#rapture those fuckers out of here already
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#the rapture#solar eclipse#end times#end times again#rapture those fuckers out of here already#total eclipse#Nineveh#evangelicals#christian nationalists#maga
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First and foremost to get it outta my system, fuck orbitaldropkick for being a piece of shit hack-writer with zero tact. Fiction and narrative do not defacto endorse the most horrible actions or events on earth, but you have no fucking tact in your writing of or depiction of said events- it's crassness for shock value and it's gross.
You might know kill six billion demons and might even still be reading it- if you do, I suggest you don't! If you don't read it, don't start! The idea can't poison you if you don't imbibe it, and the most recent update was very much a reason for me to hate the fucker more than I already did for being an abrasively smug prick. CW for rape if you ignore the prior warning and go to his site anyway.
"But its been years and im so invested-" Shut the fuck up, if an apple rots you don't keep the mush.
You may be asking yourself what you ought to maybe consider reading or engaging with instead that maybe handles shit more tactfully, or overall embodies the spirit of killing god that isn't tied to tom parkinson-morgan or his works (ksbd, icon, lancer, unnamed cyberpunk), and I'm compiling a list below:
Comics:
Souls Foreclosed- Cast of devil-endowed trans people literally combatting society, the church and vampires that rule it, and tbqh god himself. Extremely good and creative as fuck in it's visual design.
Phototaxis of a Fighter- Underground boxing with a full cast of queer and ace rep, PLEASE read this shit 'cause I'm tired of people sleeping on such a banger comic.
Scam the Gods- Dreamlike and utterly surreal comic focused on committing to the title. As with the above fuckin read this shit if you want to feel caught in a dream you can't quite wake up from, quit sleeping on the comic and sleep inside it.
Novels and TTRPGS:
Benjanun's Machine Series- hoohboy there's a lot here please let her explain it better than i can ;///;
Gubat Banwa + Maharlika- TTRPG steeped in southeast-asian culture with mechanics emulating the snappy combat of martial arts movies and godkilling™ (mecha robo for the latter of the two), and with far greater understanding of the cultures it references than those Tom outright rips from.
Devil, Aim for Me- If there could be a oneshot/single system to encapsulate the vibe of Souls Foreclosed, this'd be it- Ran a game several years ago centered around a post biblical rapture world with the goal of crawling out from the ash to kill god, so I'm including it here as well worth your time.
tl;dr fuck you abbadon, i wish you'd go back to being john neverpost and fucking stay that way you cunt
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So whats easier to believe,
Brandon talks to Air,
or Brandon reverse baits stupid white fuckers according to how much they respond to white money or code languages that involve human trafficking?
hmm?
Brandon talks to Air...
Or Brandon has open ended conversations with teams of white supermasists who constantly want to play child molester blame games, or whatever excuse gets them their next whifffffff of vanilla air
which is more believable,
Brandon, talks to nobody at all,
orrrrrr.... Brandon with years of research and spiritual truths, has found tons of dirty white club houses?
hmmm Brandon talks to Air...
or Brandon is so fucking sarcastic that he can easily reverse and snake entire teams of the worlds most nastiest white powers
Brandon, talks to air?
or Brandon, spelled Birds & Beez with his own God Damn Name,
and listens to guys AND women,
ALL primarily WHITE WHITE and WHITE... who enjoy secret double code languages..
hmmm which is more believable
Brandon Burdett, randomly talks to air... and has twinkle toes...
or Brandon reverse baits the unholy hell out of americas white money
idk... you tell me,
Brandon with all those Bees and Bravery...
or white teams with all those excuses, rush rush & hush hush?
hmm....
anyone want to go faster?
how about deeper,
i will just poor me another cup of coffee, and play Oh no! Dont touch me! white daddys only lol...
this isnt funny,
its self defense & world justice
actually..
which is more believable,
Brandon talks to air,
as entire teams of white "ROLE PLAYERS" have one sided debates.
Yah... totally believable right?
only people, specially 'trained' yah only they can talk 1 sided right?
Brandon talks to Air,
and white teams, talk to.... who?
Exactly,
Brandon double baits ur asses
and Brandon has VOWED his entire life to these YEARS of justices,
america is a sick country
We arent sick, white government is
and even worse, is the white background of "codes" and "clubs"
now we get into a little deeper believably here....
How did Brandon, do so much?
Me, Myself,
Well, My name IS Birds and Bees!
I do LISTEN,
and I do JOIN..
I dont care how one sided any of the teams 'seem'
if your white,
and ur on a team,
im coming for ur money and ur secrets.. specially if you think you will "one sided" talk to me
whats more believable,
Brandon talks to Thin Air,
Or Brandon actively participates in his Public Service Duties, by reverse interviewing anyone who talks about ANYYYYY of these subjects of "white america"
or "white club codes"
so
Lets refresh,
Brandon talks to Air?
Or Brandon's YEARS of research and devoted spiritual practices... can hear what a "two way" conversation is
oh wow!
people can hear trained agents!?
without being trained!?
specially if their name is fucking Birds & Bees of creation!?
No fucking way!?
How many brain cells were required?
Brandon listens,
And I dont appreciate the ignorance that white teams act like those levels of corruptions are dismissible by making slander claims and playing hot potato
white teams,
is my speciality,
white money,
is my speciality
white secret club codes,
is my speciality
Brandon has years of research
Brandon has first hand experience
Brandon will listen,
and I know the difference between repeated fools, and repeated words.
teams of nasty white club codes
thats actually my favorite focus
white america
white money
white corruption
white codes
white white white white white
boyyyyyyyy once there's this much white, God knows the excuses come flooding in... and their all white too!? wow! big surprise!
Believable, brandon talks to air
or Brandon already openly responded to dozens of corrupt agents, who have no intention of ever stopping what their doing
Brandons years of research
Brandons devoted spiritual practices
or... teams of whites, white money, or mixed message subordinates to white ladders... can only talk 1 sided?
WOW!
No thanks "white" club america
Brandon Listens
Birds & Bees
america is on a mass rapture, and the world has several mass raptures... but they're not able to credit me, without having to debate thousands of agents positions..
and yes i mean thousands,
there would be so many political and social reforms...
that disbelieving 'brandon'
has became a revolving door...
a revolving door, where repeated agents are coming back to me, again and again,
to wash their own attention spans,
Im not "white powers" plan B,
I am Brandon Burdett
and my years of research wont be erased.
america is disgusting
and I will continue to reverse bait anyone who talks to me, specially if white, and specially if arrogant
and specially if ive heard the same "agents" dozens of times over the courses of several years...
their not investigating,
their marketing and trafficking
know the difference between friend Brandon, or Foe White america
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SCORCHED
A little JayRoman fic that i just
now whipped up while bored as fuck lol
***
*****
*******
"I'm still wonderin' just where in the fuck you got those god damned things from.” Roy's words are knifelike, however at the slice of it’s blow to my gut, out rushed butterflies, contrary to blood.
Fuck him. Pinpointing just what’s not vital at this very moment.
"Always had'em," I insist, housing the twin mamba pistols, gleaming in decadence, back into their holsters at each thigh. . .. . . And yeah; they are in fact new. And no; I didn't buy them.
Yes, i’m a fuckin' liar, sue me; I’ve been called worse. On the other hand, the actual truth reaches a hand far deeper into my organs then anyone needs to be groping there greedy fingers within, sloppy in movement, scuttling after answers that I'm beyond sure the owner of such a prying hand will come to anguish.
"Nah," Roy presses, slinging himself across a couch here in the drearily lighted safe house that we've together taken up refuge in somewhere North East of Gotham City, " I know all’ov your artillery dude. That shit's new. And looks hella posh. Did I miss yer birthday or somethin' ? " He cracks open a beer, guzzling it down while those jade eyes pierce through me from above the can.
God damn him. I carelessly knock into his bow and arrows causing him to sputter his alcohol and run to their salvation, whining about how I could be 'such a fucking bully' however it gets him to shut the fuck up on the former topic under fire; and that was my only intention.
Nobody.
Nobody needs to know about the gifts.
What started out as a game has me now roped in pretty heavily, but, I’m a damn sucker for fucking with Roman's upper story, what can I say ?? I can be a mother fucking flirt when I wanna be (while not quite as sophisticated in the art as Dick Grayson himself) I've picked up a few logistics on how to score a man's desires...I mean,at least: the murderous type; how to score the desires of a man who wants to lacerate my spine as well as fuck me into the nearest floorboard. And it was all just a game. I swear it was. The thorns in my side enjoyed toying with the temper of a well-bred villain who's tasted blood soaked daggers, and known the Godlike fever of electing a fatal gasp from an parched lung. I liked the twisted smirk of his face from under that obscene leather mask. I liked the tangled intrigue of his body language. I relished how I held him in the palm of my hand; just another man eating whatever slop from the filthy bowl I threw at the floor for him to gobble up.
That shit made me feel potent, dominant, I ain't gonna lie.
It had been upon entering my apartment one afternoon that I found a giant box on my coffee table, looking out of place amongst overall brown and black furnishings; this bright box done up in all red. With a scoff I checked it for explosives before revealing it’s contents to find a Gold-Inlaid Colt Model 1849 Pocket Revolver. . .this shit sells for 1.1 Million. . .and it was with that knowledge that I’d been keen on knowing just who the sender of such an item had been.
I’d doubled over laughing.
So, it went on this way for a while. The times Roman and I would happen to ‘chance upon one another’ or fall into a breakneck fight beneath dark Gotham skies, I always played up the immodest tart card. Teasing. Leading. And he followed the trail; come a few short days later I'd be rewarded a gift. This became something of a cycle. Something routine. Just, expected, yanno ?
Up until one drunken night I found the presents piling up around me to be annoying as all fuck in their gleaming elegence.
I wasn't a cheap prize to be won, some sodden part of my brain manifested this notion that then exploded into me breaking into Roman's estate and cursing for him to take every damned gift back, because, and I quote " I ain't your god damned slut mother fucker " more or less slurred.
There had been a beat of silence between us then. A beat. Just a beat. Before I was grabbed. Picked up. And I fucking cringe to say that that shit had me near to begging for him. Not many men that I've been with could pick me up, they never had the musculature and we’d always end up in missionary. But there I fucking was...being suddenly ripped piece by piece by Roman himself. Broken open.
The callous scratch of the wall leaving red reminders trailed into the skin of my back, a surface I’d arched myself into as if to arch away. A part of me wanted that wall to swallow me whole, make me dissipate from here because I was feeling too much all at once. I didn't understand anything past our flirtatious banter. Didn't know the whimpered cries and wet moans coming from deep within my chest, nor the hands holding tight to the broad shoulders of this man who kept me blanketed in a hot rapture that not even Heaven it's self could muster the courage to match, and maybe that’s because this damned brute in a leather mask is the Devil; breathing into me all 7 Deadly Sin's at once, making burn within my esophagus a startling realization that all this time I may have been his fucking puppet whereas I thought it the other way around.....his fucking puppet now his fucking fuck toy.
I honestly can’t say how I made it back to my apartment. Last thing I recalled was being spent, slung over Roman's shoulder, then waking up in my own bed alone. Nevertheless, the scratches and metallic taste of blood were a clear reminder of the night we’d shared.
And upon that night, all that which I’d once known had been laid to rest.
Costly weaponry turned into expensive clothing. Expensive clothes turned into rare jewels. Jewels turned into a sports car, a sports car turned to a motorcycle....and my dumbass accepted it all, while discovering in me some sick, dark sort of amusement with each tiding.
Dick registered right away something was off with me, the depth in his blue eyes said it all as he took in my abrupt departure in fashion choice and of transportation.
"I'm just doin' a bit better is all," I'd told him and he arched a brow while saying, "Look, I think I know what's up. But, only because I've been there myself. And let me just tell you that it's not worth it."
I had scoffed, watching him walk away. Leave it to Dick to be the OG Sugar Baby of the BatFam. Somethin told me that Bruce was the supplier of his every need and hunger, but I refused to dive any deeper into that and left. In fact, I've stayed clear of Wayne Manor for quite some time. Refusing team ups, partnerships, and or pursuits having anything to do with Batman.
When it comes to Kori, she likes to dote on all that I've been given. On her own she unearthed the jewels I kept hidden away and tried them on for herself, twirling in the mirror and laughing while telling me, "Whomever this mystery man is has quite the taste," with a fancy wink. I'm shocked she didn't mention it at all to Roy--
---which is where we are now, currently in my safe house as I watch Roy check on his bow for scuff marks and pout over at me, grabbing back up his abandoned beer can. "I still say that someone bought you those pistols. It ain't your usual style, there too expensive seeming--"
"You callin me cheap ? Like i don't buy quality? " I ask a bit too defensively.
Roy put his hands up . "No ! I'm just sayin...." his eyes squint a bit. “I’m just sayin that somethin's up with you man, an’ I got a bad feelin' about it."
I shrug, going to cleaning the mamba pistols of any blood tracked back from our earlier run in with a Mafia Boss and his little posse; which gets me thinking about Roman; the heated sting of his fingers, the scorch of those gloves everywhere they touched. And they never leave, those gloves. they stay on. Not because he chooses it, but because I demand it. I admit to being a bit of a masochist
In the same way that I’m a bit of a liar
A bit of a manipulator while also being the manipulated
A bit damaged
A bit taken for granted
And with sense enough to know that Roman and I are destined to crash and burn
But I’ve already burned once before, so;
what's one more go around gonna hurt ?
#jayroman#short little fanfic#jay the sugar baby lol#fanfic shit#my random writings#jason todd#red hood#roman sionis#black mask#roy harper#arsenal#dick grayson#nightwing#koriand'r#starfire#batfam#brudick
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Of Faes and Goblins
Fae! Aethelred+Changeling! Reader+Goblin! Ivar
(A/N): Happy birthday, Sophie, @maggiescarborough!
So to celebrate your beautiful day and to show how much we support you and apprecciate all you do for this beautiful comunity, we thought of sharing with you a few creations to celebrate properly your lovely day!
My idea is basically an interactive story, as in: you’ll be faced with a few choices and you’ll decide the turn of events of the stories, so be sure to let me know what you prefer to happen and I’ll try my best to follow your choices.
For the rest, do enjoy the surprise and the idea!
Have a lovely birthday, beautiful! (with not too much heathen and your beloved sickly looking Saxons!).
SUMMARY: After your life turned out to be a complete lie, you find yourself faced with many choices and even more importantly with two annoying males.
WORDS: 9,8 K
WARNINGS: Mention of Violence, Kidnapping, Fighting (yeah this is very much taken from ‘The Dark Faerie Tales’ by Holly Black), Everybody is A Faerie.
Changeling were extraordinary creatures.
And you had been lucky enough to be one of them.
You had discovered it once you had moved back to Ireland, having transferred to North America for a scholarship after high school, feeling like Ireland was too tight for your dreams.
A sensation only worsened by your mother’s horrible mental health…
… although with time you had discovered that she knew the truth, all along.
Since you had had memory, your mother had said you weren’t his child, gaining quite the judging of everyone around her, and right after she had started making such claims, doctors had dosed her with medical drugs to keep her tame.
Even more after she had even tried to leave you in the wood nearby your family’s manor, the one you stayed at with your grandma.
Your grandma was the only person that had constantly supported you and she was the woman who had raised you as your own mother laid in bed, either passed out for the drugs or trying to ignore you, since only seeing you would make her faint.
Eventually your grandma had been the one to push you away from Ireland, suggesting that you pursued your dream outside of the beautiful land that had been your sole home.
She had given you the strength to believe in yourself, although the first years in America had been passed adapting yourself at its big cities and its enormous crowd.
But now that you were back from them, you felt almost uneasy in the small village you had grown up with, everybody looking too changed and yet the same, looking at you with distrust and envy, although you hadn’t become a famous star or an important businesswoman.
