcus, we need to protect our kingdom!”

Marcus jumps up beside her with his pool noodle as the two of them start fighting off the imaginary dragon. Cyrus goes to stand up, as well, but a hand on his arm stops him momentarily.

TJ is looking at him with pride and adoration. “See? You’re great with kids, Cy, you just have to let loose a little. That was a great idea with the dragon, by the way.”

“Really?”

TJ leans in to peck his cheek. “Really.”

Suddenly, Ariella announces, “TJ turned into the dragon, now! Help protect us, Cyrus!”

Leaping up with a roar, the kids shriek in excitement, latching onto his shirt and legs in an attempt to stop him. Cyrus stands up as well, helping the children by playfully pinning TJ’s arms by his side. TJ pretends to be trapped, tripping and falling against the pillows with Marcus and Ariella grinning triumphantly above him.

“We did it, Cyrus! We defeated the dragon!”

The rest of the afternoon, the two of them continue to play with Marcus and Ariella. Although both are exhausted at the end of the day, neither would have traded this time for anything else.

Read all my Andi Mack fanfiction here!

#tyrus #tyrus fanfic #andi mack #andi mack fanfiction #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #fanfiction #prompts #fluff #established relationship #kids #babysitting

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gothicmagpie · 4 years

Text

Shakespearean Tag Game

@atomic-insomnia tagged me with this a long while ago, and I put it off because I don’t have a current WIP. However, I decided it might be fun to put in part of the Vampire Hunter D fanfic I wrote a couple years ago for @vampires-and-dhampirs‘s VHDweek event, particularly since the person who tagged me was the one whose fanfic discussion recently reminded me that I had this kicking around!

I tag @converginglives @aldersprig @caelum-inferus @hexmeridian @merigreenleaf to put a chunk of their writing (WIP or otherwise) through the English to Shakespearean Translator

So without further ado, an even more exaggerated take on Kikuchi’s Frontier:

Lidia ent'r'd the tav'rn, pe'ring into the dimly did light cubiculo, and hath felt h'r heart sinketh as the lady did fail to findeth the p'rson the lady did seek. T wast a bloweth aft'r all h'r planning, begging useth of valuable communication equipment, trying to figure out how to receiveth a message to a hunteth'r who is't wast not only grade a, but a near-myth, if 't be true the people the lady spake with w're c'rrect. T hadst been a lasteth, desp'rate desire, and apparently hadst did fail.

The lady wast on the v'rge of turning to leaveth, embarrass'd by the curious stares the lady wast attracting by ling'ring near the doth'rway, and hadst tuck'd h'r shawl backeth und'r h'r defensively did cross arms, at which hour the lady spott'd a c'rn'r dark'r than the oth'rs. A single candle dimly did light a bawbling table in a backeth c'rn'r with just one occupant. The lady hesitat'd. This wast the only p'rson in the cubiculo the lady didn’t knoweth, so t hadst to beest that gent, but living in this isolat'd village, the lady hadst rarely hath met a strang'r and suddenly hath felt dainty. How didst the lady coequal beginneth this conversation?

H'r n'rves w'ren’t holp at which hour the indistinct dark figure shifted, as if 't be true humour h'r stareth, lifting his gazeth from the palm-siz'd booketh on the table. The brim of his black coxcomb did lift, revealing an unnaturally whey-face chin, a firmly setteth that from which we speak, an arcing cheekbone, and finally, a single dark eye pe'ring at h'r 'round the edge of his coxcomb. His glance madeth h'r trembleth with some unknown sensation, halfway between feareth and attraction. Th're wast nay turning backeth anon. The lady did clutch the fringe of h'r shawl and f'rc'd h'r leaden feet to starteth towards that gent.

The lady madeth t all the way to the table bef're freezing up again, tongue and fing'rs stiff as boards. The g'rgeous young sir across from h'r hadst did sweep the booketh into some eyeless pocket in his coat and anon did stare up at h'r, meeting h'r gazeth and silence in equal measureth f'r a did beat. The air 'round that gent hath seemed somehow dens'r, as if 't be true th're wast a pow'r and tension did create in the w'rld by his simple existence. “would thee liketh a seat?” that gent hath said, and despite his st'rn expression, the lady sens'd a slight traceth of amusement in his tone. The oppressive weight hath seemed to draweth backeth off Lidia’s chest.

“thank thee,” the lady croaked, grateful f'r an colours to breaketh the intent stareth as the lady did turn to findeth an unus'd stool and drageth t noisily to the table. The lady hath felt clumsy and contrary und'r his quiet gazeth, and fidget'd with the edge of h'r sleeve at which hour the lady did realize the lady couldn’t quiet bringeth h'rself to meeteth t. “i guesseth thee did get mine own message. ”

“m're 'r less. Thee wanteth to hire a hunteth'r?” his voice wast merit, yet th're wast nay harshness to t.

“not f'r myself. The town hast hir'd three already, all unsuccessful. ”

“so i’d hath heard. And thee bethink i can doth better?”

