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bluerose5 · 1 year

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Their Perfect Oasis

Prompt fill from discord for Maxwell Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus. Turned out longer than I expected (because of course it did) but hope y'all enjoy! Click the title to read on ao3. 💙

Summary:

All Dorian wanted, at first, was his book back.

The last thing he expected was for Maxwell Trevelyan to spoil him with an afternoon together.

~~~

Maxwell Trevelyan had always been quick on his feet.

There Dorian was one afternoon, minding his own business while he combed through tome after tome in the Inquisition’s library. Their meager collection had few works that he deemed to be of any noteworthy academic merit, let alone worthy of his time to read, but some proved interesting enough to add to his ever-growing pile of books.

What they found during their travels typically turned out to be far more interesting, ancient ruins filled to the brim with anecdotal accounts and mysterious artifacts. While he left most of the elven stuff for Solas to study, there was still so much to review in between his own research.

He was going through all that he had gathered on the connections between rift magic and time magic when his beloved Inquisitor made his appearance.

“There you are,” Maxwell greeted.

Although he tried to put on an air of indifference, Dorian ended up smiling in spite of himself.

“Where I always am around this time of day,” he said, not once looking away from the scroll he had spread out over his pitiful excuse of desk, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that he was all that focused anyways, it being near impossible to pay attention with Maxwell around.

After he pressed a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, Dorian quickly turned to scour through his and Alexius’s old notes, more so to hide his now-flustered expression.

Warmth spread throughout his cheeks at Maxwell’s low chuckle.

“Looking as stunning as always,” Maxwell breathed, his words overflowing with a reverence that made Dorian’s heart skip a beat.

“Was that ever in question?” Dorian countered.

Maxwell pressed himself flush against his side, a hand braced upon the table as he leaned in to brush his lips along the shell of Dorian's ear.

"Never," he replied. Dorian’s fingers froze when he started to shuffle through the pages, but he could hear the smirk in Max's voice, clear as day. "Am I distracting you?"

Dorian shook his head, more so to clear his mind than to answer the question.

"I—No, of course not! I was just—"

"Then, let me try a little harder."

Without warning, Maxwell disappeared from his side.

One second, he was snuggled up to Dorian. Then, the next, he was leaning against the wall near the staircase, a book in hand that he pretended to flip through. He studied Dorian, eyes alight with mischief, but the latter watched him skeptically, arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doi—" Dorian started to ask, but it was in that exact moment that he processed what book Maxwell held.

It was almost comical, how his head snapped towards the desk, then back towards Maxwell, then to the desk again.

Maxwell pinched one of the book's corners, allowing it to dangle precariously.

Oh, the horror. To have a work so highly disrespected.

Dorrian huffed.

"What?" Maxwell teased, attempting to sound innocent but ultimately failing, way too pleased with himself for his own good. "Need something?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Dorian sighed, "it has come to my attention that I am indeed missing a book."

"You don't say."

"Mm-hmm…" Dorian took a step forward, but Maxwell mirrored him easily enough, one foot positioned on the next step. "A book vital to my research, in fact. One that I would very much like back."

"Ah, and what would you be willing to do for this book, I wonder."

"Name your price."

The next step down was more purposeful, the way Maxwell shifted his weight.

Understanding dawned on Dorian then.

"Maxwell," he warned, pointing a finger in his direction, "I am not chasing after you."

Maxwell simply beamed at him in response. He tucked the book underneath his arm, pressed tightly against his side.

"I'll make it worth your while," he promised.

"I'll make it worth yours if you just— Well, and there he goes," Dorian grumbled.

The madman didn't even hesitate to dart off down the stairs.

"Max!" Dorian called out, forgetting where he was for a second.

Teasing laughter rang out in a slight echo that traveled throughout the tower. A few unimpressed glances were tossed their way, but Dorian ignored them.

Tapping his foot upon the floor, he shook his head in disbelief.

"I am not going to chase him," he told himself. "I am not…"

Down below, he could hear Maxwell say, "Hi, Solas! Bye, Solas!" as he escaped into the throne room. Not that Solas had much time to mumble out an amused greeting of his own, the Inquisitor there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Time was wasting, but Dorian’s curiosity eventually got the better of him.

He paused his mantra, bottom lip poked out into an exaggerated pout.

"Vishante kaffas," he swore, approaching the staircase. "Okay, and now I'm chasing after you."

The things he did for that man.

He followed after him at a brisk walk, not a run!

He had to retain some semblance of dignity after all.

It was bad enough that he had to put up with Solas's knowing stare as he passed through the rotunda, so it seemed that Dorian would suffer even the greatest torments for Maxwell’s sake.

Whatever he had planned better be worth all the effort.

When Varric heard his entrance into the main hall, he didn't even so much as look up from his writings. Instead, he simply jabbed his thumb in the direction of the doors, Dorian smiling sheepishly before continuing on his way.

Once outside, Dorian caught a split-second glimpse of Max on his way towards the stables, but Dorian saw the bait for what it was. He knew all too well that, if Maxwell truly wanted to elude him, then he would have done so by now. Either that, or he would have melted away into the shadows, only to be seen when it was his moment to strike.

Dorian had to admit, part of him actually enjoyed this little game of theirs. He knew it to be playful, all intended in good faith, and he absolutely adored how Max loved to tease him.

It would make "catching him" all the more rewarding.

However, as things turned out, he didn't even have to catch him, not when Maxwell came to him instead.

Rushing down the remaining stairs and through the courtyards, Dorian stopped short when he heard the clomping of a horse’s hooves draw closer.

With a tug on the horses’ reins, Maxwell guided two of the Inquisition’s best mounts to a stop in front of him. Both of them were of sturdy, dependable builds with slick, glossy coats, one brown and the other black.

When they shifted to a halt, Maxwell fed them some apple slices from their packs, then turned to beam at Dorian.

“After you, my dear,” Max said, his hand outstretched to him.

“What?” Dorian asked, eyebrow raised in question. “Are we going for a ride?”

“How observant of you to notice,” Maxwell teased, “but, yes, we are. I have a surprise for you.”

“A gift?” Dorian pressed. “My, my, I do love being spoiled, especially by you.”

“Then, you’ll love this,” he said. His expression gentled, causing a swarm of butterflies to flutter around within Dorian’s chest. “I promise.”

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Dorian coughed quietly under his breath to clear it.

“Right,” he said. He nodded at the closest horse, the one that stood as black as night. “I’ll take this one.”

“A fine horse for a pretty man,” Max praised.

“The prettiest,” Dorian corrected.

Placing his hand into Maxwell’s, he hoisted himself up into the horse’s saddle. Not that he needed the assistance, but he could hardly turn down such an offer from Max. He adjusted his weight around to get comfortable while Maxwell mounted the other horse with ease.

Dorian froze into place when he glanced over, only to become tongue-tied at the very sight of him.

Back in the library, the lighting had been muted enough —and everything had happened so quickly— that Dorian didn’t really get a good look at him before.

Now, it was as if he was seeing him clearly for the first time.

Sunlight washed over him in a wave of gold, each feature emphasized with the attention reserved for the most revered religious icons. Dorian wouldn’t be surprised if they were already carving statues in his honor, devoted to reproducing every last detail to perfection.

Perched upon his horse, Maxwell held himself upright with the utmost confidence.

Warm, sun-kissed skin soaked up the afternoon rays. Brown hair was carefully slicked back, teasing glances beckoning Dorian to follow him to the ends of the world itself. Maxwell inspired a loyalty influenced by a power greater than a siren’s song, a loyalty that might even lead them to their eventual demise, a fate accepted in stride so long as Dorian could remain by his side.

Maxwell circled his horse around him, and Dorian couldn’t help but wonder if the posturing was intentional.

After all, he had certainly cleaned up for—for whatever this was.

Gone were those tasteless rags of his, those drab, brown pajamas hopefully tossed out of his wardrobe for good.

In their place, Maxwell wore a blue shirt, crafted of the finest silk that shimmered lightly through each shift of his chest. The top few buttons were left undone, revealing a golden chain nestled around his throat and hanging down between his pecs. Black, form-fitting pants accentuated the shape of his legs, hugging Maxwell’s hips and thighs. The fabric was tucked into a pair of black, leather boots, designed for both style and comfort.

Dorian had to admit, he was impressed.

All of that, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger to help.

Safe to say, Maxwell took his breath away.

Younger Dorian, who spent his days reading and fantasizing about handsome, heroic princes from far-off lands, positively swooned at the sight before him.

Not that current Dorian was faring much better.

He swallowed thickly as he watched Max, his lips parted in awe.

Maxwell, oblivious to Dorian’s appraisal —or, perhaps, acutely aware of it— flashed him a blinding smile.

"Race you!" he stated.

With a slight flick of the reins and a click of his tongue, the horse sped up into a steady trot towards the drawbridge. People maneuvered around them both, steering clear of their path.

It was hard to ignore all of the stares they were attracting; but, for once, Dorian was inclined to let them look.

He had the most amazing man in Thedas all to himself, and that was all that mattered.

Catching up to him, Dorian feigned an annoyed grumble.

"A rather unfair challenge, don't you think?" Dorian asked. "Considering the fact that you know the way to our destination while I am left in the dark, following on blind faith alone."

Maxwell hummed in contemplation, drinking in the sight of Dorian from head to toe, which was fair. Dorian had certainly gotten his fill of Max. The latter deserved to marvel in the excellence of his resident altus.

And if Dorian happened to sit up a bit straighter under the weight of that appreciative gaze, head held high with pride…

Well, that would remain between the two of them.

Voice warm and low, Maxwell leaned in and told him, "Try to keep up then."

Without warning, he took off into a galloping pace, a hearty laugh left in his wake.

Once again, Dorian was left chasing after him, ringing out with his own laughter in turn.

"Oh, you're delightful!" Dorian called out over the whipping winds, quickly gaining on Maxwell’s position, only a couple of paces behind.

Together, they rode through the mountainside until the blank canvas of white gave way to snow-covered flora. Icicles hung like crystals from bare branches, capturing sunlight, only to cast it out in an array of colors.

Thankfully, Dorian had little time to even think about the cold, let alone fixate upon it.

Eventually, they arrived at the edge of a clearing. Maxwell slowed to a stop, far enough from Skyhold to grant them some privacy yet close enough to be back a moment’s notice, should they be needed.

While Dorian didn't think himself to be much of a praying man, he happily prayed then that they not be needed. Not anytime soon, at least.

After Maxwell jumped down from his horse, he approached Dorian’s side without missing a beat. Offering his hand out again, Dorian gladly took it, allowing Maxwell to help him down to his feet.

They stood there for a second, chest to chest, while all of the world and its problems melted away into the background.

"Well," Maxwell said, "looks like I won the race."

"You don't say," Dorian hummed. Gentle fingers combed through Max's hair, coaxing any strays back into place. "I never would have guessed."

"Mm-hmm…"

They stole glances at each other's lips.

Maxwell tugged him closer by the waist, Dorian’s arms wrapped around his neck.

Their noses brushed ever so slightly.

"Tell me," Dorian whispered. "What prize does the illustrious Inquisitor desire for his well-earned victory?"

By then, their lips were barely a hair’s width away.

"A kiss from a certain someone would suffice, but that must wait, I'm afraid." Their lips had only just grazed against one another when their warmth disappeared entirely. Dorian's breath was stolen from him as Maxwell pulled away, placing a careful distance between them both. "All in due time, handsome."

"Hmph, you're such a tease," Dorian huffed, albeit with no real heat to his voice.

"It'll be worth it," Maxwell reminded him. He even had the audacity to wink at him. "I'll make it up to you later."

"You better."

"I swear. Now, close your eyes."

"Seriously?" Dorian scoffed.

"Please," Maxwell said. "For me?"

Well, when he put it like that…

"Oh, alright, fine!" Dorian closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're lucky you're so cute."

Maxwell only chuckled in response.

Dorian listened closely while he coaxed the horses away with soft murmurs. His footsteps faded off into the distance, but logic told Dorian that it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before he returned.

Didn't stop those few minutes from feeling like an eternity.

Maxwell took him by the hands and led him forward.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready for what, exactly?" Dorian wondered.

"You'll find out. All I ask is that you keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them."

"Not cryptic at all."

Nevertheless, he followed, trusting Maxwell with his life.

Dorian spoke to fill the ensuing silence.

"You know, we should have ridden double," Dorian stated. "Like in the stories! The ones where the protagonist whisks the love interest away on horseback, arms wrapped tightly around them as they ride off into the sunset together."

Max snorted. "But of course. One small problem, though."

"And what is that?"

"As lovely as the idea is, horses can only support so much before you start to risk injury to them or yourself, and I, for one, was not going to be on the receiving end of Master Dennet's anger for hurting one of his precious babies."

"Fair enough," Dorian conceded, sighing dramatically. "Foolish books, giving me unrealistic expectations of romance."

"Heh, hopefully this will make up for it."

Snow crunched beneath their feet until, surprisingly, it stopped.

Before Dorian could question him about it, Maxwell beat him to the punch.

"Just a little farther, and…" Maxwell trailed off. He took Dorian by the shoulders and arranged him into position. Strangely enough, Dorian felt the cold wash away. In its place, a wave of heat enveloped them, but Maxwell hardly sounded shocked by this development. "There!" He released him. "Now, open your eyes."

Dorian didn’t have to be told twice.

He squinted, blinking past the relentless daylight, and eventually managed to pry his eyes open.

What awaited them was unlike anything he had expected.

It was a scene plucked right out of a fairytale.

Without thinking, Dorian placed a hand over his racing heart.

“Wow,” he gasped. “This is amazing.”

Even then, that was the understatement of the century.

The clearing that Maxwell brought him to was secluded; however, more than that, it had the thriving appearance of a meadow in spring. A large, square area was protected from the harsh winter snow. Lush, green grass sprouted all over, sprinkled with patches of colorful wildflowers that danced in the occasional breeze.

In the center of it all, a blanket was spread out. And upon that blanket, there sat a basket, alongside Dorian’s long-forgotten book.

Streams of golden light filtered through the nearby branches, reflecting off of tiny motes that glided through the air.

Their horses were secured to a tree close by, grazing happily amongst the fresh grass.

It was their own little oasis, surrounded by a cold desert.

After another speechless moment to really soak it all in, Dorian was finally able to catch his breath.

“Maxwell.” He turned to him, incredulous. “How did you manage to do all of this?”

He waved his arms grandly at the setting before them, twirling in place.

Pleased with his reaction, Maxwell shrugged, uncharacteristically bashful, as he glanced around.

“I might have asked Dagna for a favor,” he said, nodding at each of the square’s four corners. “The work of runes. They ward off the cold and ‘any critters or creepy crawlies,’ as she explained it. Kind of like a mixture of fire runes for warmth and protective sigils to keep the wildlife at bay.”

“Makes sense,” Dorian breathed, once again impressed with the quality of her work. “Remind me to thank her later.”

“We both will,” Maxwell assured him, then admitted, “I had actually wanted to bring you sooner, but I needed to position the runes just right. Then, after that, it was basically a waiting game for the snow to melt and the mud to dry up.”

So, he had been working on this for a while then.

Dorian smiled at him tenderly.

“Thank you,” he said.

Maxwell chuckled.

“You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

“You mean, there’s more?”

“Of course.” Taking Dorian’s hand in his, Maxwell bowed slightly at the waist to press a kiss upon the back of it. His lips lingered, eyes trained on Dorian the entire time. “Will you dine with me, Serah Pavus?”

“I’d be honored to.”

Eager to see what else he had in store for him, Dorian all but dragged him over to the blanket. Maxwell, ever the gentleman, helped him get seated before joining him at his side.

Dorian didn’t so much as hesitate before snuggling up to him.

Maxwell tossed him a grin and opened up the basket.

A whiff of warm spices instantly greeted them. Dorian’s mouth watered. His stomach grumbled.

The scent was a familiar one, one that reminded him of home, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up, trying his best to sneak a peek.

“So, what’s on the menu today?” he asked.

“I made us lamb curry,” Maxwell answered, casual as can be.

Dorian choked at that.

“Wait, what?”

“I said that I made—”

“I heard what you said, but you cooked?” Dorian stammered. “For me?”

“Was I not supposed to do that?” Maxwell deadpanned.

“I— No! I mean, it’s just that…” Dorian blew out a frustrated breath, at a loss for words. “Surely, you have more important things to do than wait on me, hand and foot. You must be incredibly busy.”

“Not busy enough to neglect spending time with you. I know you’ve been homesick,” Maxwell stated, his brow furrowed in concern. He reached out and cupped Dorian’s cheek, brushing his thumb along the curve of it. “I know it’s not the same, but I wanted you to feel a little bit at home. Here, with me.”

Dorian melted into his touch, releasing a shaky breath.

“Damn it. You’re going to make me cry at this rate,” he informed him. Already, he could feel a slight sting building at the corner of his eyes. He blinked past the burn of unshed tears. Carefully, he wiped at them before they could fall. “Stop it. I have an image to uphold, you know.”

Maxwell snickered.

“Of course. Here.” He reached into the basket and unearthed a bottle, cradled with the utmost care. “Something to cheer you up.”

Dorian didn’t even have to read the label to know what it was.

“You got us an Antivan Red imported in?” he asked. “Out here? Don’t even get me started on the spices that you had to get for that curry, Inquisitor.”

“Leliana and I might have pulled some strings,” Maxwell said.

“Of course you did.” Dorian playfully glared at him, the bottle hugged close to his chest. “Okay, out with it.”

“Out with what?” Maxwell questioned. He cocked his head to the side.

“What’s the special occasion?” Dorian countered. “My guess is that you’re either going to propose, or you’re going to ask to fool around out here in the middle of the woods, where anyone could happen upon us.”

“The real question is, would you even say yes to either of those options?”

Dorian thought it over, then shrugged.

“Ask me after my third glass.”

Once he opened it, he shamelessly took a swig from the bottle, comfortable enough to ignore decorum when they were all alone.

Maxwell passed him two glasses, which he filled up generously. In the meantime, Max worked on uncovering their dish, still steaming with warmth over a bed of rice.

“Want to try a bite?” he asked.

Scooping up a heaping portion with his fork, he held it out in offering.

As if Dorian would refuse.

“I’d love to.”

The instant Dorian wrapped his lips around the fork, he swore that he transcended to a whole other plane of existence.

Now, usually when he read fiction, the premise of someone moaning over their food was always eye roll-inducing at best.

However, after trying Maxwell’s cooking, he was a changed man.

The richness of the base, the tenderness of the lamb, the warmth of the spices…

All of it came together perfectly.

“Oh,” he purred, “you, my good sir, are a god amongst men.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Maxwell teased.

He took his glass of wine from Dorian and raised it between them.

They stared into each other’s eyes while he made his toast.

“To us,” he whispered.

They clinked their glasses together.

“To us,” Dorian agreed, as they both took a more tentative sip to savor the taste.

The light, fruity notes complimented their dish well. An exquisite pairing that lingered on the palate, but not that he expected anything less from Max.

Once again, Dorian found himself stealing glimpses of Maxwell’s lips.

“You know this will cause people to talk,” he said.

“Compared to usual,” Maxwell replied, his sarcasm deafening, “when they remain absolutely silent about the two of us?”

“You know what I mean.” Dorian snuggled closer, his lips quirked up into a smirk. “You ran off to some secluded location with that dastardly Tevinter magister.” He rolled his eyes at the misuse of the title. “Maker have mercy!” He raised his voice in pitch, mimicking a tone of fright and scandal. “Will our beloved Inquisitor return the same? How are we sure that madman isn’t conducting some sinister ritual in secret, sacrificing the blood of goats and virgins in the name of the Black Divine?”

“Hmm…” Maxwell hummed with a pointed look around the clearing. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think there are any goats around.” He snorted. “Or virgins, I’m afraid.”

“Alas,” Dorian sighed, “I guess that we’ll have to make do without.”

“Cast your magic then. I’d happily fall under your spell.”

“You’re terrible.”

Using his free hand, Dorian curled his finger around Maxwell’s chain, tugging him closer until their lips brushed.

Maxwell swallowed thickly.

“Kiss me,” Dorian whispered. “Please, I—”

Whatever he was going to say, Maxwell cut him off in an instant. Their lips crashed against one another, pleading, desperate. They gasped for breath, only to reclaim the kiss with renewed fervor.

Dorian didn’t know how long they stayed there, lost in the moment and the feel of each other.

Part of him wanted so badly to remain there forever, but all good things must come to an end, or so people said.

Eventually, they parted.

Maxwell rested his forehead against Dorian’s while they struggled to compose themselves.

The words slipped free before Dorian could even process them.

“Are we sure that I’m not dreaming right now?”

“If you are,” Maxwell answered, stealing a swift peck, “then promise not to wake up, because I don’t ever want this dream to end.”

Dorian smiled into the next kiss.

“Neither do I.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #maxwell trevelyan #male inquisitor #dorian pavus #custom inquisitor #pavelyan #dorian x trevelyan #inquisitor x dorian #bluerose writes

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spxtr · 1 year

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@moneyburned sent : ‘ mistletoe ’ ; on purpose / for steven ; not saying benny will hold some over his head but he might

busy with researching on artifacts they’d recently found the man’s attention has been solely focused on that , too deep in to realize he needs a break until noting that there’s no more tea in his cup . he knows he’s not alone , somewhere within the apartment is the sergeant , simply out of his sight . that is until he’s walking into the kitchen , about to prepare himself another cup until benny is cutting right in front of him and staying still . a brow raises at him , lips parting to say something until noticing that there’s something being held about his head . head tilts back a little , eyes shifting to focus on the object . oh . a mistletoe .

❛ well ain’t this new , ‘ave never found myself under a mistletoe before . ❜ his voice is almost sing-song , lips slowly curling into a smile as eyes shift back to focus on the sergeant . setting his cup the side , hands wring together a little , nervousness building up within himself . it takes a moment before the brit finally does something , not quite forcing himself but trying to step out of his very comfortable metaphorical bubble of safety . hands reach up , cupping the sides of his face as he leans up on tiptoes and presses his lips to benny’s . it’s .. a brief kiss and despite it , he feels his face burning up .

settling back onto the flats of his feet , he quickly grabs his cup and hurries past him to go make his tea , pretending as if he didn’t just kiss the man he’s had a steadily growing crush on .

#moneyburned #❛ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 ― interactions .#sorry if this is shitty fcnwebfchjdb

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 17: Blackout

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no, you made things complicated. Lol. I'm having more fun writing Kung Lao than should be allowed. Hopefully you guys enjoy! And yes, I know this is tropey but I also don't care LOL, it's a fun trope.