But the fact that you had escaped that strict mentality was enough.
You had come back for the same person who didn’t want you there.
As of lately your mother’s heart had been thoroughly weakened by the drugs (medical and not) and she had already had an heartattack.
Your grandma had explained it to you in one last call that sadly your mother’s life was becoming thin, pleading with you to come back, although you weren’t sure that your mother wanted you back.
You weren’t her child, after all.
At first, as a child, the way she uttered those words had hurt you in ways that pierced your tiny skin, making you completely detached from the affection of that woman, soon starting to call her simply by her name and nothing else.
And even sooner you had erased her figure, pushing your grandma in her place.
But now even she was tired, and you could hear her ache in the tone of her voice.
Although your mother might not want her title, your grandma still remained her mother and she suffered for both of you her mistakes.
Eventually you had been convinced by your mother, herself, a secret call, at 3 a.m. in the morning telling you to come back, because the faeries had told her that if she gave you back, they’d make her see one last time her true child.
‘… my inion’ the way the name had sounded on the tip of her tongue made you uneasy, because you had never heard it, but you had reasoned with yourself that maybe in your mother’s delusional words there might be some kind of truth.
And there was.
Almost too much.
Back then you had simply thought that she had finally come to the conclusion that you were her daughter.
So, seeing you again would have allowed her to rationalize and finally accept you as her daughter, something for which you strived for, although you had for long years tried to convince yourself that her approval didn’t matter, in the slightest.
But any hope had disappeared when after a flight of twelve hours, your mother had refused to face you, much to your grandmother’s and your annoyance, although the older woman welcomed you in again as a warm mother, having cooked your favorite meal, something that brightened your mood.
You spent a nice few days back in Ireland, although your mother didn’t seem interested into acknowledging your presence and whenever you were together, she’d stare at you with mighty intensity in her eyes and once you had heard her mutter ‘when will they come for you, silly girl? I want my real child back’.
And in that moment, you had dreaded the thought that had come to your mind.
You had wished that she would have just died.
It was less embarrassing, and it would have been a trauma she could deal with, instead of being stuck in the eternal limbo of ‘will she ever love me? Or will I be for ever the faeries’ daughter?’.
But then that fateful night had happened, and you had been the one thinking that you had grown as crazy as her, as you heard a melodic song being sprung from nowhere.
Something ancient that couldn’t be found on Spotify for sure, although you loved it.
But it just wouldn’t let you sleep, and eventually you peaked outside of your house to check what was going on, although you wouldn’t be surprised to find your neighbor having a concert.
They were quite the musical people.
But it was none of that.
And once you had moved a step outside of your house, the music seemed to slowly lead your step.
And although you weren’t aware of it, soon your body was led through the wood around your manor.
The moon was the only source of light and as you looked up, the music interrupted itself suddenly.
And you were in the middle of nowhere, in simply your skimpy pajama of an awful color from too many washings, and a big print of a teddy bear on it, the writing next to it completely scraped off, nothing as luxurious as the dresses of the people around you.
You almost thought that your neighbor were having a Renaissance fair in the middle of woods, some kind of ‘Shakespeare in the park’ movie, although the dresses belonged to every period in history and not a peculiar one.
Women were dressed in round gowns, puff and big, and tight corsets, meanwhile men looked like they had come from the nearest BDSM club, all dressed in leather and open shirts.
And the jewels they wore, both males and females: silver and gold that shone so bright, absorbing almost the brightness of the moon, intensifying it with their colors and the gems shone of every color in the rainbow, sometime even all together.
And for a moment you were so lost in your rapture that you forgot to wonder what was truly happening here.
The only thing that could come up to your mind was the Hamelin’s flautist, driving the mice to their demise, something that made a sudden shiver fall down your spine, even more when you noticed that they were all somehow armed.
And that wherever the moon didn’t touch, their skin seemed anything but human, having some present slight deformation and animalistic traits, enough that you thought to have wandered in a fairy tale.
A dark one, such as the ones that the Grimm’s brothers wrote.
‘Lady (Y/N)’ somebody called out to you, but you couldn’t identify anyone speaking, almost as if the voice had its original place in your mind, calling out to you loudly, in a way that gripped tight your skull, keeping your eyes on the fable-like cortege ‘… we hoped to meet you again’.
‘… I don’t…’ your voice sounded silly and echoed in your empty head, suddenly cleared of anything else other than that voice and the images of that magic in front of you.
This must be a crazy nightmare.
Or a horrible joke.
‘… she doesn’t know when to shut up’ this time it was a feminine voice, harsh and tight ‘… are you sure, my son, that she is the one you want to choose?’.
Her voice concealed an obvious disgust, almost as if it was painfully obvious that you were beneath her.
Then why had they come for you.
‘I don’t understand what is going on’ you breathed out, finally able to push the words out, although the woman’s words still echoing in your head ‘… I should be in bed… is this… is this a dream?’.
You almost wanted to mutter that ‘it must have been “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” ‘.
‘… no, it isn’t’ the male voice was low, almost comforting and the tightness in your skull was lightly relieved allowing you to feel more comfortable.
Suddenly you felt your breath quickening up, enough that you feared a panic attack.
‘… then if this is a joke, it isn’t funny!’ your voice spoke loudly ‘… you take the newcomer in city and give her the scare of her life! That’s what you fuckers do! If this is it, I won’t tell the cops, but you have to let me go!’.
‘It isn’t either a joke’ the male voice was different, evidently deeper, almost as if who spoke was more grown up ‘… and whatever human forces you want to conjure they won’t help you’.
This brought dread to your stomach and your breath quickened, enough that you felt choking yourself up deeply, and soon all the air in your lungs finished, and it didn’t take you much to see black.
You woke up in an unknown place, smelling heavenly, something that eased your senses, meanwhile whatever you wore was as delicate as a petal, comfortable enough that it brought you to shift in bed, till you realized that your pajama would have been quite less comfortable.
Hence somebody had had to change you in whatever you were now wearing.
For a few minutes you hoped unrealistically that it had been your grandmother, although you were aware of not owning such luxurious garments.
It would have been a nice dream, before you woke up to the reality.
That seemed more like the dream itself.
You were inside what seemed like a flower, the light barely flicking through the rosy walls of utter silk, meanwhile they closed and opened around you almost as a flower, and the smell was also delicious, lulling and clean.
But then your reason finally came back.
And you realized that you weren’t at home, no matter how reassuring the atmosphere was.
You had been kidnapped.
By some kind of weirdos in tight robes.
Gosh, could it have sounded more like a drugged-out dream?
Had you accidentally taken some medicine from your mother’s cabinet?
But then as you turned lightly your skin was scratched by something and you saw a rose being laid on the pillow next to you, its thorns lightly gracing your face, making you realize that if you were feeling pain… this wasn’t a dream.
And you had seriously fallen asleep inside a flower, like Thumbellina.
But what truly got a scream out of your throat as your senses came back was the purple-skinned girl next to your bed, checking on you, as she folded a ridiculously puffy dress, unlike the simple one she wore, matching her golden feline eyes.
Her legs were also animal-like, almost as the one of a tiger, slender and hairy, colored of a bright orange that clashed with much strength against her skin color, effectively taking your mind away from the thought of being in danger.
Till she screamed back at you.
And you jumped out of bed, grabbing the first thing that you could see in your line of sight, which was a lamp, made of wood, with a small spirit inside of it, shielded by glass, the small being protesting loudly, with its fists, something that almost made you lose your grip onto the delicate object, saved by the purple girl, half-tiger and half-human.
If she was human.
Although you hadn’t seen many blue humans.
But if she wasn’t human… this opened so much possibilities that tricked with your mind.
“… my lady…” she didn’t seem to be in slightest much more informed or calmer than you “… you should calm down”.
But you didn’t and moved to collect something else, to shield and protect yourself, eventually settling on a pillow full of daisy, the same one where you had laid your head till a few minutes before.
“… where the fuck am I?” your voice was low, but it broke lightly in the end with hysteria.
“My lady, you are safe” the purple being spoke, as she settled down the lamp on its rightful place, lightly brushing against you, as you pushed the pillow in front of your chest, accidentally making a few daisies fall down onto your feet “… nobody will hurt you”.
“… I was kidnapped! You have already hurt me!” you replied tightly, choking on the words, as you felt another attack coming onto you, and the woman gently held you up “… I should go back home! I need to go back home!”.
“You are home, my lady” you were honestly annoyed by the way she pronounced your title, almost as if it was the most normal thing ever.
As if you belonged there.
“… this isn’t my home! My grandma isn’t here brushing away my hair and there isn’t even that bitch of my mother… Gosh I am fucking missing her right now!” your outburst strangely excited the small fire being in the lamp and as you looked at it too closely, shielded from it by your pillow, meanwhile the tiger-lady moved away, clearly thinking you needed your space.
The small creature was male-like, naked and with flaming hair, changing colors as the intensity of the flame became stronger.
And it talked, although it whispered lowly, almost child-like, chanting what seemed a bawdy dirge and you cursed again, being mimicked by the small being.
“… perfect! Kidnapped and pushed to meet a fucking perv of a fire spirit” you commented, gently caressing your forehead “… this can’t be true! Magic doesn’t exist!”.
“It does” the voice was different from the one of the blue-skinned being and it was much louder than the fire spirit’s one, although it seemed quite young, and you remembered you had heard it in the clearing.
And when you raised your eyes from the pillow you found a charming young man, barely younger than you, with long flowy hair, coming to his shoulder in light waves at its end, of a dark color that highlighted his enchanting blue eyes.
He wore a complex robe, although it seemed much more relaxed than the one you had seen in the clearing, having shed any elegant and expensive detail, except for a few earrings that caught your attention, pushing itself onto the peculiar shape of his ears.
They were pointy.
Like faeries.
You knew that people sometimes would undergo surgery to obtain such a shape, and you had been blessed with slightly pointy ears, something that had made many Halloween costumes easy for you.
But the way his ears looked…
… it seemed natural.
Because it was.
“Niahm, can you please leave us alone?” he spoke, although again his lips didn’t open, and you wondered whether it was again only in your head or you were starting to go mad.
But also the tiger-lady seemed to have heard it, bowing her head to the beautiful man, as she moved outside, leaving you alone with him and you quickly managed to grab again the lamp, moving into a defensive position.
“Don’t think of hurting me, bastard” you muttered between gritted teeth “… I’ll destroy this and set you on fire”.
A sad smile appeared on his face, almost as if he was amused, but understood your reasonings and something in you relaxed strangely, as the man moved to push himself onto the bed, putting a lengthy distance between you and him.
And then you ran.
Ran outside, but before you could do much more, as soon as you shifted the curtains that were the walls of the chamber you found yourself almost falling to your demise, since outside of the whatever you had waken up in, there was nothing.
And underneath it, the ground… many many meters under you.
“… what the hell” your voice was low, and you quickly turned behind, closing the curtain behind yourself, as the young man looked at you with a knowing smirk.
“Smart move” he commented “… you don’t have wings sadly. Pixie sometimes are lucky enough to have them, but you don’t seem to be the type”.
“… pixie?” you asked, as slowly you felt everything you knew crumbling to the ground, your own knees buckling up underneath you “… this can’t be true”.
“It is true” replied the young man, adjusting on the bed, although he seemed rather elegant, also with his legs crossed in a relaxed position, making you notice that although his legs were lithe, he certainly had the posture of a royal person.
Head straight and clear eyes.
“… faeries exist, exactly like magic, and deep down you know, (Y/N)” again that voice in your head and you stupidly went to close your ears to prevent yourself from listening onto him “… you know because you are one of us, truly”.
And slowly, almost as if a cover had been opened from one of the trunks of your memory, slow images appeared in your mind, of you seeing faeries everywhere.
Meanwhile you were lost in the woods, after your mother had left you, small dwarves leading you back home, as they gifted you a wreath of roses and thorns that didn’t bite your skin.
Meanwhile you collected flowers for your grandmother, a few small faeries helping you, as they played with your hair, taunting you with soft whispers.
Meanwhile you left Ireland, a small cohort of little magical creatures accompanying you as you left your home.
And all of this had been hidden in your mind since you had left Ireland.
You had known magic, indeed, because you were one of them.
You were a changeling.
As your mother had told you.
“… my life…” you felt yourself choking up on your own tears, as the man quickly moved closer to you, dropping on the floor in front of you, as you shifted your face away, not wanting to show weakness, although again your eyes were beginning to be quite clouded “… my life is a lie”.
“And my mother knew it all about it” blame shifted in your body, as you remembered how easily you had called her ‘crazy’ all this time, when she had known all the truth about it “… this isn’t right, still… aren’t… aren’t changelings supposed to live with the humans?”.
The young man retreated from you, almost as if your lips had mumbled a tight accusation against him.
“… you are to marry my brother”.
Hadn’t all of this been quite crazy already, you would have started crying.
But instead you giggled hysterically, before you realized that he wasn’t joking.
“I don’t even know you!” you screeched, and before he knew it, your hands had clawed at his shirt, but as your hands came in your full view, you noticed that if you had thought that the crazy tiger-lady looked weird in blue and orange, you were now a shade of mauve that almost made you think you weren’t in your body anymore.
But you were a faery, after all, now.
It shouldn’t have shocked you that much.
Although it was utter crazy.
“… well then I can solve that quickly!” replied the boy, almost as if you hadn’t broken down two times already “… I am Alfred, and you are marrying my brother, Aethelred!”.
“That doesn’t solve much” your voice was grim, but you were too tired to fight, already thinking about the fact that you had discovered that you were a faery for a minute and you already were in a crazy amount of troubles.
“I can’t marry him”.
“Not with that attitude!” commented another voice, deeper and definitely much more mainly and you turned to take a small peak at whoever had joined you, discovering that the man was quite the picture of Alfred.
Same light eyes and dark hair, but he had a more mainly appearance, with a fresh unshaven beard and tight muscles, definitely much more robust than Alfred, who lightly ducked his head low, at that appearance, some sense of uneasiness shining in his eyes.
Meanwhile the other man’s showed arrogance as they took you in.
And it didn’t take you a genius that you were looking at your future husband.
“… I don’t think that I am even remotely ready to marry someone” you spoke loudly, spurred on by that amused annoyance you saw in his eyes, meanwhile his lips moved in a smirk and you pushed yourself up, although it didn’t solve much since you were still much smaller than him.
“Who is every ready?”.
“Don’t you have something smarter to say than idiotic answers” you replied, hissing through his teeth, as you pushed him away lightly, feeling like you were trying to push away a wall of muscles.
“… I don’t want a stupid changeling as my bride” he uttered wickedly, his humor certainly reminding you more of the faeries you had read about, accompanied but the dangerously darkness that characterized them, although they might dress in pink tulle and ride white unicorns.
“… I don’t want whatever the fuck you are as my husband” you mimicked him, crossing your head over your chest, solely now noticing that you weren’t wearing anything more than a nightgown that was the same color of your skin, making you seem naked.
“Aethelred, don’t taunt her” Alfred’s voice suddenly seemed deeper, laced with a troubled annoyance, and he set himself between you both, almost thinking that there might have been some kind of fight from you two, and you just watched the haughty faerie in front of you with your best glare.
“Mother wouldn’t like it to see you talk like that to your future bride” continued on reprimanding him loudly Alfred, and this time the arrogant annoyance became a truly hateful feeling and you couldn’t deny that you wouldn’t have liked it either, if your younger brother treated you like that.
“Mother doesn’t fucking care. She just wants to continue on screwing her pathetic humab lover…” the comment scandalized Alfred, but before he could say anything, Aethelred’s attention turned to you “… you aren’t one of us, you’ll only taint my bloodline, with your dried up blood”.
“Don’t worry, I don’t have any intention to even come near your prick” you retorted loudly “… I do think that you probably find much more pleasure from whatever is showed up your fucking ass”.
