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animeomegas · 3 years

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So... another hc for little Sasuke (sorry this one became too specific, you can change it however you'd like to :)

After a rather harsh session (just cuz Itachi wanted to give that a try ) he kinda can't walk without his knees giving out the other day and while his alpha was making breakfast in bed for him and Sasuke wanted some help with his homework(or just wanted to spend time with his brother) while alpha was finally out of the room. And while Sasuke enters the room Itachi was trying to get out of the bed to check out where his alpha was, Sasuke just witnessing him collapsing and with that panic(thinking his alpha broke his big bro's legs) rushes to call mednins. And Sasuke known as a rather smart kid so mednins thinks the worst case scenarios and rushes to the house with him.

Just imagine the awkwardness when adult parties figure out what was the reason of all the panic.

(Ahh, this is the best thing ever, I love it so much, thanks for sending it in! I changed a few little bits, but I hope you still like it!)

Okay, so, Sasuke has been… annoyingly good at playing cockblock over the past month, and Itachi and his mate are a little…pent up.

But last night, Sasuke was with his team doing an overnight training exercise, and Itachi’s parents were attending a social dinner that ran late into the night.

And… well, Itachi and his mate certainly took advantage of the empty house. And all the pent up energy made both parties… kind of feral. It was a lot rougher than normal, let’s just say that.

In the morning, Itachi is predictably very sore, and his alpha offers to make breakfast in bed for them both so that Itachi can relax and recover at his own pace. Neither have anything to do today, so they could even spend the whole day in bed. (As long as Sasuke was too tired from his trip to protest violently, of course.)

So, Itachi’s alpha is downstairs whipping up some food, but Itachi’s glasses are all the way over on the dresser… And he can’t read the book he wants to read. Well, they’re only a few metres away, Itachi should be able to grab them just fine.

Itachi scoots to the edge of the bed and then pushes himself to his feet, just in time for Sasuke to come barrelling into the room with no warning.

…

“Ugh,” Itachi grunts, legs giving out as he collapses onto the ground.

Sasuke, having come in just fast enough to see it happen, gasps and runs forward towards Itachi as fast as possible. His brother is hurt! Wait… Where is his alpha? They…They hurt him, didn’t they?!?! Did they break his legs?!

“Brother! I told you this would happen!” Sasuke shouts, already on the verge of tears because he wasn’t there to protect his older brother. “Mother! Father! Come quick, Itachi’s hurt!!”

“Sasuke! Quiet!” Itachi hisses, very aware that he’s currently half collapsed on the floor, only wearing a long T-shirt. “I’m fine, get out of my room and don’t barge in without knocking!”

“But-But-“ Sasuke blubbers, stepping closer. “But they hurt you! You have bruises everywhere! How can you defend them like this! You’re not fine!”

Itachi blushes a bright, humiliated red as Sasuke points out all the ah… marks… on his skin. He starts trying to climb back onto the bed, holding down the shirt to preserve what’s left of his modesty.

And then things go from bad to worse.

His parents’ footsteps come racing down the hall. Sasuke must have woken them up with his screaming.

Itachi thinks that death might be the best option right now.

“Mother! Father! That evil person! I told you! They hurt Itachi!” Sasuke cries, latching himself onto his mother’s dressing gown. “He can’t walk and he’s covered in bruises.”

Itachi can do nothing but watch as both their gazes scan him from head to toe. The ‘bruises’, the fact he can’t walk, the state of undress, the fact that the house was empty last night… They’re not stupid. He can see that they’ve figured it out. Itachi can’t think of a more humiliating situation than this.

His mother looks torn between amused and horrified, and his father looks like he’s seen a ghost and is about to faint any moment. All Itachi can do is avoid their eyes and hold his T-shirt down as far as he can between his legs.

The awkward silence is broken by the arrival of his alpha.

“Hey, what’s going on up here?” their voice cuts through Itachi’s wishes for death and brings him back to the present. “Itachi?”

He watches them enter the room, breakfast tray in hand and survey the situation. They quickly slide the tray onto their side of the bed and hurry over to Itachi, slipping off their dressing gown as they go and draping it over him so cover him.

Itachi doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see a dressing gown, and he slips it on as fast as he can.

“Don’t touch him!” Sasuke’s voice interrupts them. “I’ll never let you touch my brother again!”

Sasuke immediately launches into an attack against Itachi’s alpha. Thankfully, there’s no way his alpha would lose to a newly minted genin, and they easily manage to defend themselves without hurting him.

“Sasuke! Stop it!” Itachi orders, finally finding his voice. “They didn’t do anything wrong, you’re being ridiculous!”

“No!” Sasuke argues, still kicking at Itachi’s alpha. “Iruka sensei said that, even if you’re in a relationship with someone, they aren’t allowed to hurt you because it’s still illegal!”

“I promise I didn’t hurt your brother, Sasuke, please calm down,” they try to diffuse the situation.

“No! I-“

“Enough!” Fugaku roars, clamping a hand down on Sasuke’s arm. Some colour had returned to his face by this point, but he still pointedly avoids looking in Itachi’s direction. “No fighting in the house. Go to your room and stop bothering your brother.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Fugaku pulls Sasuke out of the door despite his fighting. “And you two," he turns his attention on to Itachi and his alpha when Sasuke has been successfully removed from the room. “If he starts asking questions, you will be the one to explain it to him.”

He leaves, and Mikoto follows behind him, shutting the door, but not before shooting Itachi a wink.

This is the worst day of his life.

The door slams shut and there’s silence again.

Itachi’s alpha gingerly lifts Itachi off of the floor and back onto the bed now that the spectators had left.

“Do you think if you hit me very hard, I’ll forget this ever happened?” Itachi asks, burying his glowing red face in his hands.

“If I hit you that hard, Sasuke would have a point, and we can’t let that happen,” Itachi’s alpha replies mildly, slipping into bed beside their mate.

“I feel so humiliated,” Itachi whispers, moving his face from his hands and burying it in his alpha’s shoulder instead.

“I know,” his alpha whispers, face pulling into a small frown. “But it’s okay, we didn’t do anything wrong. Your father has been asking for grandchildren lately, so he has no room to complain, and your mother didn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s worse,” Itachi groans. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Okay,” they agree, stroking his hair idly. “Have something to eat, you’ll feel better.”

#itachi x reader #omega!itachi #young!sasuke #naruto #headcanons #mikoto #fugaku #a/b/o #omegaverse #omega itachi #alpha!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #alpha x omega

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scvrllet · 3 years

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Eternity

“What crueler punishment is there than love?”

PAIRING: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Falling in-love was always scary, but falling in-love knowing there is an inevitable end is terrifying

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNING(S): Mentions of death + brief mentions of grief, Immortal!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: This has been sitting in my drafts for months ( back when i was an active hp writer and was primarily in said fandom) and finally decided to post it

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Immortality may seem like a blessing to those who desire it but forget the burden those cursed with it must carry.

How long have you been alive to watch the world around you evolve? Watch as one Dark Wizard rose and fell only for another to take their place? Watch as those you loved died, leaving you to grieve for all of eternity but yet some dare say that it’s a gift? The answer; far too long.

If anything, it’s more of a curse than a gift. A cruel way of punishing others but not just them but their family as well.

Old magic was dangerous and masters of those forces were not to be messed with. Your family had learnt that the hard way many years ago. An old witch, who one of your past ancestors had wrongly messed with, put a curse on your family. Any and every daughter born into the (Y/L/N) family would be cursed with immortality, paying their ancestors debt for all of eternity. Perhaps this is where the term ‘old soul’ had come from. You thought to yourself once. It humored you at the time but barely anymore. All you wanted was for your soul to be at rest but due to that witch’s magic, that would never happen.

When your parents welcomed you into the world you would be cursed to live in forever, a part of them had hoped that the curse would have somehow skipped a generation but when they noticed your lack of physical aging as you grew up, the only thing they could do was spend as much time with you as possible, your father especially. His time was running out but not yours. It never would.

You’ve lived through many decades and met several people, most of whom were starting to leave your mind, being replaced by the new people you were always meeting. Friends in your opinion, were easily replaceable. Whether it be betrayal or death that causes a rift in the friendship, there was always another willing to fill that spot. This being said, it didn’t mean you never loved them because you did. You spilled all your secrets and thoughts into them and held them as death took them away from you. Oh how their souls were fortunate enough to be able to rest.

You remember listening to your aunts and grandmother talking about their past lovers as a little girl. When one had finally passed, they’d give themselves some time to grieve before hopping into a new relationship, allowing the cycle to repeat itself. They would’ve expected for you to follow in their footsteps given the curse and all but were quite surprised when decades, maybe even centuries had passed, and you were still in-love with that boy from 1976.

You smiled as you recalled the day. It was the day you realized you were falling in-love for the first and possibly the only time in your life. For a moment, that moment specifically, you forgot about your curse and what would result from it.

It was the third of December. Snow fell onto the white ground as a cool breeze turned your faces red. You were both supposed to be in Herbology class at the time, not by the Black Lake throwing snowballs at each other but

With a bit of help from your magic, you had sent at least ten snowballs in his direction. You laughed as it hit him in the face and the moment of you letting your guard down allowed for him to throw one right back at you.

Your face was cold and wet as you wiped the snow off your face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you noticed a sparkle in his grey eyes before another snowball hit you in the face.

“Reg I swear to God I will murder you.” You threatened as you wiped the snow off your face. Anybody else would’ve been scared and immediately apologized but he knew you like the back of his hand.

“Is that so love?” He teased knowing that nickname was always able to crack your façade. Glaring daggers at him, you hoped he wouldn’t notice how your face got warmer but he saw the corners of your lip twitch upwards a bit and that was all he needed to continue teasing you.

Waving your wand, a pile of snowballs appeared beside you and before Regulus could even say anything, they were all sent flying in his direction one by one. He sighed in relief when the last of the snowballs had been fired at him before using his wand to dry himself off.

When he was finally dry, he looked up at you and smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the Black Lake. It was frozen but you were absolutely terrified of the ice cracking and falling into the cold water. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine as he walked closer to the frozen lake.

“Do you trust me?” He turned around to ask you, standing at the edge of the frozen lake. Had this been someone else, you would’ve broken free of their grasp and run back to your dorm but he was different. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt safe around him. It was an odd feeling.

Simply nodding, he smiled before carefully stepping onto the ice. He laughed as he felt your grip on his arm tightened as the two of you walked further on the ice.

“Regulus what are we doing?” You questioned as he continued to lead you away from the shore.

“Ice-skating, I think. I’ve overheard my brother talk about doing it with his friends and figured I’d give it a try.” He replied with a shrug.

You abruptly stopped in your steps and arched a brow at him as you asked: “You’re telling me that we’re currently ice-skating?”

Regulus cocked his head to the side slightly. “Are we doing it wrong?”

“Ice-skating Reg, it’s in the name. We need skates.” You replied and a look of realization dawned on him. He knew that it felt odd for muggles to do this sport with normal footwear but he just hadn’t realized what he was missing.

“I was wondering why we weren’t going as graceful.” He said under his breath, causing you to chuckle. “Well, right or wrong, I think we’ve had enough ice-skating for today. Come on you must be freezing.”

He grabbed your arm again and started walking back towards the shore. A mistake in this action though was that he didn’t give you enough time to react before he was pulling your arm. This resulted in you losing your balance and slipping on the ice but thankfully, his fast reflexes had you balanced on both feet as Regulus held you by the waist.

“Are you alright?” The playful teasing expression had now been replaced by a wide eyed look of concern as he moved his hands to rest on your shoulders as if to further steady you. He searched your eyes for any sign telling him that you weren’t okay. Thankfully, there were none and he sighed in relief and pulled you into his chest.

Far too intoxicated in his scent, you hadn’t realized that you were shivering until he pointed it out and began to cautiously head back inside. Lightly tugging on your jacket, the two of you got off the ice and back onto the solid ground. As you walked back you couldn’t help but question that feeling you felt whenever you were with him.

It was the feeling you felt when you were having a snowball fight with him. The feeling you felt when he laughed and his eyes would light up. It was the feeling you felt when you were around him and what you felt when he caught you on the ice and looked at you. The moment that happened just a few seconds ago replayed in your mind and you doubt that it’d ever stop. It made you feel warm and safe, mortal even.

You didn’t even realize you were back inside until you heard a voice call out from down the hallway in front of you.

“Mr Black and Ms (Y/L/N) aren’t you supposed to be in Herbology?” It was McGonagall. Shit.

Turning the opposite way, the two of you ran down the hall and turned the corner towards the Dungeons. Teacher or not, you both doubted she would enter the Slytherin’s Common Room.

“Blimey Black, if I wanted to warm up I would’ve rather set myself on fire.” You huffed as you tried to catch your breath. “And how are you not out of breath? I feel like I’m dying.” You had just run nearly halfway across the castle and Regulus wasn’t gasping for air like you who was hunched over the couch, quite dramatically as well you might add.

The boy in front of you rolled his eyes at your exaggeration before sitting down on one of the couches and patting the seat beside him, gesturing for you to sit down beside him. With a flick of his wand, a fire was lit in the fireplace allowing both light and warmth to fill the dark Common Room the Slytherin’s had. You always wondered why Salazar decided to place the Common Room in the Dungeons out of all places. A tower would’ve been much nicer, warmer even, but it seems as his blueprint for Common Rooms was different compared to the other founders.

As you sat down beside him, he pulled you closer towards him so that you were resting on his chest as his arms were wrapped protectively around you. “Better?” He asked and smiled and you hummed in response.

His fingers were tangled in your hair as he hummed a song. That combined with the sound of the fire crackling in front of you were enough to pull you to sleep. When you woke up the next morning you were still in the Slytherin Common Room but the fire was now out and there was a blanket on top of you. You were also laying on something that was most definitely not the couch since you could feel arms loosely wrapped around your stomach.

Sitting up you noticed that the sun was just starting to rise but that wasn’t what shocked you. It was the fact that you had fallen asleep on top of Regulus and that he stayed there until he too fell asleep. He could’ve just left you on the couch to go to sleep or ask one of your friends to take you to your dorm so why did he stay?

“(Y/N)?” You heard him mumble groggily. Whipping your head around you saw Regulus still very much asleep, or at least he looked like he was. His eyes were still closed and his black curly locks were a mess, something he wouldn’t have accepted if he was awake. He was always thought to look presentable at all times.

Shrugging off your previous thoughts you smiled down at him and intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m here Reg.”

He stirred a bit and his grip on your hand became firmer before light snores were heard from him.

“What are you doing to me?” You mumbled as you pushed a few strands of hair off his face. It was that same feeling. That warm feeling that just made you yearn to be with him, it was back. This time much stronger but back nonetheless.

It took you awhile but you did realize what he was doing to you: he was making you fall for him. You didn’t know if it was intentionally or not but what you did know was that it was working.

You were falling in love and it was absolutely terrifying.

Despite your curse and the known outcome, Regulus treasured every single second he was able to share with you. The relationship lasted two years, ending a few months after you both graduated from Hogwarts due to his discovery upon Voldemort. Aside from Kreacher, you were the only person who knew the truth about Regulus Black and what happened to him. Not even his brother or parents knew what had happened to him but that’s how it would stay. The world wouldn’t know about the boy who died trying to right his wrongs.

After his passing though, you couldn’t bring yourself to move on. It didn’t feel right and with all the pain that came with it you doubted you’d ever allow yourself to fall in-love again.

So as years went by and the world continued to move on, you were stuck on that boy from 1976.

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

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Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 5 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing, slight voyeurism

Word Count: 2734

@meanduck

Vincent hadn't meant to spy. He didn't know when everyone was coming back, or if any of them were currently even at the house. Sure, Lester had told him that the three of you were leaving town, but he'd been disconnected from his brothers the second you had arrived. He only wandered inside the house because he wanted to see if the three of you were even back yet, and he was surprised to hear muffled voices coming from his room.

In his surprise, he'd managed to step on one of the floorboards that always creaked. He winced to himself, even if he doubted that the pair of you heard it. He took a step forward, pushing a painting slightly aside and glancing through a hole in the wall that only he knew about.

There, inside his old room, was Lester and you. He couldn't make much out, but he could see his bed. He saw your suitcase and the box, and it didn't take long for him to piece together what was going on. She's staying in my room , he thought to himself. He knew he shouldn't have expected much else. Bo wouldn't give up his room, even if he slept in the basement under the auto-shop half the time. Lester wouldn't give up his room because, while he had a whole other place to stay, his stuff had filled it to the brim. So, it was either his room or their parents room, and Vincent knew it was an obvious choice.

He didn't stay long, and, in fact, left the second his younger brother eluded to knowing that he was there. He didn't really mind that you were taking his room, as he didn't see it as much of a loss. He spent most of his time in his workshop anyways, which did have a bed already in it. The only thing he hoped was that you didn't find the supplies he'd shoved under his bed.

***

You had woken up late, and the sun was high above the horizon by the time you peeled open your eyes. You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear them of any bleariness as you reached towards the bedside table for your watch. It was early afternoon, and you groaned. Your first impulsive thought was that you were going to have to fix your sleep schedule before school started, but you stopped that thought dead in your tracks. You weren't sure where you'd be teaching this year. You couldn't teach back at home, and you'd have to tell your new town that you could no longer accept the position. At least, until your ex was apprehended. You sighed, moving to press your face flat against the pillow.

You'd stayed up past midnight, planning and prepping for the next night. You knew that you probably didn't need to, that the boys might not have super high expectations for classes. It was more to distract you from any potential thoughts about your ex, to distract you from the creeping anxiety and potential nightmares. Thankfully, you'd fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep, one void of images of your ex or your sister. You blamed the new town, maybe even the new room. It wasn't your own, and it didn't resemble anything close to where you'd lived. The complete change in scenery probably had something to do with it. You picked at the blankets, wondering if that had anything to do with it either. Your old set had been one that had been brought with you, from the house you'd shared with your ex and your childhood home turned into your sister's home. Perhaps the bad dreams had been clinging to your sheets, like ghosts. You played with the thought, wondering if Vincent had any bad dreams attached to sheets you were under.

You shook your head. You'd been thinking about the mysterious figure far too much. You knew it was just curiosity, but you couldn't wait to meet him if not to just expel the way your mind consistently went back to him. You got out of bed, grabbing a pair of socks to wear so your feet wouldn't freeze on the wooden floor. You looked outside the window, seeing that Lesters car was gone. You guessed that Bo would be down at the auto shop, and you didn't know if Vincent even really lived in the house. So, you guessed you'd have it completely to yourself.

You saw no reason to change, and you walked down to the first floor in just your sleep shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. You figured, worst case scenario, you'd end up having pizza for breakfast. If there was any left. You went straight to the kitchen, your footsteps silent as you approached, and you nearly jumped when you saw a figure at the sink. His back was turned to you, but you quickly guessed that this had to be Vincent.

He was as tall as Bo, if not a few inches taller. His hair was long and dark, and it looked almost as thought it had a few pieces of wax caught in it. He was wearing a sweater and overalls, despite the Louisiana weather. You couldn't imagine how he could withstand it, especially with working with hot wax all day. Eventually, you cleared your throat so you wouldn't sneak up on him.

You had leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, pressing your shoulder against it as you watched him jump. He dropped his bowl, and he was quick to turn to find the source of the noise. Like Bo had described, he was wearing a mask. You gave him a smile and a wave, knowing not to expect much of a response from him. At least, until you began to teach him some signs.

"Hi," You started, before giving him your name and walking closer. "You must be Vincent, right?" And you watched how he awkwardly swayed for a moment. He had turned so his hip was leaning against the counter, and, despite his size, he almost looked like a caged animal. Ready to run at the first sign of an opening. You walked until you were only a few steps in front of him, and you watched how he gave you a small nod. Your smile widened, and you held out your hand. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm excited for our first class tonight." You added, and you nearly thought he was going to leave you hanging.

After a long moment and a slightly too long of a silent pause, Vincent reached out to wrap his hand around your own. It was large and covered in wax in some spots, same as the front of his overalls. It seemed he'd just come from wherever he worked, and you supposed his hours were just as off as yours were. But, despite the spots of wax, his hands were warm and soft, and he only gave your hand a soft squeeze before he was dropping it. You tried to suppress your smile, as you guessed that Bo had been right. He really was shy, but you couldn't help but find it endearing.

"So, I'm guessing Bo and Lester went out?" You asked, and there was a shorter pause between his nod. You had moved, walked so you could stand a few steps besides him near the counter. So you felt less like you were trapping him against a wall. His gaze has followed you, and you could see a single blue eye peering out from the mask. Bo had been vague about the description of what lied underneath, but you also supposed that it was simply none of your business. Still, the way his eye stared at you, almost unblinking, realized how casually you were dressed for your first meeting. Subconsciously, you pulled up your shirt. "Do you guys happen to have anything to eat? Any coffee? I don't mean to ask for much, and I can always head to town…" You trailed off, watching as Vincent quickly sprung to action. He had to step closer, reach above you to open the cabinet and point towards the cereals on the lower shelf. He gestured to them, and you were able to guess his answer. Help yourself. And you watched as he turned his attention to a coffee maker. His movements were careful and deliberate, and as you looked around, you saw the kitchen was about as clean as you could expect it to be.