Part 16 Part 18 Chapter Index

The hotel was surprisingly crowded. You weren’t sure what you’d expected but you hadn’t expected it to be bustling with tourists. There was a festival happening, you should have expected this. A bit outdated, the hotel was still clean and inviting. A welcome reprieve from the stone walls of Raiden’s Temple. You’d arrived early and still had to wait in line. Raiden had ‘transported’ you there which had been a wild experience in and of itself. You’d walked into a bolt of lightning and had come out in a quiet alley unseen.

It had been so long since you’d walked amongst the average civilian that it felt straight up bizarre to be walking along the streets of the modest city, especially in your hanfu. It was all you’d had, after all. No one looked at you twice other than to greet you politely. Most of the other folks staying at the hotel for the festival were couples on a romantic getaway which had made it instantly weird to be waiting in line with Kung Lao to check into your respective rooms.

Thankfully, the line moved quickly and once you’d checked in, you dropped off the few belongings you’d brought with you. The room was tiny with a single bed, a desk taking up nearly the rest of the room. Atop the desk was a television and beneath that was an old, ancient mini fridge. It would do well enough. This was the most technology you’d seen in weeks. Afterwards, you’d found Kung Lao and told him that you would meet him in an hour. You’d made note of a clothing store down the road and wanted to see if there was anything worth buying.

He, of course, decided to join you. No one trusted you alone anymore. He didn’t say it like that, but you knew that Raiden had told both him and Liu to keep an eye on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb.

Once at the shop you were disappointed to find that it sold mostly yukatas and kimonos. You supposed it was better than the flowy hanfu. At least you could pick out something that would be your own rather than something that had been handed to you.

Boy, you missed the internet.

You picked out a few pieces that you could work with a bit easier. Most of the hanfu were dresses or long flowy robes. Here you’d been able to find a few women’s kimonos that had hakama pants as an option. You had never been so excited to see pants in your life. You didn’t need the whole kimono, just the pants. Some constricted around the ankles while others were left open. You grabbed both and were extremely pleased.

“Sometimes, you’re a very simple woman.” Kung Lao had patted you on the back when you’d showed him the pants in excitement. You had to agree. In that moment you were very simple. Pants had brought you joy. You’d wandered away from him after that to find a few tops, belts, and jackets. Thankfully, you’d had your wallet on you when this had all begun so you had some money on you. In Raiden’s Temple, money hadn’t been necessary, so you were happy to spend it on the few things you did need.

They weren’t jeans and a t-shirt or even cute dresses, but it felt like a step in the right direction toward feeling like yourself again. You hadn’t realized how much it had bothered you until then.

Kung Lao had purchased just enough for the day in flattering red and black. That seemed to be his aesthetic though you could picture him in blues too for some reason. Then you made your way back to the hotel and to your rooms on the top floor. You had gotten rooms next to each other. You went to get changed and were happy with what you saw even in the half mirror on the desk. You stood on the bed to get a better look. Black hakama pants and a grayish-lavender and black top with a white sash tied around your middle. You then pulled your hair back in a ponytail and admired yourself in the mirror. Even though your hair was a mess you looked much more like yourself.

Your white roots had grown out a couple of inches now. It didn’t look bad, but it definitely didn’t look like it was on purpose either.

Oh well! You jumped off the bed and then left the room to find Kung Lao waiting for you, leaned against the wall next to your door. He had one foot propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, hat obscuring his face as it often did. The clothing he’d bought wasn’t too terribly different from what he usually wore with the notable exception that he had sleeves which was truly a shame. He tilted his head up just enough to greet you before stepping away from the wall. You hadn’t left him waiting that long and yet he acted as though he’d been there for ages.

You noticed the jade ring from his usual outfit was woven into his outfit with the sash around his waist laced through it. It was kind of sweet that he always seemed to have it on him.

“Is that significant in some way? Special?” You asked, gesturing to the ring. He looked down at the ring in surprise and then nodded down the hall. You walked slowly through the hotel toward the stairwell.

“It’s a relic from my ancestor, the Great Kung Lao.”

“Oh, wow. About that, though… I’ve heard people mention him, but I had never heard the name before you. I know that he’s of some importance which has made you important…”

“I am incredibly important, thank you.”

“Yes, very. Keep talking.”

“He was the first champion of Mortal Kombat who had come from the Shaolin Order of Light. He defeated Shang Tsung and won the tournament.” Kung Lao seemed as though he had told this story a hundred times but was still proud to tell it. It was oddly sweet. “He was champion of Earthrealm for fifty years before the tournament was corrupted and he was killed. Even so, he is held in great reverence. He was a remarkable warrior.”

“Is that why you have a dragon mark?”

“Yes, that is why I have the mark. It’s also why I was sent away so young. I’d already been training long before I’d met you. When I left it was because it was time for me to go live at the temple.”

You stopped walking before the stairs and he stopped just in front of you and turned to face you. “Then why were you so bad when we would pretend to fight?”

“I held back. I wanted you to have fun too. Besides, it felt nice to be normal back then.” He laughed and you caught up to him and started down the stairs. “I was thinking that we should come up with a story as to why we’re here.”

“Should we?”

“Obviously. We need a reason to be here.”

“Other than the reason we actually have?”

“And when a bunch of strangers ask you why we’re here, are you going to tell them the real reason we’re here?”

“Point taken.”

“We need a cover.”

“Do we really though? I don’t remember ever having to justify my actions that intensely to strangers before. We can just be visiting.” You jumped down the last two stairs to the landing between flights. Pants felt great. Kung Lao seemed to either be overthinking your trip or grasping at straws to get to some end point. Or he was going to cause trouble. You would never forget the look that both Raiden and Liu had given him on their way out.

“I’ve been asked three times what brings me to Mount Osore during the festival. I came up with a lie on the spot but I’m no terribly proud of it or anything.”

“And what is this lie you came up with?”

“I said I was here on a date. Everyone else seems to be here on a date, so it was the first thing that jumped to mind.”

You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed in surprise, waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You caught up to him. “Really, Kung Lao?”

“What? It’s the first thing I could think of! The people asking me were on a date and so I stuttered that I was too.”

“Kung Lao, no.”

“Come on, Y/N.”

“Can’t we just say we’re visiting and that it’s no one’s business?” You walked into the lobby and he hurried in front of you and took your hands, clasping them between his. You sighed. “Would you…” The lobby was very crowded.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Would you,” he continued, talking over you, “do me the honor of going on a cute little pretend date with me so that we can sneak into an ancient Buddhist Temple built within the caldera of a volcano so that we can uncover an ancient and possibly cursed artifact together?” You stared at him in disbelief, but it was taking every ounce of your energy not to burst into laughter. He was such a dork. “I will get down on my knees and ask you again if you don’t answer me.” He got down on his knees and you broke. Laughing, you pulled your hands free, grabbed his arms and tugged.

“Oh my god, get up, Kung Lao.”

“It’s a great cover, Y/N.”

“It is an exactly okay cover. But fine. I haven’t done something terribly embarrassing in a while, so I guess I’m overdue for this.” You agreed at least. He was right. It was a good cover considering this whole place was filled with couples. Besides, if it got Kung Lao to drop the subject then you would be happy to agree. The whole display had made your cheeks burn.

“Embarrassing, huh? Come on, Y/N. It’s not such a bad thing, is it? Could be worse looking guys to end up with, right?” He walked at your side again, making a teasing kissy face and leaning close to you. You leaned away with an awkward and nervous laugh.

“If you keep doing things like that then you are going to get smacked.”

“Worth it.” He held the door open for you and together you left the hotel. Outside a bus waited to take tourists to the shrine for the festival. People were already loading onto it. Kung Lao offered you his hand and you looked to him skeptically. He grabbed your hand anyway and then you walked onto the bus. “You’re going to have to get better at pretending.” You found seats near the back of the bus and even as you sat, he didn’t let go of your hand. You felt incredibly silly. Yet, it also made your heart flutter. As much as you had given him a hard time, you also happened to think it was an incredibly sweet and kind of wholesome idea.

Funny enough, you had thought of this moment before but in a much different context. Maybe in a life where your childhood together hadn’t ended so traumatically. Where you’d stayed close friends and he’d have asked you out when you were old enough. In a way, you felt like a silly schoolgirl, something you hadn’t felt in years.

If he hadn’t died then this was exactly where you would have wound up. Somehow that made you feel much less silly and you finally relaxed. Kung Lao pointed out several interesting things on the side of the road through the window and you listened to him chatter on until the bus was pulling up to the shrine. You waited for the others to get off the bus and then you walked ahead of Kung Lao and stepped off it.

The shrine was huge and it took your breath away.

So much so that it made you dizzy.

A river flowed before you then beneath a red bridge. To the left of the bridge there was a white beach lining the bluest and most artificial-looking water that you had ever seen in your life. Rocks were piled alongside the shore in strange formations. Beyond the bridge there was a stone path that led to the shrine in the distance, and it was lined with old lanterns. You walked to the edge of the stone path where the bus had dropped you off to try and get a better look at the water.

That was a teal color you had never seen before in nature. In your mind’s eye, you recalled your vision and it made your stomach drop. You took a step further and were suddenly grasped around the waist and pulled away from the edge of the stone. Then Kung Lao looped his arm in yours. “You looking to take a dip?”

You hadn’t realized that you had almost walked right into the river. You hadn’t been thinking. The water had bewitched you, it seemed. You needed to get a closer look at it but now that you’d been turned away from it, the feeling had gone. From there you could smell the acidity in the humid air. That was likely why it was so blue. “Pay more attention, okay?”

You weren’t sure what to say to him. It was surreal being there. This place was exactly the same as it had been in your vision but also years, possibly centuries had passed since then. The shrine buildings themselves were much larger than they had been then. They were even a different color. Your head was spinning as you tried to take in everything at once. It was an overload. You grabbed Kung Lao’s arm to try and ground yourself. You felt as though you were floating and the wind would take you away.

Kung Lao led you onto the bridge and at its apex you sat and watched the water trickle beneath it. He helped you lean your elbows against the railing and then placed a supportive hand on your back.

“It’s okay. Take a second.” He seemed to realize that you were having a difficult time. How could you explain that you were struggling to wrap your mind around being in a place where you’d had such a vivid and violent vision? You were grateful for him. Your heart was racing and you watched the water flowing beneath the bridge, over the rocks. Your stomach had dropped. It felt as though you were intimately familiar with this place, as though you had spent years there, but you had never once seen it before. At the same time, everything felt completely new. Your brain was waging war with itself. “You okay?”

“Yeah, this is just… surreal.” You were finally able to collect your thoughts enough to talk.

“You went a bit gray. Figured you needed a minute.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So, where do we go?”

“There’s a well inside one of those buildings.” You nodded to your right where the shrine was at the end of the stone path.

“Vague, but okay.” He peered to the right and then pointed. “It’s off limits.” From there you could see a series of ropes that blocked off the building from visitors. “Great.”

“It’s crowded enough here. I’m sure we can sneak in just fine.”

“Of course.” He leaned next to you on his forearms, hands clasped together. “This place is a little spooky.”

“It is. I read a brochure from the hotel lobby. The monks here believe that it’s the gateway to hell. The river beneath us is supposed to represent the Sanzu.” You pointed below you. It was a little spooky, you supposed, but it was also incredibly beautiful.

“I read about that. I also read that there are holy water bathhouses and volcanic cauldrons with crazy colored water.”

“Yeah, and a lake of blood.”

“I hate that, Y/N.” He stuck his tongue out at the idea. You laughed. He was too funny. He had this way of making you feel at least even about the big and often uncomfortable things sometimes. Other times he drove your anxiety through the roof. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those moments. “What do you say that we get to sneaking in and find this thing so that we can have a bit of fun for the rest of the day, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

He took your hand once again and you walked over the bridge and along the stone path. The lanterns were decorated for the festival along with the rest of the shrine. Monks walked about, greeting visitors and answering questions while explaining various attractions. Most visitors, and there were many, were straying from the temple in favor of the white sands or the volcanic cauldrons. You and Kung Lao walked until you reached the ropes before the shrine. You stood there for a time in the shade, waiting for your moment to sneak in unseen.

“Coast is clear,” you whispered and turned to keep watch while Kung Lao snuck into the shrine. Once inside, you waited for your opportunity and followed him. Inside, the building was ancient but to you it seemed oddly brand new. It wasn’t the same shrine that you remembered from your vision. Much had changed since that wicked man had been there.

No one was waiting for you inside the small entryway or in the room beyond. That seemed like the central room, with space for prayer and a dip in the center for dining. The floor was lined with tatami mats and the ceiling was high, windows on the second floor spattering sunlight throughout the room. Halls branched off in each direction and you suddenly felt overwhelmed with choice. It had seemed so much simpler in your vision.

“Lead the way but be cautious. We’re not alone.” Kung Lao spoke in a hushed tone, staying close to you but alert.

“Yeah.” You started through the room and down the closest hallway, checking to see if it was empty first. Kung Lao took your hand and you urged him along with you. Your stomach was in knots and his hand there continued to keep you grounded. Several times you encountered monks going about their business and you had to duck into other rooms or sneak back around corners. You somehow managed to remain unseen, having to huddle together in strange spaces and hide in enclosed areas. It would have been fun had it not been so damn frustrating.

None of it made sense! As you turned down another hall, you sighed in frustration. You’d wound up there twice already. Your gut kept sending you there and back to the central room but there was no indication that it was the same place that the vision had taken place in. Kung Lao suddenly pulled you back into the side room and held you against the wall near the door. There were footsteps in the hall, and you held your breath until they had passed. You made to go back into the hall, but Kung Lao pinned you in place.

“You’re leading us in circles.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like someone’s moving everything around while we’re walking. It doesn’t make any sense. I think I’m going one way and then we’re back to where we started.” It was making you sick to your stomach, as a matter of fact.

“You can do this. Just focus.”

“Kung Lao, you have no idea what’s going on in my head right now. I am focusing.”

“You’re right I don’t. So, tell me.”

“I’m not sure that I have the words to explain that the room we’re looking for should be right around the corner but then it isn’t.” It really was disorienting to expect to be in one place and end up in another. “It shouldn’t have been this far back but also this place is ten times bigger than it had been in my vision.”

“I need you to try still.”

You were mixed up. It was like someone was moving rooms in your head and before you knew it, you had once again led him back into the central room which made both you and Kung Lao groan in annoyance.

“Oh good. We’re back. I was worried.”

“It should be right here, but everything looks so different!”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not okay, Kung Lao. It should be right here. I wish I could just show you.” The frustration was radiating off you, you were sure. “I can’t-”

“Is someone there?” A voice from somewhere down the hall called and footsteps approached from a distance.

“Fu…” Kung Lao whispered and then grabbed you and searched for somewhere to hide. The closest hall was too far. You were caught. “Don’t panic.” He urged you to the wall with surprising care and you made a sound of surprise. What did he mean don’t panic? You were instantly panicking. Don’t panic? What was wrong with him? He leaned against you and tilted your chin up and his head toward you like he was going to kiss you, obscuring you both with his hat. “Act natural, Y/N.” His lips brushed against your cheek, just next to your lips. “I swear, you’re terrible at this.” You were stiff as a board, so he had every right to scold you, but also he was pretending to kiss you so what the hell were you supposed to do with that? What was natural in this case?

You gave him a swift but soft punch in the gut and he laughed against your cheek in return. That made you feel a bit better. He lifted his head just enough and you peered toward the door nearby, waiting for the monk that would inevitably kick you out. You could have had time to hide at this rate. Kung Lao’s lips were pressed against your cheek and they were soft even if it was just in a mock kiss close enough to your lips to look like you were sneaking a private moment.

You peered around the corner, thinking maybe you were in the clear. Kung Lao did the same and when you turned back to tell him that maybe the monk had decided to turn away, you found him extremely close to you. Intimately so. His dark eyes were serious and that always scared you for whatever reason. He tilted your chin toward him and all other thoughts slipped out of your brain.

What were you doing there? Where were you anyway? And why? Did it matter?

Not right now it didn’t.

His hand was on your chin, thumb brushing just below your lip, urging your lips to part just enough. You dared not breathe to break the tension of the moment. The sneaking and searching were gone completely from your thoughts. All that was left was the boy that you’d so admired in your youth grown into a handsome man with his hand against the wall at your side, the other inextricably lost below your lower lip.

His eyes were searching you, but you dared not look back into them for fear of what you might find, for fear of what it might reveal to you. His breath warmed your lips before they were on yours, parting them like a blossom in a soft and singular tender movement. A far superior kiss than the one he’d pretended to give you for the sake of saving your skin.

His lips were sweet. Not like sugar or candy, but sweet like the lingering taste of honey at the bottom of a cup of tea. It was a feeling of sweetness rather than a flavor. The moment was still and soft, his lips treasuring yours as though they were something sacred and special. They pulled back just enough from yours that you could feel your lips resisting to part as if they had minds of their own. His eyes were searching you still for answers and in wonder, but you didn’t dare meet them. Yet, you could feel his gaze and beneath your fingertips, that had betrayed you and now rested on his chest, you could feel his heart beating almost as hard as yours.

His breath graced your lips again, but you dared not breathe. You wanted to say something, even just a whisper of his name, but no words would come and you sat there, lips parted in waiting, avoiding his eyes, hand clutching the cloth at his chest, unsure of where you even were or why. This was Kung Lao.

Your Kung Lao.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as they were on yours again, but the softness was gone, though there was something about them that was still sweet even so. The force of his kiss pressed you against the wall, leaving you no escape- not that you wanted to escape. This was a moment that the ten-year-old inside your head had both longed for and not understood. You would have been a fool not to return his kiss, to taste and experience his lips the way that he was with yours and so you did. You kissed him and it was like a storm inside you beyond your control, building with electricity with every moment that passed.

There was a tender moment of acceptance where it felt as though time stood still. The soft moment faded quickly to frenzied desperation. There was no space left between you. Kung Lao was pressed against you, body warm and strong, hat nearly pushed back off of his head as he favored kisses over his possessions. Your hands moved up his chest, to the sides of his neck, fingertips then tangling in the short, messy tendrils of his hair at the base of his hairline. Your heart was doing flips, brain completely turned off to anything that had happened before this, even if somewhere in the distant reaches of your mind you could hear your instincts telling you that you had to stop. Whatever muting effect had been triggered in your brain had seemed to impact Kung Lao as well.

In one swift motion, fluid and strong, his hands were at your thighs and he had lifted you and pressed you against the wall, urging your legs to wrap around him. Your arms slipped naturally around his shoulders, pulling him closer between hot and increasingly sloppy kisses.

“Excuse me?”

Ah, yes. The monk. That was right.

You stopped kissing him.

Kung Lao’s lips finally pulled from yours and you could feel that your own were left slightly swollen from the desperation and passion of those precious few moments. When had you gotten so tangled up in each other? His chest was rising and falling against yours quickly and even though he’d pulled back his lips lingered close to yours as if to consider defying the monk further.

“My apologies.” The monk sounded embarrassed and bowed multiple times. “This area is closed to the public for the festival.”

You finally managed to regain your thoughts and untangled yourself from Kung Lao. You placed your feet on the ground and cleared your throat though your face was likely as red as his robes. He released you from his grip though he made no effort to step away. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and forced your brain to work.

“Is it?” You sounded surprised and were grateful that you had. You hadn’t expected to be a very good actor after all that, but you had been surprised to be interrupted and also confused as to where your mind had gone. It was more feigning innocence than lying. The monk nodded and looked as though he sincerely felt bad for interrupting you. “I’m sorry. We had no idea.”

“It’s no worries. I will happily escort you back to the festivities. Follow me.”

“Sorry about that.” Kung Lao, who you had never seen at a loss for words, seemed to finally regain himself. Just like that, he was back to the goof he’d been when you’d first arrived. “We were just sneaking off to have a private moment. Didn’t realize it was off limits.”

“It happens all the time. You’d be surprised.” The monk led you back through the central room and into the entryway. You elbowed Kung Lao as you followed the monk and he laughed beneath his breath. Once outside the monk bowed to you and then left you alone. You leaned your head back and stared into the sunny blue sky with a sigh. You needed a new plan. That one had gone off the rails in a way you hadn’t expected.

#kung lao #mk kung lao #kung lao x reader #liu kang x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #kiss #romance #fluff #mortal kombat 2021 #mortal kombat movie #kung lao x you #kung lao/reader #kung lao/you #max huang #ludi lin #angst

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

Hey, so about that "Macaque fucks around with Tang pretending to be Pigsy"... How about a continuation? Maybe with 6 and 27?

I love both reformed fanon/AU Macaque and evil asshole canon Macaque equally, but I don't write the later nearly enough so I am extremely happy you gave me a great reason to write him being an absolute asshole yet again! The original prompt in question!

Mild warning: Someone gets beat up pretty bad.

Let’s make a deal shall we?/Tell me what I can do to help.

It took only half an hour of walking the city streets on the way to Sandy's house boat, after leaving MK's apartment through the window to avoid Pigsy and his anger and fear disintegrated into sorrow that left his hands shaking from the quickly approaching adrenaline crash, for Tang to realize he hadn't been thinking things through. At all.

He was so sure of what he had seen. But... the more he thought over it... it made less and less sense. Something was wrong, and he had been so sure of that when those pictures surfaced.

But he had seen it, he had seen Pigsy with DBK! He saw him attack their- HIS son. MK. He'd watched the man he'd fallen for attack the person he considered his son while looking him in the eyes. And he knew that Pigsy had been hiding something from him, from all of them. He'd seen the demon accidentally snap metal utensils in half, warp pots and pans by grabbing them too hard. He knew Pigsy was hiding how powerful he was, had for years.

Would he hide something like this, though? Could he?

Tang hugged the bundle he had taken from the apartment closer to his chest. Should he have tried to question Pigsy before leaving? Maybe-

"What are you doing out here?" A voice suddenly broke through his thoughts, drawing a startled scream from the scholar as he jumped and looked around him. "Whoa, it's just me!"

A figure jumped down from somewhere and landed in front of him, and once the lights of the streetlamps illuminated the person before him Tang breathed a sigh of relief.

"Monkey King," Tang said with a smile, relaxing his posture from his ready to run stance. The sight of the immortal being was like a light in a dark cave. "You got my text! Good, good..." He frowned down at the bundle, holding it tighter. "I'm sorry, I-I couldn't..."

"I get it," Wukong eased Tang's worry with a smile, gesturing to him. "Are you alright?" He frowned, looking off into the distance. "Did anyone..?"

"No!" Tang shook his head, and in the back of his mind he wished that someone had followed him out here, a certain someone. At least maybe Wukong could have gotten some answers out of him. "No, no one followed me to Pigsy's, and he didn't follow me either..."

The Monkey King's frown softened and he leaned in toward Tang, tilting his head with a grimace. "You don't look so hot... Are you ok? Is there anything you need before we regroup?"