This seemed to take him by surprised, as a strange mixture of admiration appeared in his eyes before turning in a devious smirk, his eyes shifting onto your body, as you shielded it, eventually turning around, wanting to grab your pillow and smother the arrogant asshole.
“… you shouldn’t have sent away the maid” now he talked with his brother like you didn’t exist anymore, but you were thankful they weren’t using the mind trick anymore “… you know that mother won’t appreciate it if she is either late or in a nightgown for the Promise”.
“What Promise?” you intervened, but the brothers now kept on talking between themselves, an embarrassed look on Alfred’s face “… somebody will fucking tell me what is going on? Or will I be also kidnapped for this fucking Promise?!”.
“Preferably not” sarcasm and sass was much better than nothing “… it is a ceremony before our marriage, where we promise that we won’t stab each other in the back”.
“… romantic” you muttered “… but believe me, even a swear won’t hold me back from stabbing you”.
“Faerie swears mean much more, although I do have to admit that you have the amazing ability to lie, having lived with humans for so long…” he commented “… that’s why you are here, our secret weapon”.
“What do you mean?”.
Why had these people all made this without even asking for your opinion.
“…call her maid” Aethelred simply sent you one last look before turning around.
Pity.
And you never wanted to feel like that.
Alfred seemed almost halfway through doing that when your voice became a tight whisper.
‘… can you give me a minute?’.
A minute of privacy.
A minute with the only person who didn’t seem to know everything that had been going on.
A minute to understand what you’d truly have to do to escape all of this.
Because there was no way you’d get married to that prick.
In the end you had tried not to question too much your faerie origins.
You had a much more urgent problem in your hands.
A marriage you didn’t want to attend.
A marriage in which you were a bride.
It was still difficult for you to understand what they truly wanted from you, but you wouldn’t have stayed for the real ceremony, although you hadn’t yet figured out a way to run away and go back to civilization, since you were closed off in some kind of ancient tower that looked like a flower.
Stranded away in the middle of nowhere.
So, you would have played the nice girl, till you found out how to run away.
You might not have had wings, but faeries usually had some kind of magic, so maybe you would have been lucky enough to have the power to teleport you away from all of this shit, something that you had childishly tried when the faerie maid, Niahm, had left you in bath alone.
You hadn’t found any kind of sharp objects you could use as a weapon.
You had tried breaking some kind of smelly bottles, probably filled with perfume, but they had just bounced off the wall even when you had thrown them across the bathroom, making you feel even more at unease.
Because not only you felt at danger.
But you felt damnably useless.
And pitiful.
Almost a child being dressed up in elegant gown and long dresses.
A child who had been stolen away and brought up in the human world.
You almost expected some fairy to take your hand and push you by their side as they brought you down the wedding hall.
Which should be what had happened, had they thought that they could marry you off, easily.
You would have thrown a worse tantrum than a spoiled brat in front of an entire faerie court, for sure.
Because if there was one thing that you knew in your bones about the people that you had seen around you, those two brothers were royals, truly with the way they acted and how expensive their dresses seemed.
And you wouldn’t have been married off easily.
Because you were wanted for some talent of yours.
Your had something they wanted.
And that made you valuable cargo.
No matter how annoyed Aethelred was with you.
And if there was one thing you were looking forward more than simply running the hell away from here, it was pissing off that asshole.
You were soon ready and when you stepped out of the bathroom Niahm checked you further, adjusting your dress and pushing your washed hair up, meanwhile she smudged lightly some make-up on your eyes.
‘It’s the trend of the season in the court’ she spoke as she took you in ‘… you’ll be the prettiest’.
“I better” you mumbled, annoyedly “… I might be kidnapped but I refuse not to look anything but the bestest”.
She didn’t seem to understand what you truly meant, but she simply smiled and you almost felt pity for the horrible way you had treater her.
She obviously wanted to be there as much as you did, and you couldn’t put much blame on her, although she certainly wouldn’t have helped you.
“… sorry” you simply mumbled, as she turned to you with a small smile, her voice telling you ‘not to worry about’, purring out the ‘r’s, but her eyes shone of acceptance, and then she told you to wait a bit more.
And then suddenly the sun, seeping through the petals of your new home, became more orange, hitting low the petal that opened almost on his own and then lowered itself on the ground on some kind of slide
‘This isn’t even the weirdest thing I have seen today’ you thought as Niahm moved to you.
“Would you prefer that I go first, my lady?” she probably noticed your uneasiness, since you had never been one to do this kind of things “… it is safe as life, as you humans say”.
“That isn’t reassuring” you commented, but insisted that she went first, seeing her disappear quickly over the silky slide of the pinkish petal, onto which you moved, in your pinkish dress, a shade clearer that your skin right now.
You didn’t even have to push yourself, you moved down calmly, although the fastness of it made you ditzy and you weren’t comfortable till you were again on the ground, seeing that everyone you had seen last night was now looking at you, and at your disheveled state.
And you were glad to have Niahm come and collect you, almost as a doll in embellished clothes and thick blush over its cheeks, meanwhile Aethelred, you recognized him by the elegant clothes and the piercingly blue eyes, whispered something to a creature that looked like the elves you had read about when you were younger.
Slender and so light that she blinded you.
They spoke with an intimacy that showed that your soon-to-be-husband had much more experience than you thought in womanly business.
You wouldn’t have for sure stayed around enough to see if that was true or not.
Alfred came onto you, once Niahm was done with your set-up, guiding you through a court of creature that even in your wildest fantasies you wouldn’t have been able to conceive, although you recognized a few, asking yourself whether there were humans, since some seemed almost ‘normal’, but then a twinkle of their eyes would reveal much more.
And you felt a stranger.
A powerless stranger.
“Dear sister!” welcomed you Alfred, and although you weren’t sure to trust him or even like him, you were grateful for his help, since he had been the sole source of information you had met “… let me show you around! We have all been so eager to meet you!”.
And the court did seem eager.
But in a wicked away.
As if they expected nothing more than some kind of mistake from you.
One that would have sent you away from them, since they all looked positively plotting and you could only guess what they were thinking of you, although your shade of skin wasn’t human-like, but the way you moved… was clumsy.
Horridly clumsy, if confronted with theirs.
Alfred named ladies after lords as he guided you through them, and soon you were in front of two thrones, both pushed upward to distance them from the crowd below, as if they were stronger and you could only guess this meant they were the royal-est of the royals.
One seat, still, was left empty beside them, halfway through earth and sky.
But soon you had a bigger surprise waiting for you, as Alfred informed you that the older man and the younger woman sitting on the thrones were his relatives, making him the prince of the faeries.
Exactly like his brother.
The one you’d have to marry.
As if your situation hadn’t been already bad.
“My grandfather Ecberth, he is the one who organized your wedding” and he bowed lightly his head, making you a small sign to do the same, as the annoyed old man turned his attention on you suddenly.
The whispers all around you being immediately silenced.
And you felt judged.
“… lady (Y/N)” it was the woman who spoke, and had you been intimidated by the older man, the woman’s voice spoke of pure poison, something that made you extremely uneasy “… we are blessed to see your face and not hear your horrendous screams, this time”.
You honestly thought of a few comebacks but held back your tongue.
For now, you had to play the docile card.
You couldn’t make them worry when you were in their territory, if not for your own personal safety, to make your escape easier.
“… and this is my mother, queen Judith” exhaled softly Alfred and you had to push your eyes back onto your feet, because surprise shone in them.
Alfred hadn’t seriously inherited a single drop of that poisonous woman.
And now you did understand why Aethelred didn’t like her.
“… Judith!” reprimanded her quickly Ecberth, although something similar to amusement shone in his eyes as he said that name, before turning his full attention on you, something that made you almost feel like an ant being looked up by an enormous human foot “… excuse my lovely daughter-in-law, she knows nothing of our hospitality”.
“I am grateful for your hospitality” you spoke lowly, trying to keep your sarcasm contained, although you heard Aethelred laugh at your clumsy response, his snicker catching also Ecberth’s eye, who smirked back, but with harshness in the twinkle of his eye.
“… my eldest grandchild seems to have taken after his mother” and his eyes became harsh and heavy, and you almost felt bad for the public humiliation that befell on Aethelred “…do come forward, my foul boy”.
And Aethelred almost pushed by the same enchantment that had brought you in the woods, moved himself forward and marched with a harsh expression to you, till he was by your side.
“… isn’t your wife lovely?” he asked him, a tone of mockery in his words and soon purple coated Aethelred’s cheeks in a show of embarrassment that made you almost think that this wasn’t simply an advantageous wedding, although they had told you so.
This was a punishment for him.
“I don’t have to find my wife lovely” Aethelred shot back, hissing roughly through his teeth “… I just have to find her a liar”.
Again, that accent on your lying abilities.
What did it mean?
These people could enchant others, they could fly on their own wings and sprout fire, but they were suddenly interested in a girl that could lie.
“And can she lie?” the fact that he spoke like you weren’t there got on your nerve.
But you clutched your fists harder, raising your head immediately with a smile.
“I am very pleased to have this marriage with the lovely Aethelred” each word sounded fake, but the lie smeared itself on your mouth, making the man look at you as if you were some kind of strange animal.
One that pleased him greatly.
But could bite.
“… oh Gosh isn’t it marvelous?” he commented, laughing loudly as the entire court mirrored him as if they were one with him “… a blessing upon our house”.
Everybody agreed, even the scorned queen, although her eyes marveled with something that seemed almost envy, you held your head tighter, taking in your small victory, but it didn’t last much, because soon king Ecberth looked at you again and ordered to move onto the royal dinner.
‘… we’ll get something in our stomach and then raise our cups to the promise”.
And that would have made everything painfully real.
No matter the fact that you didn’t understand what this promise fully entailed, but the thought of food might have been helpful, since you honestly just started feeling the pain in your stomach due to the hunger.
Although you weren’t sure you should have eaten everything.
You had read too much Christina Rossetti to trust any fairy food.
And in a blink of an eye, tables appeared, almost blooming from the ground, and solely now you realized you weren’t in some magical land, but you were beneath the grass, as small as an ant, enough for to inhabit the small flower you had woken up into.
You wondered how the hell had it happened, even more when your captors had been your same height the previous night.
Had you become too small?
Or had the world grown too big around you?
They didn’t call them ‘Little People’ for anything, after all.
You almost shrieked as one chair came right behind your huge dress, the layers of fabric shielding you from unwanted attention, but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment at that sudden apparition, unused to such ordinary magic, as Alfred giggled innocently, meanwhile Aethelred smirked dangerously, but still sat next to you.
The food made you nervous so you simply played around with it, wondering whether you should have tasted the purplish substance in your glass, since your throat was suddenly aching for water, but you didn’t want to die or either worse be enchanted and driven mad.
You might have had their blood, but you weren’t used to their magic and their tricks.
“… it is safe to eat” commented Aethelred as he saw your hesitation “… people will be annoyed if they find out that I intend to starve my bride”.
“Will this make me dance like crazy around the table?” you muttered holding out the purplish liquid in the elegant glass.
“No” and he noticed that you didn’t look in the slightest convinced “… I can’t lie”.
“Is it true?” you retorted, but slightly dipped your lips in the liquid, your throat begging for a bit of relief.
“… I lo…” and his mouth pushed itself in various shapes till he renounced saying whatever he wanted and instead muttered darkly “… I hate all of this”.
“Don’t even start” you shot back, as you then moved to dip your mouth further in the glass, discovering that what you had thought was an horridly powerful potion turned out to be simple grape juice, not even alcoholic “… you weren’t kidnapped for this”.
“You know why my grandfather agreed to this?” he commented loudly, as if you were seriously interested in his own problems, not having already enough of your own “… because although you might be so special for your lying abilities, you are nothing more than a human girl”.
“My skin color would suggest otherwise” you muttered, showing off a naked arm, since your arms were exposed, through light sleets “… what the hell do I have to do to turn back to my original complexion?”.
“… get away from here” it was almost a suggestion “… changeling show their true nature only in Fae reigns. Run away and you’ll be a simple human again”.
“Oh, believe me, I’d love to do just that” a sugary sweet smile appeared on your face, matched by Aethelred, showing you that although he might not lie, he was completely able to fake “… just let me know which one is the emergency exit door and I’ll be far swiftly out of your hair”.
“You have such a way with words” he spoke loudly, a bright laugh escaping from his mouth, as he raised his cup towards his mother and grandfather “… keep your tongue tame or you won’t survive in here”.
“I have every intention of not even living in here” you replied, although the threat had gotten the hair on your skin to raise, as the goosebumps went all over your body, and you weren’t sure if it was for the veiled threat or the way Aethelred was so close to you.
He was as handsome as an amazing statue, a strong facial structure and a tight smile, and eyes that shone of much more interest than he led on.
“… what is this ‘promise’ thing? Seriously” you muttered, your voice a bit lower than it should have been, but Aethelred spared you any harsh remark, instead choosing to focus onto your question, although his eyes shifted onto what had been left in his plate.
He had eaten voraciously, almost as if he expected everything to be brought away from him.
“It is the first bonding ritual to link two faeries together” he explained with a dark and ancient voice, definitely tired “… we don’t swear upon chastity or faith since it is quite common to have lovers and such, in Fae realms…”.
“… that is reassuring” you commented darkly, unsure of why you’d be jealous of Aethelred, when the sole thought of sharing a bed with him, as handsome as he might be. put you at unease.
“… I am a prince” he replied, as if that was a justification enough “… sex is simply a mean to gain power, and you should know it as well”.
“That’s what men always say and then stone women as whores”.
Aethelred seemed surprised at your affirmation and something of almost reflective shone in his face.
“We wouldn’t stone you for cheating on me” he said, and then his voice had a tougher intonation, returning to the silk-veiled threats he had been launching at you since the start of it all “… we would kill you for betraying our family”.
“… that surely reassure me”.
“The promise will prove that and ensure it” he continued on explaining “… we swear of being loyal to our families, joining us under one, in order for us to forge an alliance that will never be broken if not in Death”.
“That shit seems serious” you muttered, as you also started eating the meal in your plate, knowing that if you truly wanted to escape, you’d have to be strong.
“… it is” he confirmed “… but the promise is the least show-like of our ceremonies, then there is ‘The Dressing’, ‘The Ceremony’, ‘The Undressing’…”.
“They all explain pretty well what they entail” you commented loudly, embarrassment written all over your cheeks in a show of uneasiness that made you a weak target for Aethelred’s laugh, although he kept the conversation between you two, as he promised.
“I’ll be gentle with you, little virgin”.
Your cheeks became even redder, and you dropped half the glass onto his expensive pants for revealing your embarrassing secret, as he smirked almost playfully.
He was like a big feline waiting for his prey to lower her guard.
The stain didn’t last even a sole minute on the pants, before it vanished in thin air.
“… don’t worry, I’ll wait” he grinned at you, before he leaned in, and you found yourself stuck on the chair “… there is no intention in me to take a fruit that isn’t offered, but either way I always seem to wait for the more mature ones, falling right in my hands”.
You were too hot.
And you almost thought about drenching yourself with grape juice, to relieve that.
But Aethelred quickly moved away from him, his entire playful attire disappearing as his eyes focused on the sight of Judith hand-feeding Alfred, although he shouldn’t have the need of it, but you didn’t miss Aethelred’s longing gaze, desperate for affection.
“… my mother, too, didn’t like me” you didn’t know why you blurted it out, but it just did.
“Mothers can feel when their children isn’t theirs, so I don’t blame her” he commented, and you were surprised he hadn’t said anything truly cruel “… my situation is worse, believe me. My mother hates me for the sake of my brother’s love”.
It was an heartfelt confession and you wondered whether you should have said something but you just stared at him, unable to stop yourself from doing literally anything, as your hand held out for his, but he just shifted it away, facing forward.