Vincent started a pot of coffee for you, simply because you were unfamiliar with their machine. You picked out a box of cereal, and Vincent was quick to show you where the bowls were. Despite showing you, he still reached to grab you one and then passed you a spoon. Thankfully, he didn't hover and let you pour your own cereal, and you gave him a smile and a quick thank you when he pulled out a carton of milk for you. He resumed his spot next to the coffee maker, hovering by it while you fixed your cereal. You could feel his stare glide over to you, but you kept your smile to yourself as you mixed the milk and the cereal before popping a spoonful into your mouth. It was, at least, breakfast related, so it was better than the alternative. Vincent tapped his fingers lightly against the counter as the coffee started, and you saw that his gaze flicked away from you the second you looked up at him. You did your best not to smile, and quickly had another spoonful of cereal to hide it. You saw that Vincent had pulled out two mugs, so you guessed that he was having one himself. When it was finished, he poured himself a cup and passed you the sugar. He let you fix your coffee how you liked it, and he placed the coffee pot back inside the maker to keep it warm. Once you were done, you helped him put everything back.

"So, I guess I'll see you tonight?" You asked, taking your bowl to the small table stuck just outside the kitchen. He gave you another nod, and you watched as he took his cup of coffee past the stairs. You figured his workshop was up there as you began to eat, idly thinking about what you were going to spend your time doing that day. Once you finished up, you washed both your bowl and your mug, setting them aside in the dish drainer, and went upstairs to change. It was still early afternoon, and you figured you could find Bo before you could find Lester. Luckily, your new room had a bathroom attached to it, so you didn't have to scour the place looking for a shower.

You grabbed your toiletry bag from your back-pack, and fiddled with the shower for a moment until the water was to your liking. You took a quick shower after locking the door behind you, scrubbing off a days worth of sweat and any of the paranoia that lingered from the day before. Once you were showered, your teeth were brushed, and you were changed, you went down to find Bo.

The walk was short and the sun was hot, the sky as clear as usual. You could already hear music playing from inside the shop, so you didn't figure Bo would be able to hear the bell of the door ring. You knocked against the open door to the garage, trying to catch Bo's attention from where he was ducked under your hood. He didn't look up, so you called,

"Bo!" And you startled him to the point where he knocked his head against the hood. You gasped, covering your mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! You just didn't near me knock, so I-" You said, but he was taking off his cap to rub the back of his head and shouting,

"Fuck- Just turn down the music!" He cut you off with his words, and you were quick to whip around and turn it down. You heard him sigh and curse to himself, and you repeated a soft,

"I'm sorry." As you came back to the door of the garage. "I just- I just wanted to check-" But he was cutting you off again and saying,

"It's fine, it's fine. I just couldn't hear you. So, you're finally up, huh?" And you didn't know if the statement was supposed to have a bit of bite in it or if you were just imagining it. You supposed his annoyance was warranted, as he had just hit his head. Still, you bit your lip and quickly thumbed back towards the entrance.

"If you're busy, I can just- I can go explore. Walk around. Maybe pick some stuff up from the store if you need anything." But Bo was quick to say,

"No, no. I could actually use a hand here. Another set of eyes." He said, and you almost didn't note how quick he was to shut that idea down despite his previous annoyance at your arrival. Almost. You thought it was strange, and realized that this was the second time that your idea to explore the town had been shut down. Vincent's had been softer, but this one struck you.

But he was beckoning you forward, and you were stepping closer and into the garage anyways. You didn't know nearly as much as Bo did, and it seemed more like he was trying to test your knowledge more than anything. You ended up mostly passing him tools and holding a flashlight for him, and when you asked,

"So, any idea what's wrong with it?" Bo's reply made little sense to you.

"Could be your battery. Your spark plugs. Hell, might even be your engine. Basically, I'm surprised you made it this far with this thing." You simply nodded and tried not to grimace, and you thought you caught the edge of a smile on his face as he turned back towards the vehicle. The only thing you knew was that this was starting to sound expensive, and like it was going to take awhile. After an hour, you asked him,

"Do you mind if I use your phone again? I just wanna let my local sheriff know about what happened." And Bo seemed to hesitate for a moment before he said,

"You gonna faint again?" And you gave him a soft laugh and a shake of your head. "Alright. But remember, it's probably best not to tell anyone where you are." He said, and you gave him a dutiful nod. You pulled yourself off the stool you'd been sitting on, and went to grab his phone. You dialed the home phone number of your local sheriff, and, after telling him everything, he agreed with Bo.

"He's probably right. We don't know how he found you, but stay where you are and don't tell anyone, alright? We'll find him, don't worry." After a moment of hesitation, he asked, "You sure who you're staying with are good people?" And you were quick to say,

"Yeah, I'm sure. They've been real nice to me." You told him, and it seemed as if the sheriff had something else he wanted to say, but decided against it.

"Alright, darlin'. Stay put and stay safe, y'hear? Call back at the end of the week for an update." And you agreed before wishing him goodbye. When you plopped yourself back onto the stool Bo had pulled aside for you, he turned to give you a grin before nodding back at the flashlight. You said a quick, "Oh," And went back to shining it where Bo needed you to. You'd been there for a couple of hours when Lester came by, and you quickly found that that's what the pair of you had been waiting for.

The three of you went back up to the house, ready to start your first lesson. You went upstairs to grab your folder for the first class, finding that Bo had disappeared into one of the rooms. When he returned, he wasn't alone. You set up at the table besides the kitchen, and Bo and Lester took the seats across from you. Leaving Vincent to take the seat besides you. He seemed hesitant, but sat down nonetheless. Finally, you opened your folder to begin.

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair

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asphyxiateher · 3 years

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Only Monsters Come Out at Night

A/N: Debating on whether or not I should put this on AO3. Thoughts? Do I need to edit what I have before posting on my favorite website? Anyways, I’m really into horror and I’d like to try my hand at focusing on MC’s descent into madness while falling for her captors. Dimitrescu Sisters x OFC (Desdemona) Summary: Desdemona, her twin brother and best friend are on vacation in Romania when things go horribly wrong the moment they run out of gas. Desdemona has the misfortune of enchanting the monsters that decided to terrorize her group.

It was a cold, pitch black night in the northeastern mountainous region of Romania, a heavy fog enveloping the roads which made it nearly impossible for any source of light to pierce through the gloom. This did not bode well for Desdemona and her friends as they dared to venture through the treacherous weather in order to reach their destination. The humble village of Bran should have been a welcome sight by now although from where the unlucky travelers were currently stranded, Desdemona had her doubts. To make matters worse, her best friend, Veronica, shoved a crumpled map of Brasov, Romania into her boyfriend’s hands and demanded answers. Her hot-headed friend was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

“Desmond, are you sure we’re headed in the right direction? None of this seems to make sense!”, Veronica exclaimed as she nervously rummaged through her shoulder bag for yet another cigarette. She struggled to light her cigarette this time, the harsh winter’s wind blowing hard against her bare hands caused them to shake violently.

Desmond sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his messy chestnut brown hair, pushing wild dark curls away from his eyes.

“You think the shopkeeper gave us the wrong directions to fuck with us because we’re tourists? I knew we were gonna get shit signal out here in the bum fuck middle of nowhere but come on, the old guy looked knowledgeable. Can’t blame me for trustin’ him.” Desmond casually replied with a shrug. He then took a moment to straighten the map again before folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

Desdemona was of the same mind as her twin. It seemed likely that the locals would be completely burnt out from the flocks of American tourists invading their hometown just to squawk about the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula. How exhausting it must be to constantly point out where to go to book a tour or who to call to arrange such things when the internet exists. In hindsight, Desdemona should have known better than to bug the polite yet obviously impatient shopkeeper about their vacation plans.

“Think about it, V, Desmond has a point. The guy probably gave us the run around for shits and giggles. You know, it would have been fine taking a wrong turn and then having to backtrack all the way back into town, but we should have just stayed the night at the Inn. Now we’re outta gas and it’s fucking freezing out here.” Desdemona added, now hugging herself tightly and occasionally rubbing her arms to keep warm for as much as possible.

Veronica growled but relented as she took a long drag of her cigarette, her foot resting against their rented vehicle. She took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. Snowflakes began to drift downwards, and it only fueled Veronica’s anxiety about being stranded in the middle of nowhere in the dark. “Alright, alright, we can either freeze to death in this piece of shit,” Veronica began as she kicks the van for good measure, “or we can freeze to death out there looking for shelter. I think I see a path over there that we can take to find what we need. It might lead us to people who can help us, or it might lead us to certain death. All I know is that we need to make a decision now, it’s starting to snow.” Desmond grins and wraps his arm around Veronica’s waist, pulling her close and pecking her on the cheek. “To certain death it is! Des, grab the essentials and let’s head out. According to the map, there are a few small villages in the surrounding area. Chances are we’ll stumble into one of them eventually and find shelter. We’ll get this mess sorted out.” Desmond eagerly stepped away from Veronica’s embrace and stepped towards the beaten van.

After a few moments of scrounging around for what they deemed important, Desdemona ended up with a backpack full of snacks, water, spare clothes, and the first aid kid. Veronica settled for an entire carton of cigarettes and a few spare lighters because you know, it was “absolutely essential” to her survival in a foreign land. Desmond found a flashlight and decided that going light would be preferable to him in case they ran into any trouble. They paved the way forward, following the path that strayed away from the lonely sliver of road. Turning back to get a final look at the abandoned van, Desdemona swallowed the surge of fear that was beginning to creep up on her. She had seen enough horror movies in her lifetime knowing that this probably wasn’t going to end up well for her little group. The logical side of her brain, what little rational thoughts she had left, gnawed their way through her brain begging to be voiced out and heard.

‘Turn back around, it’s safer to stay put and wait until morning! This is dangerous and you know it!’

Desdemona reluctantly glanced back at her brother walking ahead with Veronica hand in hand and the younger twin suddenly stopped in her tracks. Maybe she should stay behind just in case while her gregarious brother searched for help in these mountains; after all, he was far more easygoing and could easily charm the most stubborn of fools into helping him.

“Des, what’s wrong? I thought we all agreed that we should stick together.” Veronica called out to her, uncertainty lacing her tone as her eyes flicked back and forth between the van and a terrified looking Desdemona.

Nervously fidgeting in place, Desdemona struggles to settle the conflicted thoughts warring in her mind. She knows that staying behind and waiting for help would be the wisest course of action, but there was safety in numbers. There’s danger lurking beyond the vast expanse of mountains that surrounded them and she would be utterly defenseless if left alone. Desdemona’s instincts were begging her to go back to the van but the connection she shared with her twin demanded that she follow him through the sketchy path that would most likely lead to their demise. She couldn’t let anything happen to Desmond, she would never forgive herself if something happened to him out here.

With a shaky resolve, Desdemona straightened up and gazed back at Veronica with a small smile on her face. “I’m just nervous, you know. Desmond and I binge watched all the Wrong Turn movies last Saturday so being out here alone in the dark is uh, freaking me out a little. I’ll be fine, though, let’s just keep going.” Desdemona lied as she rushed over to her best friend who rolled her eyes at the revelation.

“No wonder you’re acting all sketch, Des. First of all, binge watching horror movies the weekend before your vacation was stupid as hell so now you’re all hyped up over nothing. Secondly, Wrong Turn sucks. Y’all should have binged Hatchet, Danielle Harris is so hot!” Veronica declared, eager to get conversation going as the three of them trekked through a rocky and narrow trail that led to who knows where.

Desmond was quick to reply in defense of his favorite horror movie franchise and Desdemona was thankful to hear them bicker back and forth. The conversation drowned out the sound of cold whispers tickling naked branches in the distance, the loud crunching of their footsteps on the snow-covered ground, and ravens crying out above them. It was so eerie and something about it all didn’t sit right with Desdemona. She hooked an arm around Veronica’s free arm and together they discussed their favorite horror movies. Veronica could tell her best friend was still a little spooked, so she pulled her closer until she was pressed against her side to provide as much comfort as she could give.

The trail continued to narrow the further they moved along but nothing they observed thus far gave the impression that that anything was out of the ordinary. When they reached a clearing, Desmond sighed with relief. His breath steaming the frigid air was nearly the only thing they could see ahead if it weren’t for the flashlight providing what little comforting light source they had. The snow fall began to pick up the pace but it wasn’t blinding, thankfully. Desmond brushed aside large shrubs and stepped further into the winding path, coming to a full stop when he realized what lay ahead of the weary travelers.

The trio stared in awe at the overpowering sight of a 15th century castle looming over a quiet village sheltering underneath a blanket of darkness, or what Desdemona assumed was its shadow. No amount of fog could hide the monstrosity that was the architectural brilliance of this castle that Desdemona saw before her very eyes.

“Desmond, honey, where the hell do you think you’re going? Don’t leave Dezzy and I behind!” Veronica suddenly shrieked as she sprinted after her overly excited boyfriend down the hill that led into the village. Desmond turned around and could only offer a sheepish smile with a shrug before eagerly running into the unknown. Desdemona tore her gaze away from the castle and spurred into action, jumping and running as fast as she could in order to catch up with her twin.

Desmond was energized by both the cool crisp air and the promising sight of civilization, but that energy was quickly drained out of him when he encountered something wholly unexpected. Veronica reached the eldest Hawthorne sibling and was about to admonish him for leaving the two frightened girls behind, but she was quickly shushed by Desmond. Desdemona quietly approached the scene, her eyes widening when she realized that this was not the village of Bran at all.

They had indeed reached a small village but it looked completely obliterated. The houses looked shattered and broken, as if something gigantic and menacing had come through and picked away at the people that once inhabited this community one by one. Desmond cautiously led the group forward, calling out for any signs of survivors. This wasn’t on the itinerary…

Veronica was on the verge of tears, her hands covering her mouth as she observed the tragic scene before her. Every now and then, she would step into a broken home and call out to somebody – anybody- only to step back out with a grim look on her face. She pulled out her cell phone and attempted to dial emergency services only to be met with disappointment.

“There’s blood.” Desmond says quietly. His eyes peer over the trail of fresh blood and fear grips him the moment the flashlight scans over the corpse of a rotting horse. “Fuck, that stench – we need to get the fuck out of here now!” Veronica cries, gagging and turning away from the horrific view.

Desdemona would have expressed an equally strong reaction had she not felt a sense of…wrongness abruptly assaulting the atmosphere. The moment they stepped foot into the village, the environment reacted to their presence and that did not sit right with Desdemona at all.

“Desmond, do you hear that?” Desdemona asked, her voice laced with terror. Desmond Hawthorne heard the fear in his sister’s quivering voice and it made him feel uneasy. “I don’t hear anything, Des.” He replies as he reaches for Veronica’s hand and squeezes it tight. The couple began to frantically look around them as they slowly backed into Desdemona. As soon as they grouped up again, both Veronica and Desmond wrapped themselves around the youngest sister. The oppressive silence sent a whole new wave of fear over the group before something insidious could be heard approaching them in the distance. Desdemona gasped when she heard maniacal giggling and it was getting louder. A fluttering of what sounds like wings -bats, ravens, perhaps- advancing towards the group sent chills down Desdemona’s spine. What the hell was coming after them?

Desmond flashed his light from side to side before it settled on the massive black ball of insects that instantly appeared before him. The insects dissipated and somehow revealed the shape of a human being wearing a dark robe and hood. The only thing he could truly make out was the color of a red pendant wrapped around dainty, pale skin and a blood smeared smirk. Desmond’s heart dropped in absolute horror and panic immediately set in.

“RUN!” He screamed, taking off with a terrified Veronica in tow. Neither of them looked back to make sure Desdemona was following. The flashlight dropped, and it briefly circled the ground. The flickering light revealed two other black masses of insects approaching the younger Hawthorne sibling who was paralyzed with fear. All she could hear in that moment was delirious laughter coming from the women that revealed themselves two seconds later, the insects dissolving into thin air right before her very eyes.

The crazed woman standing directly in front of Desdemona leaned forward and took her time sniffing her pretty prey who stared at her with petrified gray eyes. Desdemona found it alarming that despite the lunatic’s appearance, dried blood caked on her lips and unruly red hair and a wild, untamed look in her eyes, she found her quite…striking. Perhaps she was going mad. None of this made sense, how could this be happening right now?

“Mmm, sisters, look at what I found. Such a pretty young thing all for me and she smells oh so delicious.” The woman with the green pendant spoke, giggling madly at the profound effect she had on Desdemona.

“Daniela, you’re delusional, she’s mine; I’m the one who picked up on her tasty scent!” The one with the red pendant spoke after she turned her attention to the only human who didn’t run from them.

The brunette with the yellow pendant reached over and yanked on Desdemona’s hair so hard back, Desdemona thought her life was over. She bared her teeth as she skimmed her nose across the young woman’s neck. Her tongue darted out between blood smeared lips and left a wet trail, causing the smaller woman’s breath to hitch at the unwelcome contact.

“Mmm, she smells so utterly divine. Bela, by the way, it wasn’t you who found MY new pet, it was me! You ungrateful wretches always want to touch what’s mine!” The hooded figure’s grip on her hair tightened and Desdemona whined, causing all three women to delight in her torment.

What Desdemona couldn’t figure out was what they wanted to do with her exactly and why they were fighting over her like three starved wild dogs fighting over a piece of meat. She needed to get out of there fast. “LET GO OF MY SISTER, YOU UGLY CUNTS!” Desmond’s angry voice broke through in the distance and all three creatures turned their attention on the young man who dared interrupt dinner time.

Desdemona decided this was the time to take advantage of their distraction and she quickly slipped away, sprinting as fast as she could to the nearest unoccupied house. Desmond, relieved that his sister broke free from whatever those things were, spun on his heel and ran the opposite direction. He could only hope that all three of them would make it out of this godforsaken village alive.

All three women threw their heads back and laughed wildly into the air as they knew catching their prey would be much more satisfying when they caught them alone in isolated surroundings. It added to their fear and it made the blood taste that much sweeter.

“The hunt is on, sisters. Leave the pretty plaything alive, but the others, we will present to our dear mother as gifts. We’ll make the new pet watch mother undo their very lives; it’ll only make her that much more delicious when we have our fill.” The one with the yellow pendant stated as she sniffed at the air, shuddering when Desdemona’s irresistible scent filled her nostrils once more.

Desdemona found refuge in a large house a few yards away and slammed the front door shut when she ran inside. She quickly assessed what she assumed was the living room, she found a bookcase and summoned whatever strength she had and brought it down in front of the door. She heard something clawing at the door the instant she blocked the entrance, the door shaking violently and mad laughter filling her ears once more.

Desdemona shakily reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight and began to look for another way out.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Jesus Christ! What the fuck are those things!? Where’s Desmond? Is Veronica alright? How the hell do I get out of here? I just want to go home!’ Desdemona’s mind was running through a million thoughts per second but she couldn’t for the life of her settle on anything that would give her a moment’s peace. She was sobbing uncontrollably as she explored the dark home, her hands stretched out in front of her as she searched for anything that would provide answers to her problems. When she found a door near the kitchen, she cautiously opened it and cursed the eerie creaking sound that followed. It was discovered that the door led to a cellar of some kind and Desdemona rushed down the stairs without closing the door behind her. She slowly scanned the large open space and saw that this home had been recently ransacked or rummaged through. Clothes were scattered across the floor, furniture had been broken in half and tossed carelessly to the side but Desdemona found a hallway beyond the room she was in. ‘That must be the way out. Hurry up and grab something to protect yourself with!’

Desdemona carefully tip toed around the clutter, her phone flashing from side to side but to no avail, she couldn’t find anything that would prove harmful to whatever those monsters were outside. The woman nearly tripped over and fell when her foot stepped in something thick and wet, causing her foot to slip forward. Desdemona quickly steadied herself on a cabinet but it didn’t make her feel any better when she realized her fingers were covered in a thick, red substance.

Her breathing growing heavier, Desdemona flashed her phone light over to the cabinet only to find that it was covered in blood – a lot of it, to be exact and it was still dripping on the floor as though it were fresh.

All color drained from Desdemona’s face when she heard pained howling coming from the village; it was Desmond and he was screaming for help. Her twin was in danger and here she was selfishly trying to find a way to preserve her own life.

She quickly twisted around to run towards the howling but she stopped dead in her tracks when a black mass of insects appeared before her. The cloaked figure could only be identified by the color of her green pendant and a delirious smile plastered on her face. Fresh blood dripped down her chin and Desdemona’s eyes reluctantly followed the pool of blood forming at their feet. There was a sickle in her right hand and it was covered in blood, much to Desdemona’s dismay.

Desdemona began to tremble, overpowered by the frightening sight and the implications that followed a bloodied sickle carried by a madwoman. “The sound of your heart hammering against your chest is like music to my ears, pretty thing. Do not fret, my beauty, the moment we met I knew you were special. You’re meant to be mine, we’re meant to be!” She whispers madly, her tongue wetting her lips as her eyes rake over Desdemona’s body slowly and deliberately.

Desdemona doesn’t know what she’s talking about and she doesn’t want to know. Before she could form any kind of response, she’s pinned against the bloody cabinet behind her. She gasps in surprise and that seems to trigger the creature into action.

Desdemona screams as the hooded woman lunges at her collarbone and pierces through her skin with her razor sharp teeth. Desdemona weakly clutches at the woman’s shoulders, growing lightheaded from the sudden blood loss that was occurring. Feeling the woman about to collapse in her arms, Daniela pulls back and savors the taste of her blood. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she sloppily licks the blood off her mouth and regains what little self-control she had left to preserve her pretty plaything for a little while longer.