"No, no just," he chuckled, running a hand through his already wind mussed hair. "I'm ok... As ok as I can be after all that..."

"Come on, Tang," Wukong said softly, voice full of concern. "Tell me what I can do to help."

Tang froze and looked up at the other in front of him, really looked at him. When Wukong went to step closer with his hands stretched out he flinched back out of instinct and cursed himself in his mind as the Monkey King's eyes widened before his face twisted into a smirk.

"Well damn," he laughed lowly, head tilting to the side as the smirk get more amused and he relaxed his posture into something that was not like the Monkey King at all. "What gave me away, scholar?"

"The real Sun Wukong doesn't call me by my name," Tang said as evenly as he could, knowing it was pointless not to be honest. Knowing that he had messed up. Severely. He should have calmed down, thought things through first, not lashed out and run off the way he did. Because whoever had hurt MK wanted him to believe he was Pigsy on purpose.

And that person was right in front of him, laughing heartily as if Tang had just told him the best joke he had heard in years.

"Oh, OH, I-HA! I can't believe I forgot! Yeah, oh yes that sounds like Peaches alright," the fake Wukong said with a smirk. "It's always 'bud' or 'kid' or 'pal' or 'Mango'-" He scowled instantly at this, standing up straight and menacing and powerful and clenching his fists. "Unless he's scared for you or despises you he never calls you by your name. Hmmmm... Which one would it be for you I wonder?" The smirk was back again, in full force, and Tang had to keep himself from trembling as the fake Wukong took a step forward. "Huh, scholar? Want to find out? If he gets scared enough for your life to call you by name?"

And Tang ran.

Tang ran a whole five feet before something grabbed him by his hair and slammed his face into the concrete with a chuckle.

"Really? You were going to try that!?" The voice no longer belonged to Wukong, instead to someone Tang didn't recognize at all, and he regretted not taking into consideration that shapeshifters of this caliber were still around. The person wrenched his head back, and before Tang could register anything else a fist slammed into his head, adding to the pain that was already reverberating inside his skull. "There we go, normal human like you can't handle much so this should be enough to keep you cooperat-"

Tang spat at his attacker, spat the blood pooling in his mouth from where he had bitten the inside of his cheek right in his face.

The face of who he could now see was a monkey demon. A macaque, to be specific. And if his knowledge of the old tales served him correctly this particular one went by Six-Eared Macaque.

Unfortunately, this only frustrated Macaque and he was rewarded with another hefty punch to the face that Tang was certain would leave him with at least a black eye as he heard his already cracked glasses shatter. His vision swam, both from the lack of visual assistance and from what was surely a forming concussion.

"Guess you're not friends with the Kid for nothing," Macaque growled out, standing back up and pulling Tang with him by the hair. "Doesn't matter to me what state you're in, but DBK wants some extra leverage anyway so I may as well take you and your little package." He smirked, at least Tang thought he did, as he ripped the bundle out of the scholar's arms and let the sheet it was wrapped in fall away. "This artifact should provide him with just enough of a power boost to make this little scheme of his worth while... but..."

A shard of ice dug deep down in Tang's chest as Macaque's tail lifted a shard of his glasses up to his eye, just enough for him to see the monkey demon was smirking.

"I'm not particularly invested in what DBK or his brat have up their sleeves. Or the kid in general, really, for that matter. You recognize me, I can tell, so you probably have a good idea of exactly who I want. And maybe, if you can help me out... I'll help you get your son back. So. Let’s make a deal shall we?"

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #tang #six eared macaque #warning: blood #i love writing macaque being the evil asshole he is #prompt fill

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foulserpent · 3 years

Text

oh yeah the specific Fuckup that happened to martin during daedric magic era was like, the culmination of a long string of issues where the people he was with died, most of which wrent directly his fault. but the specific one that messed him up was pretty much entirely his fault

martin was genuinely into it for the purpose of augmenting his magical abilities but did fall into the sanguine cult practices as well (bc he was like college kid aged lol) and spent a lot of his time just completely fucked up. and this guy judicael was with him and had been kind of a reluctant participant the whole time. martins also increasingly feeling like sick and kind of violated with just the fact that hes getting heavily intoxicated and doing god knows what on an almost daily basis, but kind of shoves it down bc hes also got this daedric artifact now and is experimenting with it (and i think literally every daedric artifact has functions and abilities beyond just the ingame ones, so its not just like ‘conjure dremora’ for the sanguine rose).

and on this particular night him and judicael get into an argument and he just storms off and starts messing around with the rose while pissed off. judicael starts coming towards him to talk and martin is just like ‘piss off’ and the rose kind of “misfires” and kills judicael.

and this is IN sanguines realm. martin tries to heal him, but hes dead so he panics and flees and judicael’s body is like, lost. and theyre both young guys at that point and he didnt tell judicael’s parents what happened until wayyyyy too late. and he almost wasnt sure whether or not it had happened and spent a while trying to pretend it was just some fucked up false memory hallucination until hes able to accept that it did happen.

and this is the root of most of his issues and he also isnt really able to process this bc hes also struggling with like substance abuse issues at this time, and it all bundles into this baggage of guilt. like anything that reminds him too much of his time in the cult is associated with the guilt. and its the reason for some of his issues in-game but largely pertinent to like my personal characterization. etc

#like after he got clean he spent a long stretch of time like abstinent from everything #which is no longer the case by the oblivion crisis like he drinks (usually moderately) and hes had a couple of relationships #and he also understands very well that he has nothing to be ashamed of in terms of dealing with addiction but he still has #a lot of guilt over it and feels like hes slipping or fucking up if he lets himself have 'too much' sometimes #'too much' meaning like anything good or pleasurable

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 41: Statement #0170703. Recording of a conversation between Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, and the staff of the Archives.

[CLICK]

ELIAS/JONAH

I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here.

[CHORUS OF MUTTERED GRUMBLES AND GROANS. ELIAS/JONAH CHUCKLES]

Yes, all right, perhaps a bit melodramatic, but—

PAST ARCHIVIST

I assume you called us here to apologize.

ELIAS/JONAH

Apologize?

PAST MARTIN

For not telling us Jon had been kidnapped.

TIM

Or, you know, anything else useful about this place. Like about the spooky fear beings that roam the earth hunting for unsuspecting victims. Or the fact that every statement we take or read feeds one of them. Or that it’s going to start changing us. You know. Take your pick.

ELIAS/JONAH

With regards to not telling you what had happened to Jon…it would have made little difference. Martin’s research, at least, would have been sloppier—

[PAST MARTIN SPUTTERS INDIGNANTLY]

—and going to the police would have served little purpose. Certainly they wouldn’t have been able to locate him. Even I wasn’t able to do that.

TIM

And I’m sure you were trying so very hard.

ELIAS/JONAH

I do have other things to do, but I assure you I was doing everything in my power to locate you, Jon.

As for not telling you anything else…it was important that you discover it for yourselves. It’s why I didn’t accept your application for the Archivist position, Sasha.

SASHA

Excuse me?

ELIAS/JONAH

You were Gertrude’s choice of successor, of course. I know the two of you were…close. I couldn’t be sure how much she had told you of what goes on in the Archives—what the job entails. Starting this job with too much knowledge would be dangerous.

SASHA

Bull. Shit.

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) Sasha.

SASHA

If you were that concerned about how much I knew, you wouldn’t have accepted Jon’s request to have me as an assistant. You’d have worried that I would have told him everything I learned from Gertrude on day one.

ELIAS/JONAH

On the contrary. I knew you wouldn’t.

Sasha. You are…very much like Gertrude. And like Gertrude, you keep your secrets close to your chest, don’t you? As Archivist, you would have kept your secrets, but they would have informed your direction of your assistants. You would have known why you were telling them to do things, but they would have been fully ignorant. A tactic which, I am afraid, did not always serve her well, and would have been equally ill-advised had you done so.

But as an assistant? In the first place, your actions would be limited. In the second place, I knew you would be frustrated with not having been chosen, and as a result, you would be more inclined to keep your own counsel. And then…well. I had no doubt that as you watched Jon fumble along, stumble over things you knew coming in, and come to his own conclusions, your curiosity would take over. How much would he learn on his own? How far would he get? How much could you do without his instruction, or knowledge? How much assistance would he need?

And what would happen if he was wrong?

SASHA

Wait. You assigned me as Jon’s assistant so I could…gloat?

ELIAS/JONAH

Of course not, Sasha. I assigned you as Jon’s assistant so there would be someone with enough knowledge to keep the rest of the team safe, and perhaps…direct things if need be.

SASHA

Gertrude hardly told me anything. We talked about my research, not hers.

ELIAS/JONAH

Yes. I have noticed that the one who seems to know the most about what’s going on…is you, Martin.

I did tell you knowledge can be dangerous. As can knowledge…ineptly applied.

PAST MARTIN

What’s that supposed to mean?

ELIAS/JONAH

I am aware of your actions on Friday afternoon. It’s quite fortunate that most of the other departments chose to send everyone home early, or the consequences might have been…disastrous. Had the creature encountered anyone else—

PAST MARTIN

Wait. W-wait. You knew?

ELIAS/JONAH

I’ve told you before, nothing escapes my notice at the Institute.

PAST MARTIN

Not about—that, that thing killed Diana and took her place—how long ago? Months? Have you known this whole time?

ELIAS/JONAH

…Hm. That’s an interesting sensation. Surprisingly pleasant. Tingly…but almost freeing.

PAST MARTIN

W-wh—? (realization hits) Oh, Christ.

ELIAS/JONAH

Please be aware, Martin, I am doing you the courtesy of answering honestly, but I do so of my own free will.

Yes. I knew the first time I encountered that creature that it was pretending to be Diana Caxton, and that the real Diana was dead.

SASHA

And you did nothing?

ELIAS/JONAH

What, exactly, would you have me do? Fire it?

What did any of you do when you found out?

PAST MARTIN

I thought you said you were “aware of my actions on Friday afternoon.”

ELIAS/JONAH

I would advise you to mind your tone, Martin.

TIM

(angrily) Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.

ELIAS/JONAH

Now, really, Tim.

PAST ARCHIVIST

For God’s sake, Elias! For almost two years now we’ve been—fumbling around in the dark, stumbling from revelation to revelation. We’ve barely survived most of them—

ELIAS/JONAH

You underestimate your own resourcefulness.

PAST ARCHIVIST

—and all this time, you’ve been sitting up here, what, watching? You could have warned us any time, a-about any of it.

TIM

You knew Jon had been kidnapped and acted like it was just work-related. You let Martin destroy that table—

SASHA

—which you told Jon to do ages ago, when it was first delivered—

TIM

—and just fucked off for the weekend. Bet it was a shocker to you that he came in for work this morning.

ELIAS/JONAH

I admit, that was a bit—

[LOUD BANGING NOISE, LIKE TIM HAS JUST SLAMMED BOTH HANDS ON THE DESK]

TIM

Give me one good reason not to reach over this desk and strangle you.

ELIAS/JONAH

Now, Tim.

TIM

No jury in the world would convict me. And even if they did, I’d take the jail time if it meant being rid of you.

ELIAS/JONAH

Kill me, and all of you die as well.

PAST ARCHIVIST

What?

ELIAS/JONAH

I am the beating heart of this Institute. The nexus through which all of its power flows.

If I die, so does every single one of you. Every employee, every single person tied to the Institute. Gone in a single stroke.

[A SHOCKED PAUSE, THEN TIM STARTS LAUGHING, A BITTER, SLIGHTLY INCREDULOUS LAUGH]

TIM

I don’t believe you. Even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to make that kind of deal.

ELIAS/JONAH

Then prove it.

TIM

What?

ELIAS/JONAH

Go on, Tim. Kill me. Kill me and watch everyone you love die, right before your eyes, in the seconds before you do.

Here.

[DRAWER SLIDES OPEN]

[SEVERAL DIFFERENT SOUNDS OF ALARM]

ELIAS/JONAH

Take it. Much more effective than strangling me.

TIM

I—

ELIAS/JONAH

I never reloaded it after using it on Gertrude Robinson, but I never unloaded it either. Five shots remaining. One should be sufficient, though.

[SOUND OF PISTOL BEING COCKED]

PAST MARTIN

Tim…

ELIAS/JONAH

Do it, Tim.

Shoot me.

Call my bluff.

[LONG SILENCE]

[GUN SAFETY CLICKS BACK INTO PLACE]

[SOFT THUNK ON TABLETOP]

ELIAS/JONAH

I knew you didn’t have it in you.

[DRAWER SLIDES CLOSED]

Now then. If we’re finished with the histrionics and posturing, shall we get on with the discussion?

PAST ARCHIVIST

…Fine. Fine. What do you want?

ELIAS/JONAH

First of all. Martin.

What did happen to that creature after you destroyed the table? I thought I heard you telling Jon that you…smote it. Is that accurate?

PAST MARTIN

…I don’t know.

ELIAS/JONAH

Don’t lie to me.

PAST MARTIN

I’m not! I don’t know. I-I was—it tracked me down to the Archives. It chased Tim and me through the shelves a-and we couldn’t get to the doors, so we went down to the tunnels. It had us cornered. I—I closed my eyes and—

I honestly can’t tell you what happened after that. There was a roar and a scream, and when I opened my eyes, it was gone.

I-it might still be…down there somewhere. I don’t know. I d-don’t know if it’s something I did or something Tim did or something about the tunnels. I just know we were alone and clear to get out.

ELIAS/JONAH

…Fine.

To business, then. You know what it was?

PAST MARTIN

It—Gertrude called it the Not-Them. A creature that kills its victims and takes their place. It alters memories, pictures, recordings…anything that shows what the person was before.

Except…it doesn’t affect Polaroids, for some reason. Or magnetic tape recordings. A-and sometimes it leaves one or two people to remember what the person really looked like. It feeds off of that fear.

SASHA

We had a statement—one of the first ones we ever used the tape recorder for. A woman whose colleague was taken by one.

PAST ARCHIVIST

It’s a creature of the Stranger.

ELIAS/JONAH

Good! What do you know about the Stranger?

PAST ARCHIVIST

It—good God, Elias, really?

ELIAS/JONAH

It’s important that you learn this on your own, Jon. But I do need to know what you have learned.

[THE PAST ARCHIVIST SIGHS IN EXASPERATION]

PAST ARCHIVIST

It’s the fear of—the uncanny. The unknown. Things hidden and unseen. Masks, mannequins…clowns. For a long time, one of the primary figures involved was Gregor Orsinov, who ran a circus known as the Circus of the Other that toured over much of central and eastern Europe. For some time he was accompanied by Nikolai Denikin, former owner of that Calliaphone up in Artifact Storage.

TIM

“Be still, for there is strange music.”

PAST MARTIN

It’s the antithesis to…the Institute.

To us.

ELIAS/JONAH

Well. Perhaps not quite to all of you. After all, Jon is the Archivist, while the rest of you—

PAST ARCHIVIST

—have apparently helped enough to draw the Beholder’s attention.

ELIAS/JONAH

You really believe that.

PAST ARCHIVIST

Unless that ability to—to force people to answer your questions comes from something else, then yes!

SASHA

It’s not just Martin, either.

Ask them. I’ve been picking up the habit lately of just—Knowing things. Plucking secrets out of people’s minds and whatnot.

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah. I’m sure you enjoy that.

[SASHA INHALES SHARPLY]

TIM

Stop.

ELIAS/JONAH

And what of you, Tim? What has the Beholder gifted you with?

TIM

I can hear your sarcasm perfectly well, thank you, sir.

PAST MARTIN

(softly) Tim.

ELIAS/JONAH

Don’t think I can’t tell how resistant you are to it. To its pull, to what it wants. I don’t even need any powers I may have been granted to tell that.

I knew you would be the one to fight it the hardest. It’s why I assigned you to the Archives. Someone to argue, to push back, to resist the knowledge at every turn and give Jon more reason to look into—

TIM

(angrily) I can see when someone’s encountered one of the fears.

[A BRIEF SILENCE; TIM SEEMS TO HAVE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO CATCH ELIAS/JONAH OFF-GUARD]

ELIAS/JONAH

…How?

TIM

Colors. Call them auras if you want. I’ve been calling them…marks.

We’ve come across a few different…fear things. Not just the Beholder and the Stranger. There’s Jane Prentiss and her worms—we decided on calling that the Corruption, right?

PAST MARTIN

Right. A-and there’s the Lightless Flame, and…Michael. The, the Distortion?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Michael—well, it’s going by Helen now—is the Distortion, but according to…her, she’s a small part of something called the Spiral.

TIM

Yeah, well, whatever that is, it’s yellow. The Beholder is green. Can’t miss that, it’s fucking everywhere here. Hurts the eyes if you look at it too hard.

The Corruption is this weird sort of yellow-green. Like something sick. Like pus and rot. I can see it on Martin sometimes, his scars glow. Kind of weird, really. The Stranger’s more of an indigo.

There are more colors, but we’re still kind of sorting out all the fears. No idea how many there are.

Yet.

ELIAS/JONAH

Well. You’ve all certainly learned a great deal.

And I’m sure there’s more for you to learn. Hopefully you’ll have time.

PAST ARCHIVIST

And just what is that supposed to mean?

ELIAS/JONAH

The Unknowing.

Have you been made aware of it?

PAST ARCHIVIST

(tightly) Almost constantly.

ELIAS/JONAH

Then you know what it is.

SASHA

It’s the Stranger’s ritual. All of the entities have them. Something to bring that fear into the world and let it—no.

Not bring it into the world. Remake the world in its image. Craft our world so that it…belongs. They’re not quite suited for our environment.

TIM

Like if a human wanted to crawl into an anthill.

ELIAS/JONAH

A simplistic metaphor, but…essentially, yes. Beyond that, well, you’ll have to discover what it entails for yourself.

PAST MARTIN

It’s a dance.

ELIAS/JONAH

You just know that, do you?

TIM

I mean—literally every being connected with the Stranger we’ve met has called it the Dance. Gertrude’s the one that termed it the Unknowing on her tapes.

PAST MARTIN

No, the—

PAST ARCHIVIST

(overlapping) Wh-what? I—Orsinov definitely called it a dance. She said she was—th-there was a skin. A gorilla skin, at the Trophy Room. She wanted to wear it to “dance the world new”, she said. And she wanted to—

Who else called it that?

PAST MARTIN

The Not-Diana. When it was stalking us through the Archives.

She—it said something about me making “a lovely partner for the Dance.” But it said it was a shame I’d miss the Unknowing, too, so maybe that is what it’s actually called.

PAST ARCHIVIST

(softly) Oh, God.

TIM

It doesn’t matter, does it? Whatever the hell it’s called, we need to stop it.

Right?

ELIAS/JONAH

Yes. That is the task before you.

TIM

Great! How?

ELIAS/JONAH

That you will have to discover for yourselves.

[GENERAL CHORUS OF EXASPERATED GRUMBLES]

As Martin says, the Stranger is our opposition. It is the unknown, secrecy and lies. To simply tell you how to stop it…I suspect it wouldn’t work.

PAST ARCHIVIST

And I’m sure it wouldn’t please your master.

ELIAS/JONAH

Our master, Jon.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I never chose this.

None of us did.

ELIAS/JONAH

You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see. Our world is made of choices, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them nonetheless.

PAST ARCHIVIST

(sighs heavily) Fine. What now?

ELIAS/JONAH

I believe I made it perfectly clear—

SASHA

(interrupting impatiently) How long do we have?

ELIAS/JONAH

For what?

SASHA

Do you have any idea when the Unknowing is scheduled for? How long do we have to figure out how to stop it?

ELIAS/JONAH

I can’t see the future, Sasha. That it’s coming is obvious, from the fact that the Stranger has been gathering strength. When it’s coming…well.

I suspect you have until the preparations are complete. But that’s all I can say for certain.

TIM

(under his breath) Brilliant.

PAST ARCHIVIST

Is there anything you can tell us?

ELIAS/JONAH

You seem to be doing quite well with your research on your own. I’m sure Gertrude had notes on it.

Perhaps your next task should be to find them.

SASHA

Of course. That won’t be hard at all. She made everything so simple and easy to navigate…

PAST ARCHIVIST

Sasha.

ELIAS/JONAH

Yes, well, I’m sure you’re all up to the task. I suggest you get to it.

Jon, a word in private?

PAST MARTIN

We’ll just…be outside, Jon.

ELIAS/JONAH

That’s hardly necessary—

TIM

The hell it isn’t.

[DOOR OPENS, SHUFFLING FEET, DOOR CLOSES]

ELIAS/JONAH

You seem upset.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I can’t imagine what gave you that impression.

ELIAS/JONAH

I realize this has all been a bit much for you. Ordinarily I would suggest you take a day or two off work to recover, but this is rather pressing.

Your team has managed…adequately in the last two weeks—

PAST ARCHIVIST

(dismayed) Two weeks?

ELIAS/JONAH

—but they need your, mm, guiding hand, shall we say.

PAST ARCHIVIST

They—we need direction, Elias. So far we’ve been striking out at random and hoping we get lucky. Luck won’t carry us much farther. All we’ve managed to do is survive.

ELIAS/JONAH

That is actually quite the accomplishment, Jon.

PAST ARCHIVIST

Tim has been to one of the Strangers’ strongholds. They know him, they know his face. And if the—the Not-Them was after Martin, if it was threatening to wear him at the Unknowing, the Stranger is aware of him, too. The only one who might be safe from it is Sasha. I can’t—

ELIAS/JONAH

Ah, that reminds me. I have something here for you.

PAST ARCHIVIST

What?

[DRAWER SLIDES OPEN]

[RUSTLING OF PAPERS]

ELIAS/JONAH

A statement, in the form of a letter.

Read it.

PAST ARCHIVIST

I will.

ELIAS/JONAH

No, Jon. Now.

[DEEP INHALE FROM THE PAST ARCHIVIST]

[SILENCE, BROKEN ONLY BY THE FAINT RATTLE OF PAPER, LIKE IT’S BEING HELD BY SOMEONE WHOSE HANDS ARE SHAKING]

ELIAS/JONAH

Well?

PAST ARCHIVIST

Did he?

Leave him there?

ELIAS/JONAH

…

(does he sound faintly disappointed?) He did.

He got that letter, oh, yes, and was on good terms with Mordechai Lukas. He could have interceded, perhaps even saved him, but he did not. And it was not out of malice, or because he lacked affection for Barnabas Bennett: he retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. Bones that you can still find in my office, if you know where to look. No, it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all.