And although you had no intention or interest in comforting your captors, not wanting to develop Stockholm Syndrome, you couldn’t help but feel bitter at his rejection and when you were turning around to collect yourself in a private moment, you saw something, a thick creature, dark green and horridly scaly, almost like a snake.
But before you could scream more wretched creatures appeared, and from the scream that erupted, you knew that they weren’t invited.
Aethelred was quick, noticing the creature near you, as he pushed you back, almost getting you to bump into the ground and he exited the sword and pushed it right into the creature’s chest, horridly killing him as some kind of acidic blood was emitted by the horrifying nightmare, and you shielded yourself with the fabric of your dress.
“… grab my knife, soon-to-be wife” he commented loudly, as another creature screeched appearing onto the table with a warrior scream that made you immediately cover your ears, as Aethelred shook you to your feet “… the knife! Idiotic human girl!”.
And you did grab the knife he had stitched onto his thigh, getting it out of his sheath, as he sent you a little look to where a running mob was forming, before the creatures completely circled you, leaving you no escape.
“… run forward and never stop” he explained to you, as he easily fought off another attack and you shamelessly used him as a human shield “… there’ll be an arch… it’ll make you human again just by stepping over it”.
That was your way out, although chaos erupted around you and you screeched loudly making you heavy, but you nodded at what Aethelred had said and quickly moved towards where he had pointed, trampling over a furious crowd, as guards appeared shielding the royals, Alfred disappearing under the tight arm of an armed man.
And you ducked down, sure that nobody would notice you.
But hands came for you, both scaly and both faerie, and the knife in your hold moved on its own, pushing itself through flesh and coming out marred in blood, although you never wanted to hurt anyone.
But had you stopped they would have hurt you.
You tried not to do too much damage, simply stabbing at the hands, hoping that whatever happened they’d have some kind of healing magic you had never known, and just pushed forward, eventually leaving behind the small war, and for a bit you thought it was a trap.
Some kind of dangerous ploy to prove your loyalty.
No arch was in sight.
And you were losing hope, thinking that maybe it was all a game.
A game of chase that would have belonged to those savage people, but then your eyes caught a beautiful sight: an arch, right in front of your eyes.
And you were just moving to pass it, when something blunt hit the back of your head and you went down again, cursing yourself for having thought this would have ended up well.
You were getting annoyed at waking up like this.
Not in your room and with a burning headache.
This time you knew from the start that you hadn’t woken up for sure in your childhood home, since everywhere around you was cold and wet, almost as if you were being held under earth and when you opened your eyes, you saw that you hadn’t been wrong.
Around you everything was brown, barely lighted up by the dying flame of a candle.
You couldn’t help but feel buried inside a good amount of mud, all around you in a strange structure that was reinforced with metals and rocks, such as the things that blocked you from moving out.
No soft petals, but metal bars.
You were in prison.
Had they imprisoned you for having run away?
But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you had shifted away completely by the cheery light of the faerie world and you were now closed off in mud and something that smelled much worse.
You moved closer to the small candle, as you cradled it closer to you, moving towards the bars to look outside to try to understand what was going on as you realized that your color of your skin hadn’t gone back to normal, showing you that you hadn’t passed the arc.
That you were still in faerieland.
Or whatever they called it.
But you weren’t anymore in any royal court, something that you dreaded to admit but you almost missed.
Even more when you noticed what was outside for you.
Or better in the bars in front of you.
Frightened creatures that you identified as similar faeries, backed up and scared, a few of them wounded and you couldn’t help but think that although the faeries seemed true savages, they wouldn’t have done this to their same people.
Had it been the creatures that had attacked you at the royal banquet?
But soon your thoughts were answered, as you heard heavy steps starting to sound, as the creatures shrieked away from the bars and towards the darkness of their cells and your heart started speeding up, as you finally realized that you were in deep shit.
You definitely missed your small private flower chamber.
But it wasn’t the creatures you had seen at the wedding that came face to face with you, although they resembled them in the color of their skin, a deep unhealthy yellowish green.
And it didn’t take you much to understand they were goblins.
Although they were quite more handsome than you thought.
But they had an almost aggressive beauty to them, something that made you uneasy as they inched closer to your bars, snickers coming from them, as they noticed your surprised face, and you took in how many they truly were.
Four men, all with long hair, braided elegantly, almost in warrior-like fashion, but two were bigger, although at least four of them were relatives for sure, meanwhile one stood out with his tattooed face and hair falling onto his face.
But they all shared their hungry smiles, and you almost crawled back in the back of the cell when they walked in the bar, opening it up to you.
“… don’t you smell the lovely perfume of a scared faerie?” commented the smaller one, his tongue wetting his lips, in a suggestive way that made you tremble “… they always taste sweeter when they cry”.
“Hvitserk!” called him back who looked like his brother, an elegant braid of brownish blond hair and pure blue eyes “… you aren’t allowed to touch her, don’t you remember?”.
… oh, that certainly put your mind at ease.
“… yeah yeah, I know… Ivar wants her alive” commented harshly the man backing up from you, as instead the tattooed man walked forward you, grabbing harshly your arm to push you to move alongside him, meanwhile the only man that had been silent, the older of the brothers, also blonde hair and damned blue eyes, looked at you.
You kept your back straight and pushed yourself to stand taller towards him, because showing that you feared them made you uneasy.
And it would have just brought you deeper.
You might play the compliant princess.
But you wouldn’t have played the scared one.
From what you had heard you weren’t to be touched, hence you were safe.
For now.
Although Hvitserk, or whatever that troll was called, kept his eyes for the entire time on your ass.
You tried to take in the road for where you were lead, up to a pair of stairs, although you couldn’t see any windows in sight, probably because if you remembered correctly the light of the sun turned goblins into stone.
But still you weren’t able to catch the passing of time, whether you had moved away from the bloody tint of the dawn you had experienced or if it was already the rosy-fingered dawn, coming for you.
The walls still became much more sturdy and stable, made of rocks than instead mud, almost as if you were slowly walking towards the true castle, meanwhile the prisoners were simply returned to the earth where they had all come from.
You hadn’t been wrong at thinking that you had been buried alive.
And then you walked in what looked like a dark hall, straight from your darkest fairytales, with black rocks everywhere and barely a fireplace shining through the darkness of the room, as you took in the elegant and cruel assemble.
And the man who sat on a chair in the middle of it.
He looked young, probably a few years younger than you, the color of the fire making his face shine with a more normal color, almost human.
But you were sure he was a goblin.
Hadn’t it been for his horrifying teeth, sharp and pushed forward, you would have thought he might have been quite the handsome lad.
But villains always looked wonderful in fairytales.
And from what you had seen and heard, he was one of them.
“… lady (Y/N)” he welcomed you, raising himself up, although you noticed that he was in a croaked position, making you wonder whether he had been wounded or was simply tired.
Or wanted to mock you.
“… welcome in my humble home” he commented with a devious light in his eyes, again predator taunting his prey and you honestly couldn’t help but hate that behavior, rolling lightly your eyes as you were laid onto a chair that was propped in front of him “… I take it that your staying was well”.
“My hair got a bit dirtied due to the humidity” you commented, taking on the persona of the spoiled brat “… if I get split ends, I’ll forward you my hairdresser’s bill”.
You knew that you were toeing a thin line, but the beautiful goblin simply looked at you with a smirk, as his eyes shone of interest, probably not expecting of you reacting that way.
But he didn’t let it impress him.
“… we’ll pay, goblins certainly don’t miss riches” he said, as he then moved to turn around, showing you that on the wall in the barely-lighted up a trophy shown: a golden armor, encrusted with gems all over it, definitely expensive “… my uncle Floki, made it for me”.
“… seems heavy” you commented unimpressed.
And this time his eyes showed that he had taken offense at your comment.
Good.
“You aren’t one for pretty words, are you?” he questioned you, and you felt the aggressiveness that told you this wasn’t a curtesy call.
“I might look like a cupcake in this dress, but believe me, I am not” you shot back, and although he seemed quite confused by what you said, he seemed to get the gist of the discourse, for which you were thankful.
Since it meant he might have stopped treating you like an idiot.
“… I am Ivar, the king of goblins”.
Again, you were unimpressed, pushing your face to rest itself.
“… and I am (Y/N), princess of being kidnapped, it seems”.
“This is serious” he commented, and you felt the surprised being met with annoyance, something that got you to assume a more serious expression, as you straightened your position “… and it’ll be advantageous to both of us, if you accept my deal”.
“… will you allow me to go outside to poo? Because believe me… the faeries also offered me that”.
“I can offer you your freedom”.
And that got you to finally shut up.
And stop with the sass.
Because Ivar’s eyes seemed honest.
So, it was impossible.
“… I don’t believe you”.
“I belong to the Little People, I can’t lie” but something told you that he would run around the truth, and hence you couldn’t believe him and wouldn’t have.
Till you had proofs.
“Why would you offer me freedom?” you asked, knowing that this wouldn’t be free “…what do you want for yourself?”.
“A spy” that left you surprised truly “… not many faeries can be good spies, but somebody like you, linked to the royal family and able to lie at command, might come quite handy to me… and all you’d have to do is to be my little bird, chirping information on my shoulders”.
Which wasn’t what you wanted in the slightest.
“… if I accept… how will you give me my freedom?” you asked, as your eyes danced around the room, not wanting to let him see how much you were considering his proposal.
Some part of you told you that goblins had their own agenda and you would have been caught in something in between and any way to escape would have been ruined.
But still… you didn’t see many ways to escape this prison.
Goblins weren’t certainly as gentle as faerie, and certainly although Ivar had ordered not to touch you, it certainly wouldn’t have lasted much.
So, you should have accepted, but…
… but you just wanted a normal life.
“… easily, I’ll turn you back in the human you always believed yourself to be” it seemed easy said by his mouth and although you knew that he couldn’t lie, for a minute you felt like this had a second meaning and you should be careful for that.
Everytime the villain offered the easy solution out, it meant that the main characters had sold their soul out.
“… you make it seem easy, but I don’t trust easy things” you commented, as you readjusted on the chair, lightly focusing your attention on the dress, noticing how utterly tattered it look, completely ruined.
It represented perfectly how you felt inside.
“It isn’t an easy thing, but… it is possible” he replied “… many of our species ditch our skin to enchant elegant wives, a few of my brothers can confirm it”.
A choir of snickers made you aware that it was indeed true.
“… it’s an enchantment” he explained “… it’ll make you human again”.
“How?”.
“I am not telling you till you decide whether you accept my deal or not” his mouth turned in a devious smirk.
“You might trick me”.
“… I could force you into this” he commented loudly, and suddenly you were aware that although he hadn’t shown you that he was powerful, he was much stronger than he let on “… I could have you spying for me with worse methods”.
And he meant it from the bloodthirsty expression which appeared on his face.
“But I am feeling generous, and I know that satisfied employees are the best ones” he reached out to you, as he lightly staggered down from the throne, making you notice that he wore braces, metal braces onto his body, although you assumed they couldn’t be iron, but he looked quite strong, holding his body straight.
But your eyes shifted as he moved his hand forward to you and his hand lightly moved itself in your hair, before settling on your face and strangely his touch seemed ice-cold and wet, but it didn’t startle as his eyes shifted onto you.
“… will you be my spy, little one?”.
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Aethelred Taglist:
@flowers-in-your-hayr
#Ivar#Ivar The Boneless#Ivar Reader#Ivar x Reader#Ivar Imagine#Ivar Fic#Aethelred#Aethelred Reader#Aethelred x Reader#Aethelred Imagine#Aethelred Fic#history vikings#vikings imagine#vikings
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please. PLEASE give us more abt the hlvrai bioshock au i am begging you
I’ll give a basic rundown of the character’s parts in this au for now since I’m still thinking about how exactly it would play out narratively
Note: I changed it to where any gender can be a Little “Kid” now
GET READY FOR A FUCKING INFO DUMP
Gordon: He found Rapture while on a research expedition out at sea. A lot of his crew died in the accident leading to the discovery, he doesn’t know what happened to the rest of them.
Unfortunately, he showed up just a short while before Rapture’s collapse. But he did get to see it before devastation for a short while. He asked a ton of questions about the place like any reasonable person would, but it started to make some people nervous.
Like Johnny Topside from Bioshock 2, the Andrew Ryan of this AU, Gman, which is called Mr. G by the people and Gman by Benrey to make fun of him, finds Gordon to be a threat and it leads to him going through the procedure of becoming a Big Daddy. He ends up as Joshua’s guardian of course.
He has no memory of who he was beforehand until the group meets Darnold, which I’ll get to in a bit.
Again, like Johnny, Gordon gets hit with the hypnosis plasmid and is forced to watch Joshua get taken away and fucking dies but oh ho ho, don’t worry boys, we got VITA CHAMBERS. Thus spins off the misadventures of Gordon trying to get him and his now daughter Alyx out of Rapture. Maybe collect more family along the way, it’s a good trope.
Alyx: Pretty straightforward. She was a Little Brother guarded by Gordon for a bit, but Rapture fell apart and she was taken away (by whom is yet to be determined). She’s obviously much like Eleanor to Gordon, getting other kids to bring him back with the Vita Chambers.
When Gordon finds her she is much older and goes by a different name now, but he’s just happy to see her. When he gets to her she’s pretty weak from her circumstances so she gets her own Big Sister suit (which is still going through some design phases).
Tommy: Still “Mr. G’s” son, and was one of the first-ever kids to go through the whole Little Kid process. Because of how experimental he is, he’s a little funky. Though while he has the ability to use plasmids, he doesn’t use them very often.
Before meeting Gordon he only really trusted Benrey, and would either be following them or hanging out mainly in Arcadia. He likes the plants a lot.
Oddly enough there doesn’t seem to be any hint of some sort of illusion on him like the kids usually do, seeing Rapture as a castle and such. No conditioning either, he just seems to play his own game.
He’s friendly but can still kick your ass to the fucking moon and back if he needs to. And he’s good at it.
He’s a “Big Brother” here instead of a Big Sister since they aren’t all girls now. Gordon comes across him casually just chilling out in the area outside of the Farmer’s Market, which I’ve drawn a bit of already. Tommy really has seen Gordon before, before he was taken away to be turned into a Big Daddy.
Tommy has a strange habit of attracting the kids to him, like baby chickens. It’s really cute but also a little strange. Tommy actually wants to see Rapture restored, not really considering that he could also just take the kids and leave instead, so he’s constantly steering Gordon into trying to fix Rapture.
Coomer: Once an engineer before Rapture fell. He was quite happy with where he was, he liked the routine. But things went to shit and Jesus christ everyone is attacking each other.
At first, he would use the electric bolt plasmid just because it was pretty handy for his job, but when things went downhill he turned to other plasmids to you know, not fucking die. But those who’ve played Bioshock know that too much of that stuff can fuck you up. He now uses the decoy plasmid to an unholy degree to fuck with those who might be a threat to him.
He actually tries to fuck up Gordon’s shit at first before confusing the shit out of him by suddenly just, being okay. It’s because he realizes Gordon isn’t really a threat but Gordon doesn’t know that. He just sees this guy pull a 180 on him.
Coomer and Gordon actually have a chat that leads to Coomer helping him out and eventually just casually following along with his group.
Bubby: So Bubby literally forgot his real name and no I do not plan on ever giving him one why do I need to.
Bubby was a chemist before the fall of Rapture. Unlike Coomer, he was fucking BORED. Of course, when everything fell apart he was kind of shaken at first but adapted pretty quick.
He’s obviously a spider splicer given the art I drew. I figure he would be prone to popping in and out of vents pretty easily.
He meets Gordon trying to steal shit from him and is totally intrigued by how weird it is that there’s a Big Daddy, Big Sister, Big Brother, AND some random ass splicer just traveling in a group together that he invites himself. He’s just a watcher at first but grows to actually become attached to the weirdos.