When dazed gray eyes meet hers, Daniela’s cold, black heart skips a beat. She had never seen anything more beautiful. So she raises her sickle, causing Desdemona’s eyes to widen in panic and Daniela can’t help but giggle a little.

“Don’t worry, my beauty, I’ll be gentle with you. The hideous man-thing and his bitch aren’t going to be as lucky as you, I hope. You deserve special treatment.” Daniela whispers, her fingers caressing her prey’s tear-stained cheek before swinging the sickle with full forced into the back of Desdemona’s thigh.

Desdemona remembers a high-pitched shriek escaping her but nothing else seems to come to mind after that. She remembers her vision blurring and a creeping darkness soothing her to sleep but what happened after, nothing. She enters the haunting abyss that welcomes her with black tendrils pulling her from reality, sleep coming to her easily. With better luck, she’ll never have to wake up again.

Only fools believe in luck as the nightmare has only just begun.

#resident evil village #RE8 #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #dimitrescu daughters x ofc #lady dimitrescu daughters x ofc #Holy shit this was just chapter one #I need an editor or something but bruh #I had to get this out of my system #other people may not like it but i did it for me lol #I need more dimitrescu sisters x ofc content

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north-peach · 3 years

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Whoops, lemme fic it (SW)

So I’ve been tossing this idea over in my head, daydreaming, wordbuilding and talking to myself and I’ve had enough.

It’s time to come out.

So, I tried the SI fic once and I didn’t like how it turned out and it was a good few years before wrote one again. There’s a lot of good ones, done by good authors. Silver Queen, Shadowblayze, Vixen Tail, and Mullk6 to name a handful.

But I wanted a character who knew the depth and breath of canon and could fix it. In Star Wars. With Mandalorians.

Which is usually a self insert, but....wasn’t feeling it.

Then it shifted to time travel. Main characters generally revolved around Bly, Aalya Secura, Quinlan Vos or Anakin, Rex and Alpha-17. Then it was a mix, sometimes Padme or Ahsoka, Jon Antilles or Fay, thanks to @blackkatmagic.

Then it was Boba Fett, Jango, Arla or Jaster even Tarre Vizsla. Korkie Kryze, a mix of his father’s ‘obi’ sound with ‘kote’ as in ‘glory’.

It’s been almost a month since this thought sprang from my head, exactly the opposite of Athena, but here it is.

My first Star Wars time travel fic.

Bly doesn’t wake, not for a long time.

Even if he is aware of the pressure against bare skin and the alternating temperatures that cause him to shiver or sweat to beat across his face.

He doesn’t wake to the snack, crack of the whip against his back, nor to the claws that rake across his face, but as the days pass, it is pain that draws him back from the dark.

The cold metal of manacles around his wrists, the dull throbbing of his knees against cool, packed dirt. He doesn’t move even as chains rattle and as a weak light flickers in tiny bursts even though he can’t quite open his eyes.

Bly takes a deliberate breath, deliberately breathing in long and slow.

Ribs, is his first immediate thought as pain now screams in his head, followed instantly by, back.

His arms are numb, lips cracked, throat and mouth dryer then Tatooine and it feels like someone’s poured sand in his eyes and then glued them shut.

We release our emotions, our pain into the Force. We breath it back in and then stand and carry on. Lives depend on us. The trick to keeping the pain away is it set it aside and ignore it. But you need to remember, Bly, pain is our body telling us we’re injured. You cannot ignore it forever.

It’s her voice in his head, the memories always there as soon as he tugs them and he barely muffles a noise in the shifting of his chains because the last thing Bly remembers is a fractured and shattered thing that provides nothing to help him determine his situation.

Beyond the obvious of captured, separated and tortured.

A breath, another and his fingers twitch as he tries to get his hands to response to his commands.

He moves his eyes, scrunching his face, and ignoring the sting of scabbed wounds and manages to crack his eyes open. He’s in a room, surrounded by stone and bars. An electrical lamp flicker erratically in a halo of barely there light in the distance.

No one is there. He is alone.

He listens, strains his hearing, yet nothing so much as stirs.

Bly goes back to restoring feeling in his body.

A minute, two and then an unpleasant rush of pins and needles as sensation returns to his arms. Bly grits his teeth and clenches his thighs, his legs then curls his toes under his feet, allowing his body weight to force him to rock back, using the momentum to stagger to his feet.

Lights prickle against what little vision he has and the chains jerk and rattle as he uses them as leverage to remain on his feet.

Pain bursts across his back, down his legs, his knees, every motion and contraction of his body, his muscles sends signals of agony to his brain.

“Osik.”

The word is almost soundless, hissed between clenched teeth and formed from harsh, gasping breaths.

Bly cannot help how his body curls over it self, even if it sends the blood rushing to his head and makes him even more dizzy. He braces his feet and refuses to pass out.

He doesn’t know where Aalya is.

He doesn’t know who he was with, what he was doing, if any of his vod’e are here, Bly doesn’t know anything.

He remembers blue and gold, the blue of Aayla’s skin, the gold of her eyes, maybe the blue of the 501st? Was General Skywalker on mission with them?

Was... was Vos there?

There’s nothing but a blank space in his head, so Bly puts that away for now and takes stock of what he has on hand.

Which is, in short, a big fat nothing.

He’s in loose pants, thin material, covered in dirt and blood, no shirt, no armor, no weapons- even the small tools disguised as a ring, bracelet- he’s got nothing.

It looks like he’s chained up underground in a cave somewhere. That’s the only explanation for both his surrounding and the relatively cool atmosphere. There’s a door that’s barely even a door, just a large rectangular slab of rusty bars almost propped against the entry way.

He could probably kick it open, depending on how heavy it was, but that was once he found a way out of his chains-

Bly pauses.

Looks up at the roof of his cell where the chains are anchored.

Well, he thinks, an edge of amusement to himself, If I can take my chains with me, I’ll have a weapon.

__________

Honestly, later, if someone asked how long he was stuck there in the murky darkness working and working to pull the anchor points of his chains from the ceiling, Bly wouldn’t be able to say.

He stops and rests when the injuries on his back crack open, spilling blood down his skin and dripping onto the floor, when his ribs scream at him and his breath wheezes as he desperately tries to breath.

He doesn’t ever stop for long though.

Eventually he gets free, the rest anchor breaking free of crumbling stone and Bly sinks to his knees, wincing as pain flares up again.

A moment of rest, to wait until his breathing slows down enough he can regulate it for sleath.

Then he carefully wraps his new weapon around his shoulders, winding them down his arms. Slowly, he makes his way to the door that is currently the only obstacle in his way to relative freedom.

It was heavy as it looked, but several solid shoves and one frustrated kick and the door was free enough for him to squeeze past it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about directions at the moment because his cell was located at the end of a hallway and the only way out was forward.

So forward Bly went, creeping along the walls on bare feet, moving steadily down to where a single light was valiantly, but ultimately failing at lighting up the area.

Bly took a breath and walked past, heading deeper into the caves with no way of knowing which way was out, if anyone was waiting for him on the other end or even if he could find a way out.

Bly didn’t care because right now, there was an entirely unacceptable amount of space between him and his General and it needed to be rectified, right karking now.

__________________

Times passes and Bly has to take a breather, has to sit to wait for his legs, his hands, everything to stop shaking even as chills crawled up his skin.

He keeps going, keeps following the eternal hallway he seems to be trapped in. Occasionally he’ll come across other cells, but like all of the ones he checked previously, there isn’t anyone in them. Just chains, manacles, shakes, crude stone tables or chairs.

The weak lights are not quite evenly spaced out, but every cluster of cells has one in the middle of the block. He’s sure he’s passed about six blocks by now, and still no sign of this hallway ending or branching off.

A part of him wonders if he’s hallucinating, but the continuous pain for his body begs to tell him differently.

He trails bloodstained hands against the wall and so far he hasn’t randomly circled back around so he must be making progress.

You were modified to see better in the dark? Compared to humans, or near-humans, Twi’leks vision is considered superior, but without the Force, I’m thinking you’d win at Hide-and-Seek-in-the-Dark.

My favorite color? Tell me, if I said blue wh- no, I’m kidding! It’s gold Bly. W- No, not like my eyes! Like Master’s-

Bly can hear Aalya sometimes.

The way she laughed, said his name or how she would stare at him. When her mouth softened and she smiled so easily.

Bly keeps going.

______

Hours? Maybe days later, Bly hears voices that are, for once, not his or in his head. A soft murmur, nothing clear enough to make out words or the like, but Bly grits his teeth and quickly lunges into the nearest cell and flattens himself in a natural curve of the walls.

He’s lost weight during how ever long he’s been here, so he folds himself easily into the shadows and evens his breath down, ignoring the ever familiar spasm of pain his ribs makes with every movement.

A beat, two, three, longer and still the voices only murmur.

Bly slows moves from his hiding place only to step right back into it as the voices abruptly rise in volume along with a feminine scream of pain that rings off the walls and is swallowed by the darkness that leads down to his cell.

Gently, Bly uncoils his chains.

______

When enough time passes he can make out the heavy footfalls of two armored being’s footsteps and the unmistakable sound of dragging feet, Bly closes his eyes and concentrates on his hearing.

“-Ne shab'rud'niÖ, aruetii-”

“-aruetyc dini'la-”

The sharp sound of metal against flesh, followed by a harsh vocalizer.

“Ne'johaa!“

A faint moan, before one of the men laughs.

See, the thing is Bly isn’t considered Mandalorian.

In fact, Manda’yaim considers Bly and his brothers to be abominations. Soulless things created in a lab. Not to mention General Kenobi’s Duchess is a pacifist in the very worst way.

A Mandalorian with a Mandalorian’s stubbornness, determination and pride to be anything but a Mandalorian.

Good intention’s Satine Krytze may have had at the beginning but erasing everything that makes Mandalor Mandalor was not the way to go about bringing peace to her people.

Especially since the Duchess had the final say on if the Clones of Mand’alor Jango Fett should be considered citizens of Manda’yaim. Or rather, she just enforces Prime’s opinion that clones were not real people and this couldn’t be a people or a part of a people.

Jango Fett may have been some high ranked Mandalorian in certain circles, but the only reason why the clones even knew the languages is because of the instructors who adopted the older batches and how those clones would teach one or two- like Kote who became Cody, who taught Ret who was now Rex.

The language and the customs spread from the clones who were actually wanted down to even the shiniest of shinies. Of course, there were parts of their culture that they developed all on their own.

Being modelled after a Mandalorian, of course, meant that they shared the same traditions and quirks that they did as a consequence of being so closely related.

The colors, symbols and naming to mention a few.

Colors all had meaning, as did their placement, the same with symbols and the bucket everyone wore. Working with the jetiise as closely as they did, their culture took bits and pieces that resonated with the Vod’e and as it did with everything, spread to all the battalions.

But when he hears a threatening form of behave, traitor followed by two words that mean ‘traitorous’ and ‘insane’ preceding what is clearly an armored fist making contact with someone’s bare skin, Bly’s already pretty sure who’s side he’s on.

That’s even before he sees the dusty blue and the gray of beskar in the dim lighting worn by two people dragging what looks like a teenaged girl between them.

Kyr’tsad.

Kriffing, karking-!

Bly untucks himself from the shadows and creeps up behind the two, careful to keep to the walls until he lunges forward, throwing one of his chains between target two’s legs even as he losses a coil of chains around target one’s neck and pulls back.

His ribs scream, his arms shake, but he drops his weight and wrenches the shabuir back, his legs kicking out the catch the small space between armor plates on Death Watch’s lower back to toss him over and behind.

Target the second is already dropping the girl, pale blonde hair visible in the gloom and reaching for a weapon at their belt.

Bly doesn’t give them the chance, jerking his chain back instantly compromising target two’s balance.

Barely ten seconds in this fight and both of them are on the ground. Target one is still choking with the chain around their neck and Bly keeps yanking it back to ensure they stays that way.

The other, Bly goes in for close combat, using his chain as bet he can with his shoulders and ribs kriffed up, but he manages to get enough wrapped around their legs and a single arm that he’s able to jab his fingers into the hollow of their throat and jerk their helmet off.

Eyes, nose, mouth, all places Bly can do some damage, but his strength is flagging so he slams his palm into their nose, once, twice, thrice until the shabuir goes limp.

One down, one to go.

Bly cracks the chain and sends the last stumbling even as he palms a vibroblade and uses the weight at the end of the chain the move himself close enough to-

Bly swings up, twists and lets dead weight fall where it may.

A moment, two, three before he breaths again, carefully, adrenaline pumping through his body. He pulls the chain taunt and swings the blade down. Metal chips, but doesn’t break do he does it again, again, again until it gives and all he’s left with is a manacle around his wrist.

The process repeats until he’s free from the weight of chains and he’s free. An arm carefully wraps around his chest as he struggles to breath, but he forces himself back up, to rifle through the utility belts and pockets to see what other weapons or rations he can find.

The first pocket he searches has a whole flask of water and he immediately takes small slow sips,

He coughs, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat, but already his day is starting to pick up. Setting the water back down, he turns his attention to the small body crumpled on the ground.

Gingerly he makes his way over, easing himself to the floor and reaching out a hand-

-before pausing.

All three of them spoke Mando’a. Even in the dim lighting, Bly can see all the bruises up an down the girl’s arms. So he opens his mouth to speak, only to cough, his entire body lighting up in pain as his ears start to ring.

It takes a minute, but when he stops, he carefully wets his lips and tries again.

“Hey, ade.”

Silence.

In the hallway, there’s only the sound of his strained breathing and her soft breaths.

Bly doesn’t know if she’s faking or not. Either way, he can’t afford to take any more injuries.

He coughs again, hunching over and unable to avoid the low groan of pain that crawls up his throat.

He does his best to breath, there in the dark with the girl either genuinely unconscious or faking it. Either way, the pain is distracting him and he’s going to need to sit there for a moment before he attempts any other movements.

Regardless he tries again and ignores how his voice cracks.

“I’mma...I’mma need you to wake up here, ad’ika.”

His back burns where he’s leaning against the wall and he can feel the blood begin to drip again. He doesn’t know how much he’s lost, how many times he’s reopened his wounds, but considering how lightheaded he is, considering how everything is starting to close in on him, it’s probably more then recommended.

The world blurs around the edges and his awareness drifts away for a bit. Somewhere, far away, it sounds like Aayla singing, her voice echoing with the 327th Star Corps.

_____

“Gar shuk meh kyrayc.“

Bly blinks back to awareness.

The girl knees in front of him, short blonde hair framing a pale face. Barely out of childhood, even if she looks like she’s in need of a few good meals.

Then the words register.

He can’t help the amusement that wells up and huffs a laugh he immediately regrets.

“Here,” the girl says as she shoves a fist in front of him.

He flinches back, before stilling himself.

The girl doesn’t react, just holds up the water flask in her other hand.

“It’s for the pain. The tall one carried them.”

A breath, then he reaches out, ignoring the shaking on his hands, to let the girl drop two small pills into his hands while shoving the water at him. More careful sips as the pills go mostly dry down his throat.

“Vor entye,” Bly rasps.

“Ba'gedet'ye,” she says, eyes running over his face, his chest, a wary twist to her mouth. “You’re no use dead.”

Unnecessary for her to repeat that, Bly thinks. Scared, but brave. His lips twitch as he runs a searching gaze over the girl.

Torn clothes, almost identical to his own, only with a shirt and less blood and dirt. Thin wrists, lank and greasy hair, coupled with even more bruises he can see blooming everywhere on uncovered skin.

Including her face, one cheeks which sports several colors that frame lines of dried blood and a split lip.

Gently, carefully, Bly lifts a hand and hovers in front of the injury. Not touching, close, but out of reach.

“And you?”

She blinks, startled. The barest hints of confusion crinkle her brow.

Bly smiles, letting his hand drop.

“Are you hurt, ad’ika?”

A touch of fire burns in her eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

It’s almost an accusation, the words falling harshly from her mouth.

He acknowledges the point.

“Lek.” He continues, more solemnly, shifting his weight forward to meet her eyes, slowly enough that she doesn’t react beyond tensing her muscles. “But Kry’tsad is not known for being kind.”

Slowly, the girl shakes her head.

A moment of silence passes and the girl watches him. Bly gets his breathing back under control and deeply appreciates as the pounding in his head fades along with the burning in his shoulders and arms.

“By any chance, have you seen a blue Twi’lek in any of the cells you passed?”

“We are the only prisoners in this place. There are none who come here, save for the tall one and the cold one, both of which you killed.”

Bly studies the girl, the way the strain in her features eases as she talks about target one and two’s death, the audible note of gratitude.

“Tion gar gai?“

“What is yours?”

The response to his simple question is instantaneous, her tone now biting and wary. He doesn’t react, only lets amusement tug at his mouth.

“Bly-”

(“There is a name that Mandalorians use when they are disowned or cast out from their clan or family. Some chose this name as a way to seperate themselves on their own terms. Others have their names taken and are left with this.”

“Considering that Jango Fett doesn’t considering us real people let alone his ade, do we call ourselves this?”

A humorless laugh.

“You always were the one who never hesitated to go for the throat, Kote.”)

“-just Bly.”

“Arla.”

Not a familar name, even if there’s something about her face that reminds him of- reminds him.

“Let’s get out of here, okay, Arla?”

The barest hints of a smile as Bly hauls himself to his feets and then turns once he can speak without screaming or making any other noises of pain, and holds out his hand.

Arla hesitates to reach out, before glancing over to the bodies.

“Can I have the blaster if you have the vibroblade?”

“How about we see if there’s another vibroblade you can carry and I’ll take the blaster?”

______

A more thorough search of the bodies produces another vibroblade, a small holdout blaster (which Arla claims), a large blaster (which Bly claims) rations, two lights that work and a new set of clothes and armor for Bly.

He makes Arla turn around while he strips the corpse of the tall one, a.k.a. target one and pulls on the armor under suit, which helpfully compresses his ribs and then begins to strap on armor.

“Were you conscious enough to see how many people there are in these caves?”

Arla’s voice is soft, but it carries well as she immediately goes into an information download.

“We came on a ship, just the three of us. There is no one else here. It’s supposed to be so secure that it doesn’t matter if you manage to escape, there’s no where else to go. Plus someone always comes to check every couple of days. Which is when, if they want you to live, you get food and water. This is where you get thrown when they want you to rot away and die in the dark.”

Bly hums, carefully clicking vambraces into place, pleasure briefly rising up in his chest at the decent fit.

“And the war?”

Arla pauses.

“I haven’t- They kept most of the information away from me, but sometimes I managed to hear things. Like how Kry’tsad has a sky in Mand’alor Mereel’s camp and how they’re planning how to lead them into a trap and kill them all in such a way to send a message.”

Bly blinks, as he finishes up with tugging the last piece in place.

“Mand’alor Mereel?”

Arla makes an agreeing sound.

“Someone let slip they’re calling him Mand’alor the Reformer. Vizsla gets really angry when he hears that.”

Mand’alor Mereel.

Jastor Mereel?

On getting access to the holonet, one of the first things the Vod’e who were interested in Mandalorian history looked up was the state of leadership. Kote was certain that he wanted to see who decided that they weren’t citizens despite being from a Mandalorain.

Jaster Mereel was the father of Jango Fett, before he died on Korda 6 twenty something years ago!

Bly took a breath, before spitting out a curse in Twi’lek, follow up by a very vehement “Force osik!”

Arla didn’t say anything when Bly walked up behind her, only stared to stare, distaste clear in the disgust on her face.

“Needs must, ad’ika. I need to find someone and the easiest way off this haran place is on the Death Watch ship you came in one. Which”, Bly slid the helmet on, the HUB automatically pulling up and activating night vision. “Will be a thousand times easier which me pretending to be Kry’tsad.”

Again, he held out his hand.

“Ba'slanar.”

A smile, small, but undeniably there as clearly seen by the display screen in his buy’ce.

Arla took his hand.

_________

The climb out of haran was nothing to sneeze at, but they made it. Upon exiting, Bly couldn’t help the noise of appreciation he made at the sun setting into the distance. Or rising. Either or. It wouldn’t matter in a few minutes as they would be leaving the planet, deserted and rocky as it was, it offered no appeal in water or wild growing plants.

The ship was there, ramp still down and Bly gently tugged Arla along, right into the ship and take that, General Skywalker!

Plan A, accomplished with only a minor deivation.

Minus the either confused youngling or the apparently very real possibility of time travel.

Aayla was still missing and Bly still had no idea if anyone else was missing or if it was him that was missing and not everyone else. For all he knew, this was something that only affected him and Aayla was completely fine.

Surrounded by the 327th and the 501st, plus droids.

Bly quickly ran through each and every room in the ship, Arla right behind him, gripping her vibroblade, clearing each space before moving on to the next one.

Cargo, armory, kitchen, berths, cockpit and a decent sized corner with padded seats and tables.

Bly also ran a lifesigns sweep from the main computer before he was satisfied. It wasn’t a large ship, but it could comfortably accommodate three to four people so it would be perfect for them.

He holstered the blaster and quickly ran through flight check before initiating the start up sequence.

Arla quickly strapped herself into the co-pilots chair, unable to contain the trains of excitement painting itself all over face.

Ramp up, engines fired, all systems green, Bly slowly poured power into the system and the ship lifted off this karking planet, landing gear folding up and away.