That’s what this place is, Jon, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard. This, at least, Gertrude understood.

PAST ARCHIVIST

…

Never.

I’m not stupid, Elias. Every time a Lukas comes up, the theme has been the same: Isolation. Separation. Loneliness. That’s what they thrive on. That’s what this is, that’s what Bennett was punished with.

I won’t fall into that trap. I won’t let myself become convinced that I don’t need anyone else. That’s the easiest path to becoming isolated, and I won’t take that risk.

I don’t believe I have friends. I know it. And I refuse to stand by and watch them suffer. If you honestly hoped I was the sort to do that, then you made the wrong choice in Archivist. I would never choose knowledge over someone I care about.

ELIAS/JONAH

You truly believe that.

PAST ARCHIVIST

It’s more than belief.

ELIAS/JONAH

Well. Far be it from me to disillusion you.

Just be mindful, Jon. Be careful of whom you allow to know who—or what—is important to you, or you think is important to you. Because if there is something you desire more than knowledge…it can be used against you.

PAST ARCHIVIST

Is that a threat?

ELIAS/JONAH

A warning.

Look, despite what you seem to think, I am on your side here. We all want to stop the world from ending, don’t we?

PAST ARCHIVIST

…Fine.

Is there anything else?

ELIAS/JONAH

No. That should be sufficient.

Go get something to eat, Jon. You must be…hungry.

[CLICK]

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #the formatting's better on AO3 #emotional abuse tw #manipulation tw #elias bouchard is a rat bastard #getting a lot of use out of that tag

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h-sleepingirl · 4 years

Text

Personal Reflection on Hypnosis and Magic

I was fairly obsessed with magic as a child. I grew up in a secular household -- my mother’s side was mixed Christian but she didn’t inherit the beliefs and my father’s side was Jewish but not observant. We did Christmas and Chanukah and Easter for a little while but just as a cultural practice; we never went to church or synagogue and we never even had conversations about God.

I liked fantasy novels a lot, and I liked Harry Potter, and for a bit of time around age 8 I was making a concerted effort to transform into a unicorn. I found sticks outside and pretended they were wands with the neighborhood kids. Fairly standard. It was no surprise that when I started wondering if I should attempt to connect to spirituality in some way as a teen I discovered Neopaganism and Wicca. It was a lot of shy reading in the 130 section at the library and keeping a Book of Shadows and learning how to meditate and all the bells and whistles of ritual and correspondences.

I remember sneaking outside and kneeling in the grass in the backyard under the moon, I remember going to Salem for the first time. I felt like sometimes maybe I was communicating with gods or divine powers but I never was able to buy in, despite completing my year-and-a-day dedication and making the actions a part of my life for several years, on and off. Starting to smoke weed in college refreshed my curiosity and reinforced belief to some degree, of course, but eventually, I had to come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t something I should force myself to do if I didn’t truly feel a connection to it.

But though I dropped the label and identification, the rituals of Wicca (and Feri witchcraft, which I had started exploring) had filled a role for me that childhood religion does for most. They became something I was comfortable conceptualizing, something that I had gained innate familiarity with, even if I ultimately eschewed the spiritual and metaphysical.

Hypnosis was never connected to that, for me; it felt sacrilegious to make an association between something that was supposed to be sacred and divine and something that was, for a long time, a shameful part of my sexuality. But it was around the same time that I was earnestly practicing magic that I began really studying and doing hypnosis.

A partner of mine at that time -- with whom I was doing hypnosis -- asked me, “Isn’t hypnotic trance the same thing as meditation?”

Naively, I vehemently disagreed.

The big-name NLP practitioners are obsessed with calling what they do “magic.” “The Structure of Magic,” “Frogs Into Princes,” etc. Their books are filled to the brim with the metaphor that people who use language effectively are wizards, because language is a representation of the world and has the capability to transform (or “trance-form,” as they say).

I struggled with hypnosis for a long time -- both trancing others and being tranced myself -- for a variety of reasons. But one of them was that I always felt like other people wanted to do stuff with hypnosis, while I just wanted to do hypnosis itself. For a while even when I was more comfortable in my skin, I described myself as “boring” -- I liked things like fractionation and really deep trance and control, but I struggled with articulating if I had attractions to specific activities. Doll play? Sure, I guess that’s fun. Oh, is the induction over already? Ok…

This mirrored an issue I had while practicing Wicca -- spells were always meant to do something, invite love, heal, connect with the divine, whatever. But while I often wanted to do magic, I had a difficult time deciding on what to do with it. This was made even more complex when I realized I was likely stuck as a nonbeliever -- why did I sometimes return to the rituals, and what was I trying to achieve? How could I incorporate it into my life without feeling disingenuous?

Even up until a year ago, when I tried out tarot and kept asking the cards, “What is my relationship with magic?” -- twofold, looking for an answer (that never came), as well as to have the opportunity to simply try to read cards when I had no actual pressing questions I could think of (ironic).

Bandler et al, as well, work within a model where goals and change are the purpose of magic.

What I was seeking, the whole time, was not using any of these processes for anything, but simply to feel the thing I felt while doing them that was both difficult to illustrate and uniquely recognizable, unlike anything else.

Once I realized this, I used to try to describe it in hypnosis as that I wanted to focus on the induction, or that I didn’t care what we did, or that “change” wasn’t important to me. But that’s not accurate, either. Transformation, manifestation sates that desire when done in a certain way -- surely then I think that NLP perfectly describes my model?

My hesitation there is that I think for myself, it is the pure exhilaration from doing the thing that is what feels like the sweet spot, and it’s not dependent on what direction it goes, what form it takes, or what goal is being achieved.

For me, that feeling of “doing magic” and “doing hypnosis” are completely interchangeable. It is a pure thrill. It is a specific feeling in my mind and body that I can attempt to describe but can never fully enunciate. It changes and shifts but it is always recognizable on some level.

It is much more like doing recreational drugs than it is about prescribing something. Purely hedonistically, I am seeking a high.

I don’t believe in magic. I have had a handful of experiences in my life that have made me deeply question that at times, and they are experiences that I have never reconciled, but that is sort of besides the point. Nothing has ever pushed me into a place where I am able to fully embrace the concept that magic exists in any real sense.

But when I do hypnosis, it is impossible not to work within this model. How else am I supposed to describe what it feels like when I look at someone and know what they are thinking, or I just imagine my will suppressing theirs and their eyes flutter, or I think about what I want and my mouth starts moving elegantly in a way that makes it happen? In kinesthetic hypnosis, it is almost too much. My muscle memory is to do things like manifest energy flowing into and through my fingers, affecting my partner, and it was years of trying rituals like blue fire Feri meditations that made that so easy to feel.

It is not that I can make an easy statement like “hypnosis is magic.” It is not literally true. But as a metaphor, it holds a lot of potency. And magic is a powerful and ubiquitous metaphor; it is culturally ingrained in us in the stories we tell and our history. It is vague; there is no universal definition of it, which allows us to stretch it extensively and apply it wherever we feel it fits.

Metaphor itself is a type of magic, and this is one area where my thoughts about the metaphysical qualities of hypnosis shine through. Magic is about symbolism. We use objects, words, actions that we assign meaning to in order to manifest something. Herbs are purported to have affinities for different concepts so we include them in ritual -- and it’s not just that those affinities are inherent; there is meaning behind the correspondences that works best when we understand it. Similarly, when we are attempting to relate a concept to someone, we often do so indirectly, by telling a story, by creating metaphors or associations.

I don’t believe in magic, so to some degree, when I do it, that action is metaphorical. I am using actions that I don’t literally believe to hold any power in order to find a feeling; I am telling a story about a journey in order to find a real destination. This holds true to one of my beliefs, that symbols themselves hold little to no objective meaning. NLP and Alfred Korzybski say, “The map is not the territory; the word is not the thing; this is not a pipe; there is no objective truth.” Our entire world is made of symbols and metaphors that we all have to buy into in order to function as humans. We assign values to things that intrinsically have much different or nonexistent value -- prices, nostalgia, connotation. A magical symbol, in my eyes, is only as powerful as the connections we’re able to make with it in our minds. Color associations are symbolic. The action of casting a circle is symbolic.

Words are symbols as well, and I do drink the Kool-aid with NLP on this, to some degree. I think about how words are dependent on a vast, intangible amount of variables in order to settle on their presumed, subjective interpretation by a listener or reader. We do this processing as well as thinking about our intent unconsciously, for the most part. If I assume that language is at least partially representative of our experiences and worlds, that gives communication a lot of power, and sure, yes, fine, that smells like magic to me, I’ll take your 20th tired book now Mr. Bandler, sir.

So to some degree the metaphor of magic is about things that are too big, or too grand, or too unknowable to talk about concretely. We often say something is magical when it is difficult or impossible to explain any other way. I can talk plenty about unconscious reading and microexpressions and altered states and language patterns and any number of artifacts that factor into hypnosis, but although it’s fascinating to know about them and helpful to consider and learn, I don’t often think about them when it actually comes down to it. I used to, but not for a while, and there is surely something to be said there for what “becoming experienced” means in both concepts.

It connects to when I think about what things we tend to call “magical” in hypnosis. When I respond without conscious effort, when something is “too fast,” when I feel like I can just purely make someone do something amazing. Sure, it can be easy enough to pick those apart and use academic language and explain them, but sometimes I drive myself insane trying to do that when I just want to say, “It’s magic; it feels like magic.”

After leaving my exploration of witchcraft for a while, I ended up adopting parts of it back into my life. I had more connection to the holidays on the Wheel of the Year than any others, really, and Wiccan ritual feels natural to me. I don’t call myself a witch, and I struggled for a long time looking for a label that fits what I do.

When I picked it back up, it was for a Samhain (Halloween) ritual to show my partner. It had been years, but I felt more comfortable casting a circle and doing all the things than I ever had been. I realized that my magic practice had begun to look a lot more like my hypnosis practice. I was speaking and acting unconsciously, simply filtering whispers of my intent through my words and actions. I had no plan and was following no script, but I knew what to do and say. We were both in very deep trance and we could feel the boundary of the circle as a physical thing, the air buzzing. It was the first moment that I had allowed a harmonious marriage between my knowledge of witchcraft and my practice of hypnosis, and I got the druglike thrill that I always seek. We sat in the circle for an hour, unbeknownst to us.

I did some searching to try to find if others had a similar experience or worldview. The best I could describe what I was doing was “psychological magic” or “witchcraft-flavored hypnosis.” I found very little; chaos magic and secular witchcraft were not what I was searching for.

Despite feeling a little lost, the experience reignited my desire for magical ritual. It has always been complicated to go through the motions that logically have no objective power to me, and saying that I give them power feels like a cop-out when I feel like I give them nothing. To some degree, equating it to hypnosis on any level feels like a crutch, but it’s one I’m used to; after all, there is plenty of me that doesn’t really believe in hypnosis, either -- “Hypnosis is bullshit.”

But “spellwork” became the most effortless thing in the world to me when it used to be so careful and unsure and measured. I take my props, I think about what they could symbolize, I think about how they connect to all the other ingredients available to me. I assign value and meaning through those connections and logic in a pattern my brain knows all too well. It is just like manipulation, and I use that to feel things. Creating rituals is just like giving a good suggestion; identify the message of the utterance and craft something poignant and poetic with the tools at hand to give it meaning. In hypnosis, the tools are your place in the story/trance, your vocabulary, the tone, the props, your history and the history of the person you’re with. In magic, the tools are the same, but possibly with a different flavor. A hypnotic tool is the logic that the word “deeper” is a sensory-rich word; a magical tool is the logic that clockwise motion can be equated to “more.” Both tools are malleable.

I mentioned poetry, and I think for me, one of the most important parts of good magic (and good hypnosis) is that it’s beautiful in some way. Wicca, like other religions, puts emphasis on reverence. Even many secular witches will be awed by nature and use that as a motivating force. Magic is not inherently naturalistic for me, even though I borrow the aesthetic. I don’t necessarily seek that kind of divine wonderment, but my attraction is adjacent.

My desires with magic are incredibly reflective of my desires with hypnosis -- power. Blind desire for power, whether to have it or have it taken away from me. It sounds evil to write it out, but at its base level it’s much less about anything but a simple feeling. It feels good and heady and awe-filled, and while on some level that’s sexually driven, I think it might also come from another, deeper place.

I still get uncomfortable when magical rituals feel too sensual, and there is a similar discomfort when hypnosis scenes feel too spiritual, but the latter is easier than the former. Generally, I still don’t know “what” to do when I do magic -- I only know “how” to do it. And not to mention “why” I would do magic if I don’t believe in it.

There’s a lot left that I haven’t reconciled. I suppose from a very broad lens, trying to codify the connections I feel between these two concepts is an attempt to make it easier to think about from a variety of different perspectives. I think about how I got over the phase of calling myself “boring” with hypnosis for only seeking feelings, not concepts, and think maybe that will help me with magic. I think about how I became more comfortable over time with my motivations to do hypnosis -- then less comfortable, then more comfortable. A key of my self-growth has always been recognizing and accepting my cyclical nature. (Wicca might say something about moon phases or a myriad of other natural cycles here; hypnosis and NLP might say something about patterns.)

To some degree, these kinds of explorations are valuable because they force us to limit our frames of reference as well. I barely touched upon connected ideas like religion or kink as a whole, how teaching and writing play in, my skill with self-hypnosis (surprisingly low) or connection to mesmerism/magnetism, and so much more. But it’s approaching nebulous concepts like this in a variety of different ways where we find answers, because often we don’t really even know what questions we should be asking.

I hope you enjoyed this piece! There was of course a lot I wanted to say and I’m very interested if this sparks any ideas or conversations -- when I first talked about this on Twitter, I was happily surprised how many folks had some similar thoughts or experiences and wanted to relate.

If you liked this writing and want to see more, you can find similar pieces available on Patreon or Gumroad; I write 6-8k words per month, sometimes academic and sometimes more exploratory like this. Please check it out! You can also get this writing as a downloadable PDF and tip through Gumroad, if you feel so inclined.

Thanks as always for your support, no matter what form that takes, be it monetary or simply reading through what I have to say.

- sleepingirl

#my writing #hypnosis #hypnokink

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offspring-of-calliope · 4 years

Note

For the writing thing. Would you be able to do one where enjoltaire go on holiday and little things they get up to. I’m awful at ideas sorry.

Hey, thanks for the request :)

To be honest, I'm not sure if this is even a bit like you imagined it would be but I just began writing what felt right and this was what came around. There's a bit of angst but I tried to keep it as little as I could and I don't know if it's a trigger warning but they fight at first.

I hope you enjoy,

Sincerely, me,

Lélodie

-----

Grantaire sighed while strolling through yet another historical museum Enjolras had dragged him to. Initially, Courfeyrac und Combeferre had planned to join the two of them on their trip. Combeferre and Enjolras had wanted to visit the museums while Grantaire and Courfeyrac would busy themselves with trying every piece of food the Cafeterias had to offer.

But then, Courfeyrac had gotten sick, so he and Combeferre had decided to stay back home. And Grantaire - ever the lovesick fool - had agreed to follow his boyfriend through neverending rows of pictures, texts and artifacts.

It wasn't that Grantaire detested museums. It was just that he didn't want to spend the majority of his holidays in stuffy buildings, looking at things. Especially when he already knew everything he wanted to know about historical events.

"Tell me again why you're studying law and not history," Grantaire said, once again letting a sigh escape his lips.

Enjolras threw him an exasperated look. "Studying the law will help me right several wrongs and make the world a better place. Knowing about the great revolutions of the world that built the fundament I'm working on is simply a hobby."

"Could you at least consider pursuing this hobby when you're not on vacation with your boyfriend that wants to see more from his environment than the insides of every museum in town?"

"You said you were okay with it!" Enjolras retorted, suddenly stopping.

Grantaire snorted. "I say so many things as long as nobody tells me to shut up."

"Oh, so you're pretending that it's my fault that you're obviously miserable and bored even though you very well know that it's your own fault for trying to please me."

"Trying to - of course I'm trying to please you, that's all I ever seem to do." Grantaire groaned. "But to be honest, I don't know why you're picking a fight now. I was just being my sarcastic self, no need to make a fuss about it."

"I don't make a fuss about it! It's just that this is our first trip as a couple and I'm not good with... this whole relationship thing. And then you're not even enjoying it."

"Every moment I get to spend with you is a moment I enjoy," Grantaire responded, not sure if he should be feeling annoyed or attacked.

Enjolras gaped at him, obviously at a loss of words. His fists were clenching, then relaxing, then clenching again. "Good. Then we can move on to the next part of the exhibition," he said, eventually, and started walking again.

Grantaire didn't say anything for the rest of the afternoon.

It was already late in the evening and Grantaire sat on the balcony of their hotel room. From there, he could see the nearby parc, the leaves of the trees starting to change their colours, the rooftop of an old castle. His pencil seemed to move on its own.

A sudden noise made him look up from his sketch. Enjolras was suddenly standing behind him, hands behind his back, uncertain of where to look. Expectantly, Grantaire looked at him.

"I...," Enjolras started, showing his hands that were holding some flower that Grantaire couldn't really identify but whose pattels were shimmering white in the light of the sinking sun. "I wanted to apologise for the way I acted in the museum. That was uncalled for. It was just that, like I said, that I wanted everything to turn out alright. But then Ferre and Courf couldn't come and they were usually the ones that could help me sort out my feelings. And I was overwhelmed because... Being here, sharing this experience with you, it's nice. Really nice. So I got you this as an apology." He stretched out his hands with the flower. "I know what you're thinking - giving someone a flower is not romantic because you're killing it before it has the chance to die when its time has come. But I found this one in the garden - its stem was already broken. I wanted to give it one last purpose."

Hesitantly, Grantaire took the flower from his hands, spinning it around a bit. "I appreciate your honesty. I know that relationships and feelings don't come easy to you."

Enjolras nodded. "Thank you. I also thought - since we already did something I like, how about we go dancing later? There's an evening course, right next to the hotel."

"You hate dancing."

"But you like it. I want to make you happy, Grantaire. I might snap at you sometimes, I might get angry because I cannot decipher my emotions. However, I cannot deny that you being happy is a big priority of mine."

Grantaire smiled and stretched out his hand for Enjolras to take, tilting his head in question. Enjolras smiled as well and took his hand. "I'm happy as long as I'm with you," Grantaire said.

"Me too."

#prompts #les miserables #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #courfeyrac #combeferre #barricade boys #modern au #les mis fanfic #musicals #fandoms #writer #writing

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igotthesmellofbooks · 3 years

Text

YAY! I used the same ops. That first one that I posted with eva and alex was actually supposed to be this but then I changed the plot

JUST SO YOU KNOW I DIDN’T READ OR EDIT IT ‘COZ I WAS FEELING LAZY

Like I said before, PLEASE DO NOT USE THIS ANYWHERE SINCE THIS IS PURELY FOR READING PURPOSES:

CHAPTER 1

Trekking through the dusty and dark tunnels of underground metro trains were Scarlet and Alex, MMP’s (Ministry of Magical Protection) best. They were both 16, going 17. The Ministry of Magical Artifacts had reported an artifact missing; The Mirror of Memories. It was supposed to be a shield but no-one used it. It showed the opponent’s worst memories, disabling him/her long enough to kill. They got a lead the day before, regarding where the Mirror might be. That day, a blast was reported at the same coordinates. Scarlet and Alex had been walking through the wreckage since dawn stopping only to rest and see to their needs and now it was nightfall with a full moon in the sky.

Scarlet stifled a cough and complained for the sixth time,” Your jokes are so lame! Why can’t you just memorize some from a book and not make them up on your own?”

Alex gave her a wicked grin that told her she wasn’t going to like the answer to that question and said, ”Do you actually mean that?”

She stopped and said,” Kind of.” Then said teasingly,” Do you want me not to mean it?” He stopped a few feet away and for a split second almost looked flustered. He hesitated and blurted,” Yeah…” Scarlet tried not to blush but failed and was thankful that he couldn’t see her in the dim lighting so she said,” Then just keep quiet and try to think of better ways to charm me with your humour.” and averted her eyes. She found him staring at her with a faint smile on his lips. She punched him on the shoulder and he yelped in surprise. He glared at her and she said,” Let��s get going, troublemaker.” Ignoring his glare, she picked her way through the debris until she reached the main site of the blast. She started and Alex came to stand beside her. He exhaled sharply.

There was a circle where no debris had fallen. And in the middle of the circle lay shattered the Mirror.

“You got to be kidding me…Do you know about any defensive spell that could cause a blast?” Scarlet asked, turning to Alex. “Nope.” “Come on, Alex, be serious.” “Well…. I might have seen one in an advanced spell book, but I don’t remember the book’s name…” “Alex! You have to remember!” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Unless… There’s something you want from me.” He spread his hands as she glared at him.” Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” She muttered under her breath as she dug into her backpack and threw him his silver sword. He caught it elegantly by the hilt and grinned as it shrunk into a silver ring. He pocketed it and said,” The book’s name is ‘Advanced Wizard’s Spells- Sequel 2’ spell 253.” Biting her lip, she said, “I didn’t know the Mirror could be destroyed.” Her stomach twisted into a knot and she felt something coil in her gut, a sense of danger.

She slammed into Alex but a second too late. An arrow, meant for his neck, sprouted from her left shoulder as she pushed him to the ground. Scarlet screamed in agony as red-hot pain snaked from her shoulder to her brain. The thing wrapped in shadowy robes tried to approach them but when it Reaching into her pocket, she took a gun out and fired a red flare into the air to call for help, but the assailant was already gone.

A few minutes later, after their brief and murderous encounter, she was sitting propped up against a wall, when a still shaken Alex, kneeling beside her, said quietly,” Thank you. For saving my life.” She frowned and said,” You would have done the same for me. We still have to find that boo-“ But she was rudely interrupted by Alex clamping a hand over her mouth. ”Whoa, whoa. Take it easy for now, Scarlet. You’re hurt and so you have to rest for a few days. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Suddenly, the spinning of chopper blades sounded and they looked to the brightening sky. He rose and helped her up. She winced as pain splintered her vision and he caught her grimacing. “Just don’t say ‘told you so’.” She said and he smirked. “Actually, that was just what I was about to say.” he shrugged,” Guess you beat me to it.” They climbed into the chopper and he sat down beside her. In twenty minutes, they were dropped off to the headquarters. Scarlet trudged up the stairs to the medicinal section to get her wound cleaned and bandaged and Alex trailed after her.

Chapter 2

Alex could see Scarlet was trying hard not to scream, the way she bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood when the healer snapped the shaft and extracted the rest of the arrow from her shoulder. She caught him staring and stuck out her tongue at him. He grinned sheepishly but wasn’t able to look away. The scraps on his knees and hands had already been taken care of. She winced as the healer tightly wrapped the bandage around her injured shoulder. He fought down the urge to yell,” Treat her gently!”.