Benrey: Saved this fucker (out of the main crew) for last. You can’t see it but I’m rubbing my hands together like an evil little gremlin.
Benrey was also one of the first Little Kids. Though there are three very important differences between them and Tommy, despite also having the strange habit of attracting the kids to them.
Benrey actually started the fall of Rapture. The motives are vague, but part of it has to do with pettiness toward Gman. They’re constantly making fun of them and trying to provoke him. It wasn’t hard to tear things apart. Everyone was already paranoid, people were smuggling in shit they shouldn’t. Just had to drop some smuggled bibles here, some secret recordings there. Start a fight. God, it was just so easy.
Benrey also abuses the FUCK out of plasmids. Bioshock 2 established that Little Sisters are not affected by the harsh effects of plasmids, so they can just get away with this power trip. Which is not good. Invisibility, teleportation, and decoys are their favorites. Don’t forget the bees!
But there’s also a plasmid that never left testing, and will be a secret that dies with Benrey. Sweet Voice. While it can’t completely manipulate its target, the frequencies can influence one’s emotions, and cranked up enough can even stop their heart entirely.
Since Benrey and Tommy basically grew up together, they know each other really well and Tommy has learned to decipher the different colors of Sweet Voice.
Gordon meets Benrey almost right after he wakes up from being reanimated, though, like Tommy, Benrey has seen him before. And because of his backstory, Benrey has taken interest in him. Though they still really like to fuck with him, and Gordon really wants to through them out to sea.
Benrey doesn’t follow the others linearly, they watch on the sidelines a bit, and from time to time will get involved in the shenanigans if they seem interesting enough. They even provide the group with a radio to keep in touch, which Alyx carries around because she just knows Gordon would tear the thing in two.
Darnold: Him time! Darnold is basically the Tenenbaum of this au, watching over the kids and helping Gordon out from the sidelines. Darnold has never even touched a plasmid and doesn’t plan on ever doing so, and stays in Olympus Heights attempting to find a way to reverse Gordon’s condition.
He talks to Gordon quite often over the radio.
Stay tuned for more info on him.
Mr. G/Gman: THIS BITCH. If you have the headcanon that Gman is a great dad to Tommy, that is adorable and you are hella valid. But I have daddy issues so he’s kind of a bitch in this au.
Pretty much Andrew Ryan with the manipulative wise of Fontaine, Mr. G is the Big Bad of this au. I mean, you’re automatically a shithead when you experiment on kids. Especially your own kid.
I’m still figuring shit out with this guy so stay tuned for that.
Forzen: Jesus fucking christ I have no idea what to do with you, god damn.
Believe it or not, I have left things out but I’m still developing them so I’ll talk about them later. For now, it’s just basic rundowns of the characters’ parts in this au, like I said before. There are some things that probably don’t even exist yet COUGHSforzen’scharacterCOUGHS so again, stay tuned for that.
Unfortunately, a lot of the things I’m ironing out involves Darnold so I couldn’t say a lot about him but once it’s all sorted I’ll get back to him. He plays a much more important part in this au than he did in hlvrai.
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Worth Fighting For: Chapter 2 - Reflections of Time
[A/N: After much deliberation and obsessing, I have put this fic under a major edit and only slight re-write. This is will hopefully be a bit clearer on the vision I had for the story, world and more importantly the characters. I hope everyone enjoys!]
He was ruthless, cunning, and completely committed to protecting his city; but her arrival to Dauntless called everything he ever thought he believed into question. She was haunted by a past she vowed to make amends for and resolved to sacrifice her very life it meant she could protect her family, faction, and city. Duty and following orders were no longer enough and they both found more than they ever hoped for. They both found something worth fighting for. Eric/OC AU M (Language, Sexual Content, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Tragedy)
@kenzieam @pathybo @jaihardy @every-jai @ericdauntless @beautifulramblingbrains @bookgirlthings @jojuarez26 @oddsnendsfanfics @offroadinjandals @singingpeople @iammarylastar @irasancti @captstefanbrandt @clublulu333 @fuckthatfeeling @tigpooh67 @ex-bookjunky @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here@badassbaker @beanzjellly @beltz2016 @meganbee15 @affabletimelady @scorpio2009 @gylisaa @geekybeyondallreason@violetsonthelam @kyloswarstars @emmysrandomthoughts @kgurew @beltzboys2015-blog @slytherin-princess-25273 @whatwouldbuffydo666 @jaiboomer11 @holamor @wealwayskeepfighting @original46 @blakefc
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Chapter 2- Reflections Of Time
Eric-Choosing Day: Roughly one year ago
Whispers of silk moving against silk. Muffled gasps and moans. Flashes of delectable skin, so close and charged with a heat that called to me. These sensory images haunted me through my nights, leaving me in a tangled mess of my own making in bed. The space beside me remained cold, but in those dreams, it burned with the heat of passion. A passion I could never imagine existed in reality, and if ever asked would deny I would even want. Because what those images, those nightmares I am coming to call them, brought forth in me is a terrible burning in my heart and soul. A feeling of being so complete and of such rapture that the cold light of day leaves me a broken husk of a man.
There aren’t many that get to see beyond the normal mask I wear at all times. I can count on one hand those that have seen anything from me beyond negative emotions but there are only two people that really give a shit to see more anyways.
Lately, even they don’t get to see any semblance of the man behind the mask because that mask is slowly seeping into every part of me.
At twenty-four years old I feel like a man of eighty. The weight of a faction, no an entire fucking city, seems to be pressing down on me.
Now I know why Max was reluctant to make me leader even with pressure from Jeanine. He had needed to know I wasn’t in it just for Jeanine because if I was then this pressure would make me snap. It would break me. It is trying to break me and it scares the shit out of me every day how close it is coming to doing just that.
The screeching of the digital alarm clock on my bedside table, as well as the alarm on my watch, alerts me that I need to get my butt in gear and get ready to face another day. One of the worst days of my year is about to start and I need coffee to be able to deal with what is in store for the next few hours alone, not even counting the rest of the day.
So, I begin my day with a cup of coffee in my apartment, then head out to the meetings that will take up most of the morning before the new initiates arrive. This messes up my normal routine so that is another reason to add to my foul mood.
Chase slides a breakfast sandwich across to me when he takes his place at the conference table. “Zach put a couple of these together for us this morning since we couldn’t do the normal thing.” He mumbles around a large bite he has just taken of his own food.
“Thanks.” I nod and take a bite while looking over notes and waiting for the meeting to start.
Lauren breezes in, late, as usual, causing all of us to scowl but Chase even more since he is the one stuck with her for training the Dauntless-born.
The meeting starts out with the same shit that we deal with from day to day then goes on to cover this year’s initiation, which is more of the same shit as years past. Although, there are some new rules that are being implemented this year. Also, cuts are being made this year, steep cuts. Instead of passing everyone through that doesn’t become so injured they can’t continue like in the years before, this year we will have cuts during the stages of training based on the ranks of the two classes.
There was some disagreement about the changes at the time of proposal but in the end, they were approved by simple necessity. This years group is going to be a large one after the absence of any choosing for the past two years. It boiled down to we just don’t have the resources to keep all of them and that meant the weakest would need to go.
I rub the bridge of my nose as Four speaks up about his displeasure in regard to the cuts and fighting changes. He keeps shooting glares my way, as always pinning all of this shit on me. Never mind that there are four other leaders sitting around this table that are just as responsible for passing the new rules, and Max the senior leader that has final say.
Chase shoots me a look that, his way of telling me to keep it cool. I look away and clench my fists on the table while letting the others deal with it.
You would think after eight years of dealing with each other we could move past old shit, but that isn’t going to happen with me and Four. At times, I wish with all my might that I had been able to prove my suspicions about him so I could get him out of the picture altogether.
With a sigh, I crack my neck and focus back on the meeting. It’s going to be a long hour until the meeting breaks and we can all finally head to greet the new blood.
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The four or five Dauntless members that stan on the roof waiting for the train take bets on what kind of mix we will see in the initiates this year. We tossed around predictions on what faction the first jumper will be from, and what faction will likely be the last jumper.
The Choosing Ceremony has been over for a while now, but it takes a good hour for the train to make its way to the jumping point. Max already called that it should be appearing within the next five minutes or so.
Max is handling greeting initiates this year. He decided this because of what happened the very last initiation we had two years ago. I was in charge of greeting them on the roof and had not been pleased about it, to say the least.
When no one stepped up and volunteered, not the first time that has happened, I lost patience. I just decided to toss the first person near me over the ledge. I was informed that, while it had been amusing and we are looking to inspire a little fear in the initiates, that wasn’t exactly the fear the other leaders had been aiming for.
For me, I have mixed feelings about the event. See at the time, it had felt fantastic. For all of three minutes it felt great, and then it felt just as hollow as everything else feels to me lately.
So, I’m glad to hand that particular duty over to him. I have enough on my plate to deal with already. Between being in charge of overseeing training as well as the multitude of meetings I have to attend normally, I already have a full workload. Not to mention that I’m expected to just drop everything and go running to Matthews when she quirks her finger for us to. It’s exhausting, annoying, and my mood that isn’t great in the best of times is anything but mellow these days.
“Train approaching!” Someone calls out loudly from near Max where he stands ready on the ledge, and Chase nudges me, grinning like the happy fucker he is.
“Remember the bet. The first jumper is gonna a Candor this year.” Chase said with a knowing smile. He is still firmly pulling for his former faction even though he always loses.
I scoff and roll my eyes at playing this same game even knowing how it’s going to end. But I play along anyways. The guy is my best friend after all.
It still surprises the shit out of me that I became best friends with two former mouth’s, the nickname/slur that has been coined for the people in the Candor faction. I had always found Candor’s to be annoying before transfer and over the years and having to interact closely with that faction at times as a leader, that feeling hasn’t gone away, it got worse.
So the friendship that developed is surprising in general because of where he came from and my inability to make friends at all. Chase is the only friend besides Zach that can claim to know anything about me or see any other side of me besides what the rest of the faction and city see. They have also seen me at my worst and still seem determined to stick around, that has to count for something.
“Dauntless-born. It’s been Dauntless-born every year since after our choosing.” I say with a smug smirk.
The bet is not about who will be jumping from the train first but who will step up and take the literal plunge we put all new arrivals through.
After getting off the train by jumping from it, while it’s still in motion, to the roof where members of their new faction are waiting for them we have them take one more jump. This one is different because they won’t know what’ll be waiting for them at the end of that jump like they do for the one from the train.
On one side of the roof, there is a ledge where the person greeting the new blood waits, standing on the edge. Behind him waits a hole through another roof that’s actually several stories down. The jump must be made from where we all stand, seven stories up. The hole is wide, but it’s completely dark and there’s nothing indicating what, if anything, will be at the end of it to catch the jumper.
This is the only entrance that’s offered to initiates and is one of many tests that they will be subjected to over the course of their introduction to the faction. If they don’t jump, they don’t stay. Simple as that.
I had been the last non-Dauntless-born first jumper. Back then, the choosing age was sixteen. It’s been changed twice since then. First, it went to eighteen right after my choosing year. Then it was changed to twenty. So there haven’t been many initiations between mine and now, but what there has been has always ended with Dauntless-born being first.
Chase chuckles at my look and shakes his head.
Then we hear it. The horn of the train, letting us know that the train is close and making its way towards us. It slows slightly as it comes around the corner that’s just before the row of roofs that are all part of the compound.
It’s the only concession we made for this part. We slowed the train enough that it gave time for all the jumpers to take their turn. That’s not to say that everyone is actually going to make it though.
The first car of the train is usually filled with the Dauntless members that went to the ceremony. Usually in either an official capacity or because they had family choosing.
Some of them stay on the roof after they make their jump. Some of them prefer to go to the area where the net is to wait and see the initiates and their reactions to the fall through the dark hole of the roof. Most of the others just go on about their day or duties or start partying.
Dauntless-born came next, interspersed with transfers. At first, I see the normal mix of Erudite and Candor in among the Dauntless-born. It’s all pretty boring after years of the same. When you have watched this same procession many times before anything out of the ordinary will catch your eye in a heartbeat.
So, when two of our prospective initiates are in some kind of altercation or stand-off before they even get off the fucking train, it gets my attention. The fact that the two involved are a Candor boy and Abnegation girl really has me on alert. From the look on the Candor guys face, I’m fully expecting to see a grey splatter on the ground in seconds.
But then I get the surprise of my fucking life.
From the distance they are at from me, I can see the Abnegation girl had been sneering at the boy when they were saying whatever it was they were saying to each other. That changed in a flash as it morphs into a wicked smile that sends chills down even my spine and just as quick I get another shock when she springs into action.
She shoves the Candor from the train. It happened so fast that it wasn’t until he was already in the air that there are reactions from around the roof from anyone that’s actually paying attention.
There are some gasps along with calls of surprise and laughter as he falls straight to the roof with surprising force and accuracy, a girly shriek tearing from him as he goes.
“Are you seeing this?” Chase said while gasping in laughter and disbelief from beside me.
Of course, I’m seeing it. I can’t fucking look away. Especially when I see that directly after she shoved the mouth, she jumped herself while laughing all the way.
Whoever the hell the girl is she’s handling this far better than she should be.
When she lands she goes into a roll. Letting the force of the jump carry her forward and not fighting against it like most newbies do. Instead, she goes into a tuck and roll then pops up, brushing herself off as if she just got a little dust on her jacket and she didn’t just jump from a moving locomotive onto a seven-story roof.
I watch her with narrowed eyes trying to get a better look at her. Up until now she has either been far away, in motion or turned away from me, preventing me from seeing her face but allowing me to evaluate what I can see.
She doesn’t seem to be much of anything. The grey clothes are typical for a stiff and swallow her up. She’s short, maybe five-six or five-seven. What figure I can make out through the crap she’s wearing seems to be rather boyish. No real indication of curves, but then again her clothes really are made to mask any of that per faction dictate. Abnegation seems to prefer to make their people look like carbon copies of each other with no regard to sex, rather androgynous.
Other people have joined her on the roof in rapid succession, but I haven’t been able to look away. She’s already an anomaly and I’m highly trained to keep an eye out for those. It won’t matter to Jeanine that we haven’t even started training today, she will expect me to have a report for tonight on anything and everything that’s out of the ordinary.
This girl sure as fuck is out of the ordinary.
She turns towards the train again and I catch sight of her face for the first time to see her smiling widely. One look at her and that smile and I feel like I’ve just taken a punch to the gut. The smile so genuine and carefree, so alive.
I quickly turn away, working to contain whatever reaction I’m having and determine to focus on the other initiates around. But I keep watching out of the corner of my eye despite my resolve.
Chase elbows me in my ribs and my head snaps to the side to look at him, a scowl on my lips that only deepens when I see the asshole isn’t even looking at me. I follow his eyes, which are as wide as the grin on his face, and see what he’s so focused on. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s focused on just the person I’m trying not to focus on.
My refusal to focus on her fails completely as a bit of irritation and worry creep in when a Candor girl, who had been hovering over the Candor that was pushed from the train, then stomps her way over to the little stiff. She looks like she’s ready to kill the girl in grey and also looks like she would be completely capable of it. She’s built like an Amazon.
“You could have killed him!” The Amazonian screeches out and goes to put her hands on the smaller girl, who just rolls her eyes and sidesteps the attack, causing the Amazon to stumble and trip to the ground.
“I could only hope to be so damn lucky.” The little stiff mutters. She might be going for a quiet mutter but it doesn’t come out that way and it wouldn’t matter if she had been quiet, because all attention seems to be on her by now anyways.
I know all of my attention is on her. I can’t even help the smirk that tilts my lips up at her response as Chase snorts out a laugh.