Before he turned around to launch into the atmosphere, he quickly toggled the weapons system, loaded up a missile and fired it without hesitation into the mouth of his former prison.

The resulting explosion of stone, dirt and fire would go a long way to ease nightmares for the next weeks.

Once they cleared the atmosphere, Bly carefully used the HUD to change all teh passwords, security settings and just generally switched out who the ship’s computer’s answered to before tugging it off and gently running a hand through his tangled hair.

“Well, ad’ika. I’ve no place to be, but frankly I could use a shower. How about you?”

Arla look up and smiled, eyes wet.

“Shower and food first. Then we find our people.”

The knot of worry in his chest eased somewhat at the assurance that now he was able to begin his efforts to find out if Aalya made it along with him and if any others did.

“Her name is Aalya,” Bly says, longing heavy in his voice. “I don’t remember much, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.”

Arla, stands, equal height with him before holding out her hand. She wait unti Bly takes it before speaking.

“Arla Fett. I’m looking for my brother Jango. He should be with Mand’alor Jaster Mereel and the Haat Mando’ade.”

_______________________

....so uh. When I sat down like............................five hours ago I did NOT mean to write chapter one of fic. I guess I did though so....eh. I’ll go polish it up and post it on ao3

#star wars #arla fett #jango fett #bly #aalya secura #bly x aayla #time travel #fic #ficclet #chapter one #fanfiction

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smarchit · 4 years

Text

Poetry for an Heiress

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: When a duchess and her children are abandoned far from home, they must rely on the kindness of one stranger to guide them home.

Warnings: None (for this chapter)

"Your highness! Your highness!"

You were awoken by a rapid knocking at the door to your private chambers sometime in the early morning hours when the sky was still a deep purple.

The doorknob rattled violently as someone tried to enter. There was a light cracking and splintering of wood as the door gave way to reveal your grandmother's advisor. He looked more than a bit disheveled, still dressed in his own night clothes.

"Edgar, what is it?" you asked, sliding out of bed. You pulled a thin robe over your nightgown and approached him, anxiety curling around your heart. "Has something happened to my grandmother?"

"There's been an attempt on your life," he said once he had calmed down enough to speak. "My lady, we must leave at once."

"The children?"

"Are still sleeping," he soothed. "Gather them quickly. We cannot wait until morning."

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you moved on autopilot towards the children's rooms. Your daughter's room was closest and you pushed open the door. An attempt on my life? How could such a thing have happened?

Your mother was next in line for the throne once your grandmother stepped down from the crown. Then you. Why would they come after you?

"Mama? What's going on?" Marie, your young daughter, asked sleepily. She raised herself up on her elbows and watched you toss a few of her simple frock dresses into a knapsack.

"We need to leave, my love, quickly!"

You scooped your youngest into your arms and held her tightly. She clutched her stuffed dog in her arms as she clung to your neck. Already, you could feel her tears against your skin. You hoped that with any luck, she would fall asleep quickly once your ship took off to safety.

You met Edgar back at your room and handed Marie to him, along with her bag. Marie whimpered and reached for you when she left the safety of your arms.

Blinking through tears, you quickly dashed to your boys' room to collect your twin boys, Aiden and Henry, from their beds. They were easy to rouse, though Henry did drop his glasses behind the nightstand. He fumbled around for them in the darkness for a moment while you tossed a few pairs of clothes into a bag for them. There wasn't much you could take with you. Thankfully, it wasn't a long trip to the planet you spent your summers on - a full day's travel at most. The children had clothes and toys there, and you had dresses to wear and books to keep you occupied until the dust had settled and you were able to return home.

You gripped Aiden's hand tightly and he held onto his brother's as you rushed down the wide hallway back towards your room where Edgar was waiting with your daughter.

"My mother?" you asked him, slightly out of breath and not caring that your voice cracked. "And my grandmother?"

"They've already been taken away to safety," he assured you, shifting a now-dozing Marie to his other arm. "They are together, duchess, and heavily guarded. Right now, we must focus on getting you and your children to safety."

It brought you some comfort to know your mother, the princess, and grandmother, the dowager queen, were safe. They needed to be protected at all costs.

You nodded and looked down at your boys. Aiden pressed his face against your soft belly and let out a sob. You carded your fingers through his soft hair and shushed him quietly.

"Have you collected your things?" Edgar asked. He glanced down the hallway, searching for any sign of trouble that may have made its way past the guards.

You checked the bags and then gave a short nod. A few pairs of clothes each and a comfort toy for each of the boys. It would have to do for now. "Yes. I have everything I need."

"We must go to the ship through the back," Edgar insisted as he picked up your bags. "Rebels have stormed the front gate and we mustn't let them see you. They may try and follow us and sneak on board. Quickly, this way!"

You grabbed the boys hands and rushed after Edgar. Your footsteps were almost silent, bare feet echoing off the marble floors. It didn't even occur to you that this could be the last time you ever saw the palace. It had been your home since you were a baby. You'd been born here. Your own children had been born here. It never occurred to you that people could want you dead just for being you. Perhaps it was a show of just how ignorant you had been. Maybe that is exactly why they wanted you dead.

The gardens were eerily silent when you snuck out the back door. The lanterns had all been snuffed out, save for the small light Edgar carried with him to light the way to the ship. Even the moon, as distant as it was, was obscured by clouds.

You were almost at the ship. It seemed to rise out of the ground like a guard tower. Edgar was already lifting Marie on board when you rounded the corner.

Behind you, Henry slipped and fell hard onto the cobblestone path that snaked through the garden. He began to cry, probably more surprised than injured. You turned back to gather him, urging Aiden to run towards Edgar.

"I've got you, darling," you soothed when you hoisted Henry into your arms. "Come on!"

When you finally approached the ship, Aiden's skinny legs were just disappearing into the pod. Edgar took Henry from you and gave him a boost up so he could join his brother and sister on board.

"Your turn, my lady," he urged, offering his hand to you. "Up you go."

Gathering your long nightgown and robe in one hand, you gripped the handle with your other to hoist yourself up into the vertical pod of Edgar's small personal transport ship. It was too risky to take the larger one, as it would be easier to track by rebels, Edgar had explained as you sprinted down the halls.

Once on board, you helped your three children buckle their harnesses. Marie was barely awake when you snapped the safety on and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She squeezed her stuffed dog tighter to her chest and wiped her nose on its head.

Henry was sniffling still from his tumble and you knelt down to examine his knees after you buckled the harness over his chest. The knees of his silk pajama pants had held up against his fall, but you could see the blood that blossomed beneath the blue fabric. It would be alright without bandages for now, you figured. You pressed kisses to both of his scraped palms and ruffled his black hair as you stood up.

"My brave boy," you soothed, cupping his cheek in your hand. He gave you a smile, though you could still see the fear in his eyes.

Turning to Aiden, the eldest by seven minutes, you smiled in spite of your current situation. Aiden had buckled his harness himself, but had managed to do it in a way that you weren't quite sure how exactly he'd done it. One leg was through an arm hole and his arm was over his head, looped through the other side of the harness.

"My little soldier," you hummed, smoothing back his unruly red hair. You quickly fixed the harness and kissed the top of his head, taking a moment to smell his shampoo, soft lemon and lavender. It soothed you for a brief moment, a calm amongst the chaos.

"Duchess," came Edgar's voice over the comm system. He was above you in the cockpit, though you could see him looking back at you through the viewing window. "Your highness, I need you to buckle in - we need to take off immediately."

You jumped into your seat and buckled yourself in. As soon as your harness latched, you felt the ship rumble and roar to life as it lifted off the ground.

It didn't take long to push through the atmosphere of your planet, and soon you were soaring through the stars on your way to safety. You turned back to take one last look at your home as it grew smaller and smaller until it was no more than a speck amidst the stars. There was a faint hissing noise and cool air flooded the pod. It felt nice on your flushed skin, especially after fleeing for your lives through the gardens. You tilted your head back and let the air calm your racing heart.

After a moment, you turned to look at your children, thankfully now all asleep, and wiped the tears from your eyes. They flowed freely down your cheeks and neck, collecting as they soaked into the neckline of your nightgown.

It had been so long since you let yourself cry like this. Not since the night that word had come that your beloved husband had been killed. Everything had just happened so quickly. You hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to your mother and grandmother. It broke your heart, leaving them like that when there were rebels invading the palace. All you could do was pray they would be safe. Briefly, you wondered when you'd be able to see them again though you knew you'd be able to speak to them when you landed on Condent.

Suddenly, you were hit with a wave of exhaustion. You could only assume it was the dire events of the night that drained you. You didn't even know what time you had been woken up by Edgar knocking on your door. All you could hope was that you and your children would be safe in a few hours when you landed.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was how still everything was. You'd been travelling through space since before you could walk and not once had it ever been so very still. And so quiet.

After a moment, it dawned on you that you weren't even moving. The ship was not moving and, based on how quiet everything was, completely powered down. Everything appeared tilted and you realized little Marie was dangling in her seat, suspended by the harness.

You gasped in surprise and unbuckled yourself from the harness and rushed to your children. They were just starting to stir when you unclipped them all.

"Mama," Marie whimpered, clutching her toy to her chest. "Where are we, mama?"

"We're safe, little bug," you said softly, smoothing your fingers over her curls.

You looked around the pod for some sort of map or a navigation system to indicate where you were. It wasn't Condent, you knew that for certain. You hadn't traveled for that long.

Finally, your finger pressed against a button that read "main comm" and you jammed your fingers against it.

"Edgar!" you called. "Edgar, you must come back for us! This is not the right location!"

The only reply was a harsh buzz of static. Edgar was out of range for direct communication.

You slammed your fist against the comm unit and gave a frustrated cry.

Marie gave a startled jump and almost immediately began to cry. She had never seen you upset or angry and she sensed your unease and fear.

"Oh, little bug," you murmured, kneeling down in front of her. "It's alright. He'll be back for us. We must have just detached from the ship is all. He'll know where we are." You wiped her tears away with your thumbs and kissed her cheeks.

You stood and looked around the pod for anything that could be salvaged. Most things had been busted on what must have been a rough entry through the atmosphere. Electronics were jammed and screens cracked. There was no hope for making any sort of emergency call for a rescue from here.

"We need to go," you said, looking at your children. "We need to find a radio to call for help. Aiden, grab a change of clothes for you and your brother. Marie, bug, you hold onto my hand. Don't let go."

Aiden nodded and dove into one of the knapsacks. "What about you and Marie, mama?"

"Yes, love, us too," you murmured, trying to keep your voice calm. You were trying to peek out the window to see exactly what type of planet you landed on. You didn't want to open the door only to flood the pod with poisoned air and kill yourself and your children.

By the pod door, a tiny meter was happily dinging away. It appeared to be the only thing working on board this infernal pod. The little meter read, "hab.lvl.1.o2," and you glanced out the window to try and make sense of it.

There was only one way to find out... You looked back at the children and urged them to stay there until you came to get them. After you sealed the airtight central door to keep them safe, you dug around and found an emergency back-up oxygen supply in the storage locker, along with a first aid pack you set aside for later.

The apparatus was easy enough to figure out. You hooked the nozzle over your face per the basic instruction manual, and flipped the filter to the "on" position. A stale taste filled your nose for a brief second until the filter worked itself out. Unfortunately, there was no suit to wear onboard and Kevva help you, it wouldn't be needed. You shoved the emergency handle down and pushed open the pod door.

A cool breeze lifted the thin sleeves of your nightgown off your arms and you glanced around, trying to make some sense of where you were. The soft grass beneath your bare feet was a pale yellow-green, matched with the pastel blue sky above you.

Deciding to take a risk, you switched off the filter and held your breath as you pulled the apparatus away from your face. You sucked in a lungful of clean, cool air and sighed in relief.

The planet was habitable, at least. Hopefully you would be able to find someone to help you. A town or village, maybe.

You reentered the pod and opened the central door to see three terrified faces looking back at you.

"It's alright," you soothed, holding your hand out to them. "Come out. We need to try and find someone to help us."

One by one, you helped the children down from the pod and onto the soft grass. You briefly reentered to grab the knapsack and first aid kit and did one last sweep to see if there was anything else you could use.

Aiden and Henry were holding Marie's hands when you exited the pod and shut the door with a dull thud.

"Mama," Aiden quipped, "Where are we?"

"I don't know, my love," you replied, putting your hand against your brow to shield the sun streaming from above. The brush at the edge of the small cluster of trees had been tamped down like a path of some sort and you pointed it out to the children. "See that? That looks like a path. We'll go that way."

You kept the children ahead of you as you lead them away from the pod and into the woods. Hopefully a village or town was nearby. The children would be hungry soon and you didn't have any food for them.

The small hunch you had about there being a path had been correct. You followed it as it wound through the trees and down small hills for a few hours until the sun was directly overhead. Eventually, it widened into a proper flat dirt road. At least it would make walking easier.

After a few hours of carrying Marie, you had to put her down. She was getting too big and heavy for you to carry. She sat down on the path and began to cry.

"Mama, no! I'm hungry and tired sound!"

You leaned against a fallen tree and wiped sweat off your forehead. "Little bug, please. I need you to walk for a while."

"We can carry her, mama," Henry offered. He approached his sister and grabbed her around the middle to try and hoist her off the ground.

Marie screeched and kicked her legs out to try and get away from him.

"Henry Avery, you'll hurt her!" you gently scolded.

"I'm just trying to help, mama," he mumbled sheepishly.

"I know, my sweet, but you're going to hurt her if you carry her like that. Put her on your back. Yes, just like that."

Marie giggled as she wound her arms around her brother's neck and kicked her legs.

"I'll fall if you keep doing that!" Henry cried. He made a disgusted face when Marie blew a raspberry in his ear.

After a few moments, you straightened your back and beckoned the children to come with you.

You walked for almost another hour through a rough patch of the path. Soon after you started down that path,, brambles and stones cut at your feet and legs and after a few moments, you insisted to go first to clear a path for the little ones. By the time you made it through, your hands were raw and bloody from the thorns and serrated leaves.

As you reentered the main pathway, the sound of water filled your ears. You quickly looked around for the source of it. You gathered the children and quickly ushered them off the path towards the sound of water.

"Mama," Marie whined, tugging on your nightgown, "I'm hungry and my feet hurt!"

"I know, bug, it's quite alright. We should find someone soon. They will help us."

Henry called to get your attention and pointed down a little sloping cliffside. "There's a stream down there!"

"I see a bridge!" Aiden called from down a little further.

A bridge. A bridge meant civilization, people who would have a radio for you to borrow. You could have wept from relief.

"Come along," you hummed, scooping Marie back into your arms. With your spirit rejuvenated, you struck up a song you had been teaching the children to play during their music lessons. They quickly followed suit, humming and singing merrily as you neared the bridge.

On the other side of the small river was a slope downwards and past that, you could see the tops of chimneys and slatted roofs.

"We're almost there!" you said, beaming down at the children.

"Can we get some food?" Aiden asked as he tugged at your robe.

"Oh, yes!" Henry gasped. "Maybe they'll have cake!"

"Mama," Marie whispered, lifting her head off your shoulders, "I want toast!"

You chewed on the inside of your lip and nodded. All you had been able to find in the knapsack on the pod had been a few measly credits. Hopefully it would be enough to buy a small meal for your children.

"We'll get you so much food, your little bellies will be so full!" you lied. "Maybe you'll have to take a cat nap when you're done!"

The children giggled and raced each other across the bridge while you followed close behind. Kevva willing, you would have enough money to get them a meal.

It was only a few minutes' walk to the tiny village after that. There were stone houses scattered here and there, the asphalt between them was cracked and scraggly weeds poked through. Broken glass dusted the street, and even that was covered by a thin layer of grime that seemed to permeate even the air you breathed.

You warned the children of broken glass, though Aiden and Henry had at least some protection with their slippers. Marie, however, had to be carried through the street while you searched for a cantina of sorts. The glass cut into your own feet and you silently cursed yourself for not wearing slippers the night before.

A rickety metal sign announced the large building on the corner was an inn, charmingly named Libertalia.

You corralled the boys through the door and held Marie on your hip as you entered behind them. Almost immediately, you felt out of place and horribly unsafe.

There were perhaps twenty or so men inside, each tougher looking than the last, some with scars across their faces to make them look even meaner. The men's clothes, much like their wearers, were dirty and torn, shredded by bullets and knives, ripped and hastily sewn back together. The whole room smelled like sweat and dirt and cheap liquor and cigarette smoke. It was a sharp contrast to your flowy nightgown and robe and the boys blue silk pajamas. You four stood out like sore thumbs.

Instinctively, you guided the boys back to you and tightened your hold on Marie.

"I don't like this place, mama," Henry whispered.

You shushed him and slowly began to work your way over to the counter. The men closest to you turned to stare as you carefully approached the counter top. In the back of your mind, you remembered what your grandmother had once told you about acting like you belong in every situation you are in.

You found three empty stools at the counter and motioned for the boys to climb up as you sat Marie down between them. You didn't even have to wave to get the attendant to come over to you.

He was a mean looking bald man with a blind eye and three scars across his face and about twice as wide as he was tall. He stood in front of you like he was going to help you, but said nothing. He eyed each of your children for several long, uncomfortable minutes before he looked at you.

"I would like some food for my children," you said, hoping he didn't hear the waver in your voice. You fumbled in the pocket of your robe for a moment before presenting him with the meager credits you had scavenged from the knapsack.

He grabbed the credits from your hand and snorted when he saw what you had. He spat on the floor at his feet before he turned to a pot on the counter behind him. He poured one small ladle of a thick sludge into a tiny wooden bowl and tossed it on the counter. It sloshed over the side of the bowl onto the counter and he chuckled as he walked away.

"Mama?" Henry said, the uncertainty evident in voice as he poked at the contents of the bowl.

"It's alright, darling," you assured him. "Just make sure you each have some."

It was only enough for each of the children to have a few bites. You could almost hear their little tummies rumbling as you tried to flag down the worker again. You did your best to ignore that the cantina had fallen silent as everyone turned to watch you.

"Excuse me! There must be something else you could give them," you asked, hoping he would be at least somewhat reasonable or sympathetic. "Please."

"You had six credits. Five credits gets you that amount of food."

"Where's the last credit I had?" you demanded. You held out your hand as if you expected him to apologize and return your one measly credit.

He snorted again. "Taxes," he chuckled cruelly. "Though I am willing to make you a deal."

You leaned across the counter as he beckoned you closer. He leaned in to meet you halfway and you could smell the rank stench of his teeth decaying in his mouth.

"What say you and I go out back and take a roll in the hay? I'll feed your children and you'll get something even better."

You reeled back and gasped in horror. Instinctively, you raised your hand to slap him across the face. He was quicker than you and grabbed your wrist before it could make contact. You closed your eyes and braced for him to return the strike you intended to deliver.

"Hosea!" a sharp voice rang out. "Now that's quite enough."

You cracked open one eye and turned to see a man with short dark hair standing a few feet from you. He had one arm held up to show you he meant no harm. His other arm, you noticed, was missing past the elbow, the sleeve pinned up against his shoulder.

"Ezra," Hosea sighed, throwing your hand back at you. He turned to face the newcomer with a glare plastered on his face.

"Now you know I am not one to stick my beak into other people's business--"

"Really, when did you start that?" Hosea interrupted.

Ezra promptly ignored him and continued. "--but you were about to harm this poor young woman, and that is simply something that I cannot abide by. I will ask you kindly to return her credits to her. And I will only ask you once." His hand gently rested on the gun at his hip.

Hosea glowered at Ezra for a moment before he threw three credits at the children and stormed into the back room.

You turned to face the man that had spoken up for you. He gave you a boyish grin and tilted his head to the side. He ran his hand through his hair and you noticed that he had a white patch near the temple. It added some charm to his rugged features.

"Miss, my apologies for his uncivilized behavior," Ezra said. "That is no way to treat a lovely woman like you.

------

Thank you for reading! If you want to be added to my tag list, please let me know! If you liked it, please leave a comment!!!

#prospect #ezra x reader #pedro pascal #my writing #yes this is an aristocats AU #no use of y/n #poetry for an heiress

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen finds the Gusu Trio playing in a river. Thankfully this does not, in any way, awaken anything in him.

"Some guest disciples are planning mischief by the river," Lan Wangji announces as he comes in. "I request permission to be excused from today's lesson to check on them."

His uncle and brother, sitting together in the main room of their shared house, exchange a look. To Lan Xichen this is a welcome distraction from a worrying discussion about yet another small clan forced to enter Qishan Wen's sphere of influence. To his uncle, seeing Lan Wangji this upset might be the worse news. After all, there is only one certain guest disciple who can get Lan Wangji so upset.

Lan Xichen, at this point, is almost certain that his brother doesn't dislike Wei Wuxian quite as much as he wants everyone to believe. After all, up until now, Lan Wangji has always been the sort of person who simply ignores people he dislikes. If someone annoys him, he avoids them and pretend they do not exist. Instead, with Wei Wuxian, he is always seeking out the other boy and trying to find fault in his behaviour, no matter how angry his presence makes him.

The fact that Wei Wuxian’s punishment under Lan Wangji's supervision is almost at an end cannot possibly have anything to do with that, as Lan Xichen teased him about a few times. His brother is a sweet boy, sweeter than most people realise, but he's not very good at making friends. Lan Xichen wishes he could help more.