Gods, she was beautiful, with her rich dark brown hair, teal green eyes and red lips. She was smart. And funny too. He enjoyed spending time with her.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he felt Scarlet nudging him with her shoe and realised he had been gawking. “What?” he asked.” Did you ask me a question?” Scarlet nodded. ”Uh huh. Dan just told you to get up ‘cause others are waiting for their turn.” She slid off the metal table with feline grace and gestured for him to join her. She strode down the hallway, stopped at a door, opened it, revealing a balcony with a bench, overlooking the mountains, peaked with snow. They closed the door and sat down on the bench. She rubbed her temples and her shoulders slumped. “You okay?” she asked, casting a sidelong glance at him. “I should be asking you that. How’s your shoulder?” he enquired. She sighed.” Getting worse every minute.” She rested her head on his shoulder and he slid an arm around her, mindful of her wound.

They stayed like that for a few moments until she said,” It’s already 2 a.m., so I gotta go now. I need a bath and nap so, don’t call me before 12 p.m.” She got up and saying good bye, went on her way. Alex was about to get up when he realised she had forgotten her pendant on the bench. He turned to look at her retreating form a last time but she was gone.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alex flopped onto his bed, and set Scarlet’s pendant on his nightstand, before draping the blankets over himself. Tucking his hands under his head, he thought about Scarlet. He liked her. A lot. He paused. What were her feelings? Did she think he was a bit stupid? What did she actually like about him? He sighed. He’ll never know.

He was just drifting off to sleep when he spotted a lithe cloaked figure dropping off onto the balcony just outside his window. He pretended to be asleep as the cloaked figure slid open the window and swung himself inside. He stalked towards Alex’s bed and snatched up Scarlet’s pendent. Alex suddenly swung his fist into the stranger’s stomach and he dropped like a stone. Alex was already there, pinning the stranger’s thighs with his knees and his arms with his hands. “You better start talking now.” He growled.

A low laugh sounded from the hood. ”Oh, gods, Alex. Don’t give me that attitude.” ”Wait… Scarlet?!” “Get off me, Alex. Also, you have a hand of my injury and hurts.” He let go and offered a hand. She knocked it away and got up on her own. “Why are you here?” he asked. She grinned mischievously and said,” Thought you’d be happy to see me.” “I… I am... you know…happy now that you’re here...” he stammered. Oh, why did he always act like an idiot around her? Scarlet’s grin grew. She sat on the bed, removed her shoes and crossed her legs. She patted the space beside her. “Sit down.” She smirked and said,” Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” He gulped and sat. “Do you want to go?” she asked. He frowned and said,” Go where?” She rolled her eyes. ”The Ministry’s Founder, James Bidman, is throwing a charity party tomorrow night because a representative from the Russian branch, called Jason Hoover, asked him to do so as they are in a financial crunch, ” She sighed dramatically, and said,” Unfortunately, people below 17 are not allowed inside. Fortunately, I can sneak us in.”

Grinning widely, he said, ”Why not? Let’s go!” “Yay!” She gave him a bear hug. He blushed. She said, “You look so cute when you have no idea what to say.” And with that, she put her shoes on, jumped out of the window, mock saluted him and leapt over the low railing of the balcony. She probably thought he was going back to sleep. But he had other things on his mind. He put out the lights, changed and prepared to sneak into Scarlet’s room.

Chapter 3

Scarlet had known that there was no way Alex would refuse a place where he wasn’t allowed to be. Although she felt bad for playing with him like that, she was more concerned about what she was going to wear for the party. She bounded up the stairs, moving with renewed energy and popped her head into her mom and dad’s room. Dad was already up, changed out of his nightclothes and into his smart pilot’s uniform. His face brightened when he spotted her peering from the door. ”Hey, honey. Already back from the headquarters?” Dad was the only one so far who knew about her double life. She groaned. ”Someone shot me through my shoulder with an arrow.” His eyes narrowed and filled with anger. “Who dared harm my little girl?” But his anger soon melted and gave way to concern. “Did you get your wound cleansed?” “Yeah, Dad. Shouldn’t you get going? You’ll get late.” He kissed the top of her head and said, “I have to go for a test flight today. Then I have to pilot an aeroplane for a 12 hour flight so I won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. Then when I come back,” His lips stretched towards a grin. “We’ll make s’mores and watch movies late into the night!” Dad adjusted the cap on his head and went down the stairs and a few seconds later, she heard the click of the front door shutting quietly.

She heard the whisper of the blankets and knew her mom was awake. She walked towards the bed and found her mom already standing up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Mom saw her and hugged her good morning. “Just wake your elder brother up, will you?” “We’ll be down for breakfast before you know it.” “Good. I’ll be downstairs.” said Mom, and patting Scarlet’s cheek, headed downstairs to the kitchen. Scarlet threw open the door to the room she shared with her brother and strode inside. The room had two separate beds- hers and Adam’s. It had a window through which some sunlight filtered in. Shrugging off her backpack, she glanced to her brother, Adam, snoring to the fullest with one arm dangling off the side of his bed and a blanket over his head. She wondered how he was breathing.

Nudging him awake, she said in a singsong voice she knew he hated, ”Hey, sleepy head. Early bird gets the pancakes, late bird gets the leftovers…” He didn’t budge. She began shaking him. ”Wake up! Adam! I’m hungry!” After much coaxing, he decided to get up. Or so she thought. No, he only decided to change his position. Suddenly, she ripped the blankets off him and reeled back in surprise. It wasn’t Adam! It was- “Alex?!” “Thought you’d be happy to see me.” She cocked an eyebrow. ”Throwing my own words back at me?” ”Yep.” Get up.” He pouted like a spoilt kid. “B-but I was hoping you would play with me.” “Did you even ask mom and Adam and dad?” He frowned. ”Of course I did.” “Where is my brother?” Adam appeared in the doorway. ”Hey Scarlet.” Scarlet stepped closer saying, ”Mom’s calling you down for breakfast. And you’d better hurry or she’ll scold me.” Adam paused on the first step. ”That would be great.” “Shut up and get your butt downstairs.” Behind her, Alex burst out laughing and almost choked. Not finding anything funny at the moment, she glared at him. He stopped and gulped. “What do you plan on wearing tonight?” she asked, still glowering. “It’s a surprise.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, please. I know you. You have no idea what to wear.” “What are you wearing?” he retorted. She smirked. ”It’s a surprise. I do know what I am going to wear. And I’m giving you what to wear too.” ”What-“started Alex, but she cut him off by saying, ”That is also a surprise.” He sighed through his nose. ”Ugh. Fine. You win. Like always.” “Good to know.” He imitated her voice. “‘Wake up! Adam! I’m hungry!’” He shook his head and grinned. ”Let’s go downstairs, shall we?” She stepped in front of him and pointed at the bed. “Make that unless you want me to lock you in the room and, you had better believe me, I will.” “It’s not fair; Adam told me to do it!” he whined. “Alex, it’s just going to take a minute. Do it.” Rolling his eyes, he straightened the covers and folded the blankets. Neatly. She pretended to be staring at him, wide eyed. “How did you do that?” He straightened. “Do what?” “Not be messy.” She extended her arms skywards and exclaimed, ”Finally! Thank you, God!” He snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, Scarlet.” “Why not? I enjoy it. Let me remind you, you’re just as dramatic as me.” He took a step towards her. ”Am I?” She felt her cheeks flush. Clearing her throat, and trying not to stammer, she asked, “If you’re done, can we go downstairs?”

Chapter 4

Alex was enjoying this far too much. Scarlet looked so cute when she was flustered. As they went down the stairs, he saw her cheeks were red. “Good morning, Mrs Courtney.” Scarlet’s mom looked up from the pan where she was making the pancakes and smiled. “Hello, Alex. Could you pass me the maple syrup?” He slid the tall bottle across the marble counter towards her then made himself comfortable on the chair, beside Adam. He looked at Scarlet, who was still standing, frowning at Adam. “You dare not eat too much maple syrup. Last time, you finished the entire bottle in three days.” He stifled a laugh and failed- horribly. Adam thumped him on the back. “You sound like you’re choking, even though you haven’t eaten anything. What happened?” “I don’t think he was choking, Adam. Rather, laughing.” Chuckling herself, she took her seat on his other side. His heart started pounding faster, harder. It was a relief she couldn’t hear it hammering away in his ribcage. Breathing became a tad difficult. Suddenly, she touched his shoulder, a worried look on her face. “Hey, Alex. You okay? You’re looking a bit nauseated.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t his heart pounding, but his head. It probably had to do with a sleepless night. But he didn’t want to ruin the day for her, so he just grinned and shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine.” Although she was still looking suspicious, she pulled her hand away. Then rose from her seat to help her mom in bringing the breakfast to the table. She handed out the plates laden with pancakes. Alex had just dug into his batch when he remembered the maple syrup. He was about to get up but then Adam slid it towards him. He said his thanks and set about drizzling it on the pancakes. Scarlet nudged him with a grin. “Hungry?” Trying not to look too sheepish, he said, “Very.” “You won’t be able to breathe after you eat mom’s pancakes.” Scarlet’s mom mock scolded her. “Now, hush, Scarlet. Otherwise he won’t come anymore. And you know how you miss him.” Scarlet stilled and turned redder and redder. “What?” He asked, leaning forward. She just gave Adam a desperate ‘help me’ look. The colour was still on her cheeks. “Nothing.” Suddenly, it hit him. She liked him too! The thought was so funny that he almost choked on his pancakes. Again Coughing, he took a sip of water to avoid looking her in the eye. She was not big on eye contact at that point. The rest of the breakfast passed in awkward silence. Finally, when he got up to wash his plate, Scarlet snatched it out of his hand and Adam got the same treatment. She picked up her mom’s plate and stacked the plates neatly. ”Thanks, honey.” Alex was so startled by that, that he started out of his chair and bumped into Scarlet who was carrying the plates to the dishwasher. “Sorry.um….” “Just sit down, Alex. Please.” Shoving the plates into the dishwasher, she stormed up the stairs to her room. He stared after her. “I don’t know what has gotten into her. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” murmured Adam. “She’s probably tired or something.” Alex said. He wanted to follow her, but something told him that she would want to be alone for now. A few minutes later, he went up the stairs with Adam. He peeked inside but Scarlet was not there. ”She’s probably gone to bathe.” Adam supplied. “Good choice. She was real filthy.” “Look whose talking. You’re so filthy that I can’t even see your skin.” ,said a voice flatly from the hallway. He groaned softly, not loud enough to be heard, before turning. Scarlet had already bathed, brushed and changed into clean clothes. She was wearing an olive green tank top with camo pants and army boots which suited her well. Her dark, chocolate brown hair were pulled into a pony tail.

#wee #fantasy #alexXscarlet #as always please do not repost but you are allowed to reblog

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shotsbyshae · 4 years

Note

Hello, hello, I has a small request if you do not mind. I'm living for these crossovers. Could you perhaps do one where Bucky is sent to take care of a domestic threat and instead finds reader taking care of some supernatural things?? however you'd like to develop it ensues?

Hypnotic

Warnings: Language, Little murdery, Some *not* mission related thoughts

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1.6k

Song: Hypnotic by Zella Day

A/N: Not exactly a domestic threat, but still supernatural elements involved.

Magnetic, everything about you.

“It’s a milk run.”

Those were Steve’s exact words.

Fury had tracked a classified artifact to an antique shop down in New Orleans.

A book.

Bucky’s mission was simple – retrieve it.

Snatch and grab.

Easy.

Barnes goes during the day to stake out the interior of the shop and easily finds the storage room in the back of the building where they keep some of their more valuable items stored. He waits until the middle of the night when the store is closed works his way inside the building without incident but isn’t aware of the blonde woman who is watching his every move through an astral projection spell as he makes his way to the room where the book is being kept.

“We have company ladies,” the blonde states quietly, returning to her body and glancing at the other two women as the door to the room they’re in begins to open.

Bucky opens the door slowly, completely surprised by what awaits him on the other side. In the center of the room there is a large pentagram painted on the wooden floor, candles are burning in various locations, dimly lighting the small space. There are three women sitting in the floor along the edges of the pentagram, all looking at the man with wide eyes.

“What the –” he starts to question, but the woman with blonde hair utters a phrase in Latin, he’s almost sure of it, and flings her hands toward the wall, which sends his body flying against it.

Now it’s his turn to look at them with wide eyes as he begins to gather himself from the floor, unsure of what just happened. The blonde stands, moving closer to him as more Latin words fall from her mouth and his chest begins to tighten, lungs constricting, and he gasps for air. His hands clutch at his chest and neck as he watches the woman glare down at him with vicious, unadulterated joy in her eyes at his suffering.

“Violet,” one of the other women from the circle says to the blonde, her voice quivering slightly.

The blonde turns to look at her friends, finding you standing there. You have a pistol in hand, pointed at the other two women on the floor.

“Let him go,” your voice is soft, yet strong.

The woman with darker hair on the floor laughs briefly before saying, “Guns don’t work darling.”

Bucky watches helplessly, his air supply almost completely cut off, as the dark-haired woman begins to spew Latin words at you, just like his tormentor.

The shot is a deafening sound in the small room as you fire a round into the woman’s chest, causing the other girl on the floor to scream in horror as her friend collapses to the floor.

“Witch killing bullets do,” your response is cold as you glance over to the blonde. “I said – Let. Him. Go.”

Barnes inhales deeply, coughing, as the air returns to his lungs.

Violet turns to you, hands up as she smiles knowingly, “You’re a hunter.”

“Bingo,” your response is snarky. “So, you know why I’m here.”

“That book doesn’t belong to you,” Violet snarls, gaining Bucky’s attention as he stands up from the floor.

“No,” you remark coolly, glancing to the podium where the old leather-bound book sits. “But you stole it from my friend. I’m here to get it back.” You watch a malicious smile spread across Violet’s face as her eyes focus on something behind you.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” a man’s voice from behind you states.

Oh great, another one, you think to yourself as you turn to see an older, stately man standing there. With a flick of his wrist he rips your gun from your hand, flinging it across the room.

Bucky notices the gun slide to a stop several feet away from him, then watches as the man lifts you from the ground by just moving his hand, no Latin phrases, just concentration.

“I’m so sick of the pretenders,” the man says with a shake of his head. “You think knowing a few spells makes you a witch, when all it does is make you pathetic.” He lifts you slowly higher, evil in his eyes. “You don’t know true power.”

“Violet,” the girl from the floor whispers, seeing Barnes behind her friend inching along the wall.

The blonde begins to turn, but Bucky dives for the weapon quickly. You’re able to see him out of the corner of you eye as he rolls across the floor, coming up sharply on one knee, your pistol trained expertly on the man in front you as he takes the shot.

The force holding you up releases you, sending you crashing into the floor while two more gunshots ring out. Bucky slowly approaches as you gather yourself from the floor, slightly surprised when you pull a smaller pistol from your boot, pointing it at him with uncertainty. He’d taken out the other two women, what was stopping him from taking you out?

“What do you want?” your brows furrow and for the first time, Bucky notices how soft your features are.

He offers your pistol to you as a show of good faith, “I just saved your ass.”

Bucky watches as you take the weapon, holstering it and the smaller one before standing up. There’s a small glint in your eye as you say, “Well, I saved you first.”

“Thanks for that,” he replies, glancing around the room. “So – witches? I mean, what the hell was going on here?”

“Yea, witches. Why are you here?” you question him, realizing this is unfamiliar territory for the man. When he doesn’t answer, you place your hands on your hips, trying to make yourself a little more intimidating to the man before you. “Who sent you?”

Bucky tries not to smile at your attempt to be threatening. After all, it’s cute and in his line of work the threat is never cute, so he’ll play along with your questions. He’s already sized you up and knows he can easily take you in a fight.

Is it wrong he wants to?

Forget the mission.

Forget the book.

Shelve it for a later time.

You had just rolled into his life like hell on wheels and he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. How could he be so intrigued – intoxicated – by you within a matter of minutes?

“Who sent you?” you question again, snapping him back into focus.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

You shake your head in disgust, “Fuck. They want the book, don’t they?” Bucky looks at you, running his tongue across his bottom lip. “Why?”

“You tell me?” he questions, trying to keep his head on the mission. “What’s in the book?”

“Just old spells – dark magic,” you reply. “Still, not something I would want in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands.”

“Why?”

“Sorry, but I’ve seen what Tony Stark can do without magic,” you respond sarcastically, as you turn to walk towards the table near the pentagram that the witches had set up.

“Who are you?” Barnes questions, as you rummage aimlessly through the stuff on the table. Tossing things over your shoulder. “What did she call you – a hunter? So, you hunt witches?”

You continue to act as if you’re searching for something on the table, not turning around as you place the few ingredients you need in the small piece of cloth, “Yea, and other things, since you boys in your sparkly spandex are too busy fighting off other worldly threats.”

“I don’t do spandex,” he narrows his eyes at your comment. Your smart mouth is only making this harder for him.

You turn to him, a slight smile gracing your lips, “Barnes.” He looks surprised at your knowledge of his name but loves the sound of it. “That’s it isn’t it, you’re the Winter Soldier? I should have known – no flashy suit.”

“Then you know I’ll be leaving with that book,” he remarks, unable to contain the smirk. “No offense.”

“Really?” there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Is this the part where you say we can either do this the easy way or the hard way?” He watches the flirty expression on your face, knowing you’re up to something, and he’s rather enjoying this cat and mouse game with you. “Because I’m not easy and I don’t fight fair.” You drop the hex bag from your hand, staring into his blue eyes, the Latin word rolling easily off your tongue. “Manete.”

The confusion is apparent on Bucky’s face as you turn to walk toward the podium. He tries to take a step, but he can’t move. His feet stay firmly planted on the floor as he desperately uses every ounce of strength within him to take a step.

Nothing.

“What did you do?” he almost growls as you turn around clutching the book to your chest.

“Just a little immobilization spell,” you say sweetly, a perfect pout on your lips as you stare at him. You might be flirting on purpose, it’s easy to see the affect you’re having on him.

“I thought you were a hunter.”

“I am,” you reply. “I also said I don’t fight fair. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in about an hour.”

He watches you approach the door, frustrated in more ways than one, “I will find you.”

You glance over your shoulder at the man, “That sounds like a threat Barnes.”

Bucky grins, “Oh, that’s a promise doll.”

“It’s a date then.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #mcu #winter soldier #hit me requests #reader request #fanfic #avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfic #hit me with your best shot #fanfiction

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vxmorpheus · 3 years

Text

The Crossroads to the beginning. P1

Tw - blood, and mentions of miscarriages

LONG post

"I... just don't think we can do this anymore, Eli. We can't just keep pretending nothing's happened," Michael spoke solemnly as he packed his clothes into his suitcase.

Eli stood by the door, fighting tears back, "you don't have to leave though! We can work things out, maybe-"

"No! ... no, Eli. We've tried working this out for 5 years, but you keep miscarrying! I-"

"Excuse me?! Are you blaming this on me?! It's not like I'm fucking trying to! I want a child just as bad as you do!"

He shouted back, "well it sure as hell doesn't seem like you want a kid!"

"So, you're saying I'm doing this on purpose?!"

"Yes! I don't think you ever wanted one in the first fucking pla-"

Eli slapped Michael hard. Hard enough that it jerked his head to the left, "get. Out."

He put his hand on his face, "Eli, I-"

"GET. OUT. GET OUT RIGHT NOW! LEAVE!" Eli screamed out. Michael jumped in surprise, then scrambled to close his suitcase and left quickly. Eli followed him to the door, slamming it shut behind him. She put her back against the door and slid down until she was sitting on the floor with her face in her hands. She sobbed into her hands before bringing her legs up, hugging them to herself for comfort. Eli didn't know how long she sat there crying, but by the time she got up, it was nighttime. She set a kettle onto the stovetop and walked to the window, looking out on the city... it felt much more empty and quiet now with Michael gone. "What am I going to do...? How am I going to pay rent...? I can't work..." the kettle cut off her ramblings to herself. She poured some of the hot water into a mug and put a teabag into it. Eli made her way to bed, walking by the spare bedroom that was meant for Michael and her baby... that was never to come. When she stood in the doorway of their bedroom, she stared at the empty king bed for a long time before turning around and going to the couch. She couldn't bear to sleep in that bed all alone.

Over the next couple of months, she and Michael got divorced. Which was easier than expected given there was no child to fight for custody of. She had also found out that he had actually been cheating on her for 3 months before he left her. She was pissed, not at the other woman, but rather at him. He was a coward. He was a liar. He never stood by Eli's side after each miscarriage. She was always left to heal by herself, to take care of herself even when she wasn't supposed to be walking and bending. She resented and hated Michael, she was actually happy she never had a kid with him... but she still wanted a child.

The money she saved and the money she got from the divorce helped her pay rent for some months while trying to figure out what she would do for income. One night, she was binge-watching a show with paranormal/supernatural themes and one of the characters went to a crossroads and summoned a demon then made a deal to save another character that was in a coma. Eli sat up slowly and thought, "if... maybe... I can do that... and make a deal for a job..." she grabbed her laptop and changed the channel to something else. She began doing research into crossroad demons, she had heard of them before but only for famous people. While she did research, the news played a recap of the election results... "Gabriel Kenward is the confirmed winner for governor. He and his wife are goi..." Eli zoned the tv out while reading steps on how to go about summoning a crossroads demon. She read up on every single website she could handle, even the ones making fun of people for looking or trying to summon a demon. Her eyelids felt heavy as she was reading a website specifically made for the supernatural practices, she could only read two paragraphs before she passed out on the couch. She felt herself falling in her dream, making her jerk awake. Eli sighed, annoyed, and got up, setting the laptop onto the coffee table. She walked around the couch to the kitchen to get some water, but... something felt off. She paused at her refrigerator and looked around. Everything looked normal but the air felt different for some reason. Eli shook her head and grabbed a glass, putting it in the water dispenser on her fridge. There was a pause... then liquid poured it into her glass before she yanked it away. Eli stared in horror at her fridge before looking at the glass, which had blood in it.

"You going to drink that?" A voice behind her asked humorously. Eli whipped around to see... something... sitting on the kitchen island. It was like her brain couldn't understand what she was looking at. "Didn't your mom tell you staring is rude?"

"I-I... wh...what are you?"

"What you're looking for," it took the cup from her and downed the blood, making Eli shudder in disgust.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Oh please, dear, you can't be that stupid."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm a demon, idiot."

"I am not an idiot! How the fuck did you get into my house?"

"Hah! I'm not inside your house. Well, not in the traditional sense. I'm in your dream. This is a dream, sweetheart."

"Don't fucking call me sweetheart. What do you want."

"Ooh feisty, I like that. It's not what I want, it's what you want," it jumped off the island counter.

"You are not what I'm wanting to summon."

"Yes, yes, I know. But, I can tell you how to properly summon a crossroads demon. Just be sure to mention me to him, hm?"

"What else do you want?" Eli snapped back.