Lidia did stare at that gent, hoyday making h'r f'rget h'r shyness. “how didst thee knoweth? the lasteth wast only hath killed days ago. ”

“w'rd travels festinate, and this case hast attracted…rum'rs. ”

“yes,” Lidia shudd'r'd as a sour gust did rise in h'r that from which we speak and the lady hadst to gulp a moment bef're speaking furth'r. “i imagineth t hast. These killings, those gents aren’t n'rmal gentle feedings. They’re h'rrible. ”

“murd'r usually is. ”

Professional indignation did banish the ling'ring shyness and whatev'r the oth'r emotions this handsome sir hadst conjur'd up. Lidia satteth up straight, did look that gent in the eye, and hath said, “i w'rk in a m'rgue, mr. D. I seeth death all the timeth, and murd'r m're frequently than i’d liketh. I’ve seen fronti'rsmen maul'd by a packeth of noble-br'd beasts who is't belike hadst a kind'r death than the hunteth'rs we’ve hath sent so far. ”

“my apologies, misseth graczyk. I shouldn’t has't und'restimat'd thee; aft'r all, thee did manage to track me down. ”

Slightly mollified, Lidia did nod an acceptance of his apology and hath tried to turneth backeth to the subject at handeth. “then thou art int'rest'd in taking the job?”

“i’ll consid'r t, aft'r i has't a chance to heareth m're details. I’m head'd west, this wast a div'rsion from mine own intend'd path. I assume yond thee realizeth what payment wouldst beest required? i won’t w'rk f'r free. ”

“and we wouldn’t asketh thee to. We wouldst payeth thee the same rateth as the hunteth'rs bef're thee, one third up front and the rest once the gentle is putteth to rest.”

“and doth thee knoweth who is't the gentle is?”

“not positively, but the one we suspecteth is L'rd Vasm'r. That gent is rum'r'd to has't hadst a castle nearby. He’s eke known f'r being … creative with his victims. ”

“i’m familiar with his st'ry, and aye, that gent is a likely candidate. How many victims hast that gent taken?”

“it’s hard to knoweth f'r sure. We’ve hath found 2 distaff from the town and a travell'r’s issue from a caravan yond hadst just hath left, but th're art oth'r people missing. Plus the three hunteth'rs. ”

“all the victims has't been taken careth of?”

“yes, yond much we can doth without a hunteth'r. The only c'rpse still 'round is the lasteth hunteth'r, who is't we just hath found yest'rday. I hath asked yond we keepeth that gent 'round a few days, since t wast cleareth that gent wast in nay dang'r of rising. I needeth practiceth on reconstructive w'rk, and i bethought thee might wanteth to seeth the wounds. ”

“practice?” D tilt'd his headeth the slightest did bite with the questioneth, just enow to maketh his coxcomb brim moveth.

Lidia hath felt h'r cheeks heateth a did bite as the lady answ'red, “i’m continuing mine own medical training. The m'rgue and the hospital art one and the same h're, so i’m a nurse, but eke holp with those who is't art beyond our careth. If 't be true i couldst, i’d becometh a doct'r, but th're’s nay lodging f'r yond kind of training 'round h're. ”

the hunteth'r gaveth h'r the slightest nodeth, as if 't be true that gent did approve of h'r statement. The lady wast a did bite embarrass'd to findeth yond t did please h'r, as if 't be true the opinion of a drift'r hadst any effect on h'r life. “you mention'd yond that gent wasn’t in dang'r of rising. I taketh t the damageth wast sev're. ”

“oh aye. In earnest, i doubteth any of these folks couldst riseth, with so dram hath left of those folk intact. We behead'd and burn'd the bodies to beest sure. But this man…” coequal with Lidia’s jad'd exp'rience, the lady couldn’t holp but wince as the c'rpse the lady hadst hath spent hours reassembling hov'r'd in h'r mind. “…it wast w'rse. If 't be true i hadn’t known t wast a gentle, i’d has't did guess th're wast something p'rsonal th're. His heart wast gone, 'long with some oth'r bits, but yond wast wherefore i wasn’t too w'rri'd about keeping that gent 'round. ”

“wh're is the hospital? i’ll cometh th're tonight to examineth the corse aft'r i s'rt out lodging f'r myself and mine own h'rse. ”

“i can giveth thee a mapeth. ” Lidia did produce a simple, cheaply did print flyeth'r from the hospital, and, b'rrowing a pen from the bartend'r, did extend the grid of streets to their location. “i’m afraid i don’t has't any suggestions f'r a lodging to stayeth. Given…” the lady hath felt h'r cheeks heating again as the lady stamm'r'd. “i mean… we don’t typically has't thy kind in town. Not yond i expecteth most of those folk wouldst guess… i nev'r hath said aught. Thee passeth f'r human well-enough. ” the lady did bite h'r tongue bef're the lady couldst maketh t worse.

Despite h'r flust'r'd state, the lady bethought the lady did see the tiniest hint of a smileth in the hunteth'r’s expression. “not to w'rry. I’m accustom'd to finding an unconventional option. I’ll seeth thee at 8 at the hospital. ” that gent stoodeth in motion so swift and smooth yond Lidia’s eye hardly hath followed t. With a nodeth, that gent hath left, his longeth black coat sweeping about that gent as that gent did step out the doth'r liketh a dark windeth.

#tag game #vhdweek #vampire hunter d #vhd #fan fiction #writing humor #my writing

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