It's a pity that Nie Huaisang is so difficult to deal with. Since he's so close to Wei Wuxian and seems to have a friendly relationship with Lan Wangji as well, he could have helped untangle that situation.

"Permission denied," Lan Qiren says. "You will have your music lesson with me as planned."

If Lan Xichen wishes to encourage his brother's desire for a friend, then their uncle wants to stop it at any cost. Normally Lan Xichen would submit to his will, but it's really too rare for Lan Wangji to show interest in others, how can he not support it?

"Uncle, I believe they are up to no good," Lan Wangji insists. "They waved at me and laughed when they passed by."

That gets a chuckle out of Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian is always laughing so that hardly counts as proof. Then again, he's also always planning something, so perhaps it does.

"Your education comes first," Lan Qiren replies. "Xichen will go check on them."

"What? Uncle, I can't, I have to…"

"If Wei Wuxian is making trouble, Nie Huaisang is not far behind. Go check on them and get them under control if necessary."

It takes all of Lan Xichen’s self control not to sigh at the irritating order. Lan Qiren knows that Nie Huaisang refuses to talk to his fiancé outside of their planned meetings, so it's anyone's guess how he is supposed to make him behave. Lan Xichen suspects Nie Huaisang’s presence is just a good excuse to send him instead of Lan Wangji, though.

Still he obeys and leaves the house, cross both at his uncle for making him into this, and at his brother for dragging him into something that doesn't concern him. His next meeting with Nie Huaisang is tomorrow, so potentially seeing him two days in a row is irritating. Although at least now they know that they can play Go and make those meetings a little more fun. For that reason and that one alone, Lan Xichen finds that he is a little excited for that meeting. It really was fun to play together last week.

He is not excited in the least about getting involved into whatever Wei Wuxian and his accomplices have come up with, though. That's why he doesn't hurry to the river. That's also why, even when he hears loud laughter and splashing a little further down the water, he doesn't rush. Whatever they are doing, he probably doesn't want to see it.

When Lan Xichen finally reaches them, it is at a bend in the river where a series of rocks create a pool where the current is less strong. He gets close enough that they should notice him, but they are too busy to pay attention. Lan Xichen finds he can't blame them for that. He used to come play here with Lan Wangji on hot summer days, before they outgrew that sort of things, and he knows well how delightful that spot can be.

Apparently, Wei Wuxian was never told that only children splash around in water. Wearing nothing but his inner clothes, he paddles in the water while alternatively encouraging Nie Huaisang to join him and mocking him for disliking the water's temperature.

"Some of us are sensitive, Wei-xiong!" Nie Huaisang complains, only letting the water come up to his ankles. "You said this would be fun, but I think my toes will fall off!"

Wei Wuxian laughs at him, as does Jiang Cheng, also in his inner clothes, but comfortably sitting on the bank and showing no signs that he might enter the water.

"Nobody's forcing you to go in," Jiang Cheng points out. "Just let him splash around until he gets tired. It's fresh enough just being near the water, there's no reason to go inside."

"Jiang-xiong, I think you're right," Nie Huaisang grumbles, turning his back on Wei Wuxian.

That proves to be a horrible mistake because Wei Wuxian doesn't like to be ignored. He emerges from the river, grabs Nie Huaisang by the waist, and in a swift movement lift him and throws him into the water. Before Lan Xichen can run forward to help his fiancé (can he even swim?) Nie Huaisang breaks the surface, drenched and furious.

"Wei Wuxian!" he roars, scrambling to get back on his feet. "How dare you? It's freezing!"

"Poor Nie-xiong, I'll cry for you," Wei Wuxian mocked. "It's not that bad, you're just too delicate."

"I'll show you delicate!"

With surprising determination, Nie Huaisang waddles until he reaches Wei Wuxian and grasps him by the shoulders, trying to push him into the water so he can get his revenge. Of course Wei Wuxian resists, and before long the two are locked in a playful confrontation.

The fight is more even than Lan Xichen might have imagined. He suspects, at first, that Wei Wuxian is simply going easy on his friend, but it quickly becomes clear that Nie Huaisang is simply stronger than his fiancé expected. Wei Wuxian’s movements are more elegant and practised, marking him as someone with more experience, but there is something raw and powerful about the graceless way Nie Huaisang lunges at his friend. He might be smaller and have a more slender frame, but the way his wet clothes cling to him show that his body is less delicate than Lan Xichen would have assumed, had he ever taken a moment to think about that.

Then, probably surprising all four of them, Nie Huaisang manages to unbalance Wei Wuxian and make him fall ass first into the water. While his two friends gape at that turn of event, Nie Huaisang laughs loudly, hands on his hips, triumphant.

Lan Xichen stares.

In his mind, Nie Huaisang never really stopped being that scrawny nine years old kid looking like he was six at most. Until now, If he had to think about his fiancé, he still pictured that wide eyed, terrified child who hid behind his father as they both learned they were now engaged to each other.

But Nie Huaisang isn't nine anymore, and neither is he scrawny.

The thin, wet fabric of his inner clothes clings to his body, revealing it to have more defined muscles than Lan Xichen would ever have expected. This is only amplified by the friendly fight still ongoing with Wei Wuxian, demonstrating there is real strength to Nie Huaisang as he grasps and pulls on his friend, trying to make him fall in the water again while avoiding that fate himself.

Then, in a rather dirty move, Wei Wuxian pulls on his friend's top until it is torn from his body. Nie Huaisang shrieks in laughter at being left with nothing but his trousers.

Lan Xichen forgets how to breathe.

He's seen people in such a state of undress before, but they were sick ones needing to be treated or corpses whose cause of death had to be established. By contrast, Nie Huaisang is very much alive and healthy. His skin must be warm to the touch, burning even compared to the river. Lan Xichen feels an itch in his fingers, an unbidden desire to come closer and map out that strong chest, that soft stomach, this muscled back, those powerful arms.

Suddenly it no longer seems so outlandish that Nie Huaisang might have been the one inflicting those wounds on Lan Minhui and Lan Fanghua. His arms, his legs even, where his rolled up pants reveal them, are well defined, begging to be grasped.

In the river, the playful fight breaks for a moment, even though there's no clear winner for now, and the two boys turn to their companion still sitting on the bank.

"Are you really not joining us, Wanyin?" Nie Huaisang calls out in a voice full of barely restrained laughter. "Worried you can't take us?"

"You two are beasts," Jiang Cheng retorts. "I'm not getting in freezing water to entertain you."

Nie Huaisang laughs, high and loud and beautifully unrestrained. Wei Wuxian comes closer to him, too close in fact, and…

Something burns in Lan Xichen's guts at the sight of Wei Wuxian's arm carelessly wrapping around Nie Huaisang’s waist. They both continue their taunting of Jiang Cheng but Lan Xichen no longer hears it. All that matters is that arm touching Nie Huaisang's skin, slender fingers brushing against a soft stomach without intent.

If it were Lan Xichen in that position, there would be intent, he shamefully realises. Even now he wants to stride down there and grab Nie Huaisang to squeeze his skin and see if it is as smooth and warm as it looks, how that tender belly would give under his touch, what it would feel like to interrupt that laughter with a burning kiss.

This thought is what snaps Lan Xichen out of… of whatever is even happening.

Why would he want to kiss Nie Huaisang? He's never wanted to kiss anyone before. Romance is a burden, his uncle made sure to teach him that to save him from following in his father’s footsteps, and frequent meditation has always helped him avoid any sort of sexual thoughts. It is improper to have such desires outside of marriage, and they are far from being married and…

And Nie Huaisang, apparently discontent with Jiang Cheng's refusal to join in the river, has gotten out of the water to loom over his friend.

A spike of heat courses through Lan Xichen's body, making him shiver at the thought of being in that position, sitting before Nie Huaisang, close enough to touch him.

Mercifully, that’s when Wei Wuxian spots him, crying out in surprise before quickly bowing in his direction. Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet and bows as well, a rather guilty look on his face. Nie Huaisang doesn’t bow.

"What did we do wrong this time?" Nie Huaisang snaps, while Wei Wuxian hurriedly leaves the water with his discarded top and hands it to him.

As if covering himself with the drenched fabric is going to make him look any less indecent. But perhaps that’s just an excuse anyway. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, rather unsubtly, move closer to Nie Huaisang, one on each side of him.

“Lan gongzi, we were just playing,” Jiang Cheng points out. “They were a little loud but there’s nobody around, right? I doubt we disturbed anyone.”

It takes Lan Xichen a few seconds to realise that Jiang Cheng spoke to him, his eyes still fixed on his fiancé, on wet skin glistening in the sun. Through an immense effort of self control, he manages to smile.

“Don’t worry, you are not in trouble,” he tells them, now forcing himself to look only at Jiang Cheng. “I had been alerted that some mischief might be happening around here, but I see now that it was wrongly reported.”

Jiang Cheng relaxes at the news, as does Wei Wuxian since he’s so near the end of his punishment. Nie Huaisang remains tense and glares at his fiancé, a stark contrast to how happy and carefree he was just moments ago. Lan Xichen almost misses how he looked smiling and laughing, but it is less distracting to look at him when he’s angry, and so this is better.

“Does Lan gongzi need anything more from us?” Jiang Cheng asks. “We still have time before dinner, right?”

Lan Xichen nods, and notices the expectant way they stare at him.

They want him gone, he realises.

Of course they want him gone, so they can have their fun. Lan Xichen cannot blame them, though he can’t help but think that if Lan Wangji had been there instead of him, Wei Wuxian would surely have invited him to join their game. It’s not that Lan Xichen wants to play-fight in a river, it’s undignified and he doesn’t want to stay anywhere near Nie Huaisang right now, but he feels the sting of not being invited.

He bids them goodbye, and leaves quickly. There's no reason to remain where he is unwanted.

Besides, he needs some time alone to figure out why on earth the sight of Nie Huaisang's wet, strong body affected him so much, and why his heart starts beating faster when he thinks of his fiancé laughing without a care in the world.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #worst engagement au #jau writes #lxc is a good serious boy who has never had an impure thought in his life #and he really wishes it could have stayed that way because this is all very confusing

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ask-the-spheros-brothers · 4 years

Text

October mayhem

Hey guys before we start I need to say a character name cedrick will be mentioned in the story I asked them and they said yes this character It's not mine cedrick they belong to @peachlolitasevillacourtstuff but they're basically a part of my Canon Until they say otherwise.

(At the far outskirt of the city inside an abandoned building)

A large group of people gathered around a table with their 3 leaders

looking over a large map.

"all of you quick jabbing and listen up" He pulled out a smaller version of the depository "We get input his body In this if that's not possible then just shoot him till he's dead" He pointed over the area at the map "We're going to need a distraction to get our hands on that bastard I need squad B over here at the roundhouse we ne-"

One of the Grunts questioned "Why is there puddingcup?" The tall leader gritted his teeth "we don't have a model of the roundhouse okay!? now shut up! as I was saying we need-" "can I eat it afterwards?"

3 hours later with a lot of questions, they were finally done "all right did all of you understand the plan now or what?" Grey eyes scanned the room nobody raised a hand "good"

-----

(Inside the roundhouse) in the large shared living room Betrayus sitting on the couch Set furniture was straining under his weight as he just stared blankly at the ceiling spacing out as his brother kept on talking about Halloween and decorations.

"I was thinking about having more spiderwebs an-are you listening to me?" Stratos giving him a disapproving stare Betrayus blinked "Huh? Yep sounds good" still staring at the ceiling.

"You didn't hear a thing I was saying" Stratos a frustrated sigh turned on his heels and walked towards the doors "find be that way I'm sure that cedrick would be more than happy to help me with the party"

Betrayus Opened his mouth to complain Before he could BOOM! an explosion shook the building "What!" He jumped off the couch as a notter explosion blew in the Windows and some parts of the walls.

Betrayus had been hit full force by the explosion and it had thrown him across the room Into a wall and onto the floor "..uh.. Well.. That.. Hurt.." he was dizzy he managed to roll on to his back and immediately regretted it wincing in pain bad idea "Betrayus! Please don't move" he turned his head towards the voice of his brother he squinted Was Stratos crawling? Stratos was in fact on his stomach crawling towards him "you shouldn't be moving your bones could be broken" Stratos said worriedly "..I.. survived w-worse than... This...Uh dammit" Betrayus said wheezing.

"Oh shit I'm sorry I didn't want you to get hurt Stratos" female voice with worry could be heard in it they turned their heads towards the Intruder She walked through the giant hole Turning her gaze from him and onto Betrayus and glaring "But you not so much"

"arena? Why?" Stratos questioned quietly seeing one of his old friends he stared at her in disbelief that one of his old friends would do such a thing.

"It's nothing against you just your brother" she pulled out the depository Stepping closer to the payer and opened the lid on the container Stratos panicked grabbed a handful of dust and debris he threw it in her face "Ahh oh come on don't make this hard!" Shouting as she attempted to wipe her good eye while she was distracted Stratos seeing this he reach out for Betrayus wrist with the bracelet ripping off his glove and pressing his fingers onto the yellow scanner "...What are... y-ya ..doing?" Betrayus Whispered. Stratos didn't hesitate to press down on the button Betrayus gasping as he felt his soul being ripped from his body His soul landed next to his brother Stratos looked him overturning his gaze back to arena who was just starting to regain her vision.

Stratos threw his body on top of his ghostly brother "get off" Betrayus protested Stratos shushed him and whispered "quiet" and just in time arena to turn towards Betrayus soulless body thankfully She has not noticed anything her vision still a bit blurry she aimed the depository with a burst of light Betrayus body disappeared into the device Slamming it shut she run towards the outside and shouted back at Stratos "when this is over you will thank us"

She turned on her communicator "Mr. John I got him" a raspy voice answer "good! I'll call in a retreat don't get captured" he ended the call Two Grunts called to her "arena! Over here!" They ran towards her "Pac-Man and his parents are kicking our butts" one of them said And sure enough 3 yellow ones Where jumping around knocking over the Grunts

"here take this I'll will distract them" She through the depository to one of the Grunts he fumbled with it for a moment they nodded and ran off Unknowing to them they were being followed by Sir c and spheria.

-----

Stratos was still laying on the floor for two hour Squishing his now ghostly-brother underneath him He listened carefully for any sounds It had gone silent outside but it didn't give him any comfort

He heard footsteps Stratos could only hope that it wasn't an enemy as they drew closer "Stratos my boy Are you in here?!" It was Sir c voice relief flooded him Stratos called back "We're over here!"

Sir c ran over to them "I'm glad to see you my friend but what do you mean by we?" Sir c looked around trying to find someone else but only seeing his friend his gaze fell upon Stratos looking him over "oh my goodness your leg" a large shard of glass was sticking out of his left leg Sir c Bent down to take a closer look at the injury and could see the bleeding had thankfully stopped "Uh... Yes I knew I was forgetting something" Stratos wincing "where is cedrick is he okay?!"

"he's unharmed but scared, Sunny is with him right now" Sir c assured him spheria walked in through the whole she was Followed by two medic

"What about my body?!" ask Betrayus his voice muffled by Stratos chest Sir c and spheria stared down at him "is that Betrayus?" Stratos shivered as Betrayus floated through his body "Yes it is me now where's my body!?" He demanded

Sir c and spheria glance over at each other before looking at Stratos "They got his body I have to think fast and use the emergency button on the bracelet" He explained

"Oh so that's what they were carrying!" said Sir c realizing "I thought that device looked familiar"

He continued before Betrayus could interrupt him "And well this is going to be a long story we'll explain it at the hospital"

-----

(at abandoned building)

"idiots you lost it how could you have lost it damm thing is as big as a backpack!" roared in anger Mr. John flipped over a table The two Grunts wincing at the sound of the table being broken to bits by Mr. John's fury.

And they tried to avoid eye contact with Dr. Daniel that guy could stare nonstop it was almost like he did need to blink he was also quiet and calculating he was like that even before the war the only ones who didn't seem to be affected by this was Mr. John and arena

Mr. John let out a sigh putting his bloody hands through his hair to calm himself "okay it's okay we just need to find it whatever it is we got this close I'm not willing to let it go"

-----

Stratos and Sir c they have filled everybody in on the details Stratos had instructed the police force to search for the depository when everything was said and done they went home except for Stratos had to stay in the hospital

Sunny took it upon herself to look after cedrick until Stratos was released as she didn't trust Betrayus

Thankfully only a small area of the roundhouse was damage the building is stable enough to live in meaning that cedrick could stay in his room Sunny was worried about moving him to an unfamiliar area would put more stress on him

She was currently in his room reading a good night story to him

Betrayus is offended that Sunny would presume he couldn't take care of his nephew he floated through the walls and into his brother room Looking around he had grown so used to having Stratos around that it was weird he wasn't here sadness started to fill up in his chest he quickly squash the feeling

he huffed annoyed with himself he hated him he did not miss him he spotted a couple of large boxes with Halloween decoration in them floating over he picked up a plastic jack-o'-lantern.

#pacman and the ghostly adventures #pmatga #lord betrayus #betrayus #stratos spheros #ask stratos #ask betrayus #pmatga oc #president spheros #warning i don't know how to write #warning blood #this is long #fic

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 4 years

Text

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 9

It was concerningly easy to lie about the circumstances of their hospital visit. All Ford had to say was ‘there was a bear-’ and the nurse was already taking Stan off of his hands, nodding like this was an everyday occurrence. No questions asked or police notified or rangers called.

Then again, this was Gravity Falls. That seemed to be a sentiment that never got tired.

The nurse also didn’t bat an eyelid at Stan’s jumpiness and apparent inability to communicate with anything other than body language – whether that was a symptom of shock, or of his… condition, remained a mystery. However, when Ford had last seen him Stan seemed to be relaxing somewhat, enough to mutter ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the doctor’s questions.

Ford had only suffered some scrapes and bruises and minor puncture wounds, so once those had been cleaned and covered he was just… left in the waiting room. To wait, presumably.

Ford hated waiting.

And now he was stuck here in this practically empty sterile room, listening to a clock on the wall tick idly. Tick, tick, tick. It set his teeth on edge. But it couldn’t begin to distract from the complete and utter confusion swirling around in his skull.

Ford pulled his journal from his pocket with shaking hands and began jotting down information, in the hopes of organizing his mangled thoughts.

· Rebus appears to be some sort of shape-shifter

· Is also Stanley???

· Why didn’t he tell me who he was?

· Why is Stanley here at all?

· Stanley is a human. But this isn’t a human.

· By all accounts, it seems to be him.

· Stan – Rebus? He protected me. Rebus has always been protective of me.

· Stan was protective of me before he was kicked out left

· Same person?

· Why is he so scarred? What has he been doing these last nine years?

Ford hesitated, seeing fresh wounds crossing old scars in his mind’s eye. They’d been visible under Rebus’s pelt and on Stan’s skin alike. Stan’s – pelt? Try as he might Ford couldn’t reconcile the two individuals in his head. There simply wasn’t enough data to come to any conclusions!

No, he could still work with this. The first step in the scientific method was having a question, coming up with a hypothesis, speculating on possible solutions before investigating. But where to start?

Stan certainly hadn’t come to Ford of his own free will, not with Ford rescuing him from being beaten to death and then locking him up. The thought of that cage made Ford feel quite ill, now. The thought of trapping his brother behind steel bars and studying him like any other specimen…

And for some reason, Stan hadn’t revealed himself, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly capable of it. But why? Ford resisted the urge to pull at his own hair in frustration. His life’s work was studying and quantifying the anomalous and unexplained, but somehow his brother’s decisions baffled him far more than any Manatour or gnome civilization ever could!

“Mister Pines?”

Ford startled at a nurse’s voice in front of him. He snapped his journal shut and hurriedly straightened his glasses.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your brother’s ready to be discharged.”

“Already?” Ford found himself saying. The nurse shot him a funny look.

“It… it’s been several hours.”

…oh. Ford may have been a little more lost in his thoughts than he’d realized. He flushed and cleared his throat. “Ah.”

The nurse roused himself and glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “He sustained a lot of flesh wounds, but luckily no bones have been broken except for a few ribs. Those have been bound and he’s on pain medication for it, but there’s not much else we can do for those. He needed quite a few stitches on that arm, and – well, just about everywhere else too. That being said, he’s in surprisingly good shape. The doc cleared him to leave but you’re gonna have to pick up his pain meds and antibiotics from the front desk before you go on your way. Wouldn’t want injuries like that getting infected.”

“No.” Ford agreed uneasily. The nurse continued, talking about the importance of taking the full course of antibiotics and proper dosage of pain medication and how Stan shouldn’t be operating any heavy-duty machinery, which Ford filtered out because he already knew it all.

There was paperwork, and a prescription to get filled, and then finally a familiar figure approached, arguing loudly with a nurse about how ‘no, he didn’t need a wheelchair thank you very much, he wasn’t an invalid’ and ‘he’d had worse, who cared about a little blood loss’. He had recovered from his shock enough to be difficult, it seemed. Stan shut his mouth once he caught sight of Ford.

Ford scanned his brother quickly – he was dressed as well as he could be in shredded clothes over bandages and assorted wound-dressings. He was also obviously doped up on some kind of medication, given the slight slur to his words and his unsteady gait. It didn’t help that one arm was pinned to his chest by a crisp white sling.