It held its hands up, "oh, my dear, nothing. I just want to be mentioned. Might get me a promotion."

"... a promotion...? What the fuck? What does that mean?"

"It doesn't matter, just listen..." it leaned into her and whispered.

Eli sat up quickly, the sun shining into the living room and her phone blaring loudly to inform her that her friend was calling. She picked up the phone and talked to her friend for a bit before agreeing to meet up at a cafe. She quickly got ready and called a taxi, thinking about her dream the entire time. By the time she was snapped out of her thought, her friend was shaking her arm. Eli looked at her friend surprised, "what?"

Her friend gave her a concerned look, "how are you holding up? You're really out of it today." She took a sip of her coffee, "like... what's goin' in your brain right now?"

"What would you want if you made a deal with a crossroads demon?"

"Oh, you finally got to that episode? Hmm... money or fame. What about you?"

"To be in good health and have a fun and fulfilling career..."

"Huh, don't you want a kid still? I thought you'd ask for something like that," she froze for a second. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I-"

"No, no... you're right... I never thought of that..." Eli sat back in her chair and idly sipped at her frappe.

"Uh... anyway... h..."

Eli had zoned out for the rest of the day until night fell. She gathered everything she needed to summon this... demon... The idea of summoning a demon made adrenaline pump through her body. She wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement... or maybe both? Eli put everything in a bag and grabbed a butcher's knife before heading out. She looked at her cellphone GPS where she marked down a crossroads that was relatively outside of town and away from busy streets. Eli shoved the butcher's knife into her bag when the taxi drove up to her. Eli showed the man where she wanted to go and he gave her a weird look that said 'ok but why?' He took her to where she said and asked her as she was walking into the dark, "are you ok lady? Are you sure this is where you wanted?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Leave," he quickly left as Eli made her way crossroads. She opened a box she brought. "Ok... to do this successfully..." She took out the knife and took a deep breath before cutting her thumb a bit, smearing the blood onto her own photo and onto the white yarrow flowers. Eli closed the big and dug a hole, burying the box in the crossroads.

Nothing happened for a bit, making her the slightest bit embarrassed, but her body got the chills like something was behind her. Eli was the type to hate being scared in such a manner, so, not caring that this was probably a demon, she spoke, "I swear to fucking God, if I turn around and you are right behind me, I will not hesitate to punch you." She heard a quiet chortle and then some steps backing away from her. Eli was prepared to see something monstrous and scary, but... this guy was... normal looking? It looked just like a man in a nice suit with silvery-white hair.

"You actually did this in a proper way... so I guess I can't trick you too much... how may I be of service, love?" His eyes flashed red for a moment and he gave a sharp-toothed grin as he leaned back into a tree.

"Love? Did you just call me love?" The demon nodded, "don't fucking call me that, you mean nothing to me. You are only a means to an end."

"Oh my, so rude to somebody who's just tryin' to help," he looked slightly taken aback by her blatant honesty but tried to keep a straight and cool face. "Who told you how to do the summoning correctly? It's a rare treat."

"I don't fucking remember its name. It was a demon that came into my dream and told me to do it this way."

"Ohhh, my friend... well... I guess I did promise him a promotion if he got someone for me... anyway! What is it you need?" He pushed himself from the tree and took a step towards Eli, an evil look of amusement in his eyes. Eli held the knife like she was ready to fight someone to the death, "love, even if I wanted you to kill me or severely injure me, you wouldn't be able to. Humans can only exorcise demons and harm them with religious artifacts."

"I don't give a shit, I'm putting up a fight whether it matters or not," she said through clenched teeth. He continued walking towards her nonetheless, making her back away slowly until, in the most cliche way possible, she felt a tree blocking her path backward. He got up close, his body touching her body, and looked down at her with a smile.

He grabbed her chin and made her look at him, "did you just summon me here to fuck around with me, or are we making a deal, dear?" He grunted and looked down, seeing the knife stab into his left side. He looked back at Eli with amusement, "I told you, you can't hurt me. You have no power in this situation. Also, this was a brand new suit, ya know, now I have to take it in to get it fixed."

"Let me make it more expensive for you then," she took the knife out of his side and stabbed him again in a different spot. Then she took it out again and cut his shirt, cutting him in the process.

"Stop," he spoke aggressively, her antics starting to get on his nerves. He pushed himself away from her and looked down at his ruined suit, "are you fucking kidding me? Come on."

"Don't get into my space without consent then," she snapped.

"Humans and their consent... jeez..."

"Excuse me? Listen here you little shit," she marched towards him. He took a step back in surprise by her boldness. Eli was so much smaller than he was AND she was just a human, so why was he slightly scared? "Consent is important to have, it makes it so both parties are enjoying whatever they are doing. If one party says no, it means no. Say, 'no means no', right now."

"What on this forsaken p-"

"Say it. Right now," she held the knife up at him. There was silence between them, just eye contact. They stared at each other for a long time... it could've just been 30 seconds or it could've been 10 minutes. Time was insignificant to the demon and the human before him didn't seem to care either. She was going to keep going. Nothing was going to stop her from whatever her goal was, not even him being an asshole.

Holy Hell... she's... beautiful... what the fuck...? He thought to himself. "No means no," he finally spoke and broke the eye contact.

"Damn right," she only slightly lowered the knife, watching him with suspicion, which she had every right to do.

"L-Look, lady... I do not have any intentions of doing anything to you. Not anymore, at least. Just... what do you want?" He spoke softly to her.

"I want..." she lowered the knife all the way down. "I want a child."

He choked on nothing, "w-what!? A- what?! A child?! You could literally have a bunch of money or fame or the love of your life or-"

"I want to have a child," she spoke more sternly and with determination. He was beyond confused. Usually, humans always wanted the same things; money, power, love, etc.... but a child? He's never heard a human ask for a child. Having a child because she wants to bring a new life into the world... was that selfish? Humans are only selfish beings... was there selfishness in this request?

"But why? Just go have one yourself or like-" he stopped speaking, seeing tears in her eyes. "I-It's not-! It's just-! Fuck! I don't know!"

Eli sniffled, "do you really think I haven't tried to have a child of my own? Do you think I would just summon a demon just because I could? You have no idea what I've been through to have a child of my own! I-"

Suddenly arms wrapped around her, strong arms that felt... comforting and held her close, "I-I... You're right... I-... I have no idea what you've been through. But... I can tell that death follows you... so, I can gather an idea of what's happened... but I can't ever truly understand how you're feeling." He made a surprised sound at himself. Why was he comforting a human? Why was he being so nice? He was nearly 6,000 years old and here he was... hugging and comforting some human woman he's just met. He expected to be stabbed by Eli again, but nothing happened besides the sound of the knife clattering to the dirt. Now was his chance. He could do anything to her and she... 'no means no... no means no... no means no...' he repeated in his head. He felt her face shove into his chest and heard her sob loudly. He looked up above the trees at the stars and the moon, some clouds drifting by slowly. The demon rubbed her back idly while glaring at the sky. 'What are you doing to me. What are you planning', he thought into the air, directed at the big man himself. After some time, Eli pulled away and apologized, "no, no... you don't have anything to apologize for. I-If anything... I should be apologizing to you."

"Hah... a demon apologizing..." she sniffled and bent down to pick the knife up, he put his hand onto hers, keeping her from lifting it.

"I'm sorry," he said to her quietly and then took his hand away. She stood up and looked at him with surprise, but there was still suspicion in her eyes. Eli slowly put the knife away into her bag while watching him carefully for any movements. He looked down to the ground, "I don't intend on harming you in any way, but I understand why you're suspicious of me... I still want to grant your wish, so to speak... make a deal."

Eli perked up, eyes wide, "w-wait, really?"

"Yes... I'm sure it's against the rules though... but... I'll just break one rule. For you."

"So... I get to have a child... one that'll live a good long life?"

"I cannot guarantee the good part, but a long life I can."

"What is the ultimatum? 10 years?"

"Ah... see... that's the issue... since I'm breaking the rules for y-this... I have to cut it down to 5 years... n-now I-"

"Deal."

"Excuse me? We haven't even talked about how and when and all that other stuff."

"I don't care, just... deal. I'll take it."

"It's really reckless to just run into a deal without finalizing everything first. A demon could pull tricks and make terrible rules..." he put his hands together and then slowly opened them, a scroll appearing in flames in his hands.

"Well... are you going to do that?"

"No," he untied the scroll.

"Alright then... where do I sign?"

"W-What? You're just going to believe me just like that? What if I'm lying? I'm a fucking demon for hell's sake!"

Eli stared into his eyes for a short while before bringing them down to the scroll, "I trust you."

The demon stared at her for a while, feeling his non-existent soul swell, "...alright... so be it... sign here with your blood." She nodded and took out the knife, it still had black demon blood on it. She poked the tip of her pointer finger, using it as a way to sign. After she finished, the demon looked at her signature, "Elisa... a very nice name... joyful... it seems about right."

"Just call me Eli. What do you go by?"

The demon rolled the scroll closed, tying it up once again, then making it burst into flames, "the deal is done. Just... call me Sam."

"Alright, Sam it is then... what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like... how am I going to have a kid? It just happens or like..."

"A-Ah, right... in the traditional way humans have children."

"Should I go to a club, a dating app, or like... what?"

Sam felt the hairs on his neck stand up, "no! er... I mean... a club would probably be the best fit..."

"Is it already determined who's going to be the father?"

"You see, this would've been stuff to talk about before you signed the deal. Well... nnnnnnnnnoo-yes. Yes, the father is already determined."

"Can I ask who it is? Like what's his name?"

"You'll know it when you see him."

"...Alright..."

"Why are you not afraid?" Sam blurts out. He clears his throat, "I mean... like not afraid to go into the dark, in a place you don't even know, and summon a fucking demon."

"I don't have anything to lose," Eli said flatly. Sam winced slightly, "I need to get home. It'll be a long walk home... thank you for helping me even though I stabbed you a couple times."

"N-Now wait a second. You don't have a ride? Or a car? What about a taxi or whatever that taxi service thing is called on your cellphone."

"It uh... it died. I'm just walking... I don't drive either, so," Eli shrugged and turned away, about to make her way out of the trees. Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her back, accidentally(?) a bit too close, "what the hell? Let me leave."

"No! I... I'll take you home. There are weirdos and bad people driving at night on the highway, I can feel the sin..." he lied.

"What? ... I... uhm... I guess... but how are you going to take me home? I don't imagine you have a car, do you?"

"No, I have something better. I'm a fucking demon. Er... may I hold you closer for safety reasons?"

Eli raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, "just don't try anything with me."

"I won't," he took a deep breath, pulling her closer to his body while he repeated 'no mean no' in his head. He closed his eyes, "close your eyes and don't open them until I say so, no matter what you hear." He opened his eyes and looked down at her, she had her eyes squeezed shut. He nodded and mover his left art out and forward, holding it above his head before making a slow cutting motion downwards. A rip in reality formed, the inside of the rip showed hell and its lovely glow of flames. He stepped into the rip while holding Eli as close as possible, "do not open your eyes." He repeated as the sounds of screaming and torture began. She buried her face into his side and started holding onto him as well. Again, his non-existent soul swelled up and he gave Eli a comforting squeeze. Sam successfully made it to the other rip that was made without running into any other demons. He stepped through that rip and looked at a door to a house he presumed was Eli's house. "You can open your eyes."

Eli peeked an eye open, "where..." she looked at the door, "home... where did you take me?"

"What do you mean?"

"The screaming place," she pointed behind her and started to turn.

Sam panicked, sealing the rip shut immediately, "You can't look at it! It's dangerous! It could damn your soul, trap you there, all sorts of things could happen!"

"Why would that matter? Am I not damned anyway for making a deal with you? I know I go to hell after the 5 years are up."

"W-Well yes... but no... I... If that happens you won't have a kid!"

"Fuck... yeah..." she looked down at the ground, a small smile playing on her lips, "this isn't like some fucked up dream right?"

"N-No. What? Why would it?"

"It just feels unreal..." Eli pulled out of Sam's hold and walked up to the door, digging the keys out of her pocket. Sam reached out slightly, her not noticing at all.

"Well... it's real... I'm glad you're happy," he followed after her.

She unlocked the door and started turning around, "I really am... I really am happy." Eli jumped slightly and looked up at Sam who was behind her. They stared at each other for a long time before he dove in and kissed her, pushing her slightly against the door. Eli's eyes widen in surprise before closing them and kissing Sam back. She reached behind her and grabbed at the air for the door handle, finally getting it and opening the door. They pulled away from each other, both of them flustered, "t-thank you, S-Sam... maybe see you again?"

"A-Ah... y-yeah... of course..." he rubbed the back of his head, "I'd... I'd love to see you again..." He knew it was against the rules to see her again. But... what's two broken rules to a list of nearly 400? He started walking down the stairs. She gave a kind smile, closing the door slowly before pausing and opening it again.

"Sam."

"Oh! Yes?" He turned around, surprised to see her at the top of the steps, eye level with him.

Eli grabbed his tie and pulled him to her slightly, "come here."

"O-Oh? Oh! Ohhh..." he let himself be dragged into the house. "Eli... is this... like... I don't want to get the wrong idea... but..."

"Maybe, play your cards right," she said playfully, still pulling him by the tie. "Take your shirt and coat off," Sam did so quickly, handing them to her, "go sit in the kitchen." He nodded and went there as she did whatever with his shirt and coat. She came out with a white box and walked over to him, "you said I couldn't hurt you because I'm human, right?"

"Yeah... physically."

"Well... that doesn't matter to me. I don't care if you heal faster than normal or it doesn't hurt or anything. It's the principle of the matter," Eli opened the box and pulled out some first aid supplies.

"Eli, you don't-"

"I want to! I... I want to," she got a wet washcloth and started cleaning the dried black blood. The room was in comfortable silence for a good long time before Eli broke it, "I'm sorry for stabbing you twice, cutting your chest, and ruining your new suit..."

"Yo-"

"But you kind of deserved it."

Sam blinked and looked down at her, she was concentrating on the left side stab wound. He laughed, "yeah... I kind of did." He watched her work carefully as they made idle conversation. She was treating him like a person and not some creature that could tear your body to pieces... and he... kind of liked it. Demons never really talked to each other, let alone have personal conversations. Sam put his hand on his chest in surprise, feeling a throb of something or some emotion he's never felt before or hasn't felt in a very very long time.

"Are you ok?" Eli looked up at him with... worry in her eyes?

Sam tore his eyes away from her, "Eli, I need you to get away from me, right now." He warned.

"But, I'm just trying to help you. Why are you getting hostile?"

"Eli, p-please, get away from me. Please. I don't want to hurt you."

"Now you're threatening me?" She stood up and crossed her arms, "in my own house?"

"Eli, you aren't understanding what I'm saying. I need you to get away from me. For your own health and safety," Sam started shaking. "Please, I'm begging you."

"Tell me what's wrong. What's happening?"

"For fucks sake, Eli!" He got off the chair and took a step towards her, "I need you to... get... away from me... right now. Go! Get out of my sight! Hide!"

"H-hide?" Eli took a step back and looked at Sam closely, "o..oh... Oh!" She spun on her heel and ran down the hall and to the master bedroom. 'Ok... closet... no that's too obvious... bathroom... again too obvious... this is so stupid,' she thought to herself as she starts dragging herself under her bed. She gets into a comfortable position where she is one-hundred percent under the bed with no extremities poking out so she'd get yanked out like some horror movie. She steadied her breathing and waited... and wait...

...and waited

.........and waited...

She started getting tired and her body was aching from the way she was laying under the bed... but everything seemed clear. Maybe he was good now? She very slowly, inch by inch, as quiet as possible, pulled herself out from under the bed. She sighed once she was free from under the bed and got onto her hands and knees to push herself up. A sinister laugh came from behind her, "I was wondering how long you were going to stay under there."

She slowly turned around, seeing Sam laying on her bed, "S-Sam...? How did you get in here and onto the bed without me knowing?"

He shrugged, "I'm a demon, love. We have our ways."

"Sam, please... let's just go back to the kitchen so I can finish-"

"Mm, no," he stood up.

"Sam... please..." She slowly stood up.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that? What are you doing to me? What are you planning?" He walks up to Eli and pushes her back onto the floor easily, putting a foot on her chest to keep her down, "tell me."

"I-I'm not doing anything! I'm just trying to be nice!"

"Nobody is nice for no reason. What do you want?"

"There are people who are nice for no reason other than to m-" he pushed his foot down to make her stop talking.

"You are somethin' else, aren't ya?" He drops down to the floor to join her there. Sam reaches over to touch Eli's face, but she swats his hand away. He then grabs her wrist, her other hand coming and trying to get his hand off, only for him to grab that hand too, "just let me show you affection."

"No! Let go of me!" Eli shouts at him, trying to kick him. Sam moves and sits on her thighs, pinning each hand in its perspective side by her head.

"Why?" His eyes were wide and glowing in the dark, his pupils were dilated to their fullest amount as he looked down at Eli.

"Because I said no! No means-!"

"No. No... No!" Sam let go of Eli and threw himself off of her, wildly rubbing his eyes, "fuck! God damn it! Fucking... I'm sorry, Eli... I'm sorry... fuck, I'm so stupid."

"What is the fucking hell was that?!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry... fuck..." Sam stood up and kept rubbing his eyes, "this hasn't happened in 4,000 years..." He walked over to Eli, holding his hand out.

Eli hesitantly took it, Sam pulling her up, "ok, but what was that."

"I... in the past... it's only happened once to another woman... I... I killed her because I couldn't control myself. I was only 1,900 years."

"So, you would've killed me?"

"I'm sure you'd probably want to die after what happens..."

"What would have happened?" Sam gave her a look, "Oh... right... yeah... but why would I want to die?"

Sam laughed nervously, "let's not Uhm... talk about what happens, ok? It's... I... no, let's not talk about that."

"Uhhh..." Eli gave him a side-eye, "alright then... we won't talk about it... for now." Sam nodded and stared at the ground, "come on... let's finish cleaning your stabs. I would've stabbed you again if I had a knife."

"I know..." Sam said. Eli took his hand and dragged him to the kitchen, "why are you not kicking me out of your house?"

"I'll do that after I clean everything up," Eli looked back at him with a smile. Sam just stared for a moment before giving her a genuine and kind smile.

She changed him and he could feel it by the pounding in his chest.

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not-a-space-alien · 4 years

Text

Anniversary - or the Horsepersons realise they can get together outside of work

Hi everyone, I just realized today that I never posted my work from this past holiday exchange! Here was my entry, hope you enjoy!

Title: Anniversary

Rating: G

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The horsepersons are summoned for a second attempt at Armageddon, but soon an irritating pattern emerges.

A note about my illustrations: I trace stock photos for a lot of my basic shapes because I’m not good at that and really only enjoy the detail work and coloring, so I consider my “art” more like photo manipulation than original artwork, so just keep that in mind! This one is also partially based in TV canon and partially in book canon fyi

On DW

On AO3

“Who exactly summons them?”

“Not my department.”

************************

The department that did, in fact, summon the horsepersons was not Gabriel’s department, which was the Department of Earthly Affairs. Summoning the horsepersons, overseeing the signs of the end times, the rains of fish, and all that unpleasant business was a job that nobody really wanted. It was thought of as something Hell was supposed to do, but Heaven had to take responsibility for it, roll up their sleeves, and make sure it was done properly. It was shunted off onto whichever angels were unlucky enough to be assigned to the Department of Armageddon, which Gabriel had actually fought tooth and nail to leave.

The Department of Armageddon’s entire purpose was to prepare for the end times: to meticulously plan it out and ensure it went off smoothly. As these things tend to go, the least desirable job got pushed off onto whomever was lowest on the command chain, or at least the one too polite or too much of a pushover to refuse the job. And nobody really wanted to interact with the horsepersons. The DoA was filled with poor souls who had been toughing out a job they’d hated for six-thousand years. It would take a toll on anyone.

The reader can probably imagine that Aziraphale is less popular with the Department of Armageddon than any other angels, who unfortunately already find him quite annoying.

But this story is not about Aziraphale. It’s not even about Ambriel, the angel responsible for summoning the horsepersons.

No, this story is about the horsepersons, who lined up for Armageddon in the year of 1991 with great fervor and excitement, giddily straddling their motorcycles, finally able to run wild. The way that one had fizzled out was quite a disappointment to them all.

Adam had banished them for a bit, and that had been no fun, but it’s impossible to do away with Famine, War, and Pollution as long as humans exist. So they eventually reformed, springing from the minds of men and being unleashed back onto the world.

Somewhere in Europe, freshly spilled blood steamed and boiled, and War rose up, with blood smeared over her naked body like a newborn baby. In Asia, in a field covered by vultures feasting on the carcass of an emaciated cow, Famine sat up, looking around disoriented and missing his fancy suits. On the West Coast of the United States, Pollution washed ashore, having drifted for a while after being spawned from the Great Pacific garbage patch. They picked seaweed out of their hair and took a few moments to orient themselves. The last thing they remembered was staring down Adam Young. And as they realised what had happened, they thought the exact same thing their two companions were thinking at that exact moment:

Aw, man!

*********************************

In August 1992, the brave soul known simply as ‘the deliveryman’ had been contracted once again. The request was again from someone named Ambriel, by whom he had been contracted at this precise time last year, and for the exact same reason: To make four deliveries in various parts of the world to varyingly strange customers.

He didn’t really want to go, but it was his job, so there he was braving the quite literally riotous streets of a war-torn country scouring the chaos for a particular woman.

War had gone back to doing her reporter schtick, but it was starting to bore her. She was interviewing an American soldier as he prattled on and on, pretending to write it down*, thinking about what her next possible career could be. Probably somewhere in the American Military-Industrial complex, she thought.

*******

*She was currently drawing a sketch of him decapitated on the battlefield.

*******

This is how the deliveryman found her. He doubled over panting from the exertion of running up to her, but managed to wheeze out, “Package for you, Miss.”

War turned to him, an intensely puzzled look on her face. “What?”

“Package for you.”

War turned her back on the soldier. “You again? Aren’t you the same…. You have another package for me?”

He held it out. It was suspiciously sword-shaped.

“But... “ She took the package and unwrapped it. It was indeed a sword, long and shiny polished metal glittering in the harsh sun. “But this means Armageddon is near. Again?”

The deliveryman held out the signature pad hopefully.

She looked at him.

“I need you to sign for it, miss.”

“But we just did this.”

“This, ma’am?”

“Receiving our artifacts. Riding to Armageddon. The whole nine yards.”

“I do recall delivering this same sword to you last year. Afraid I don’t know anything about it, though. I’m just the deliveryman.”

“Are we doing it all again?”

“Afraid I don’t know, ma’am. I just need you to sign for it, please.”