“And if you were observing closely, I aimed him precisely where I wanted him to hit with the perfect amount of force. Enough to make him scream like the little bitch he is but not enough to kill him.” She pauses and sighs, almost dejectedly. “I’m still up in the air on whether I did him a favor, or all the rest of us a disservice. Time will tell though I guess.” With that, she shrugs as if she really was torn about her decision then moves off.
Another Abnegation girl has just careened to the roof and is who the little stiff was waiting for. She scrambles over to where the new stiff is crumpled on the ground and tangled up with another fucking Candor girl.
“Are we just being fucking invaded here?” I mutter angrily but still can’t take my eyes off of the first girl.
“Mary Katherine! Did you have to push him? He wasn’t going to hurt me.” The new stiff isn’t even standing when she launches into her scolding, but the other girl doesn’t even acknowledge it other than to grimace a little when she hears her name.
Not that I blame her. I already hate the fucking name myself and I didn’t have to spend a lifetime with it.
She helps her scolder up then helps brush the gravel and dirt off the other girl’s jacket, all while frowning. She locates a tear on the sleeve and scowls at a cut on her friends’ arm before she lets her go and replies finally; a determined look in her eye and a stubborn lift of her chin.
“First of all, I was helping him get over his obvious feelings of inadequacy, shown by his need to fuck with you.” She gives the other girl a pointed look before she continues. “Second of all, yes he would have and if you think different Beatrice, then you are in for a world of hurt during initiation. If you won’t take my word for it, ask your friend here. They obviously know each other. I’m sure she can tell you all about the new resident dick of Dauntless.”
I know with one look at the glare the Candor and his two friends are throwing to the girls that she isn’t wrong. I can already determine that those three are going to use anyone they think might be weaker than them to make themselves look stronger, and they aren’t going to be fair about it.
They’ll be ones to watch.
“Last of all,” she continues on, undaunted or unaware of the glares being sent her way or the attention she’s drawing to herself. “Please do not call me by that travesty of a name. I am and will only respond to Kat. If you’re smart, you will change yours too, Bea. I mean unless you just want to live with an instant chastity belt tethered to you.”
The Candor girls jaw, who is apparently friends with the other stiff, drops open while the other abnegation turns red and gasps. “Mary Katherine!”
There are sputters of laughter all over and I look over at Chase who’s holding in a laugh.
Kat, a much more fitting name, rolls her eyes and sighs.
“Lighten up Bea. It was a joke...sort of.” She sighs but there’s this tilt to her lips that has me tilting my head to the side and wondering what she’s about to spout next as she shakes her head. “I really do think, dear sister, that our parents chose our names as an instant abstinence tactic.” She crosses her arms and taps a finger to her chin as if in thought, but I can see it’s anything but genuine. “Do you think they teach that in Abnegation initiation?” She lets her hands drop to her side, shifts her posture in a blink, and before me is standing the very picture of a perfect fucking stiff.
Bowed head and clasped hands behind the back. Even the way she hunches her shoulders forward seems to be pushing focus away from her, but there’s still that glint in her eyes and the slight tilt of her lips as she keeps going with whatever little show she’s putting on. “By the way fellow Stiffs, someday you will lay with a man or a woman and produce a new little stiff. We expect you to keep the tradition of leg locking names alive.”
She says this all in an almost perfect imitation of the condescending tone of Marcus Eaton. Ripples of laughter make the way along the roof and while I don’t laugh, I crack the first smile I’ve let loose in a very, very long time it seems.
I shake my head in wonder at this strange girl while Chase is holding his stomach he’s laughing so hard. I honestly don’t know what the hell to think. There’s something going on with this girl, but I don’t have time to contemplate what it is.
All laughter, amusement, or chatter is cut off when a scream comes from the side of the roof where the train jumpers first land. I know before I even look over to the Dauntless-born pulling the girl from the edge what it means. I also know I’m going to be the one to have to deal with it as well.
Max looks at me and Chase, causing me to sigh and give him a curt nod of acknowledgment. I elbow Chase to get him moving. As we’re leaving, I notice that Chase has his head turned to look over his shoulder, trying to get one more last look at the girl I think we both want to stay and observe.
I can’t help but wonder if it might be for the same reason as me and how I feel about any of that.
I know I have a duty to take care of though.
My very last look, just before I go into the stairwell, is of Kat being pulled into a hug by three Dauntless-born, one being a Pedrad. My scowl at having to leave deepens at the look of affection on Uriah Pedrad’s face before I lose sight of her completely.
#fanfiction#divergent fanfiction#eric coulter fanfiction#eric x oc#worth fighting for#romance#smut#fluff#angst#tragedy#eric coulter#oc#tris#four#jai courtney#chloe grace moretz#shailene woodley#theo james#liam hemsworth#aaron taylor johnson
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A thirst for whiskey and gold (4)
MASTERLIST
Pairing: Lance Tucker x photographer!plus size!reader
Warnings: Mentions of adoption.
Word count: 6k
Summary: Soulmate AU where people see their whole life flash by before their eyes when they first kiss their soulmate. After Y/N receives word of her husband James’ death, she moves to Ohio where her best friend Karen has just given birth to a baby girl, hoping to find some piece of mind. Karen has asked Y/N to be the godmother and it just so happens Lance is the godfather to this little bundle of joy. One night, Lance gets drunk with some of his friends and they play ‘truth or dare’ which leads to an unexpected discovery.
This is written for @whotheeffisbucky her writing challenge. I know this is terribly late (life got in the way) but I poured a lot of love and soul into this, so I hope it makes up for my tardiness.
Series masterlist can be found here
You’re meeting up in the diner about two blocks from Lance’s place. He promised they have the best pancakes in town, so you agreed to have breakfast together and bury the hatchet along with it. The diner is completely deserted except for a family with three kids sitting in one of the booths at the window. The three of them remind you of Ethan and his brothers, but there are some features of the eldest that also trigger memories from James, with his wild blue eyes excited to explore the world of the diner.
The waitress gives you a big, toothy smile as she hands you the menu, telling you to take a seat wherever you want. After probably scanning the menu for the fourth time already, Lance finally arrives at the diner, about fifteen minutes late. He takes off his mittens as he rubs his hands together to keep warm, glad to have escaped the mild snowfall outside. His eyes gaze at you with intense delight once he spots you and struts over to your booth.
“You made it,” he says with a sense of surprise as he slides in the seat across from you. You smile softly at him with a nod as you hand him the menu. He’s barely got time to make a decision before the waitress is there to take your order, giggling at Lance with that sparkle in her eyes every girl seems to possess whenever they’re ogling him.
“I’ll have the banana pancakes with maple syrup,” Lance orders with a hum as he has yet to decide which milkshake he wants. “And a cookie crunch milkshake, please.”
The girl shoots him another flirty smile before taking your order. “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes with chocolate sauce and… euhm… the cookie crunch milkshake, too, please.”
Lance hands her back the menu and her fingers momentarily graze his, prompting you to roll your eyes at her giddy laugh while she walks back to the counter, swaying her hips as to inspire Lance’s lusty behaviour. Lance is obviously used to all this attention by now, but you aren’t and it makes you very uncomfortable, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap as you try to avoid that look of utter rapture Lance is giving you.
He reaches out over the table, a gentle tone to his voice. “Hey, don’t be nervous.” A tingling feelings goes through his body when his fingertips graze the skin of your hands and he can’t help but wonder if you felt it too.
Your skin heats up the moment he touches you and you quickly pull your hands back in your lap. Locking eyes with the gymnast as you eventually look up, your face falls in embarrassment as you notice the black eye you gave him five days ago. As if reading your mind, Lance tells you it’s okay. “I deserved it,” he chuckles warmly, “I was a jerk. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
“Thanks for meeting up with me,” you whisper lightly after the waitress arrives with your orders and Lance insists to pay for everything, much to your astonishment.
“You don’t need to thank me, really, it’s nothing,” Lance replies with a cheeky grin as he settles in across from you. He notices your blush almost instantly, taking pride in the fact that he is the cause of your flustered appearance. “So let’s start with why you wanted to meet up,” he asks with that cocky smirk still plastered on his face.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be here because, well, look at you…” He swipes his tongue across his lips as he takes you in, biting your lower lip while suddenly feeling very self-conscious under his gaze.
He is really enjoying being the reason you are stuttering just a little when you reply. “I’ve – I’ve heard a lot about you. I – I know all about your reputation,” you smile back, determined not to let yourself be intimidated by his flirty behaviour. Yet you still can’t quite believe he’s sitting right in front of you. He’s so handsome, that much you already knew, but behind the charming façade, is there also a good heart?
“I wanted to talk to you. See how you wanna go from here,” you reply earnestly after sipping from your milkshake. “You’re my soulmate, I wanna get to know you.” The blueberry pancakes is a dish straight from heaven and you moan at the taste of the cookie crunch milkshake.
Lance also takes a sip from his milkshake, watching you curiously, mindful to keep his infamous grin tugging at his lips as it has always been sort of a safety blanket to him. Putting down his cutlery, Lance crosses his arms over his chest in defence.
“Look, Y/N, I am not the kind of guy to take girls out on a date. Most girls don’t even expect me to take them out on a date. They just wanna have a good time, maybe a couple drinks or go dancing for a while, but in the end all they want from me is sex.”
As soon as he finishes that last sentence, all your appetite is gone. Swallowing thickly to get the lump out of your throat, you eat the last of your blueberry pancakes and fall back into your seat. “So if you’re not the kind of guy to go on dates, then what kind of guy are you then?”
“I’m the kind of guy that also wants to get to know his soulmate,” Lance sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just want to get to know you, Y/N, that’s it. I wanna do whatever you wanna do. You wanna go ice skating? Then we’ll go ice skating. You wanna hang out at the gym and have me teach you a couple tricks? Then we’ll hang out at the gym. Really, I’ll do whatever you want as long as I get to spend more time with you.”
There’s a heavy silence weighing down on you as Lance pushes his plate and milkshake away from him, leaning with his elbows on the table as he watches you intently. After a couple minutes of careful consideration, you know what you want but you don’t know if he’ll be up for it. Regardless, you take the leap of faith, thinking that nothing will be able to surprise you now that you’ve found your true soulmate in Lance ‘the fucker’ Tucker.
“I wanna shoot you,” you blurt out shyly, your cheeks tinting a vibrant shade of red. “With my camera. I wanna photograph you,” you correct yourself.
Carding his fingers through his messy hair, he feels his brown locks are still wet from the snowflakes. He really likes this girl, even though he has no idea why. Maybe it’s a soulmate thing, maybe it’s because he’s already fucked most girls in town and she’s something fresh. But then her eyes light up as she speaks about her job as a photographer and he recognises that same passion, that very same fire that has helped him achieve all those medals and all his fame. Perhaps you two aren’t so different after all.
“My editor tells me that I think too much outside the box, that my pictures aren’t mainstream enough so that I have to come up with a new concept if I want to keep my job. And you’re an Olympic gold medallist and competing again at next year’s Olympics, right?”
Lance raises an eyebrow at you as he listens to your every word. “So I was thinking that maybe we can help each other out. I have new photographs to show my editor and save my career, and you get the be in the spotlight again.”
At first Lance is taken aback by your boldness, but then the idea starts to grow on him and he agrees quickly. “Okay, I’m in.” He doesn’t need any further details because if he is being very honest with himself, he has already known his answer from the moment he sat down across from you.
“You’re in?,” you squeak in confusion, overjoyed and also intrigues by his sudden willingness. “So it’s okay? You’re in?”
“I’m in,” he smirks at your surprised reaction. He guesses it’s a little unusual how he agreed so quickly. But then again, Lance Tucker doesn’t do what other people expect him to do. He plays by his own rules. And right now he wants to get to know this girl better.
“If you want me, you gotta respect that I have a very strict training schedule. I can’t move any of the appointments, but I do have a gym session in an hour that is open for aspiring gymnasts. You wanna tag along?”
The brunet looks at you with a genuine smile, cockily winking at you when he sees your cheeks turning pink again, pulling his walls back up. “I just gotta pick up my gym bag at my apartment. You’re welcome to walk with me, it’s not that far. Or we can meet up at the gym if you don’t wanna walk all the way through the snow.”
You’re again a little intimidated by the teasing tone of his voice, but you don’t allow yourself to be distracted by it too much. He probably does this with every girl he meets. “No, it’s fine. I like the snow, I just don’t like driving through it,” you smile kindly, enthusiasm coursing through your veins at this new endeavour.
You notice he is pleased with your answer and that it obviously strokes his ego, but there’s also a glint of surprise to be detected in those baby blues. “Not ready to be away from me, are you?,” he asks you smugly, gauging your reaction, before he bursts into hearty laughter.
Biting his lower lip, he glances at you through his eyelashes, the cocky tone every present as he continues. “Fair enough. Let’s go,” he concludes and gets up from his seat, waiting for your to finish wrapping yourself up in a warm scarf before leading you outside, his hand resting on the small of your back as he bids goodbye to the waitress.
As you leave the diner, you unintentionally bump into him, your hands brushing and that unfamiliar electricity running down your spine. Instead of moving away, you gravitate towards him and it confuses you as much as Lance confuses you too. Categorising it as a soulmate thing, you apologise quietly yet wonder what it would feel like if you were to touch again. But you’re too afraid to make this too complicated. It’s too soon to tell if you really want to spend the rest of your life with this man, even if he is your true soulmate, so you push all feelings you might have away to the back of your mind.
The walk to his apartment is silent, very silent. Almost too silent. Lance wants to hold your hand but his mind is debating against it. He, too, is intimidated by your choice to go with him to his gym. You’re calling his bluff, increasing his attention for and attraction to you.
As for you, you’re extremely put back by his forward attitude, obvious cockiness and inappropriate sexual innuendos, momentarily hesitating and contemplating your options, second-guessing your decision to tag along. All those athletic, thin and undoubtedly beautiful girls will make you feel so insecure, even though you love your curves. But does Lance love them as well you wonder.
And then it happens again, your hands brush once more and Lance sucks in a silent breath as he feels that same, tingling sensation take over him. Yet again you move away from him very quickly, leaving Lance feeling a little empty inside. He doesn’t know why you were so distant but he is determined to find out.
“So… do soulmates hold hands, ya think?,” he chuckles while taking a long stride to be side by side with you. “I’m just wondering…”
“Well, I guess that’s what soulmates do…?,” you admit softly, remembering the first time you held hands with James, not long after you’d found out he had experience the soulmate flashes. “But you don’t have to hold my hand. I don’t want to invade your personal space or something,” you add immediately.
The thought of Lance holding your hand does excite you, but you’re too much of a worrier to say anything else about it as you walk up the stairs to his apartment. Lance fishes out the key while he asks you to tell him a bit more about yourself.
“I don’t know what else to tell you about myself that you might not already know. I’m a photographer. I was born and raised in San Francisco. I have a brother Jake that’s one year older than me. He still lives in San Francisco. I moved to New York for my job and then back to San Francisco, which eventually led me to Ohio.”
They enter his apartment all the while Lance listens intently to you talk. “So you’re quite the traveller, too, hm?”
He locks eyes with you and his heartbeat increases at the intensity soaring between you both. He has never had this much trouble keeping up his cocky facade that he carries around with him at all times. He has only known you for a couple days and he is already intoxicated by your presence.
“Yeah, I guess so,” you confirm, gazing into those blue eyes. There seems to be a gravitational pull between the two of you, so naturally you’re a little disappointed that Lance is the first to break eye contact.
You clear your throat as he looks away, taking in your surroundings. “You can wait here,” he says, waving his hand to his living room. “My bag’s in my room. I’m going to change there to make things easier for us. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about soulmates, too?,” he calls out while walking down the hall to his bedroom. He leaves his door open a crack so he can still hear you. And of course, Lance Tucker ain’t shy.