The nurse sent Ford a harried look that seemed to say ‘he’s all yours’. Stanley shuffled on the spot and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Ford sighed. “My car is just outside.”

Stan still quiet as he followed Ford to the car. It made him uneasy – Stan was meant to be loud and exuberant and big, not quiet and… small. He wouldn’t even meet Ford’s gaze. He stared out the window as Ford turned on the engine and pulled out onto the road.

Ford opened his mouth, realized he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again. They drove in silence.

They had just started on the winding forest path when Stan mumbled, “You can just drop me off here.”

Ford slammed on the brakes.

The wheels squealed and both brothers were jerked against their seatbelts as the car jerked to a halt on the thankfully abandoned road. Stan swore and rubbed his chest. Ah yes, broken ribs. Whoops.

“Shit, I’m going, okay-”

“You owe me answers.” Ford didn’t mean to sound so accusing. But good grief, he’d been kept in the dark for long enough. He twisted around in his seat to face his drugged-up brother. “Stanley, you are not leaving this car until you explain to me exactly what is going on.”

“Alright, jeez!”

“Rebus.” Ford said. It wasn’t quite a question. “The whole time, that was you?”

Stan grunted an affirmative, shoulders curling in.

“Just… how. Just how.”

“Apparently I’m a werewolf now.”

…well. Not the weirdest thing Ford had heard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t wanna get kicked out!” Stan snapped. “Okay?”

Ford spluttered. “What on earth gave you-”

“Obviously that plan’s bumpkus now. Well, I had a good run. Later, Sixer.” Stan rambled as he fumbled for his door handle. Ford gaped.

“You’re leaving?”

“Well, yeah. No use overstayin’ my welcome.” Stan was still struggling one-handedly with the door. “Now, just – gotta get my stupid car – if it hasn’t been impounded – I’ll just get outta yer hair-”

“Stan!” Ford said loudly. Stan jumped. Ford sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

Stan stared at him like a fish out of water. “But – you-”

“It is quite literally my life’s work to study the paranormal. You really think I would throw you out?”

Something Ford had said must have hit a cord with Stan, because he slumped and turned his face away. “…no. Not when you put it like that.”

Ford nodded, pleased that his brother was finally getting it. “Good. Let’s go back to my house, it’s – well, you already know where I live.” And wasn’t that strange? “I have several tests I’d like to run; and I’m going to need to hear about how this whole thing started. In my studies I’ve never come across conclusive proof of the existence of werewolves. Knowing how it came about would be very useful for classifying…”

He trailed off when he noticed the click of the car door and the fact that the seat next to him was empty.

The crunching of footsteps through leaf litter snapped him out of his shock. Ford undid his seatbelt hurried from his seat to follow his brother, who was currently making his way into the forest.

“Stan!”

Stan whipped around to snarl, “Fuck off, Ford!”

Ford blinked at him like a startled owl. “I… what?”

“Ya made yer point!” Stan’s words came somewhat garbled through fast-growing fangs. The glint of them sent a shiver down Ford’s spine. “M’no’ gonna be yer science ‘periment. ‘Tha mithtake thtaying here a’ all.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ford demanded. Stan growled out an answer but it was lost in the distortion of his no-longer-human vocal cords. Stan threw up his hands and turned to stalk off into the woods.

“Stanley! Where are you going? Stanley!”

Ford shouted after him, but Stan had already disappeared.

_______________________________________________________________________

Something’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

His head was stuffed with cotton wool. It made the world around him blurry as he stumbled deeper into the forest. The forest was Safe. Trees were Safe. They felt almost like home. Now that he was surrounded by them, he couldn’t even remember what he was running from. Or where he was running to…

He hadn’t been in this form for so long. He’d forgotten how weak humans were. His vision blurred and smeared (to be fair, that could be the lack of glasses), the cold nipped at his skin, his hearing was muffled as if he were underwater, all he could smell was dirt and sweat. He felt naked without his thick coat of fur, only jeans and his torn jacket chafing against raw skin. Everything was wrong. And that wasn’t even counting the oil-slick taste of wrongness that seemed to have pervaded his throat, making every rasping breath taste awful, like he was biting into that weird bear all over again.

But worse was how fucking intense this hurt felt. His chest pinched and it felt like his lungs were tied together with an elastic band, unable to inflate. He almost wanted to crack open his ribs to give them space to breathe. But… he couldn’t remember what he was even upset about. Why did hurt so much? What was he forgetting? Think, think, think.

He staggered and leaned heavily against a tree trunk. The light was all wrong, it glinted and glared and threatened to blind him. Was that his head buzzing, or had hornets encircled him? He swiped blindly at the air around him and his claws bit into bark. Why were his claws out…?

Ugh, it was getting hard to think and his mouth still tasted awful, like the air around that weird crystal, and the blood of the thing that had attacked them. His whole body was buzzing now. He tripped on not-so-human legs and fell forward into a more comfortable stance, spine shifting with a grinding crunch. The cloth binding his throbbing arm ripped and tore at the shifting of muscle and bones beneath it. This… this was wrong, he wasn’t in control here, what was going on? Where was Ford?

Ford. Ford, who didn’t care for him. Who saw him as an oddity to be investigated, and later discarded. He had been stupid to think that his brother would want him around. That hurt, enough to make his eyes prickle. Of course Ford wouldn’t want to help him.

(Yes he would. Brother is Safe.)

(But he only likes not-me.)

(Wait, that’s… me? Who am I…?)

Maybe it was easier to just let go.

Just for a little bit; let the hurt fade into numbness until it wasn’t quite as hard to bear anymore. Let himself forget the ache in his chest. Close his eyes and no longer be…

…who?

Someone who was already dead, just a ghost of pain and frustration.

It was all too easy to let go.

#werewolf!stan #werewolf stan au #gravity falls #my writing #my fic

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introvert-no-chameleon · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: Fear Itself

New Chapter is up! AO3

Fiddleford didn’t know how long he’d be able to handle this.

His new senses had begun to overwhelm him; the sharp, fresh scent of pine trees was stronger than it’d ever been. The sound of small critters shuffling around the forest floor and the babbling of a river a few yards away sounded too close. Everything felt like too much and too little. He shut his eyes, trying to think of something to ground him, but his mind only went back to what had happened an hour ago.

He ran away from Stanley.

His darling had only been looking out for him, and he’d gone and messed up because of some childish pride. Stanley was right; he hadn’t been able to hold it together after all. For Heaven’s sakes, he was hiding in a bush. It didn’t get more pathetic than that.

The truth was, he’d already known that he was over his head. He was nothing like the twins, and the transformation was proof enough. It made sense he’d be something this silly, and the Pines brothers would be two powerful beasts. After all, they were stubborn, strong-willed individuals. For all their bickering, when the two of them worked together they made a near-unstoppable force.

They didn’t need Fiddleford. By this point Stanford probably had him around out of pity, or because Stanley fancied him. Why else would they deal with such a whimpering, pathetic coward that ran away at the first whiff of danger, that constantly needed to be saved?

Something crashed through the trees a few feet away, shaking him out of his self-pity. A giant, black hoof, followed by another, came into view just a few feet in front of his hiding spot. Through the foliage, he could see a few more pairs of smaller hooves appear.

The Manotaurs. Fifty-percent man, fifty-percent ox, and a hundred percent aggression. They were minotaurs, if minotaurs went around acting as if they had something to prove.

Judging by the large hoof, it was the leader, Leaderaur, a hulking mass of pure muscle and testosterone the size of their shack. Fiddleford had seen him once, when he and Stanford had gone to observe their behavior. He could still remember, in vivid detail, watching Leaderaur eat a smaller member of his pack just to assert his dominance. Despite being half of an herbivore, he clearly didn’t have an issue swallowing a smaller member of his species.

Even Stanford hadn’t wanted to stay after that.

Fiddleford kept his breathing as quiet as he possibly could in his current state, hoping he wouldn’t be heard. He began to hate his new sense of smell, because he could almost taste the sweat from where he was. The Manotaurs obviously weren’t as concerned about hygiene as they should be.

“Is this where you smelled it, Chutzpar?” The rumbling voice of Leaderaur seemed to shake the earth.

“Yes, Leaderaur!” said a deep, masculine voice. “I caught the scent of emotional issues, vulnerability and debilitating self-esteem.”

Well, he never.

“An excellent snack, then,” said Leaderaur.

Fiddleford squeaked. He covered his mouth, silently cursing himself a thousand times over. A hand grabbed him around his entire body and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed less than a paperclip.

He came face-to-face with two red eyes. Sleek black fur covered most of Leaderaur, making him appear more animal-like than the rest of the Manotaurs, who at least had mostly human features.

Fiddleford kicked at the giant hand that held him in place. It did nothing to deter the beast from keeping him in his grip.

Leaderaur sniffed Fiddleford. A hit breath smelling like rotting meat hit Fiddleford, stinging the corner of his eyes. “Hm. A jackalope. Interesting.”

“I ain’t no jackalope! I’m a human bein’, an’ I demand to be put down this here instant!”

Leaderaur growled, the sound rumbling through Fiddleford’s very bones. “I don’t like my prey to talk back. Especially not such a scrawny weakling.”

Now, if Fiddleford were living a different day, perhaps if he’d gone through less or wasn’t as upset, he’d probably still be paralyzed by the usual raw terror that seemed to lock his limbs stiff whenever he got cornered by a monster, and he probably woudn’t have been able to do much when the giant creature opened its jaws up and swallowed him.

But today hadn’t been a different day. Even on the day of the Gnome Incident, Fiddleford had at least preserved some of his dignity by making it as difficult as possible for the gnomes to move him. The entire ordeal had finished in more or less two hours, including the part when Stanley had patched him up.

Today, however, had been the day where he’d gotten into a fight with his boyfriend, where he’d tripped and fallen into danger like some hot-headed hooligan, where he’d had to deal with the two brothers that just never seemed to get along, damnit, not even for one day, where he now had to worry about getting mauled because he looked like some carrot-munching herbivore and Fidds, frankly, had just about had enough.

With no small amount of effort, he took all the nervous energy coursing through him and forced himself to use it for something either than panicking. While Fiddleford didn’t have a robot or an invention on hand, he did have a nifty set of strong rabbit legs. So when Leaderaur began to open his mouth, Fiddleford kicked him in the eye with all of the energy he could muster.

The good news was, he was dropped, and he hadn’t been too high up. The bad news was, Leaderaur wasn’t alone.

Fiddleford had underestimated the power behind his new legs. He hadn’t poked the eye out, but it wasn’t in good shape either, seeing as he couldn’t open the puffy eye. Leaderaur roared, baring teeth at Fiddleford.

“Leaderaur!” The Manotaur with the red mane, presumably Chutzpar, pointed at Fiddleford. “The jackalope has struck against our leader! This means a fight…to the death!” A couple of Manotaurs began to surround him.

Fiddleford leaped over one of the Manotaurs. Another managed to trip him as he landed. Just as he made a grab for Fiddleford, he remembered his new antlers. He swung his head to the side, his teeth clanking against each other as he smacked his attacker away.

More Manotaurs began to run at him.

Fidds quickly started examining his surroundings, desperate to find an opening, but the Manotaurs had clearly done this dance before. They surrounded him on all sides, arms outstretched and ready to grab him. He may be faster like this than he was as a human, but he was certain they’d catch him if he tried leaping over them.

A Manotaur lunged at him. Fiddleford ducked under him. The man crashed into one of his companions, leaving the opening the man needed to get out, when one of them caught his leg.

“I’ve got him!”

Fiddleford socked him in the snout, drawing blood as his assailant howled. His hand cracked, and he was sure that he’d broken something, but he was too hopped up on blood-pumping adrenaline to stop now. He lowered his head, pointing his antlers at the remaining creatures. Another ran, and Fiddleford managed to knock him to the side with his antlers. The impact made his teeth knock together, but the fact that he’d just taken one more attacker out of the picture made it worth it.

How had he ever missed out on this? To think all this time he’d been taking out his anger on people in a machine when this felt so much better. No wonder Stanley loved boxing so much! Sweat poured down his face, his chest rising and falling. He stomped a foot onto the ground, startling the Manotaurs.

“Come ‘ere an’ get me, ya testosterone-poisoned hornswagglin’ hooligans! There’s more where that came from!”

The Manotaurs, who had begun their attack with confidence began to waver. For a glorious moment, Fiddleford felt confident that he would be able to get out of this after all.

A quick swipe from Leaderaur, however, slapped away his good mood and sent him flying into a bush. He hadn’t expected Leaderaur to recover so soon, nor for him to smack him as easily as Fiddleford would hit a fly with a newspaper. Thankfully, he didn’t feel like anything had broken (aside from his pride, which he figured was far gone by now anyway) but his body hurt, and he felt the sting of a few cuts on his body. To make matters worse, his legs were tangled in the branches of the bush.

The shadow of the giant creature’s arm loomed over Fiddleford’s hunched figure.

He winced, holding his arms up in a vain attempt to defend himself.

“FIDDS!”

A blur of grey knocked the leader down on his back. The ground once again shook, a canopy of dust engulfing the area.

Fiddleford heard a roar nearby. He couldn’t see much through the dust cloud, but he made out what he assumed was Stanford slashing at a Manotaur. Fiddleford took the chance to pull his leg out. He caught some confused Manotaurs unaware by swinging his antlers like the madman he arguably was.

He lifted his head to find the pack retreating. Leaderaur raised a closed fist, ready to bring it upon Stanley’s body. He froze, staring past Fiddleford and at Ford.

Fiddleford glanced at his friend. Stanford managed to look more intimidating than he had yet, teeth bared, claws digging into the earth, fur on end. Even with the comically out-of-place sweater vest he still managed to hold a commanding presence.

Fiddleford felt that instinct grab him by the throat again. He tensed, his legs ready to flee.

Leaderaur choose that moment to fling Stanley off him and dash off after the pack, his thunderous footsteps fading as he left.

Fiddleford could only watch as the gargoyle crashed into the ground, making a concerning amount of cracking sounds as he hit the earth. He gasped once he noticed a series of thin cracks across the stony body.

The shock of seeing his boyfriend hurt jolted Fiddleford back to his senses faster than anything could. His mind cleared as much as it could when you’d just watch a loved one get slammed into the ground by a giant monster.

Ford ran towards his brother. “Stanley!” He went to Stanley’s side and begun to inspect the wounds.

Stanley groaned. He tried getting up with one hand as support but fell right back down with a hiss.

“You knucklehead!” Stanford helped him up. “You could’ve gotten killed!”

“It’s nothin’,” said Stanley with a grimace. “I coulda taken him down no problem if I had a few more seconds.” His eyes widened as he set his eyes on Fiddleford, his gaze softening. “Sides, he was gonna kill Fidds. Couldn’t let that happen.”

The tenderness in his voice made Fiddleford want to cry, but now wasn’t the time for it. “Ferget about me, yer cracked!”

“I’m what?”

Stanford frowned, wrapping an arm around Stanley to support him. “You’ve damaged your skin. Thankfully, you still seem to be in one piece. If you had been human…” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “We can discuss your recklessness later. Do you feel any pain?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “Nothin’ really, but I do feel kinda woozy.”

Stanford looked at Fiddleford. “Fiddleford, have you managed to regain control of yourself?”

The question hurt, but he knew Stanford hadn’t said it out of malice. Bluntness was just a part of who Stanford was. “As much as I reckon I can, bein’ like this.”

“Good,” Stanford began walking with Stanley. “I’ll need you to help. I can take most of Stanley’s weight, but I still need assistance.”

Fiddleford went over to his empty side. “Give me yer free arm, Stanley.”

“Ya sure?”

“Ask me that again and I’ll smack ya on the head.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he let Fiddleford take it. It was just as heavy as Fiddleford remembered, but he found that he could manage the weight a little better than before. Maybe there was something useful about this form after all.

“Hey, at least that’s over,” said Stanley with a chuckle. “Nice job scarin’ them off, Sixer.”

Stanford gave a goofy grin at his twin’s praise. “I think you did most of the work there, Stanley.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “The two of ya do make quite the team. Saved my sorry behind as usual.”

Stanley frowned, shifting to look at Fiddleford. “Hey—”

Stanford stopped abruptly. He froze, his grip on Stanley growing tighter. “Do. Not. Move.”

“What are ya…?” Stanley followed his gaze and clamped his mouth shut.

Fiddleford’s heart caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse at the creature in front of them, one that had somehow managed to stay perfectly still the entire time and blended with the deep greens of the mossy trees. It’s heavy, labored breaths were the only sound that could be heard.

It was tall, with mushrooms growing on its shoulders. It had hideous fangs jutting out from its bottom jaw, a muscular build, and green skin. Its glowing red eyes were fixed on the trio.

“Oh good Lord,” whispered Fiddeford. “What is that?”

“It can’t be…,” said Ford. “It’s the Gremoblin! I’ve only heard stories about it. Perhaps it isn’t hostile…”

“It has glowing red eyes, Poindexter,” hissed Stanley. “I don’t think it wants to sit down and play cards!”

The Gremoblin reared its head and roared at them.

“Run!” Fiddleford began tugging them away from the hulking beast just as it swiped its claws (why did everything in this god-forsaken forest have claws the size of knives?) where they stood moments before.

“Wait, at least let me take a moment to observe the creature for my journal—”

“Stanferd, I swear to the Lord above if ya dare to stop right now I will throw all yer journals into the Bottomless Pit!”

Stanford’s eyes widened, but at least he didn’t slow down, so Fiddleford considered that as good of an answer as any.

Stanley ducked as the creature swiped at them again. “I’m with Fidds on this one!”

“Alright, alright I’m running!”

“Then do it faster!” said Stanley.

“It’s difficult for me to run like this!”

A shadow flew over them. Fiddleford didn’t have time to register what it was until a boulder fell in their path. The three of them lost their balance and stumbled to the ground.

Fiddleford managed to spring back to his feet, but he couldn’t get Stanley to budge. The cracks on his back spread. “Stanferd, come on!”

Ford held his leg, wincing. “I think I sprang my ankle—well, I’m actually not sure if I have an ankle in this form—but the point is, I can’t move!”

The goblin-like creature went over to them, closing in.

Stanley forced himself to his feet. His lip twisted with pain, but he dragged himself in front of his brother, raising his fists. His stance didn’t have the confidence it usually had; he wobbled just enough for Fiddleford to notice. “Ya think ya can get to my brother? Not on my watch, bucko!”

“Stanley…” Stanford gasped as he tried, and failed, to get on his feet.

“I’ll distract Ugly here,” said Stanley, turning to Fiddleford. “Fidds, get Ford and get the hell out of here!”

Fiddleford didn’t budge. “I ain’t leaving ya!”

Stanley ducked as the monster tried to grab him. He threw a punch at its arm, sending it reeling back. “I’ll be fine! Just go!”

Fiddleford’s chest started to pound again. His arms were lead, his tongue felt fuzzy and his legs trembled, more nervous energy waiting to be unleashed, a coil waiting to unfurl.

Then the monster grabbed Stanley. Its eyes went from a deep red to yellow. It stared directly at his boyfriend, and Fidds could only watch as Stanley stiffened, jaw slack as if he was in a trance.

Then he screamed, and something in Fiddleford snapped.

Stanley Pines did not scream like that. He’d always put on a façade, and even at his most terrified he’d use his energy to fight back. He’d always smirk or wink back at whoever he was protecting, making bad puns as he fought his way out of a problem. Yes, he was a loud man, making his presence known in every room to an obnoxious degree, but he never screamed as if something was being ripped apart inside of him. He never cowered like Fiddleford, or even Stanford did on the rare occasion that he was afraid instead of fascinated.

The Gremoblin dropped Stanley like a dead weight. The gargoyle curled in on himself, trembling, wings covering him. He clawed at his face frantically. Fiddleford didn’t know if gargoyles had tear ducts, but Stanley sounded close to sobbing.

The creature walked towards Stanford, who limped towards his fallen brother, with murderous intent.

It should be noted, to anyone who is reading this, that while Fiddleford Hadron McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual, he was also a man who would go on a rampage whenever someone had earned his ire or broke his heart. At the age of twelve he wrestled a wild hog after seeing it make a beeline for his then-pregnant Ma and won, and he once fought off a grizzly bear with a banjo when it tried to attack Tate on their last camping trip. His wife had (once she talked to him again after the whole robot incident) lovingly coined this particular type of behavior as his “hillbilly frenzy mode”.

So it really shouldn’t have surprised Fiddleford as much as it did when he ended up steeling himself, ducking his head and charging straight at the creature that had lifted a large gargoyle with ease. But the thing about surprises is, even if one considers the possibility of one, it usually doesn’t dull the shock of going through the unexpected.

The creature had focused all its attention on the larger threat, and obviously hadn’t expected the scrawny man to do much, let alone stab him with a pair of antlers with a wild cry and enough force to knock the Gremoblin down.

Fiddleford hadn’t cut too deep, so he managed to retract his antlers a moment later.

The creature was quick to get back on its feet. Two wounds were oozing a dark green liquid that must’ve been the creature’s blood. It charged at Fiddleford, and he leaped over it, using its shoulder for leverage to get a higher jump. Glancing to make sure that the monster was away from the twins, he shouted at it.

“Is that the best ya got, ya white-feathered varmint? Come ‘ere an’ get me if ya want me!”

Fiddleford didn’t wait to see if it would follow; a roar confirmed that much for him. He let his legs lead the way, but while before he’d just throw himself into the wilderness, now knew exactly where he was headed.