War held the sword out in both her hands, seeing her reflection in its length. “That was one year ago today,” she realised. “A year was all they decided to wait? It took six-thousand to get ready the first time.”

Hope fading, the deliveryman stretched his arms out to full length to get the pen and pad as close to her as possible. “Just need a signature, miss.”

War relented and took the pen, ripping the paper under the force of her signature. The deliveryman looked a bit put off and shuffled away, unenthusiastic about his next delivery, which would require him to pick along an extremely dirty industrial oil field.

The soldier waited around to hopefully continue bragging about how brave he was, but War ignored him. She simply continued to stare at the sword. All she said was:

“Huh.”

***************************************

“Here we all are, gathered together at last.”

Famine was the one to made this proclamation. He said this to both War and Pollution, who were uncertainly standing around their motorcycles. This time they had been summoned directly to the barren field of Armageddon, which was, as it had been at this time last year, distressingly empty.

“Just saw you last year,” said Pollution. “Not quite ‘at last’ anymore, is it?.”

Famine gave them a dirty look. “Yes, well, it’s what we said last year. Seems only right to say it again.”

“They’re trying to make Armageddon happen again on the anniversary of it failing,” said War. “Is that what’s up?”

“It is significant, isn’t it?” said Pollution. “I was thinking about having some sort of celebration anyway. One year and all that. Seems like we should commemorate it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Famine. Famine usually hated commemorating things because anniversaries and celebrations always seemed to involve good food and drink. Eat, drink, and be miserable was usually how it went for him.

“Anyway,” said War, “what are we waiting for? The Big Guy’s not here yet, but shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, some sort of preliminaries going on? Wasn’t there all sorts of wacky stuff going on last year, storm in the sky, showers of fish and all that?”

A figure could be seen spiraling downwards from the sky, wings spread wide. Pollution shielded their face with their hand and stared up past the sun. “Who’s’at?”

The figure revealed itself to be an angel, a jaunty figure with a halo struggling to keep up with his erratic motion, floating just behind his head as he ran full-speed towards them.

“And who might you be?” said Famine.

The angel huffed and puffed. “The name’s--the name is Ambriel.” He caught his breath and looked around at the gathering. “Where is Death?”

As if on cue, Death appeared with a small pop of expanding air. I HAVE NEVER HAD TO KILL THE SAME HUMAN TWICE, said Death. AND I DO NOT ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE. NEITHER DID HE. WHATEVER YOU ARE PAYING THE DELIVERYMAN, YOU NEED TO PAY HIM MORE.

“Pay?” said Ambriel. “Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers, and the deliveryman’s bank account balance was suddenly a few digits larger, for all the good it would do a dead man.

“So your name’s Ambriel,” said War. “But who are you?”

“I’m the one responsible for making sure the horsepersons are present at Armageddon!” he crowed.

Famine craned his neck towards the empty, blue, peaceful, quiet, decidedly-not-Armageddon sky. Pollution kicked a rock through the soft grass. War scratched her head.

WE ARE HERE, said Death.

“But where’s Armageddon?” said War. “We don’t start it. That’s the antichrist.”

“Ah,” said Ambriel, sweating. “Yes, well, we’re still working on that. It was supposed to happen a year ago, you see…”

“Yes, you summoned us on the anniversary,” said Pollution. “Are we going to do it again?”

“Turn the seas to blood?” said War, shaking her fists.

“Unleash ourselves upon the planet until nothing’s left but bones and bare rock?” said Famine, a sparkle in his eye.

“Bury humanity in the consequences of its own actions?” said Pollution giddily.

Ambriel grimaced as the three of them crowded in on him, pumping their fists in excitement.

THE FINAL REAPING, said Death.

“Yes,” said Ambriel. “Um, yes, for sure, about that…”

The excitement on their faces began to fade.

“Well, you see, I’d thought everything would be ready to go by now. The timeline they gave me for re-setting the Armageddon fittings was one year! It should be well underway by now, but…”

War and Famine looked at each other disappointedly. “But what?” said Pollution.

“But they’re not done with the paperwork yet,” said Ambriel, crumpling. “There’s been delays and delays and delays. Our field agent won’t cooperate. Hell won’t cooperate. The other departments won’t cooperate. It’s a bloody mess!”

“That sounds like your problem,” said War. “What do you want us to do about it?”

Ambriel wrung his hands. “Well, I...I don’t know.”

War pouted. “All right, well, this was a bust, then.” She spun on her heel and marched across the field. “Call me when there’s some action for me, then, love.”

“Wait!” cried Ambriel. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be down by the river,” said Pollution. “It’s been looking a bit too clean for my taste. Too many local community day cleanups, if you ask me.”

Ambriel nervously stuttered as Pollution sauntered away in the opposite direction. Then he looked at Famine. “I suppose you’re going to leave me, too?”

Famine checked his very expensive watch. “Well, my flight back to America doesn’t leave until five o’clock, so I might hang around a bit and see if you can kick off Armageddon in the next two hours.”

*************************************

August 25, 1993

Pollution was the first one to show up this time, bearing a wine bottle and a little party hat affixed in their pale hair. They’d worn the crown this whole time, so their head was starting to get a little crowded on top.

War had kept her sword. It was slung casually over her shoulder as she picked her way across the empty field where Armageddon ostensibly was supposed to take place. Only Famine had returned his artifact to Ambriel, because he thought modern electronic balances were much more efficient and chic than traditional balancing scales anyway, and he stood waiting to meet her empty-handed.

“Back again,” said War. “I just got a letter in the mail this time, no deliveryman. You?”

“The same,” said Famine. “They’re lucky I got it. Our mail gets filtered pretty thoroughly before it lands on my desk. Pretty rude too, I had to drop everything to run on over...I thin heaven should start reimbursing me for the travel costs.”

Death popped into existence beside Pollution. Ambriel was holding onto his arm, looking frightened.

THERE, YOU SEE? said Death. NO NEED TO KILL ANYONE TO GET A MESSAGE TO ME. WE CAN SKIP THAT AND HEAD RIGHT ON OVER TO ARMAGEDDON TOGETHER.

“Right,” said Ambriel. “Sorry.” He straightened his tunic and marched out in front of the semicircle of horsepersons. “Welcome to Armageddon!” he loudly announced. “It begins now!”

“I don’t see any signs of the end times--” Pollution began.

“Yet!” Ambriel thundered. “They shall begin any moment!”

Pollution popped open the wine bottle. “Yay.”

Ambriel, his hands still raised dramatically, began to sweat.

“The paperwork still isn’t done, is it?” said War.

“The paperwork still isn’t done,” said Ambriel, shoulders sagging.

“Then why did you call us here?” said Famine. “Look, I’m a busy man. I run a corporate empire, you know!”

“I thought it would be done!” said Ambriel, wringing his hands. “We’re just… We’re waiting on our field agent, Aziraphale. He hasn’t turned in his forms yet, and he won’t answer my messages.”

“Should we go find this Aziraphale guy and teach him a lesson?” said War.

“A lesson about punctuality in filling out paperwork?” said Pollution. “Are you sure you’re the best one to teach him that lesson?”

“All right, all right,” said Famine. “Look, Ambriel, is there anything we can do to move things along? This is the third time in a row--”

“The second anniversary,” Pollution interrupted.

“--Right, thanks, White--the third time we’ve done our ride and gone to Armageddon. It’s starting to get a bit anticlimactic.”

“That’s his job, not ours,” said War. “Pfft. Black, what’s next? You want to tempt sinners to Hell? Reap souls after death? Who else’s job do you want to do?”

Famine grew red. “I’m just saying--”

“Well, whatever,” said War, slinging her sword back into the sheath strapped across her back. She hooked her arm around Famine’s head and gave him a noogie. “We can kill some time while Ambriel finishes preparing for Armageddon.”

HMMM, said Death. YES...SINCE IT SEEMS LIKE TIME IS THE ONLY THING WE’LL BE KILLING.

******************************

August 25, 1994

Famine kept his scales this time. Their home for the next year was the corner of his desk in his office on top of 666 Fifth Avenue, right next to his extremely slim computer.

Famine played with the chain, strangely delicate and cold, when an email popped up on his computer.

To the Black horseperson of the apocalypse:

Please meet us at the appropriate place at the appropriate time. The end is nigh. The four horsemen shall ride and the world shall end in fire and blood..

Famine started to type a response. But before he could, his computer dinged with a reply: all to the previous email, from [email protected]:

Can I bring a plus one this time?

A few days and a few thousand miles later, Famine trekked over the dry ground of Armageddon with his scales in hand. Pollution and War were already standing in the middle of the field, the exact same place Ambriel had appeared the last three years.

War had a demoness hanging off her arm.

“Ah, Black!” said War. “Just in time. I was just in the process of introducing my girlfriend, Ashtarte.”

“Call me Ash,” said Ashtarte. A smile, too broad and with too many teeth that were too sharp, spread Cheshire cat-like across her features. She wore a punk mesh top, red boots, and had a little pair of horns and forked tail, like she was trying to impersonate a Halloween costume of a demon.

“Uh, okay, Ash,” said Famine.

“The Black horseperson of the apocalypse!” said Ash. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Big fan of your work!”

“Big fan?” said Famine. He straightened his tie. “Thanks very much.”

“We met over cocktails in a little bar in Saudia Arabia,” said War. “Making fun of the same reporters.”

Ash held up her hand in a “V” pose.

“None of us have ever really, uh…” said Famine.

“Had a girlfriend?” said War. “You don’t know that.”

Famine fidgeted. “So you have had a girlfriend?”

“Er, well, no, not really,” said War. She hefted Ash onto her shoulder and flexed her bicep; the smaller woman fit snugly into her shoulder. “But you should try it sometime! Armageddon keeps getting delayed, so we might as well enjoy our time here, right?”

“But what’s the appeal?”

“I think he doesn’t understand it,” said Pollution, “because he can’t even imagine how to get a girlfriend.”

Death appeared stormily, his biker boots thumping against the ground a bit too hard. AND WHERE IS OUR SUMMONER?

“Not here yet,” said Pollution, fiddling with the wine bottle they held. “But why don’t we have some drinks first? Enjoy our time here, right?”

They summoned a card table from somewhere, and Pollution pulled up a seat and patted the one next to them in the hope of coaxing Death to sit down. Famine ambivalently sat down next to War, who had Ash on her lap.

WE’RE NOT HAVING A PARTY, said Death. WE’RE HERE FOR BUSINESS REASONS.

“Sit down, big guy,” said Famine. “Nothing wrong with loosening up a little.”

Death remained motionless for a few moments, tense with annoyance. Then, his biker leathers crinkling, he lowered himself into a seat. BUT I WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK.

“Aw,” said Pollution, popping the cork off the bottle. “Do you not like it?”

Death’s helmet visor reflected Pollution’s face impassively back at them as they poured drinks.

“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” said War.

Death didn’t answer.

“You haven’t, have you?” said Famine. “Do you want to try some?”

Death lifted his helmet off his head, setting it on his lap. Then he removed one leather glove, revealing his bony hand. The white stalk snaked out and curled around a glass, bringing it to his skeletal grin. The wine dribbled through his jaw and onto his leather jacket.

Famine grimaced. Pollution thought his jacket looked better with stains on it, but didn’t say so. They passed the next half hour in jovial conversation, the wine warming their bodies and lifting their spirits. Ash withdrew a deck of cards from her pocket, which entertained them as they laughed and joked.

They were all quite drunk by the time Ambriel arrived. He sprinted over at top speed, careening into the table. “What are you all doing?”

“We’re having a drink!” said Ash, waving her glass in the air and sloshing wine.

“Wh—” Ambriel took a second to look very confused at the appearance of a fifth horseperson, then shook it off and decided it didn’t matter. “Whatever! Get up, put this stuff away! Armageddon is starting!”

“For real this time?” said Pollution.

A second angel could be seen descending from Heaven. “Yes, for real this time!” Ambriel exploded. “The archangel Michael is on his way! Now get ready!”

War rolled her eyes and folded up the table. Pollution disappointedly retrieved the half-empty wine bottle, sipping from it as they walked over to Ambriel.

Michael touched down, his impressive dusky wingspan battering them with dusty clouds. “Ambriel, I was told the armies of Hell are gathering here, yes?”

“Yes!” said Ambriel. “The antichrist is coming. He’s on his way now.”

“He’s…” Michael looked over the the horsepersons. Famine shrugged. War examined her nails. Pollution continued to sip from their bottle. Death very stormily crossed his arms.

“He’s supposed to already be here,” said Michael. “I don’t see any of the signs of Armageddon…”

“I gave the antichrist Adam Young a very stern lecture about his role, and demanded he come to Armageddon,” said Ambriel. “And he said he was coming.”

Pollution cocked their head. “He said he was coming?”

“Yes. His exact words were, ‘Okay, Boomer.’”

Pollution choked, wine shooting out their nose.

***************************

August 25, 1998

“Can we meet at your restaurant next time?”

Famine turned to Pollution, the only other figure with him at the yet again empty field of Armageddon. “What?”

“The next time this happens, can we meet at one of your restaurants?”

Famine sighed. The first few times this had happened, he’d argued that they didn’t know there was going to be a ‘next time,’ but by now, the anniversary of the Apocalypse usually heralded them gathering to stand around for a while and not much else. “I doubt Ambriel would go for that. We’re supposed to be in this spot.”

Pollution shifted from foot to foot. “But the Newtrition corp has expanded, right? It has branches around here now. It wouldn’t be that far.”

“You don’t want to eat at my restaurant,” said Famine, trying to hide his shock that Pollution was so familiar with his franchise. He hadn’t thought any of the other horsepersons had cared about his silly little business. Although it was nice that someone was paying attention. “Why not?” said Pollution. “It seems nice. It produces lots of waste paper. And styrofoam cartons. Love those things.”

“It doesn’t serve actual food,” said Famine. “Just a bunch of nonsense. It has no nutritional value.”

“Well,” said Pollution. “We don’t actually need to eat, do we? Back in the forties, I went a good decade without eating. Too busy with the mills in Pittsburgh to stop and eat.”

Famine opened his mouth to deliver a snappy retort, only to find he didn’t have one.

“‘Course that was before I took the crown from Pestilence, so I was just a minor horseperson then. Well, my point is, it’s not like we’ll be affected by malnutrition. As long as it tastes good, right?”

Famine lit a cigarette. “If you want to look at it that way, I suppose.”

The rumble of a motorcycle filled the air, and War pulled up with Ash perched on the back of her bike.

“We can’t meet at my restaurant,” said Famine. “That’s inappropriate.” He wasn’t sure why the idea made him so uncomfortable, and he turned to greet War. “Red.”

“Black,” said War, dismounting. She put her bike helmet on the saddle as Ash fell off behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to call me ‘Red,’ you know.”

Famine stopped. “What?”

“I have a name.”

Famine bristled. “Whatever. Where’s that stupid little twig of an angel this time?”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal,” said Ash, dusting herself off.

“I’m just getting a little tired of this!” said Famine. “I have to fly over from America every year in August only to be told to go right back home!”

Pollution opened a bag of crisps, savoring the grease. They looked disappointedly into the bag. “Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin my crisps!”

“I’m not ruining your—” Famine suddenly realised he was ruining the crisps, because he was so damn frustrated by how inefficient Heaven and Armageddon and this whole thing was. He was used to running things like a well-oiled machine, and this….

“Black, stop ruining the poor kid’s crisps,” said War.

“You’ve never appreciated my work,” Famine snapped.

Ambriel chose this moment to appear. “All right, everyone!” he said. “This time I’ve really—”

“Black, I was very much looking forward to my crisps!” Pollution said.

“You all only notice how hard I work when it affects you!” said Famine. “I’m the only one putting real effortinto building an empire—”

“You’re the only one?” said Pollution.

Scared, Ambriel hid behind his clipboard, unsure of how to wrangle them.

Famine suddenly realised that War was gleefully egging on the fight between him and Pollution with her horseperson powers. “Red!”

The tension in the air immediately dissipated, and War slunk back, looking chastised.

His head more clear now, Famine smoothed out his tie. The booted footsteps of Death reverberated in the air before he made his appearance. AND HOW MANY ANNIVERSARIES IS THIS NOW? I’VE LOST COUNT.

“You’re late,” said Ambriel snootily.

Death turned to him. Even though he had no face to speak of, and still had his helmet on, everyone could clearly imagine the expression he would make.

“Seven,” said Pollution through a mouthful of crisps.

A second angel descended from the sky, this one unhurried, dragging its proverbial feet.

AND DO I HAVE ANYTHING TO BE LATE FOR THIS TIME? said Death.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Ambriel. “Because I have with me the field agent who was responsible for delaying Armageddon last time. So now he’s going to kick it off.”

A chubby angel with oodles of curly hair touched down, looking around guiltily. “Er, hello...I’m Aziraphale.”

“Oh, you looked nicer in a dress,” said Pollution.

“All right,” said Ambriel. “Let’s go, then. Go on.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet.

“Don’t we need the antichrist?” volunteered Famine.

“The antichrist is unavailable,” said Ambriel icily. “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Unavailable?!” exclaimed War.

“He means Adam Young doesn’t want Armageddon to happen,” said Aziraphale, who then shut up right quick at an elbow jab from Ambriel.

“You can make it happen without the antichrist?” said Pollution, crunching through a mouthful of crisps. “Thought was the whole point of him. So how does it work?”

“Ahem,” said Ambriel. “That is none of your concern. Just worry about your own part. Now, let’s begin.”

Ambriel stepped forward to direct the horsepersons. War kept looking up at the sky, noticing Armageddon didn’t seem to be happening. Pollution licked their fingers, other hand firmly stuck in their crisps packet.

“And now Aziraphale will--Aziraphale?”

While Ambriel had had his back turned, Aziraphale had scuttled off, wings drawn wide and flapping erratically like a prey animal running from a fox. “Ahhh! Get back here!”

Ambriel went off chasing him. War stood where she was, sword poised, and watched him go. “Um…”

Pollution finished their packet of crisps and dropped it on the ground, wiping their hands on their shirt. “Is he coming back?”

They stayed there for about half an hour waiting for Ambriel, and decided he wasn’t coming back. Ash sweet-talked War into hitting the bars after that. They managed to convince everyone but Death to come along, too.

*************************

August 25, 2001

“Hey, why does it take an apocalypse for us to get together?” said War.

Pollution picked idly at the tablecloth on the little picnic table they had summoned. They were trying to decide if ketchup or mustard would make better stains on it. “Hmm?”

War straddled the bench, picking at the picnic basket. “I mean, I know not everyone likes to spend time with their coworkers outside of work, but there’s nothing stopping us from getting together outside of Armageddon, right?”

Pollution stopped. “Hmm?”

“She’s saying she wants to spend more time with you guys,” said Ash.

“We can do that?!” Pollution said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said War.

Pollution’s eyes sparkled.

“Come sit down and enjoy this little basket you put together,” said Ash. “It looks lovely.”

The weather was fabulous, once again with no signs of the inclement weather heralding Armageddon, and a delicious breeze tugged at them and whipping waves through the dry summer grass. Pollution fished out some plastic utensils and set them out on the table.

Ash took a sandwich from the basket. It definitely had worms of some sort in it, but being from Hell, she was used to such things.

“Where’s Famine, anyway?” said Pollution, setting a pile of napkins on the table and watching them immediately blow away in the wind.

“Oh, he’s coming!” said War. “And he said he was bringing a plus one this year.”

“A plus one?”

“Sounds like he’s got a girlfriend too. Or boyfriend. Or what-have-you.”

Pollution scratched their head. “Wonder who it could be.”

With a rustle of grass, Death stood beside them.

“Come sit down!” said War. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Death looked at them contemplatively. I DIDN’T RECEIVE A SUMMONS THIS YEAR.

“Huh,” said Pollution, letting their sandwich wrapper fall to the ground. “I just realised, neither did I.”

“Yeah,” said War, waving her hand dismissively. “But after doing this annually for ten years, I think we get the point, right?”

Death stood like a silent sentinel. Death was rarely the type to display any emotion at all, but to War and Pollution, it looked like he was fighting to not indulge in some unconventional display of sentiment.

A smile spread across War’s face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I WAS NEEDED THIS YEAR, said Death.

“Well, Armageddon is probably delayed again,” said War. “So you’re not, really. You’re free to leave.”

Death stood still.

“Come sit down,” said Ash, patting the bench. “You’re always so serious.”

Death clomped over and swung his enormous legs over the wooden bench.

“Heard Famine’s got himself a new squeeze,” gossiped War.

OH, said Death. YES…

The grass in the field next to them dried up, swirling brittle pieces making a small tornado, and with a mournful nicker, a skeletal horse materialized. Its emaciated frame was oozing with dripping wounds and festering decay. Atop its back was a figure in a white robe with a long, beaked mask.

Famine pulled up on his motorcycle. “Fellas, good to see you again!”

“It’s been a very long time,” said the newcomer, although no, he wasn’t new at all…

“You brought Pestilence!” Pollution yelled. “He’s not a horseperson anymore! I replaced him!”

“Tsk tsk, you young punk,” said Pestilence, dismounting. “No respect at all.”

Pollution glared.

“He’s not here as a horseperson,” said Famine. “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s cheating!” said Pollution.

Pestilence winked, which was absolutely infuriating.

Pollution crossed their arms as Famine and Pestilence took their seats. “This looks delightful,” said Pestilence, taking a crisp from a bowl.

Pollution grumbled. Famine was a little disgruntled that they had set up a nice meal, but he muttered an echo of Pestilence’s praise.

“It’s just weird,” said Pollution. “It’s like you’re dating my dad.”

“I’m not your Dad,” said Pestilence. “We barely met before you kicked me out.”

“I think you just don’t like Pestilence,” said Famine.

Pollution bristled. “Maybe.”

Famine shrugged. Somewhere in the world, the minor horseperson of Awkward Interpersonal Issues felt their power surge.

“It’s because they’re afraid I’ll wrangle the job of horseperson #3 from them,” said Pestilence. “The anti-vax moms in the United States are making them nervous.”

Pollution’s cheeks went red.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Pestilence. “I don’t want to be one of the Main Four anymore. It’s quite dull. The humans’ attitude towards smallpox ruined the fun for me. Some of my best work, all down the drain. Feff.” He sipped some cola. “But you seem to be doing a splendid job. I hear nowadays everyone’s mad about straws, of all things.”

Pollution perked up. The atmosphere at the table was much lighter after that.

“Isn’t Ambriel going to show up?” said War. “Usually right about now is when he comes down, babbling about how Armageddon is really going to happen this time, and how we need to get ready.”

Pestilence scratched his head. “Ambriel? He’s the one who had to come tell me they were swapping me out for Pollution. He still works in the Department of Armageddon? Poor sod always got the worst jobs pushed onto him.”