“Euhm… I don’t know much about soulmates either to be honest. I know that soulmates experience flashes of their future when they first kiss.” From the small opening of the door, you can see Lance pull his shirt over his head, his ripped abs on full display. Already blushing like a tomato, you catch a glimpse of his infamous tattoo as well. “And like a decade or two ago, soulmates had soul marks too. It was like extra proof that they were soulmates. There’s also apparently a difference between true soulmates and soulmates… I don’t know if you heard of that before?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m a bit in the dark on all that soulmate stuff.”
Your eyes wander to his bedroom door again of their own volition and you can’t help but gape at him as he’s changing trousers, briefly forgetting about all modesty. “So yeah,” you cough awkwardly, averting your eyes before he catches you staring, “That’s basically all I know about soulmates.”
The brunet wets his lips as he thinks back to their kiss. “Do you wanna play truth or dare?,” he queries promptly, that cocky tone finding its way back into the conversation. He chuckles to himself as he finishes up lacing his shoes and grabs his gym bag.
He meets you back in his living room, smirk plastered on his face, yet avoiding your eyes when you acknowledge his presence. How was he going to keep this up while spending the day with you? Every second he’s with you feels like he’s in a trance. Why do you even want to spend time with someone with a reputation like his? Even though you are soulmates, you are gorgeous and beyond intelligent. You’d never go for a player like he is known to be. He can’t even begin to describe how you make him feel. All he knows is that there is something special about this girl, apart from you being his soulmate.
You pull up your walls when he doesn’t even look at you after exiting the bedroom, his question still reeling in your mind. Nothing good has ever come from that game, yet you find yourself nodding a silent yes once he offers you his hand and pulls you up from the sofa. There’s that spark again but before you can tear your hand away, he keeps a firm grip on your hand and gives it a little squeeze.
“You go first or I go first?,” you ask softly, expecting him to let go of your hand by now. But he doesn’t and even moves closer to you, so close you can see the specks of grey in his blue eyes. Taking a step back only causes him to take another step towards you.
He’s all over the place, crazy enough to believe this game of truth or dare will help him understand his feelings towards you. Lance doesn’t want to let you step away from him, meeting your eyes with another question. “Truth or dare?” There’s no way you want to go first, but Lance isn’t going to let this chance go.
“I always go for truth,” you stammer, “But I guess this time I might go for dare. So,” you exhale sharply. “Dare. Give me a dare, Lance.”
Your eyes challenge him, or at least they try to as insecurity is seeping through every quiet moment that you share with him. You’re afraid of what he might ask you to do, especially since his smile only grows after your reply. Of course it does.
Grateful that you chose dare, he smiles widely at you. “Good choice,” he whispers inches away from your lips. “I dare you to kiss me.” He licks his lips once more, glancing from your eyes to your lips and back, entwining your hands. He moves his free hand to tuck a hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, eager for that kiss.
“Oh shit,” you mutter under your breath, inaudible to Lance’s ears. You’re about to panic when he brushes that stray strand of hair behind your ear and you relax into his touch.
Lance’s thumb caresses your cheek and his plump lips look so kissable. You could just slap him again and tell him he’s crossing a line. You could just tear her eyes away from his lips and… “Oh, fuck it,” you breathe out before pressing a chaste kiss to his soft lips, forgetting about everything in that fleeting moment where even Lance is taken aback by your own boldness.
Afraid you’ll break he kiss before you give yourself the chance to enjoy it, Lance presses his lips to yours harder. He isn’t letting you get away that easily, going in for a second kiss when he swears there’s electricity sparking between your lips. Unlocking your fingers to place a hand around your waist, the gesture allows you to give in to Lance’s wish for a kiss.
Usually he’d push for a little tongue but now he just wants to hold you close, kissing you softly as he can’t help but smile into the kiss. “Wow,” he breathes out as you smile sweetly at him.
The kiss made your heart flutter, especially when he pulled you close to his chest, keeping you secure in his arms. Standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his cheek just because you feel like it, because you want to share this tenderness with him. You’re searching his eyes, silently trying to figure out how he feels about this sudden development.
“I’m not like the other girls,” you tell him sternly, hoping the message is clear. You can’t catch feelings for him if he’s just going to use you up and break your heart. Yet the gentle press of his lips on yours lingers, making you doubts everything you know about him. You quite appreciate this soft side of him. Sure, the cockiness has its charms too, but you’re more interested in what lies underneath.
“I know. You definitely aren’t like the other girls,” he assures you, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his cheek. He can’t bring himself to let you go, everything feels just right with his arms around you.
“It’s my turn,” you whisper gingerly,” Truth or dare.”
It doesn’t last long before he slips back into his cocky demeanour. “I pick dare, too. Lance Tucker never backs down from a dare,” he tells you with a wink.
You lay your hands to rest on his firm chest, your face still so close your noses almost touch. “I dare you to tell me the truth,” you whisper to his lips, looking up at him innocently through thick eyelashes. “Why? Why does Lance Tucker, a man of gold and silver, have any interest in me? You don’t care for soulmates, you said so yourself…” Taking a deep breath, you shyly avert your eyes. “This… this isn’t all just for show, right?”
Lance squints his eyes, looming at her in disbelief. “I never said that I didn’t care for soulmates, I just said that I don’t know much about it.”
“I don’t know what it is, Y/N, but I just know I want you. Not just because you’re my soulmate. Of course that’s got something to do with it too. No, I want you, I really want you, because you’re everything I’ve always dreamt of. Tell me, does this feel like I’m pretending to you?,” he asks you before pressing his lips to yours once more in a heated kiss, putting a little more passion into it than last time.
Pulling away to lock eyes with you, he cups your face in his hands. “I’m sure you know my reputation but you sought me out anyway. You reached out first, remember?”
He looks at you with sincere eyes, his gym plans long forgotten as his attention goes back and forth from your lips to your eyes. He has no idea what you could be thinking, but he wouldn’t blame you if you ran. “I didn’t think I’d be so captivated by you. I don’t want to play games with you, I just want to get to know you and see where this goes.”
“I know – I – I wanna see where this goes, too. I usually don’t kiss with guys I’ve only know for a couple days. But with you… I don’t give a fuck. I just want to kiss you.” Crashing your lips to his again, you emphasise your statement. Your fingers dance their way into his hair as you swallow the soft moans you draw from his lips.
“It’s because we’re soulmates. But it’s also because I might… want… us to be soulmates,” you promise as you gently break the kiss, his lips following after yours as you pull away slightly. “So let’s figure this out…”
You pause, wanting to say “if we can be together” but unsure if it’s the right thing to say, you eventually settle for “figure out if we’re good together and make this soulmate thing work”.
Lance could kiss you forever and it still wouldn’t be enough for him, overjoyed by your words filling his heart with a feeling that might resemble the beginning of love. “Like I said, I’m in. I’m fully in. You just tell me what you need from me,” the brunet mumbles you as his lips find your neck. “You are the photographer after all…”
Sucking in a deep breath when he nips at your sweet spot, he smiles victoriously for having found a weakness. “But I believe I’m next… Truth or dare, Y/N,” he whispers against your skin.
You sigh softly as his lips ghost over your pulse point, your heartbeat increasing rapidly. “I pick truth.”
Running your fingers over his plump, kiss-swollen lips, Lane smiles tenderly at you, happy you’ve picked truth even though it’s considered to be the safe choice sometimes. “Truth. Okay.”
He can’t help himself but he needs you to admit it, he needs you to admit that you love the way he makes that red blush rise up to your neck and cheeks. “Today’s about getting to know each other, right?,” he murmurs while placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
Lance guides you back to the couch, sincerity in his voice as his fingers glide over your cheek and he looks deeply into your eyes. “Now for that truth.” His eyes glisten with mischief as he thinks about his question. “Is it true that when I kiss you here,” he whispers while doting feather light kisses down your neck and collar bone. “I can get you to go out with me?”
His breath ghosts over your skin, cradling your face in his hands as he gazes into those beautiful eyes again. “To dinner, a movie, whenever, wherever you want,” he rushes out, still afraid you would come to your senses and run out of here at any given moment.
Your heart skips a beat at his question, your eyes opening again to lock with his as you briefly closed them when he kissed your forehead. As he trails a path of kisses down your skin, butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. “Yes,” you agree almost instantly. “Yes, I like it when you kiss me there and yes, I’ll go out with you. But I thought you weren’t the kind of guy to go out on dates?”
“I might’ve said something along those lines… But for you, I wanna make an exception.”
He dips his head to kiss you again but you stop him halfway. “Anything with wine is perfect. But first, truth or dare?,” you whisper slowly to his lips as they touch when you speak, prompting a chuckle from his lips as he feels the vibrations of your words resonate through them.
“Truth,” he hums as he presses his lips to yours while pulling you into his lap.
You smile in surprise when you hear Lance Tucker picks truth over dare. Lacing your arms around his neck, you make your boldest move so far. “Does that mean I am your girl?”
He pulls back to look at you with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. “Y/N, I want nothing more for you to be mine.” He kisses you deeply only to be interrupted by the loud buzzing of his phone. “Crap,” he curses as he realises he was supposed to be at the gym half an hour ago for his gym session with Maggie.
“Maggie, one of the girls I coach, is rescheduling seeing I’m not at the gym.” Normally he’d be angry about this setback since he’s known for being prompt, but with this setback also comes a major advantage. “Looks like I’m all yours today after all,” he winks at you while putting his phone down on the coffee table, screen side up.
“Would you like something to drink? Water, wine, tequila?,” he offers as he heads towards the kitchen, unaware of his phone lighting up to reveal several unanswered texts from Maggie and various women he’s bedded.
“Water if it’s just a chat, wine if it’s a date,” you chuckle, allowing yourself to slip into a happy daze. As he’s in the kitchen taking out some glasses, his phone buzzes again on the table.
You’re not the kind of girl to read a guy’s text messages, but as your eyes unintentionally wander to the screen, your mouth runs dry and you swallow thickly. At least a dozen girls, including this Maggie he’s training, have sent him numerous sexy texts and steamy pictures over the past couple days.
The familiar sting of tears resurfaces but you tell yourself you won’t cry in front of Lance, especially not in front of Lance. So you suck it up and put on a straight face. Nevertheless, Lance can feel there’s something off as the mood has changed considerably once he strolls back into the living room with two glasses and a bottle each of red and white wine.
“I wasn’t sure which you preferred so I brought both,” he says while setting everything down on the coffee table. “Red or white?” He turns to look at you, taking in the battle of emotions your expression is giving off. “Y/N? Is there something wrong?” He grabs your elbow to prevent you from turning away, gulping audibly as he figures this it is, you’ve come to your senses about him.
“So it’s a date, hm?,” you smile wryly before you snap out of your stoic appearance, the cracks shining through as you collide into his chest. “I know who you are and still I’m falling for you. I can’t help it. Yet all those girls who’ve been sending you these texts and pictures… you obviously slept with all of them, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”
You shake your head, deciding it’s pointless to wait for his answer. “Lance, let’s be clear here. Soulmate or not, I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He doesn’t push you to look at him when you avoid his eyes but it does feel like a punch to the gut when you question him once more. He’s not sure why, after all his reputation is common knowledge. He’s got the choice to be arrogant, the person they’ve made him out to be, but in the short amount of time you’ve wrapped him around your finger and it makes him want to do everything in his power to keep you in his life.
“Y/N, I haven’t responded to a single of those girls. I don’t want to, I want you. I want you even if that comes with many cold showers.” He chuckles, grabbing your chin softly to meet his eyes, laughing but you can tell he’s being honest. “I’ll only take what you give me, but don’t pretend you weren’t ogling my tattoo earlier,” he winks at her before lacing her fingers with his own.
“Can’t blame a girl for being curious,” you grin at your own words, warming up a little more. He’s not lying, you can tell by the look in his eyes, so you make the jump. “I feel like white wine today.”
“And snuggling on the couch, stealing a couple kisses…” You stop momentarily, the playful tone to your voice turning serious. “Just don’t go too fast. I wanna take this one step at a time. Not too much touching. I know you probably want to, but if you want to be with me for real, you’re going to have to play by my rules.”
Lance is definitely not used to letting go of the reigns but he has no other choice if he wants to prove to you that he can change. “I’m in,” he repeats those words again and again. Smiling at you, he presses a kiss to your temple before he unlinks your fingers and pours the both of you a glass of white wine. He passes one of the glasses to you and sips of his own, sitting back and gently pulling your back to his chest.
“Is this okay?,” he asks you as his lips press another kiss to the crown of your head, the faint music from the jazz club down the street reaching your ears.
“More than okay,” you hum contently as you settle into his arms, wearing a soft smile when he kisses your hair and then that sweet spot underneath your ear. “Tell me a bit more about yourself, Lance. Not what other people say about you, but your own story.”
You turn your head so you can kiss the corner of his mouth, lips curling into a smirk. You might have him wrapped around your finger, you definitely don’t want to ask too much because you can never be sure if he’s totally enamoured with you or just very infatuated. Hopefully you’re not asking too much, hopefully he’ll stay faithful.
“There’s another kiss in it for you if you make me laugh,” you joke, winking playfully, trying to keep the mood light and your heart and mind focused on the positive, thoughts of James looming over your head. Should you feel ashamed that you’re letting Lance in so easily? That he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before, not even when you were with James?
He smirks when he feels her lips on the side of his mouth. This girl is intoxicating and he'd never felt this content just holding a woman before. "Hmmm...let me see… I really hate peas." He couldn’t help but laugh when he looked back down at you, the look on your face telling him it wasn't at all what you meant by your question although you are a bit amused.
"Okay. Okay. I've never told anyone this but… I'm adopted." He says the last part so quietly you almost miss it.
You put down her glass of wine on the table and take Lance’s, too, setting it down next to yours. Turning your body towards his, you cup his cheek in the palm of your hand, her thumb caressing his soft skin. He doesn’t look at you, awakening even more concern. “Thank you for confiding in me, Lance. But you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Just know I’m here for you.”
He tries to smile back but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, still avoiding yours, your heart breaking for this man you care for. Lance hears what you’re saying but he knows if he doesn't tell you now while he's opened those walls, they will shoot back up and close him off from you forever.
"It was hard," he mumbles lowly, "Feeling like no one loved and supported you. Luckily I had Petra, my nanny. She raised me, while my new parents lived their own lives. She’s actually the reason for my medals, she loved the Olympics,” he sighs while remembering the only maternal figure he’s ever had in his life. "She was the only one who supported me."
He finally looks at you, his eyes rimmed with unshed tears. You listen attentively to his story and as soon as you notice the tears in his eyes, you pull him closer and envelope him in her loving embrace. “Oh Lance…,” you whisper softly, your lips pecking his chestnut hair. “I’m sorry.”
You card your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing to his emotions. “I wish I could do something to change the past but I can’t. You should be proud of yourself, too. Through all the hardship, you managed to become your own person.”
He closes his eyes momentarily, taking comfort in your touch and your words. "Aside from Petra, I'm all I had, I'm used to it..." He tries to give you a reassuring smile. "I don't know what it is about you Y/N. I want to tell you anything you want to know." He leans forward pressing a small kiss to your nose.
“You don’t have to be on your own anymore.” Smiling softly as he kisses your nose, you then lean your forehead to his. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re the first guy I’m letting in as well.”
"About those other girls, Y/N… They meant nothing, I don't know how to describe this thing between us but it’s nothing I've felt with anyone before."
It’s like he’s reading your mind, every fibre of your body aching to be with him. So you move to straddle his legs, resting his hands on your hips and tracing his jaw with your finger as you marvel at his stunning features. “Okay. I believe you. I believe you, Lance, and I trust you, too.”
“There’s just one more thing you must know about me…,” Lance speaks softly as he averts his eyes, ashamed to look you straight in the eye. Better to get it over with now than Y/N hearing it from someone else first.
“I – I have a kid. With a girl that claims I’m her soulmate, too.”
Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @pineapplebooboo @curvybihufflepuff @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67 @ssweet-empowerment @cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @jo-l-ab @autijahnerd13s-blagh @sophiealiice
Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @jughead-wuz-here @jasmineladjevardi @sonofadeanwinchester @3dsaunt @marvel-at-bucky @nothin-after-79 @sexy-sea-basss @shesmade0fcandy @wtfisalltherandoms @mrs-dr-strange @disneymarina @secondsandstars @brandybucky @metal-armed-dino@amethyst09 @sydsmut @princess76179 @marvelsdaughter @spideynygma @beautifulbri26 @allyp1023 @ivannalinaje @ineffabl-y @tsukuyomi011 @ourdreamsrealized @aquarian-psycho @toniinhere
Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!
#whotheeffisbucky writing challenge#lance tucker x plus size reader#lance tucker x plus size!reader#lance tucker x reader#a thirst for whiskey and gold#lance tucker fan fiction#lance tucker#sebastian stan#the bronze#the bronze fan fiction#fan fiction#fan fic writer
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Super City
I guess it’s time for an Actual Superhero Au
JTHM
Edgar Vargas was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the communal coffee maker in the break room when the silent alarm started flashing over the doorway. He gave a deep sigh and wiped the “10” from the hanging whiteboard with his elbow, so that now it read It Has Been 0 Days Since Our Last Bullshit. He’d just finished shaking his sleeve back down over his wrist when the teller threw open the break room door, panting.
“Edgar,” she said, “we need you out front!”
There wasn’t even any sugar in his coffee yet. “Deb, you don’t need me. You just need to wait for the police or the capes to show up, whichever gets here first.”
Her teeth clicked together. “It’s Nny’s gang,” she said.
Edgar looked down at his coffee, up at her, and then shoved a handful of sugar packets into his pocket. “Alright,” he said. “Show me out.”
Out in the main lobby of the bank, people were scattered across the floor, hands over their heads, a few of the weaker constituted ones whimpering or praying. Edgar skirts them on his way to the commotion at the tellers, stirring his coffee. Johnny is shouting at someone behind the bulletproof glass, gesturing sharply with something wickedly pointed, possibly a scimitar, while five of his black-suited regulars keep an eye on the cowering crowd.
Tess sees Edgar first, as she flips through a series of pages on her clipboard. She gives him a knowing sardonic look and then taps Johnny on the shoulder. He whirls, sword swiping through the air where her head was a moment before, as she ducks easily out of the way. He spots Edgar. He lights up.
“Hello Nny,” Edgar says, giving a little wave. “What are we trying to buy today?”
Tess taps her brass knuckles against the clipboard. “You know we can’t tell you that Edgar. When the police take you in for questioning--”
“Dirty bomb,” Nny says brightly, leaving the sighing Tess behind him as he trots over. Unlike Tess, who is fastidious about her little domino mask and her identity--Edgar has been polite enough not to mention that he already knows, they do shop at the same Krogers and she has a very distinctive voice--Johnny is always one bare face and an itchy trigger finger from disaster. Edgar is given to understand he doesn’t really leave his lair except for the express purpose of enacting mayhem.
Nny lives solely for wiping Santa Carla right off the map, the bigger and uglier the splatter pattern the better, although whether that comes from a real devotion to the cause or just a lack of other interests is anybody’s guess. He certainly allows himself to be distracted easily enough.
“I need at least a grand to get a hold of the really nasty stuff,” Nny says, “but these cretins won’t hand over the cash, which is extremely inconsiderate of them.”
When Nny first started coming out into daylight, with his manic monologues and devastating weapons, for a month or so there everyone in Santa Carla really thought they were going to die.
“They’re just doing their jobs,” Edgar points out mildly.
“I know,” Nny says, stomping his boot against the marble floor, “but they could at least have the decency to come out here so I could get a hostage. Speaking of which--you don’t mind, do you?”
“Go ahead.”
“Thanks!” Nny says, and in a flash he’s behind Edgar’s back, the curved blade of his long sword hovering over Edgar’s throat. Edgar balances the coffee carefully as Nny yanks his free arm tight behind his back. “I really didn’t wanna have to blow up your bank. I know how much you like it.”
Johnny’s gang, consisting of two long term crewmates and a revolving door of dumb muscle, comes by the bank at least once every couple of months, and has done for a couple years. There are other banks in town, but they never hit any of those, which leads Edgar to suspect that they come here specifically to see him. It’s a bit sweet, although he’d get more work done if he wasn’t been held hostage every couple of days. Last week he went out to pick up milk from the corner store and ended up in the middle of a showdown with the Doughboy gang and it goes without saying which pedestrian they decided to drag into their getaway car. He missed dinner and everything. They did let him have some of their toast, though.
He doesn’t know what it is about him that makes this happen. It’s not like he goes looking for it. He always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The knife at his throat nicks him as Nny leans past him and shouts, very much in his ear, “Alright you putrescent boils on the zitty face of capitalism, let’s try this again! I wanna make it to the ice cream shop before they close!”
Edgar gives the guys behind the glass a reassuring smile, and they slink back, unlocking their drawers. They’ve all bought a fair amount of time together, at this point it’s really up to the capes and the cops to pick up the slack.
He gives the room another look over, as his coworkers fumble to comply. “Where’s Mmy?” he asks. “It’s unusually quiet today.”
He can actually hear Nny grinding his teeth, which is a bad thing to hear when you have a knife at your throat.
“He’s on lookout,” Nny tells him, “because he got his disgusting verminous bloody hands all over my NICE JACKET!”
Edgar winced.
“Anyway!” Nny said, brightening instantaneously. “We’re gonna get some ice cream after we’re done here, you wanna come along? I can have one of the idiots hold a knife on you if you’re worried about being an accomplice.”
On the one hand, some cookie dough ice cream did sound pretty good. “Sorry Nny,” he said, “I can’t today. I’m already behind on everything after that incident with the Doughboys.”
“Shit. Those uppity fuckers. They didn’t do anything nasty to you did they? ‘Cause I brought them into this world and I wouldn’t fucking mind taking them out of it.”
Edgar doesn’t really understand how that’s possible and, furthermore, would rather not find out. He starts to reassure Nny that he is perfectly unharmed when a dull whumph from the other side of the window startles him. He turns his head, just in time to see the window blown in by the force of a human being thrown bodily through it--a deadly rain of glittering glass and the meteoric body in flight overhead--
Mmy hits the floor and skids to a stop at Edgar’s feet, a mess of blood and fishnets and shining buckles. He uncurls and blinks up into the light with his bare face and smeared eyeliner, the long knife in his hand not yet bloodied.
“Oh,” he says, flashing a 100 watt smile, “Edgar! Hey! Are you coming for ice cream?”
“Jimmy!” Tess shouts from across the floor, “Who’s out there!”
Jimmy screws up his face. “Oh,” he says. “It’s Durga.”
Edgar hears Tess say Shit at the same time that the knife completely disappears from his throat. He has just enough time to duck behind one of the pillars before a motorcycle tears out what remains of the window and crashes in a mangled heap across the marble, tearing deep grooves in the stone.
“My bike!” Mmy whines, although nobody is listening.
Durga comes striding through the window, glass scattering under her feet, and leaps down onto the floor. Her long coat sweeps out around her as she lifts herself from her crouch. She fixes the full incendiary power of her glare on Nny, who is bouncing on his heels in anticipation.
She is just as terrifyingly intense as always.
“You assholes caught me at a really bad time,” she says. The skull shape of her half-mask is almost as white as her skin. She spares a finger wiggle as she adds, tiredly, “Hey Edgar.”
“What a pleasant surprise!” Nny says, and he drops the scimitar, riffling around in the lining of his own coat for something, pulling pockets open and peering down into them. “I thought it was going to be one of those philistines on the police force. You’re looking stunning, by the way, have you bulked up?”
“Johnny you piece of shit,” she says, “compliment me one more time and I’ll rip your tongue out.”
“It would be my pleasure. Ah!” From the shadows of his coat, where it absolutely should not have fit, Nny draws out the wicked curve of a sickle. “I haven’t seen you since, um. Well god damn, there goes my fucking memory. How are you though?”
Devi reaches a hand behind her neck, head tilting with a snap, rolling her shoulders as she draws out, knot by knot, the long bloody whip of vertebra and shining cartilage. It hits the ground like a snake, heavy and sinuous, a deadly thing to hold in your hands. As it always does when he’s unlucky enough to witness the hero making a mess of her own body, Edgar’s stomach churns.
“These are not,” she says, “good times to be around me.”
Nny nods, sympathetically. “Well then the last thing you need is me trying to make small talk with you,” he says, and flicks the blade of the sickle. “Let’s just try to kill each other, how about that?”
“You read my mind,” she says, and leaps across the floor.
At this point, Edgar has to look away. He gets queasy every time he sees the two of them going at it--the things that she pulls out of her own skeleton, good god, and the way that Nny knits back together after he’s been split down to the kidneys on one of those wicked bones? It’s not something a man should have to see more than once in his life.
In the crashing and shrieking and clatter of edge against stone, Edgar is forgotten enough that he can retreat to the far wall and finish off his cooling coffee. After a moment, like a slug moving his way through his own trail of blood, Mmy pulls himself over and props himself up against the same wall, watching the showdown with rapturous delight.
The things Mmy finds entertaining--well, there has to be a reason he picked the career he did.
“Isn’t he something?” Mmy says, the side of his mouth pressed to the black hilt of his knife. “Damn, look at him go. Now that’s a real doomsday device.”
Edgar sips his coffee. He thinks what he can hear Johnny shouting is some kind of a compliment, although if that’s the case then there’s something to be said for not talking out loud about how beautiful a woman’s bones are.
“They used to date, didn’t they?” he says, ignoring the rain of fingers that bounce off the marble several feet away. He doesn’t want to know whose they are.
Jimmy wrinkles his nose. “I dunno,” he says. “Nny doesn’t tell me stuff like that.”
For a second the narrow slant of Mmy’s eyes takes on a volatile cast, a chemical dangerous when shaken, but then it’s gone as soon as it appeared. He grins against the nylon handle.
“Anyway, all that shit’s in the past! Now he’s got us.”
Edgar glances sidelong at the villain. He’s not sure what us entails, but he doubts Nny would be so quick to agree.
It’s just another bothersome tuesday, a bad news day for the janitors who have to clean up the blood and fingers, but nothing Edgar hasn’t seen a dozen times before. He is already thinking about the errands he needs to run after work, if he can manage to avoid getting caught up in this super business twice in one day, and the toner that needs replacing--and basically he is not worried about any of it, except as far as keeping his clothes clean goes, which is why when the shot lands, he never sees it coming.
It hits him like lightning, in the space between one breath and the next, in the space between one rib and the next.
The last thing he knows for a long time is that sound of his own startled breath, not enough time even to wonder, as he will wonder--why me, of all people?
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Not Forgotten
The Walking Dead (Season 8).
One shot (Negan, Father Gabriel, Lucille, Rick, Eugene, Carl, Daryl).
Angst, Drama
PG 13+ Swearing
Shout out to @lezzymothra- just because 💖
“Forgive me Father for I have fucking sinned! Time and time again…I’m sure you’re well aware of what I’m talking about…you know the shit we’ve both done that got us both here, right now in this moment,” Negan glanced over at Father Gabriel who remained calmly seated in his chair.
There was a war raging outside and the two of them had both ducked into the same house, unknowingly, for a few seconds of cover. Those seconds had become minutes now.
“I don’t know why I didn’t kill you the first time I saw you back at Alexandria…I thought it was some fucking sick joke to have some asshole dressed up and walking around like a goddam priest to remind everyone of the goddamn rapture! But shit…here you are a real, fucking priest!”
He was laughing now as he fixed his scarf, moving Lucille carefully over to rest on his opposite shoulder. Gabriel didn’t even bother to flinch at the weapon; it was less terrifying than Negan’s words at the moment.
“Shit, Gabe…how many people have come to you since the end of the world to confess…just about fucking everything? That must wipe you the fuck out? I mean shit, can you believe you’ve moved on from cheating spouses to spouses now killing one another because even in the afterlife they still can’t get along!”
His laughing became stronger, louder as if he was trying to remove himself from the joke. Gabriel looked up at him finally, trying to read the expression on his face that surpassed his laughter. There was something about the way he said spouse and afterlife that threw him off, something about the way he took Lucille off of his shoulder.
He shifted in his seat and silently cleared his throat before sitting up straight, trying to look Negan in the eye.
“Would Lucille want you to confess to me about all that you’ve done?”
The tension in the room seemed to ebb and flow, unsure if Negan was going to beat him to death or get on his hands and knees and as him to clear his conscious. He couldn’t read the leader of the Saviors and it seemed that there was a nerve he had struck, the same one that struck any time even Negan himself said the name ‘Lucille’.
“You know, she fucking would but she’s dead and I am not playing into the same goddamn game she used to play when she was alive…fucking…repenting and asking for forgiveness about shit you can’t even take back or change anyway. What good is it! You do shit, that shit brings out consequences and you and other people have to fucking live with it! That’s it! No fucking take backs!”
Negan had a very good point, a valid point. However, he wasn’t going to just let him win this or even let him win all the pain and suffering he made so many people endure, including his family; even the dead. He had more to say and the longer he was stalling Negan inside; the more he hoped that the fighting on the outside was turning over to their favor.
“She died before the outbreak or early on when it started? Carl, Daryl…they’ve told me about the wives. We’ve all heard the name Lucille…you still have a slight tan line around your left ring finger…it doesn’t take much to see past this façade you’ve created for yourself, around you…”
Gabriel quickly rose from his seat and walked towards Negan without falter or cowardice. Negan was no stronger than any of them, even though he tried to pass along as someone who had lost no one to this apocalyptic world. All of them had lost someone or something, all of them had decided to move on and find strength in the ones left behind. Negan was doing the opposite and he was burning himself out, with no cause or direction for any of this, merely just to pass the only thing untouched: time.
“You must have loved her a lot or blamed yourself for her dying…something is still holding you back that you didn’t get to move on from. You even named…your weapon after your wife, what does that say about you? About your situation? It says nothing about her; she’s not here to speak for herself.”
Gabriel didn’t even bother to let Negan reply, even though he had opened his mouth and tried to become intimidating, trying to retain the image he so perfectly created for those in Alexandria, the Kingdom, Hilltop and even Sanctuary.
“You have all of these people out there, fighting…for what, Negan? To bring her back? Do you not see how selfish you are? You don’t want weapons, food, ammunition…you don’t need Eugene’s expertise or even Rick’s wit; you need your wife back. You’re nothing without her and you’re still nothing with her gone.”
Gabriel stepped away and backed up, turning to sit down onto his chair. He was watching everything from the time they heard the name ‘Negan’ being spoken about like some deity up until now, unfold and unravel. Everything Negan was or had become or tried to retain was taken out of the bag. Gabriel knew his weakness without Negan even doing much to admit to it. He could read people like books left open for all to see, he was good at that even if he rarely said much about people’s characters. Who was he to judge?
Negan tried to twist his face into some unmoved, cheery and self-confident character as he slung Lucille over his shoulder one more time. She looked heavier now and even his shoulder seemed to sag with the weight of that bat and that name’s reputation. He was done for, he was throwing in the towel right in front of Gabriel’s eyes and the both of them knew it.
“…We’re both going to go out there, and fight. Your people and my people. You against me and me against you and whatever happens, whoever walks away from this…there’s only going to be one, Father. Only one of us will know but even still, one of us will still hear her name…even way after us, she’s going to remain like all the greats throughout history. All the fuckers we had to memorize for school and tests…all of them. She’ll be that even if I won’t be. Rick already said it, Gabe, “We’re already dead.” Maybe he was right. We all are…unless, someone keeps remembering us, and then we won’t be. She’s not.”
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