The snapping of wood and thunderous steps behind him warned him that his opponent would catch up soon. Which was all well, since his destination was right ahead.

The Bottomless Pit had been one of those anomalies that they’d discovered when Stanford had, in an act of brilliance that Fiddleford used as yet another bit of proof on why Stanford could not be left unsupervised when it came to exploring the unknown, jumped in it. His employer, a man of 12 Ph.D.’s, had, upon dropping a pen and not hearing it drop, took a step forward and fell right onto the pit, taking Stanley and Fiddleford with him when they’d tried to save him.

It was in that traumatic turn of events that the trio had discovered what Stanford claimed he’d known all along: the pit itself wasn’t bottomless, and it wasn’t even a straight fall down. They’d been spit right back out of where they’d fallen in after twenty minutes of what should’ve been a straight dive to their deaths.

And that was more than enough time for the three of them to get away from this monster and back in the shack.

He let the Gremoblin close in. Just as it made to attack, he threw himself to the side. It fell in but managed to cling to the side of the pit. It began lifting itself back up, and that wouldn’t do at all. Fidds went to kick it in, but it held his leg in a vice and dug its claws into the meat of his calf.

Fidds howled, seeing stars and all at once, he wasn’t at the edge of the pit. He was back at the shack, staring at the front door. He stared down at his normal, human legs.

“What on earth?”

It was then he noticed the blood.

It seeped through the bottom of the door, through the windowsill, dripping on the wood floor. Fiddleford stumbled back, hitting the ground as he began to crawl back. He got on his feet and almost tripped over himself as he punched the combination for the underground lab on the vending machine they kept in its place.

Instead of swinging open to reveal an elevator, it just had three people stumble out of it.

Fiddleford’s head spun, his hands flying to his mouth. Every person he cared about lay on the ground in front of him, his young son and the twins, covered in gashes, eyes vacant and cloudy.

But.

They were gone, they must’ve gotten hurt, they weren’t careful—

No.

They weren’t dead. This wasn’t any more real than the fear he’d carry with him each and every day, where he knew that one bad step could lead to a drop or an encounter with something volatile.

He felt it every day, and he figured it was about damn time he’d stop letting it control him.

He made himself to focus on the pain and collect thoughts like the fireflies he’d scoop up in a jar when he was just a youngling, on the hot June nights when the sun had just set.

The image wavered then, a stone thrown in the water, rippling, disrupting.

He thought of Stanford’s relentless, if not at times foolish, courage that never stopped him from pursuing his passion.

The bodies faded away.

He thought of Tate, his shy and curious boy, of the quiet days they’d spend talking about nature or fishing.

The blood dried up, as if it never been there.

He thought about Stanley, always so brash yet so sweet, hardened by life yet able to still hold Fiddleford so tender all those nights, to be so gentle that it felt like Stanley carried his heart on the palm of his big hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. As if Fiddleford was worth that much to him.

He came back, a thunder-clap moment of disorientation as he tasted salt sweat and smelled the pine trees.

“Ya think I don’t know fear? Well, let me tell ya somethin’.” He grabbed a rock nearby. “Ya can’t scare a feller who is already scared outta their wits!”

He smashed it on its hand, and watched it plummet away, down and down, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

And only when he was sure it disappeared from sight did he allow himself to sit down and catch his breath. And laugh. And laugh and laugh until his belly ached and the high-pitched, manic sound bounced throughout the woods, a tension he hadn’t known he held released.

Once he managed to compose himself enough, he went back to where he knew the twins were waiting.

#of monsters and mcguckets #young stanley pines #young stanford pines #young fiddleford #gravity falls #mystery trio #mystery trio au #monster falls

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nostalgiabones · 5 years

Text

A Sunday Afternoon // Dad!Luke

For many families, Sunday was a day of rest. A quiet, lazy afternoon in front of the television, preparing for the new week ahead.

But not in the Hemmings household.

It was chaos, just like most days were, with all six children home, all with different plans taking place at different times. But as busy as the day was about to be, Sunday mornings were Luke’s favourite time of the week.

The day started early, like most days did, the kids slowly joining you in bed one by one. The first would be the youngest baby, Theo (or as Luke called him, Teddy, a nickname that had come naturally when you had named him) the newest addition to the Hemmings family, a sweet baby boy who you tried to feed quietly before his five big brothers and sisters joined in on the the cuddles. They were all kindhearted children, and the pair of you were lucky that they got along as well as siblings could.

“I think I can hear your sister, Teddy.” Luke cooed to the sleepy baby laid against your skin, kissing his little fist that was wrapped around Luke’s pointer finger. And he was right - the pitter patter of little footsteps could be heard from down the hall, making her way over to your bedroom. Luke saw the mass of blonde curls appear in the doorway, identical to his own, belonging to your youngest daughter, Willow. “Well, look who it is!”

“Hi Mama! Hi dada!” She called out happily, reaching her arms up towards Luke at his side of the bed, her little three year old self unable to climb up without his help. Luke lifted under her arms and pulled her onto the bed with a grunt, kissing her soft cheek and moving the wild curls out of her face, so she could see clearer.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” You smiled as she climbed over Luke and settled in-between the two of you, snuggling under the duvet to steal your warmth.

“Is Teddy sleeping, mama?” She asked softly, resting her head on your shoulder, her sleepy, curious eyes wandering over to where her baby brother was settled against your chest. His eyes were fluttering open and shut, trying to stay awake after having his first feed of the day.

“No baby, he’s just cosy after having his breakfast.”

You answered, kissing her forehead as she cuddled into you further. Willow was your most curious child, forever asking many questions and not being satisfied until she got an answer. She had especially took an interest in babies since Theo had been born, and it made your heart melt on how caring she was growing to be.

The four of you sat in a comfortable silence, the only noise being Theo’s snuffles and noises of contentment, happy to have Willow’s attention, who was busy gently stroking his cheeks and tapping his nose. The quiet didn’t last for long, though - it never did when your seven year old twins, Oscar and Arlo, were around. They were excitable, boisterous and noisy from the moment that they woke up, and you and Luke always wondered where they got their energy from.

“Good morning, boys!” Luke exclaimed, as they thundered towards the bed and jumped onto it. You heard an ‘oooft’ from your husband as Arlo landed on his stomach, too excited to join you for cuddles to think about where he was landing. Luke pulled the two boys against his chest - one under each arm - and tickled their sides, revelling in the giggles and shrieks of happiness that came from their mouths. Your heart warmed at the sight, seeing three of your five boys interacting happily.

“I think it’s about time we got up and started the day, don’t you loves?” You asked the several children that were scattered around your giant bed. The bed felt empty without the presence of your children - it always felt a little more complete, when they were settled in between you and Luke. “How about some breakfast?”

It was only 7:30am, far too early for a Sunday morning, but you were conscious that there were five other children in the house that needed breakfast, as well as getting Oscar and Arlo ready for their football practice at 9am. Luke always took them - it was their time together every week, and it gave you chance to get some housework done, and make sure all four school uniforms were washed and ironed, ready for the week ahead.

“I’ll take the baby, love. I’ll check on Poppy and Gray, and make sure everyone is down for breakfast, yeah?” Luke suggested, and you nodded at the familiar routine, passing a drowsy Theo over to his dad’s waiting arms, hearing him whine a little at the loss of your warm chest. Luke shushed him and he soon settled, his soft cheek smushed up against Luke’s neck as he held him close to his body. “Shall we go wake your brother up, bubs?”

Luke kissed your lips softly before the two of you left the room, knowing Sunday’s never left you much time to spend together. It was always a busy day, so Luke snook in kisses and affection whenever he could. After having six children, it wasn’t about the expensive date nights or staying out really late anymore - it was passing kisses whilst feeding the baby, or during bath time, or cuddling after you managed to get all of the kids in bed. It was showing love in anyway that you could, which wasn’t difficult to do when there were six children in the house that loved each other, and their parents, unconditionally.

Your oldest son Grayson, at 13, was becoming more independent as he grew into his teenage years. He no longer joined you in bed on a Sunday, which would’ve hurt your heart more at him growing up if it wasn’t for the four younger babies that were always in there instead. Luke knocked on the door lightly before opening it, Theo’s wide eyes looking around the room for his oldest brother. As expected, he was still sound asleep in his bed, which Luke didn’t blame him for. He saw no reason to wake him up - he didn’t have any plans, and Luke knew he had stayed up late playing the guitar last night, the sound of the strings echoing through the halls. It reminded Luke of when he first started playing guitar at a similar age to his son, and it warmed his heart that Grayson had followed in his footsteps.

He could already hear the sound of Poppy typing on her laptop as he walked down the hall and approached her bedroom, knowing she’d have been awake for a while. Sunday morning was her quiet time to get as much homework done as possible, which she enjoyed, as it meant she was being productive as well as learning at the same time. She was the most academic child, and you and Luke were so proud of all of her achievements. She was passionate about learning and educating herself as well as others, and Luke wondered where she got her academic capabilities from, as he knew he definitely wasn’t him.

“Good morning, my little flower!” She spun around in her chair from her spot on the desk, a smile on her face at the sight of her dad and baby brother, even though she rolled her eyes at the nickname. ‘Little flower’ has stuck ever since she was born and named Poppy, and she was sure Luke would never stop with the embarrassing nickname.

“Morning, Dad! Hi Teddy.” She made her way over to the pair, kissing Theo’s cheek before doing the same to Luke. Theo grinned against Luke’s shoulder - he was happy to have any attention from anyone, but it made him even happier when it was from one of his siblings.

“You okay, Pops? What are you working on?” He asked curiously, glancing at her laptop screen and noticing she was half way through an essay of sorts.

“Just some English homework.” She replied, sitting back down at her desk and making sure the page in her current reading book was saved with a bookmark.

“Well Mum’s doing breakfast soon, so come down when you’re ready, okay?” She agreed and he left he to work, quietly shutting the door behind him. He made his way down the stairs and could already hear commotion in the kitchen, just as he expected. “Let’s go see what chaos is waiting for us in the kitchen, huh Teddy?”

The scene in front of him was just as he anticipated - you were trying to strap Willow into her high chair, much to her dismay, as she watched her twin brother chase eachother around the dinner table. The smell of pancakes filled his senses, which was the typical Sunday morning treat in the house. He set Theo down in his bouncer, switching on the lights and sounds above his head to keep him entertained.

“C’mon boys, sit down at the table and wait for breakfast, please?” He asked calmly, knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with raising his voice at them. Thankfully they listened and took their seats at the table, and Willow followed their lead and let you sit her down too. He took over cooking the pancakes, seeing that you were pre-occupied and not wanting them to burn.

He jumped a little when he felt your arms wrap around his waist, hands linking over his abs. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade and he spun you around in his arms, moving to rest his hands on your lower back. You kissed his lips several times as he pulled you closer to your body, assuming the children were entertaining themselves, until he heard Willow pipe up.

“Daddy? Why do you kiss mama so much?” His inquisitive little girl asked. He chuckled at the question, kissing your lips once more before letting you continue with breakfast.

“Because I love her so much, baby.” He started, moving to where she was sat and squishing her rosy cheeks gently in his hands, before kissing her forehead, nose and then her pouty lips. “And I kiss you, because I love you too!”

He smiled at the giggles that fell from her lips, setting out plates on the kitchen counter ready for you to serve up breakfast. He checked on Theo, who was content to kick his chubby legs up at the toys above him. You placed a few pancakes on each plate along with some fresh fruit, hoping to get your youngest children to eat something healthy. Your heart melted as you heard a “thank you mama!” from each child when you set the plate down in front of them.

Poppy appeared in the kitchen moments later with a “good morning, mum!” and you started on a new batch of pancakes, as she joined her siblings at the table.

Breakfast eaten and the kitchen cleaned, Luke headed upstairs with Oscar and Arlo to get them ready for their weekly football lesson. Everyone fell into the usual routine - Theo went down for a nap, and Poppy went back to work on her homework, Willow following close behind her, trying to convince her to play instead of working.

Luke took the twins off to play football, giving you time to clean the house and bath Theo and Willow, whilst Grayson and Poppy did any last minute homework that they needed to do in preparation for school. The peace didn’t last for long though - it never did. The boys came bounding back through the door two hours later, covered in mud as you expected, Luke calling behind them not to sit down anywhere until they were showered and changed.

“We’re back, mum!” They shouted in unison, leaving their dirty football boots by the door, entering the kitchen where you were chopping vegetables in preparation for your traditional Sunday dinner. Theo was back in his bouncer, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his brothers and dad entering the room.

“I missed you, boys! How was the match?” You asked, and then listened to them telling you all about who scored goals, and the new skills that they had learned. Luke smiled at the sight, always feeling a sense of pride after watching his boys play football so well. They scampered off upstairs, following Luke’s instructions to not get mud all over the house.

“Did you miss me too?” Luke asked you quietly, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you close to him whilst he had the chance in the busy day.

“You’ve only been gone for two hours.” You replied playfully and he gasped, as you covered a pan of carrots before turning around to face him. “I’m kidding, Lu. Of course I missed you.”

“I missed you.” He pouted at you, his plump lips just calling out for you to kiss them. You obliged, lacing your lips with his as you appreciated a moment of quiet with your husband, knowing it would soon be over. You were right - you soon heard Oscar’s voice, calling out for Luke to help him in the shower. Luke sighed against your mouth. “Well, that was nice whilst it lasted.”

“Go on, super dad.” You laughed softly, kissing him once more before he broke away and made his way upstairs to help his boys. It was a busy Sunday, as it always was, chaotic, loud, and messy. But neither of you would have it any other way - it was familiar, it was your family. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

Taglist: @irwinkitten @i-calumhood @gorgeouslygrace @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil @ashtonsghoul @fivesecondsof-mee (message me to be added!)

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sunflowersupremes · 4 years

Text

Thief

After years of solitude, Maglor is starving and hallucinating.

Characters: Maglor, Celeborn

Read on AO3

Look at you, Kanafinwe, said his father’s harsh voice in his mind, the last son of Feanor, reduced to petty thievery.

No better than Melkoro, agreed Curufin, ever the parrot of their father’s words.

Maglor pulled his hands through his dark hair in frustration, whining aloud, “Shut up! I have not eaten this week, and I see none of you doing anything to help it.”

You’re too noisy to be a thief, scolded Celegorm. Thieves must be like hunters, silent and blending in with their surroundings. You’re making enough noise to wake an orc pack.

“Shut up!”

Go on. There’s no shame if you must, came a quiet voice, his least favorite one to hear. Maedhros always sounded the most disappointed, never angry, never raising his voice. Not even when Maglor raged at him for abandoning his last brother. Somehow, Maedhros’ permission made it far worse.

But despite all that, he needed to eat.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but he knew it had been far too long. When the small group had set up camp beside the cave he called home, Maglor had seen it as a gift.

But sneaking into the camp proved to be more difficult than he’d thought. He sat in the entrance to his cave, watching them for hours and debating with himself on the best way to get inside. His brothers had offered no help, leaving him to devise a plan all by himself.

So when he’d seen the wagon at the edge of the camp, well out of the ring of firelight, he’d headed toward it.

As Celegorm had so helpfully pointed out, he was hardly quiet, but thankfully the elves in the camp hadn’t been expecting trouble, and their security was lax at best. It was far too easy to merely walk up to the wagon and dig through one of the crates.

He didn’t even notice the person walk up behind him.

-----------

He’d been aware that someone had been prowling around in the woods, but he hadn’t expected this.

Celeborn recognized him the moment he saw Maglor Feanorian. Even with ragged clothes and a too-thin frame, he was still every bit the prince he had once been.

But Maglor didn’t seem to recognize him.

He’d considered leaving the other, letting him steal whatever it was he wanted and then disappear off into the night. But curiosity had drawn him closer. Close enough that Maglor should have noticed, but he didn’t.

The Feanorian remained unaware of Celeborn until the other was right beside him, and then he just glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and muttered, “Not now Celegorm.”

For a long moment, he was almost able to convince himself that the other had said Celeborn, not Celegorm, but no, he knew he hadn’t misheard the other.

“Maglor-”

“I am not listening to you anymore.” Maglor’s face was flushed red, but his eyes were unfocused. Fever? Dehydration? Celeborn wasn’t sure (and he wasn’t sure why he cared). Even if Maglor was barely able to open the buckles on the bag he was attempting to rob, he was still a killer, Celeborn reminded himself sternly.

He also raised your son in law, said another voice in his head. It sounded far too much like his daughter for comfort, and although he knew she wasn’t communicating across distances as she occasionally did, it still left him with a pang of guilt.

“Let me help you.” He opened the bag, unhooking the buckles, and offered Maglor a piece of dried meat. The starving elf thanked his deceased brother and gulped it down.

Celeborn sighed, placing a hand on Maglor’s forehead. The other swatted him away, but not before he was able to confirm that he wasn’t feverish. A small victory.

Still unsure why he was doing what he was doing, Celeborn lifted himself into the wagon, rummaging through the boxes until he’d procured a fresh change of clothing for Maglor.

He threw them out of the wagon where they landed on Maglor’s head, then Celeborn swung himself out.

“I’m not stealing clothes,” Maglor said, shaking his head firmly. “I’ve stolen enough already.”

“It’s not stealing if they’re mine to give-”

“Your’s to-” Maglor trailed off, his confused mind seeming to have difficulty following Celeborn’s statements. Then he seemed to create a narrative he was content with and murmured, “Yes, yours. We- where are we?”

“Traveling to visit relatives.” It was true enough. Celeborn had been on the road, visiting with Cirdan in Lindon, and was currently on his way back to Lothlorien where Galadriel had elected to remain with their daughter.

Maglor seemed to buy the lie, nodding and pulling at his shirt, no doubt deciding to change into the far cleaner and warmer clothes Celeborn had offered him. “Yes, Timo. Timo was just-” he turned, looking behind him at the woods, as though expecting his elder brother to appear at any moment.

“He’ll be here soon,” he said, reasoning that it wasn’t exactly a lie. If Maglor wasn’t careful, he was going to be reuniting with all his brothers very soon.

As the other’s shirt fell away, Celeborn winced at what he saw. He’d been expecting scars - Maglor hadn’t led an easy or peaceful life, even before his self imposed exile - but he still found himself startled by how thin the other was. His mind was made up, he wasn’t going to let Maglor just wander off again in that state.

Helping Maglor into the shirt, not trusting the minstrel to manage it himself, he leaned farther into his lie. “You were separated from us, I stayed to look for you. The others are just ahead.”

“Yes. I did, didn’t I?”

“Hmm. You need to drink.” Celeborn lifted the waterskin from his belt and offered it to Maglor, who took it willingly.

As much as he was determined to help him, he also wasn’t about to take the elf back into his camp. He didn’t have an exact count off the top of his head, but he knew for a fact he wasn’t the only survivor of a kinslaying that was present.

Instead, he wrapped an arm around Maglor, grabbed a bag of supplies, and followed the elf’s footsteps back to where he’d come from.

He wasn’t surprised to find that Maglor’s tracks led back to a cave, but the fact that he’d clearly been there for a long time did. The last they’d heard, Maglor had been living on the shore, not in a dank cave in the woods. But he pushed his questions aside and helped Maglor to sit down.

“I hope I didn’t worry anyone,” Maglor said after a moment, tapping his foot against the ground. Celeborn sat a pair of boots in front of him, waiting for the other to put them on.

“We knew you could handle yourself.”

“But I didn’t,” Maglor said suddenly, thrusting his hand in front of Celeborn’s nose. “I- I burned myself on- I don’t remember what I burned myself on.”

He wasn’t prepared for that. Maglor’s hand, burned by the Silmaril, caused Celeborn to pull back in alarm. The other had wrapped bandages around it, but they did little to hide the smell of charred flesh. Fingers shaking, Celeborn couldn’t help but unwrap the bandages, baring the wound.

It could have been burned yesterday. There no no hint in his wound that it was several thousand years old, and he had no doubt that Maglor must be in great pain.

“A fire,” Celeborn lied, feeling slightly ill. “You burned your hand in a fire.” Maglor seemed to believe him.

A part of him wanted to treat it - seeing anyone in that much pain was horrific - but he had no doubt it wouldn’t make any difference. Instead, Celeborn pulled out fresh bandages and rewrapped the wound. “It will be better soon,” he said. Another lie, but it seemed kinder than the truth.

He offered Maglor more water which the other drank greedily and without comment. “This is for you,” Celeborn said, pushing the bag toward Maglor. “It has food and water.”

Maglor blinked at him. “I- I have to ride ahead,” Celeborn lied. “You’ll have to catch up with us.”

His men would be looking for him soon anyway. They hadn’t been stopping for the night, only for a short rest. He’d been gone far too long already. If he kept telling himself that Maglor would be fine, perhaps he’d believe it.

Maglor watched him walk away, then he softly said, “I’m not going with you.”

He turned, looking back over his shoulder at Maglor, one eyebrow raised.

Maglor met his gaze with far clearer eyes than when he’d found him. “You’re not Celegorm,” he said after a moment. “I know that. I don’t know who you are. But you’re not my brother.” His face twisted. “My brothers are dead. I’m not going with you.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” he lied.