Ambriel did, in fact, show up eventually. He had none of his usual bravado. He dragged his sandaled feet through the dirt and flopped down to join them at the picnic table. The four of them shared a look, then looked back at Ambriel. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” said Famine.

“Useless,” said Ambriel. “It’s all useless. Nothing I do ever works. No matter how hard I try, Heaven can’t get its crap together to make Armageddon happen. Oh, pardon my language.”

“Hey, cheer up,” said Pollution. “The first time we tried, the four of us got beaten by little kids with sticks and rocks. That’s way more humiliating than anything you’ve had to go through.”

Famine glared at Pollution. Pollution unwrapped a lolly, enjoying the crinkling of the wrapper.

Ambriel thunked his head on the table, groaning. “No use, it’s no use!”

“Well, we’re all having a lovely time anyway!” said Ash. “August 25 is my favorite day of the year now!”

“It’s supposed to be Armageddon,” moaned Ambriel. “It’s not supposed to be a celebration.”

War stabbed a little cocktail weiner with her Bowie knife. “We’ve been known to celebrate in unconventional ways.”

***************************

Present day

“1845.”

“No, that was you?”

Pollution sucked on their choco-whippy milkshake, eyes bouncing from War to Pestilence.

“Yep,” said Pestilence, leaning back, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought for sure that was Famine,” said War.

“I wish,” said Famine. “I had been working in Ireland for a few years at that point, but hadn’t had much success.”

“Phytophthora infestans,” said Pestilence. “One of my favorites.

“He refuses to lend it to me,” said Famine. “Greedy bastard.”

“Not your jurisdiction.”

They all shared a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Pollution,” said War, snapping her fingers. “I just remembered. That science project we were talking about the other day, the bacteria that humans were cultivating to break down plastic.”

Pollution’s face screwed up in displeasure.

“I was working on trying to divert some of the NHS’s funding into more bioweapon applications. Maybe if you do me a little favor in return, I can get their funding pulled?”

Pollution nodded happily, sucking through their straw.

“Hey, here he comes!” said War, throwing up her hand.

Death strode over, standing at the edge of the table.

“Sit down,” said Ash, patting the seat. “We’re having a lovely time.”

I HAVE… said Death. If it were possible, he seemed embarrassed.

“What?” said Pollution.

I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT A PLUS ONE.

“What, a boyfriend?” said Pestilence.

NOT LIKE THAT…. said Death. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small bundle of fur, which blinked and mewled.

Ash had stars in her eyes, putting her hands on her head as though to keep her brain from exploding out. “Is that a kitten?”

I FOUND IT OUTSIDE.

“It’s so cute!” said Pollution.

I HAD NEVER NOTICED THEM BEFORE, said Death. THEY ARE...NICE.

“Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the world,” said Famine. “Since it seems like we’ll be here for a while.”

Death sat down, putting the cat on the table. The minimum wage employees scrambling to make the food didn’t have the time to notice or care.

“We were just discussing some of the other anniversaries we have besides August 25,” said War. “Turns out we have quite a lot of them! We should share.”

Death was silent.

“February 14,” said War. “The start of the first War in Mesopotamia. That was my favorite one. I find the date so deliciously funny with what they’ve done with it now.”

“September 27,” said Pollution. “When the first mass-produced automobile left the factory.”

“What about you?” siad Famine.

“Black’s right,” said Pollution. “You must have one.”

Death hummed for a minute. Then: NOVEMBER 16. THE DAY THE FIRST MAN DIED.

“And kicked all this off,” said Famine. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses against each other’s.

“Hey,” said Famine. “You guys have been calling me ‘Black,’ this whole time, and while I guess it’s technically what I am…. Well, I picked a name. A more human name. You could use it, if you like.”

“Would you like that?” said Pollution.

“I think so. It’s Sable.”

“Raven Sable,” said War. “That’s right. I like it.”

“What about you?” said Sable. “Don’t you have one?”

“Oh, yeah!” said War. “Wouldn’t that just be great! Call me Carmine.”

“It’s such a good name!” said Ash joyfully.

Carmine beamed. She’d never known this would feel good, but it did.

Pollution shyly tapped their fingers on the table. “Chalk, please.”

All eyes turned towards Death.

“Well?” said Chalk. “Only if you want to.”

AZRAEL.

“It’s perfect,” said Ash.

Sable snapped his fingers. “Guys, hold on a second, I just remembered something.”

“Hm?” said Chalk.

“August 25. Armageddon.”

“So?” said Carmine. “That never happens anyway.”

“Well, we were so excited to meet we forgot we were supposed to go to Armageddon first.”

Carmine choked on the pickle she had been eating. “Oh yeah,” said Ash, very slowly. “I guess that’s fine, though. But, oh dear… Did anyone tell Ambriel?”

Azrael grinned, moreso than a regular skeletal grin. I’M SURE HE’S DOING JUST FINE.

“I’ve got it! I’ve finally got it!”

Ambriel, almost tripping over his robes, waved his papers in the air as he sprinted towards Armageddon. “I finally have all the departments in accord, the stars have aligned, the paperwork is signed, the—”

Ambriel stopped and beheld the field of Armageddon, butterflies floating by and flowers bouncing merrily, very conspicuously empty and peaceful and not trodden by the harbingers of Armageddon.

“Oh, dear…”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #gohe

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breadoffoxy · 4 years

Text

Changing Tides | 3

Summary: At a young age you thought you had your life all figured out. You would marry your crush and become a world renown artist. It was perfect. That is until a childhood friend, your clumsy cousin, an intimidating rival, a nosy neighbor, an art prodigy, a beautiful dancer and a perfectionist workaholic destroyed those plans for better or for worse.

Pairing: some f. reader x Hoseok, f. reader x Jungkook, and f. reader x Jimin

Genre: Slice of Life, awkward teenage years to college au, eventual romance, angst, fluff

Word Count: 1,535

Warnings: Mentions of arguing parents and divorce

Prev | Next

“Hurry up slow-poke!”

“Shut up you stupid muscle bunny!” You grunt under the stain of your one box as you slowly trudge through the doorway. Ahead of you is said muscle bunny carrying two heavy boxes with ease towards the moving truck. His white shirt is wet with some sweat but that only makes the back muscles you pretend not to notice clearer.

“Here let me help.”

Hands reach towards the box in your hands. Even though the person is blocked from your vision you know that voice and clumsily try to dodge out of his way.

“No way Joon, this is a delicate box!”

A sigh of defeat is all you hear. Even he can’t deny his powers of destruction as he already destroyed a vase. It was ugly as hell but both of your parents argued over it. Good riddance you say.

“Why don’t you get the car playlist ready?” If there’s one thing you can trust your cousin with it’s that.

“On it.” Namjoon pulls out his bulky new mp3 player he spent forever saving up for as he heads for the shaded porch. He’s discussed to you the finer points of what he thinks of digital versus analog but the large portable music library has its plus.

The box you are carrying disappears and you see your childhood friend carefully organizing it into the back of the truck. “That should be it right?”

“Yeah, that should be it. I’m just going to double check my room really quick.”

The boy smiles at you, and all of a sudden it hits you. You won’t be able to see that smile nearly as much anymore. Just a few weekends here and there when you have to be swapped between your parents. You can feel your eyes getting watery as you try to commit the boy who turned into a young man in front of your eyes to memory. You made plans for how the two of you would rule your new high school but all of that is for naught now. From his sweet smile that coined his bunny nickname, to the glitter in his eyes, and even that small scar on his cheek, you want to remember it all.

The smile Jungkook wears slowly slides away and his gaze turns to one of concern. Oh god you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. You quickly plaster a smile on your face.

“Why don’t you help Namjoon out with some music?” Jungkook glances between you and your cousin a couple of times. The concerned look is still there. You can tell he’s torn between hanging out with your cousin who he idolizes and figuring you out, which you know he can do too easily.

As if sensing your plight or just being completely oblivious to the air around you, Namjoon yells across the yard, “Hey Jungkook, have you heard the new Drake song?”

And that hits the nail on the head and Jungkook’s eyes sweep back to your cousin excitedly. You’re a little jealous how quickly the two bonded over music as it was yours and your cousin’s thing, but you’re happier that it helped the shy boy out of his shell a little. Namjoon wasn’t a bad role model as long as you didn’t sneak through his computer. Your eyes will never be the same after that.

“It’s so good I can’t believe it!” He jogs over to Namjoon and your smile turns real for a little bit as you watch him.

Quickly, you head inside and your face goes into a neutral expression as you pass the defeated form of your father in the entry way. He didn’t take the divorce well. You don’t blame him but you also don’t have much sympathy either. The whole process deteriorated your relationship as a side of him came out that was hostile and demeaning.

“Hey Kiddo.” You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. He hugs your tense form barely for a second before stepping back. “Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

And that’s that. He walks away into the hallway leading to his office and doesn’t look back. The hurt that strikes you shocks you and you dash towards your room. The tears slowly come at first and once you’re in your room the tears come flooding down. Your hand comes up to your mouth to muffle the tiny sobs as you cry at the things that were. Fifteen years you have spent in this house with both of your parents, with this room as yours, and now it is devoid of what makes it you. Just your bed and a couple decorations remain. There’s no telling how long your dad will leave it as is and not refurnish it to his own purposes.

The tears eventually slow, and through your sniffles you spot something peeking behind your desk. Lethargically, you move across the room and kneel down to get a better look.

“Now how did you get down here?”

Wedged between the wall and your desk is one of your old sketchbooks. A few of the pages are bent at awkward angles. You stick your hand behind the desk but have a hard time reaching it. Determined to get it you crawl around trying to get into the best position and stretch your arm as far as it can go.

“Aha!” Your fingers finally grasp the edge of the book. The victory sound turns to a grumble as it barely moves when you pull it. And then something that feels like a hand slaps against your butt, which makes your head canter into the desk with a thunk.

“Hahaha…Oh my god I’m so sorry!” Jungkook’s laughter morphs into an apology after hearing your yell of pain. Your eyes are shut from the surprise of what just happened but you feel him kneel down next to you. His fingers probe at your head carefully.

“Can you just move the table back a little bit?”

Quickly he stands up and does as you ask. You pull the artbook out easily and scoot back until you reach the corner of your room. Curling into yourself slightly you finally open your eyes and glance at the once again concerned looking Jungkook hovering over you. You pat the ground next to you and Jungkook sits with his knees just slightly bumping yours.

“Your spending too much time with Namjoon. Don’t go breaking me now.”

“Never.”

Glancing over to the boy, you find his gaze immediately. It’s too heavy and it feels like your drowning in his brown eyes. Emotions rise up which nearly trigger the water works again. You close your eyes and take a deep breath to try to get some control. You hate how much you will miss him.

A weight falls on your shoulder and you tense slightly before relaxing. You open your eyes back up to see Jungkook’s head resting there as he carefully takes the sketchbook from you. Slowly he flips through the pages and the nostalgia hits you. Along with the feeling every artist gets.

“Ahh these are worse than I remember. I was so bad.”

Jungkook continues to flip through the pages. “Yeah, you’re a lot better now, but for a kid these were pretty good.”

The pages stop turning as it comes to a familiar self portrait of yourself. With the lightest touch Jungkook traces a finger along the drawing of a smiling you with headphones.

“This one is still my favorite.”

“Haha and I say it’s still the worst.”

Before Jungkook could refute you, you snatch the notebook back.

“Hey, I’m not done- whoah no stop!”

Jungkook head rises quickly from your shoulder and tries to stop you from ripping the page out. He scrambles on all fours to try when you just turn to stop him but it’s too late. The boy freezes with his eyes wide and mouth open. What you did was just blasphemy.

“Take it since you like it so much.” You smile sadly as you hand it to your friend. He takes it as if you just handed him the most precious artifact and still looks as if he is in shock. “It can be my good-bye present, or I guess more like a see you later?”

Gently, Jungkook places the picture on the ground next to him and the next thing you know, strong arms are pulling you into him. You wrap your arms around him and the both of you can feel each other shaking. You can feel something wet drop on the crook of your neck where his head rests, and you know he can feel the same as well.

Namjoon awkwardly hovers at the door unsure of what to do. Sadly, he watches the scene in front of him. Outside your window he can see the forms of his mother and aunt waiting near the moving truck and car. His eyes shut to give the two of you a longer moment, but eventually he opens them and moves into the room.

“Sorry y/n, but it is time to go.”

Jungkook gives you a final tight squeeze and then slowly lets you go.

#bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #namjoon fanfiction #bts angst #bts series #changing tides #my writing

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thatoneacblog · 4 years

Text

What could have been

Anne and Sarah are both characters from this fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307085/chapters/50739557

I have no excuse for this. I just wanted to write some angst.

Angst, character death, blood, canon typical violence.

Versaille was bustling with activity, countless men and women in full court regalia strutting around in an unspoken dance of manners and protocol. Shay hated them all. The horrid cloud of perfumes all mixed into an acrid stench that assaulted his nose and made it difficult to breathe without coughing, but he pushed through all the same, what he needed was here. He’d discovered Charles Dorian was set to meet one of his acquaintances here to discuss some business, and with any luck, he’d have the precursor box on him. After being saved from the clutches of Parisian thugs, Benjamin Franklin had smuggled him in here through the kitchens. The old dog had charmed the scullery maids into silence as he wove through the barren servant quarters. The naked walls and scuffed floors gradually became more and more luxurious as he grew closer to the salons and halls where the nobility dwelled. Now he stalked the gilded halls, dodging this way and that to avoid the prissy nobles and their guards. A girl with a head of Scarlet hair zipped past him, tailed by a boy about her age. He watched them pass by before continuing on. Shay stopped to let a pair of women pass, one was older, short and stout with blonde hair that was put up in intricate curls and buns that must have taken hours. The other was much younger, maybe in her early twenties, she had dark brown hair and eyes to match. Something about her looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen her. The girl looked over at Shay as she passed and her smile died when their eyes met like she recognized him as well. Her friend was ignorant of this as they walked on, turning the corner and out of sight. Shay moved on and kept his eyes peeled as he walked, keeping an eye out for Dorian. Not five minutes later he spotted him, farther down the hall, facing away from Shay, was Charles Dorian. All other thoughts suddenly faded into the background. For the moment he was a hunter with a single purpose. Shay slowly moved down the hallway towards Dorian, careful not to let him see him coming. Luckily he was faced away from him for most of the journey, talking to someone Shay didn’t recognize. He stood off to the side of the hall as Dorian and his companion began to walk. Over the din of the crowd, Shay overheard Dorian speak.

“Gentleman, I will protect this artifact with my very life,” he said. A poor choice of words, Shay thought as he followed a safe distance behind them. His associate turned left and walked down the hall, leaving Dorian alone in the crowd. He stopped in front of a chair and looked around like he was expecting someone. “Arno?” he called. “Where have you gone?” Shay wasn’t sure who this Arno was and he didn’t have the time to find out. Shay rushed up to Dorian as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion from the surrounding crowd. He twirled Dorian around and before he could react Shay sank his hidden blade into his chest. Dorian let out a choked gasp as Shay discreetly lowered him into the chair.

“You!” he muttered. “You’re the traitor!”. The crowd remained ignorant of the murder that was taking place right under their noses as Shay responded.

“I’m just finishing old business,” he said as he kneeled down to Dorian’s level to search his coat. It didn’t take him long to find the box tucked away in a pocket. Dorian was huffing and wheezing now, blood beginning to seep out between his fingers.

“Old Connor and his assassins…” he had to stop to catch his breath. “The American revolution undid your Templar business.” Shay’s brow furrowed for a moment. What happened in the colonies had been a disaster for the Templars. The death of Grandmaster Kenway had ended any hope of gaining influence there.

“Then maybe,” Shay whispered to the dying man, “We should start a revolution of our own.” Dorian looked horrified as Shay stood up and walked away. He didn’t look back but he heard people yelling. They must have discovered Dorian’s injuries. Somebody walked into him as he went back down the hallway. He looked over to see those same big, brown eyes from earlier. The girl’s back and shoulders were stiff and her brow was in knots. Shay did his best to soften his demeanor that had been hardened over the years. He smiled and nodded down at her. He only spoke when another scream echoed from down the hall.

“You should go, Madamoiselle,” he said. “Things that elicit that kind of sound are not things a young lady should see.” she nodded and scurried away back down the hallway she came, like she just needed to get away from him. Shay turned and continued to flee from his crime, all the way he wondered why she looked so damn familiar. He left Versaille and hopped back on his horse. He’d ride to Paris and deliver it to Germain. If Lee was half as competent as Kenway was he’d have sent the manuscript to him as well. The ride back to Paris wasn’t as smooth as the ride to Versaille was. The rain had pelted him throughout the journey and the few breaks in the weather were filled with cold, bitter winds. It was dark when he arrived in Paris, people had squirreled themselves away in their homes to avoid the cold and crime that stalked the streets. Shay entered the empty safe house on the outskirts of the city. It was a largely barren building, with a few beds and a table, little more. Shay couldn’t bring himself to care, his entire body felt heavy and was aching. He was getting too old for this, he thought bitterly. He plopped down on one of the threadbare mattresses, the box still tucked away in his coat, and let sleep take him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but when his eyes snapped open he heard the distinct sound of the rusty doorknob being opened echoing through the silence of nighttime. He pretended to be asleep as they crept in. Shay was facing away from them and couldn’t see, but he counted two pairs of footsteps approaching him. One of them was ahead of the other, he thought. He originally planned to wait until they got closer but then he heard a hidden blade being deployed and his plan changed.

“Sarah, no!” one of them cried as Shay leaped out of bed just in time to dodge her blade. He drew his swords and readied himself to fight. Sunlight crept in through the fogged windows, letting in just enough light for him to see his attackers. He recognized the first one, she had the same hair and eyes as the girl from Versaille, except now instead of court finery, she donned an assassin’s robes, tanned leather dyed a dark red. She had her hidden blade deployed and ready along with a sword in her opposite hand. He looked towards the door and his blood froze. There, near the door, with her weapons drawn, was a woman in her mid-forties, the same age as Shay, with jet black hair that was streaked with gray and a pair of striking blue eyes that bored into his soul. She was just as beautiful as she was when he met her twenty years ago.

And she was here to kill him

“Annie?” he choked. She didn’t have time to respond before Sarah took another swing at him. He blocked it easily, twisting his sword to wrench hers out of her grip. When Sarah’s sword came loose from her hands, Anne leaped in to defend her.

“Stay behind me!” she ordered. Sarah complied, having nothing but her blade to defend herself with. A familiar feeling settled just beneath Shay’s ribcage as she stared him down.

“This doesn’t have to happ’n, Anne!” Shay begged. “Just go home!”. Anne shook her head.

“I can’t, Shay, not while you have the box!” she said. His eyes darted between her and Sarah, waiting for one of them to make a move. Even after all these years, he couldn’t bring himself to attack her. Luckily, she wouldn’t force him to make the first move. She lifted her sword to swing and he lifted his own to block it. The sound of metal clashing rang in their ears as they fought. Two experienced fighters dodging, parrying, and swinging in an almost dance they’d learned over decades of training and practice. Shay, though, had a little more practice fighting Assassins than Anne had. He waited for an opening in her defense before knocking her sword out of her hands, sending it clattering across the floor.

“Mother!” Sarah cried. Mother? Shay wondered. He suddenly realized her age and his stomach sank. Oh, No. She couldn’t be… Shay was too busy fending off Sarah’s vicious onslaught to follow that train of thought. She didn’t even have a sword, she was just hacking and slashing at him with her hidden blade. Shay was so preoccupied with Sarah that he hadn’t noticed Anne going for her sword. By the time he realized what she was doing she was already armed. He shoved Sarah away from him to make room to block Anne’s attack, but Sarah twisted his wrist and drove her hidden blade through his forearm. Pain shot up his arm as the blood started to pour, he didn’t block Anne’s blade in time and it swiped across his chest, leaving a long, bloody slash across the front of his chest that was immediately followed up with Anne’s hidden blade sinking into his abdomen. His swords fell from his hands and clattered to the floor as his legs buckled beneath him. Anne held onto him and carefully lowered him to the floor, keeping his head supported with one of her hands as the other searched his coat for the precursor box. She pulled the box from his coat and looked to Sarah, who was standing over them.

“Take this back to monsieur Chapheau,” she said. Sarah carefully took the box from her mother before she glared down at Shay.

“And what about him?” she asked. The venomous way she talked about him made his chest ache. Anne glanced down at Shay before looking back to her daughter.

“I’ll take care of it, зайка, just go.” Sarah briefly hesitated before turning to leave. She disappeared out the door, not bothering to close it behind her. Shay turned his head back to look up at Anne.

“Kind of figured it’d end like this, eventually.” he groaned.

“I tried, Shay,” She said through the beginnings of tears. “I tried,” Shay had to close his eyes. If he had to watch her cry he’d end up crying himself. She had tried, they both did. In those first years after he left the assassin’s, after he stole the manuscript, Anne would track him down and try to talk him back into returning, begging him to return if not for her then for their daughter. He couldn’t have returned, no matter how desperately he wanted to. They’d kill him without a doubt, especially after what happened with Kassegowasse. They went in circles for years, her begging him to return to the assassins and him begging her to leave, deep down he knew she’d never leave the assassins, but it didn’t stop him from trying. Eventually, she stopped showing up.

“We both did, love,” he said. Blood was beginning to pool beneath them. He felt like he might throw up when he saw it and his head was starting to swim. He opened his eyes again to see her face. She’d changed since he’d last seen her. She’d acquired some fine wrinkles around her eyes, forehead, and cheeks, and strands of gray shot up from the roots of her hair. She wore different robes than the ones she wore when they first met. But otherwise, she was the same woman he’d married twenty years ago. He reached over and took her hand, tenderly running his thumb over her knuckles.

“M’sorry, love,” he said. “For everythin’,” in some ways, he meant what he said. He didn’t regret stopping the assassins, if they had been left alone they would have killed countless innocents, but he was sorry for leaving her, for breaking her heart and leaving their daughter without her father. Anne took a shaky breath and pulled her hand away from him. He groaned when a new bolt of pain shot through him.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. Her accent made all her words sweet as honey to him, no matter how bitter they actually were. She cupped his face with her free hand and brought her face down to kiss him. He knew what was going to happen the moment her hand met his face, the cold steel of her hidden blade brushing against his neck. He didn’t bother fighting it, with the wounds he’s already sustained, he’d die either way. When their lips met he brought his hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of her skull and for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to wonder what could have been. After a few seconds, she pulled away, and just as he’d expected, her hidden blade deployed and sliced through his neck. He coughed and wheezed as blood poured from him. He suddenly couldn’t seem to get enough air. Anne was openly weeping now, she pulled him closer to her and held him as life slowly ebbed away.

#shay cormac #writing

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