#tolkien one shot #celeborn #my writing #silmarillion #silmfic #maglor

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teriwrites · 3 years

Text

NaNoWriMo: Week 2

Compared to week 1, this week has completely flown by. Writing has at times slowed down a lot more, but I’ve yet to have a day where I fall behind. I’m still plugging away, but with a lot of assignment due dates coming up, learning to juggle my priorities is definitely going to be a challenge. Thankfully, it’s one I’m familiar with.

The middle of the month is always the toughest, but we’ll all get through it! And schoolwork might actually turn out to be a good rest to prevent creative burnout.

With that, some stats and stuff:

Week 2 Goal: 23,333

Week 1 Total: 30,251

Excerpt 1:

Along one of these peninsulas, there stood a beautiful woman. She was dancing, swaying as gracefully as the willows around her. Dark hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, flowing with each turn of her head. A white dress twirled as she moved. There was no music to follow, yet she seemed to keep a rhythm that belonged to the currents and the trees themselves.

Winnie could only gaze at the scene a short moment before Taliesin’s snapping fingers were suddenly blocking her view, drawing her back.

She leaned slightly to try and get another view. In a whisper, she asked, “Who is that woman?”

Taliesin couldn’t hide his dour expression. “Do not trust the beautiful here, child. It is the favorite mask of the cruel.”

Excerpt 2:

Footsteps came from the hall, and Winnie froze. There was nowhere to hide - no curtains or tapestries to conceal herself, no large furniture, only tall tables.

Winnie ducked and rolled under one of these towards the back of the room, hoping it might at least spare her a moment before she was spotted. Staring over at the door, she heard a loud creak, and watched as it swung open slowly. A pair of golden feet stepped into the room.

Winnie poked her head out from under the table. Taliesin was staring at her, holding back a laugh.

“How did you manage to get inside?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Scrambling out from her hiding spot, Winnie leapt to her feet and demanded, “If you knew we could just walk in, why did you let me make a fool of myself climbing through the window?”

Taliesin shrugged with a grin. “You were so spirited. I didn’t want to ruin your fun.”

Excerpt 3:

The chest opened with ease as the padlock fell to pieces. Winnie opened the top, not sure what she was hoping to find. A map leading directly to where they had taken Bran. A document that gave a little more intel into how her brother was doing. Something of value.

Inside was a small stack of papers, and Winnie’s pulse raced. But flipping through them, she quickly realized that the yellowed pages were all blank.

“Can you make anything of these?” she asked Taliesin, who approached with a steady eye on Winnie’s bun.

He took them from her, darting his eyes down to the page but with his face still upturned to her hair. Winnie rolled her eyes, adjusting the hatpin so that it was secured and couldn’t pose a threat. Frowning, Taliesin closed his eyes and waved a hand over the pages, but they remained stubbornly blank.

“There’s no trace of anything written,” he said uncertainly when he’d opened his eyes again. “But that could mean special care has been taken to hide it. Detection was never my specialty.”

“Then we’d better hope we find something else,” Winnie said gravely.

Excerpt 4:

“You saved me,” the man insisted.

Winnie, kneeling before him, nodded dumbly. Up this close, without his skin breaking out into coarse bark, he was unexpectedly ordinary. He looked back at her with skin tanned by the sun, with plain, gray eyes, with dark, cropped curls. His grateful smile showed a row of straight, slightly yellowed teeth.

No golden refraction of light. No protruding skull. No slit pupils. Only a normal, human young man, as far as Winnie could tell. She couldn’t hold his gaze, which shone in earnest.

“Please, can I know the name of my savior?” he asked.

Winnie froze, the childhood warnings blaring through her mind. “I am merely a friend to these parts.”

The young man’s eager expression lit up. “You certainly are. And I am known here as Gelert. I am in your debt, friend.”

Excerpt 5:

Before she could finish her thought, a figure darted between trees. Winnie reached instinctively for her pack, feeling for where she’d lodged her hatpin. It came loose, and she slid the needle up her sleeve, closing her fingers around the head.

“That is hardly necessary, child,” whispered a voice.

Winnie jerked around to find its source, but she was alone.

The figure ran closer, still too quick to identify.

“I only wish to offer some advice.” The voice was soft and concentrated, like it was being whispered directly into her ear.

Winnie covered her ears, glaring through the darkness. A laugh echoed in her mind, despite her efforts, and she winced against the grating sound.

Finally, the figure stepped out from behind a tree, several meters away. A dark hooded cloak covered most of it, a black that shone dark blue as it passed under the light. They made no attempts to approach, but merely stood and stared.

Without moving their mouth, Winnie heard the voice again. “You place a lot of trust in this guide, but what has he done to earn it?”

“I trust in the honor of the fair folk,” Winnie retorted. “That’s what holds you all together, isn’t it? Following through on the deals you make. The Fae runs on your belief in honor.”

The figure stepped forwards, lifting their hood with gloved hands. Beneath, a dark porcelain mask stared back at Winnie. Its features were feline, but instead of ears, twisted horns curled around the back of its head. The mask was smooth, its expression emotionless, with no openings to see or breathe.

“The Courts run on honor. Those without it are removed. Tell me, which court does your guide belong to?”

#writeblr #writing #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2020 #nano #teri writes #my wip #beneath alder creek #I wasn't planning on introducing the scout this early but I'm not mad about it

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 22 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1300

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, I’m too tired to think of something clever to put here tonight (pt. 1)

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany , @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife, @help-i-need-a-social-life, @vodka-and-some-sass

“The Allfather has summoned me.”

You look up, pulled from the doodles you’ve been scribbling on your notepad. The two of you have been sitting in companionable silence, exchanging the occasional barb, but in general just… being. It’s nice. Very nice. “What?”

“Odin,” he repeats. He has a book in his hands, and appears to be reading it, but from what you can tell he hasn’t turned a page in ages. “He has recalled me back to Asgard.”

“Oh.” You blink. And then it hits you. Oh. “You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“They are not in the habit of telling me such things. But very soon, I gather.”

“I see.” The still-healing scars hidden underneath your shirt all seem to twinge at once.

You look at him. He looks at you. And then the two of you go back to what you were doing before Loki spoke his death sentence into existence. The silence is a little less companionable now, stretched thin by the thousands of things the two of you are not saying.

XXX

It is indeed very soon. The next day you stand shivering in a thin sweater in an open field, surrounded by agents and Avengers and probably more invisible surveillance hiding in the shadows that today’s dawn is bringing. Some small, pathetic part of you honestly expected the sun to not rise today. Because he’s leaving. And everyone knows he’s not coming back. To them, it’s a victory, a relief. For you… well. You hadn’t slept much that night.

No one had told you about their departure, either, except for Thor, who had the courtesy to give you the time and place should you want to be there. Part of you didn’t. Most of you didn’t. But you also couldn’t give up the chance of seeing him one last time.

So you stand on the sidelines, trembling from the weather and only the weather, hoping no one will notice you. Everyone is on edge, even though Loki is thoroughly chained and has not moved from Thor’s side. The muzzle, thankfully, has not made an appearance.

The crowd gathered is very pointedly looking everywhere but Thor and his brother, so it is very easy for Thor to catch your eye and wave you over. You go, and you can feel eyes follow you, but you’re pulled by a force much stronger than your anxiety of being the attention of a crowd. It’s a little hard to navigate with the boot encasing your slowly mending ankle, but you manage. Thor says something to Loki you can’t hear as you approach, but Loki inclines his head in what looks to be a gesture of gratitude. “I will leave you be for a minute, little sister. Do make sure my brother behaves.” A strong arm is wrapped around your shoulders and an affectionate kiss placed upon your forehead. You hug Thor back and look at him gratefully before he moves off towards the other Avengers, all on guard and looking very ready for this whole ordeal to be over.

But your focus isn’t on them. “Trickster.”

“Witling.”

“I feel underdressed.” He smiles slightly at this, acknowledging the formal battle armor he’s clothed in for his arrival to Asgard.

“Well, I would hardly want to disappoint Father, now would I?”

You huff out a breath. “I don’t know how you’re making jokes.”

“You started it.” You wrinkle your nose at him, such a familiar gesture, and the warmth in his eyes such a familiar feeling. The wind ruffles your hair, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “You’re shivering.”

“Well, it’s cold. Humans get cold, remember?”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” But your sweater glows faintly, and then you are considerably warmer. You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, hush, a small spell will not get me in trouble today.”

“Liar.”

He shrugs, and the chains wrapped around him rattle depressingly.

There are so many things you don’t know how to say. So many things you can’t say. Whether it’s because you don’t have the words, or the courage, or both, you can’t be sure. But you look him in the eye and very firmly, but softly, so no one else can hear, you say to him: “I want you to come back. Please. If you can.”

He stares at you for a moment, and then a moment more, taking you in. “And what if I know that I cannot?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and a tear drops down your cheek. “Then lie to me.”

“Everyone is looking, Witling,” he says gently.

“Let them.” Out of defiance and anger and grief and a big fuck you to whatever power in the universe deemed this be the way fate would have it, you stand on your toes and brush a kiss to his cheek. “Keep yourself out of trouble, Trickster.”

“Only for you, love.”

And before you can process that little bombshell, Thor is back and gently tugging you away from Loki, relocating you to a safe distance from both the Bifrost opening and prying eyes. “Thank you, Thor. For everything.”

And wonder of wonders, the god bows to you. “It is you I have to thank, my lady. Truly, you do not know everything you have done.”

“Please look out for him.” Because I can’t.

He smiles sadly. “I have for a thousand years. I do not plan on stopping anytime soon.”

You nod, accepting it. All of it. His fate, and yours, and every footstep that led you to this moment.

When Thor raises Mjolnir above his head, colors you haven’t ever seen before and will never see again shine from the heavens. You hold Loki’s gaze as long as you can, until the flash of light he disappears into forces you to turn away.

The crowd begins to disperse, and you with them, until something metal clamps around your wrist. You shriek, adrenaline flooding your system at the surprise, and you are instantly released. “Hey, hey, it’s just me. Jesus kid, I’m sorry. I forgot about the-”

“Mr. Stark,” you say stiffly, not letting him finish his sentence. You eye the metal suit he’s wrapped in carefully. “Can I help you?”

“You’re going to need to come with us.”

“I don’t believe I do,” you say coolly. “I am going home.”

Stark sighs. “Do I have to force you? Because I can, and I will, but we both know you probably can’t handle that right now.”

“What do you want from me? I’m nothing of interest.”

“Yeah, we’ll be the judge of that. This way.” He points to the Quinjet stationed nearby, and the rest of the Avengers gathered around it. God fucking- this is the absolute last thing you need today. You just want to go home and cry. But Stark’s threat looms heavy in the already stifling air, so you follow him, leaving your heart at the ancient sigil now burned into the ground.

The plane ride is silent and efficient, and its occupants may as well be statues. You sit in the farthest corner possible, knees pulled up to your chest, still feeling the warmth emanating faintly from your sweater. You put your cheek to your sweater’s sleeve, fruitlessly hoping it might feel like his touch. It doesn’t. “Can I ask what this is about?”

“You’re going to medical,” Stark replies.

“I’ve already had many examinations. I’m sure I don’t heal as fast as superhumans, but the doctors don’t seem to be concerned with my progress.”

“We’re not talking about broken ribs here,” another voice says. The archer, you think, who’s flying the plane.

“Then what are you talking about.”

“Magic.”

That throws you for a second. “Excuse me?”

“We all saw what you did back there,” Stark comments. “With the-” he taps his cheek.

Your eyes widen. “What of it?” You say hotly, immediately on the defense. “I didn’t realize it was any of your business.”

“Look, kid, I don’t know who you think you are, but when someone goes up and kisses the cheek of the god of mischief who just so happened to attack all of Manhattan less than a year ago? Something is wrong. Very wrong. But don’t worry, we know how to reverse it. You’re going to be fine.”

Several pieces click into place in your brain. You wish they hadn’t. Because if Stark is suggesting what you think he’s suggesting- your hands clench into fists. “You think he’s mind controlling me.”

“We know he is, kid, we’ve seen it before-”

“You think when he came to rescue me, he, what? Magicked me instead? That he conscripted all those Hydra agents to beat me nearly to death just for an out?” Your voice has been steadily rising, and a curly headed man in the corner is starting to look uncomfortable- they all are, really- but you hardly care. “You are such an ornery, bull-headed, imperceptive-”

“Kid-”

“He would never do such a thing,” you snarl. “How dare you.”

“Okay, hold up.” The same man who spoke before from the cockpit presses a few buttons, then enters the conversation properly. “He would never? Are you kidding me? He did. With me. With other agents. Good people, I might add. And he forced us to do-” he cuts himself off, shakes his head roughly. Romanov puts a gentle hand on his wrist.

“I am very sorry about what he did to you, Agent Barton.” Barton looks a little shocked that you know his name. “And I do not make excuses for his actions.”

“Then why the hell-”

“I’m sorry.” You snap to your feet, anger rolling off of you in waves. “But did everyone here get atoned for their sins and suddenly become saints when I had my back turned?” Every word you spit from your mouth is a dagger, embedding themselves into the air around you. “Because the last time I checked, I am sitting here with two master assassins, a billionaire who made his money off weapons of mass destruction, and a man who I’m assuming willingly subjected himself to scientific experimentation so he could kill people more effectively. I don’t know who you are,” you gesture to the man who’s looking a little green in the face. “But if you’re in with this crowd I’m willing to bet you’re not so innocent either.”

“How much blood do each of you have on your hands? How many people have you killed? Do you think that just because you’ve joined a cause all that destruction just gets wiped from your ledgers? Now you,” you point a finger at the Captain. “You kill Nazis, as far as I know. I might give you a pass for that. But I’m willing to bet there’s someone out there who even you’d make very, very bad decisions for.” You can tell you touched a nerve there, because the Captain definitely looks a little haunted by your words.

“And you!” You turn on Stark. “Jesus Christ, every stupid move you’ve made in your entire life is most likely because Howard Stark was probably a really, really shitty dad.” You laugh at that a little, and you try to ignore when it comes out a touch hysterical. “Try having Odin for a father. Try being played and manipulated from birth. Because I think if for one measly second you tried to put yourself in Loki’s shoes, you might find that you’re really not all that different.

Loki fucked up. Big time. On a massive scale. I know that. You know that. He also knows that, though I don’t think any of you ever bothered to find that out. Have none of you, not a single one, ever fucked up because you were hurting? Because it all just became too much? I just spent the last ten months with the God of Lies, so don’t bother lying to me. We all have. And because you’re sitting here, each and every one of you got a second chance to redeem yourselves. You got a do over. A restart, to prove that you yourself aren’t defined by those shitty mistakes. This ‘Avengers Initiative’ is one big shot at forgiveness for all of you. Why doesn’t Loki deserve that same chance?”

You look each and every one of them in the eye, staring down the most powerful people on earth who could snap you like a twig with a casual hug, but you aren’t afraid. You’re not. You’re mad, and heartbroken, and tired of shortsighted people who think they know it all when really they’re just… ignorant.

“Loki has been messing up for thousands of years,” the Captain says firmly. “Thor told us-”

“And I’m sure he conveniently left out all the times he messed up over the past thousand years. He’s not so clean either. Trust me, I’ve got a masters in mythology. I could tell you some stories, if you’d take the time to hear them. But you won’t, because Thor is your friend, and I get it, you have soft spots for your friends. You give friends second chances. You forgive your friends. Loki’s never had a friend, not really. But I’m his friend. And I forgive him. And I gave him the second chance he deserves.”

A very long moment passes. “But he did save my life,” you say shortly. “So, I guess I’m biased.”

A/N: Hi I definitely posted this on Ao3 and forgot to post on here so you all get two chapters tonight! Woo!

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andrcs · 4 years

Text

hey friends waddup ! i’m jen , just turned 23 ( n am already feelin it ) , from the gmt-2 tmz , n i go by she/her pronouns . i had about , like , half an hour of sleep today n i’m actually redoing this entire intro because as i was editing the finished version to post it , i accidentally deleted the whole thing n tumblr wouldnt let me have it back ! it’s fine i’m fine :-) anywho i’m gonna let yall go n learn a lil more about our friend andre ! hopefully u like him but if u don’t thats ok bc sometimes i don’t either !!

𝐈. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 :

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : andre harris solomon .

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : n/a .

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 : august fourth , 1991 .

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 : leo .

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : cco of solo conglomerate .

𝐈𝐈. 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 :

during the solomon’s dynasty , the family had its fair share of tumbles and quite a few scandals . great uncle abel being arrested after trying to steal half his brother’s fortune was one was a big example . may god bless the traitous bastard’s soul . also cousin denzel , declaring in the middle of thanksgiving dinner he wanted to be a opera singer , of all fucking things , and giving grandpa harrison an almost stroke , could be counted . no matter what , though , nothing prepared the family to watch the solomon fortune’s heiress coming home on her christmas break during her freshman year in college with a baby bump and no father to claim the child she carried .

in the following years , with the slightly judgemental help of all of her closest relatives , but most of all , the never ending support of her parents , gaia solomon managed not only to get her college diploma , enter the family business and help solo grow into the biggest media conglomerate of the western hemisphere , one that had a solid hand over pretty much all aspects of media and entertainment . chances are if you wanted to publish or sign a record label deal or be on a tv show , sooner or later you would encounter someone from solo . but she had also manage to raise with the utmost love and care , no lack of sacrifices , and a healthy amount of ear-pulling , a man she can’t help to be most proud of .

andre solomon never knew who his father was , or cared to . and as far as his mother was concerned , he didn’t have a father . as a child , he never felt like he was missing anything in life , there was no angry void aching to be filled , no painful moments to remember his childhood by . he had been happy . no matter how busy his mom was , she was always loving and attentive whenever she was around , played baseball and football and soccer with him whenever he asked her to , and grandpa harrison was always available if the boy ever needed a guy figure in his life . of course , there were some bumps and bruises along the way , and a pinky finger he never fully got the feeling back , but it was a beautiful , fulfilling childhood .

as a teenager , recently acquainted with a never seen before freedom , and just out of puberty , andre grew more acquainted with getting in trouble . thankfully , nothing like cousin gina , who had to cut off a part of her ear after piercing it by herself with her tenth grade friends . while rambunctious and mischievous , he was always to smart to get caught doing something that could get him in any kind of real trouble , and by then , the family knew that they could trust andre to not be too irresponsible , and even if they didn’t , at least he had both ears intact .

a full grown adult , after getting his marketing degree in northwestern university , andre followed his mother’s footsteps and worked hard to climb the organizational ladder and reach the cco position , becoming one of his grandfather’s valued advisors along the way . these days , he works hard to keep his image clean and his professional life very well separated from his private one , being very succesful at it thus far .

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 :

andre can definitely be considered a little bit too cocky in his confidence . he knows his strengths and doesn’t believe in fake humility , always eager to be praised by whatever actions . also very focused , he feels as if he knows exactly what he deserves in all aspects of his life , and doesn’t hesitate to work for it until he’s satisfied .

he is also , however , a very fun loving individual . andre believes in the motto work hard , play hard . and you can definitely find him going on expensive trips to exotic locations or some rich person adventure more often that he’d like to admit . is constantly surrounded by a-list celebrities or clout chasers who attach to him due to his connections into the industry . and as being the center of attention is one of his favorite things , he absolutely adores it .

very , extremely sarcastic and definitely not the most outwardly affectionate person , it takes a lot to get him to soften up , but andre’s also extremely loyal to those he knows are his real friends , and always makes sure that they are with him no matter where he goes and what he gets .

is known to be quite the ladies’ man , and often lives up to the reputation , even though he’s settled down quite happily a few times during his adulthood . he’s not averse to relationships , per say , but also doesnt want to jump in carelessly , specially when he’s not felling the situation . is frequently engaged in some sort of drama with the girls in his life and even though he claims to dislike it , he loves all the attention he gets from them ( ew , i hate him , he’s gross )

𝐈𝐕. 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 :

childhood best friend / chicago native ( 1 / 2 ) : people who’ve known him since before he hit puberty and became cool and who are with him til this very day . they might not be best friends for whatever reason but still are closer than most friendships out there . ( pearl , )

flings / could be past or present : could also range from the silliest to the most angsty stuff , andre definitely has the repertoire for it .

ride or dies ( 2 / 6 ) : truly ride or dies , his closest group of friends , the ppl that are with him no matter where he is and the only people outside his family he’d do whatever for . ( devin , watson )

exes / chicago native ( 2 / 2 ) : i have some ideas about them but lets just say one would have ended in decently good terms and one would not . ( vera , aurora )

friend with interests ( 0 / 2 ) : andre has a lot of ins with the media industry , and this person would definitely have an ulterior motive to hang around him , whether he’s realised it yet or no .

flirtationship ( 1 / 1 ) : first of all i hate that word my GOD but also , would be a kind of thing where they’d both be feeling each other but for some reason things just wouldn’t progress ? ( elissa )

there is a lot more but i’ve just written this thing twice in a row n my brain is currently just 2 neurons barely communicating so i should probably quit while i’m ahead ? but pls message me bc if u want to know some more about andre or come up w plots or just talk about how hot mbj is n how unfair it is that the rpc doesnt gif him nearly enough ? or we could also talk abt something i might be delusional rn so i have a bunch of interesting topics ok bye thanks for sticking around i love uuuu

#░ ▹ 𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 / / oh jenny !#wealthyhq:intro #oof this has been a ride ladies n gents #and am i glad to be done with it #also raise ur hand if u have a cousin gina in ur life

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