#this bitch gonna ascend so far he’s gonna meet god
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“precious thing” oh bye 🧎♀️
#I CAAAAANT#sweet thing/precious thing make me weak i cannot do this#i am gonna ascend astarion so hard#this bitch gonna ascend so far he’s gonna meet god#baldurs gate 3#sunny says nonsense
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and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo
hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.
summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.
No, you are not.
“We’re engaged to be married.”
No, you are not.
After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?
fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.
When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.
When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”
That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”
The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”
He left.
Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.
Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.
Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.
He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.
But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.
He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.
“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”
“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.
“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.
“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”
“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”
You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”
He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”
“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”
“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”
“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.
“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”
You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”
You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.
“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”
You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”
His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”
Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.
“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”
How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?
You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.
A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.
You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.
Would he take credit for your work again?
You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.
You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”
“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”
A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.
“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”
“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”
Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.
You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.
One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.
You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.
“C’mere, you little shit—”
He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.
“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”
“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”
“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”
Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.
You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—
Yeah.
While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?
What an idiot.
When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?
You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.
God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.
The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”
Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.
“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”
Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—
“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”
You just stared at him.
“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”
Oh, my God.
Holy fucking shit.
“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”
Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.
Don’t fuck this up.
Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”
“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”
You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.
When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.
“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”
Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?
His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”
You know.
“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”
“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”
You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”
“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”
You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.
But so were you.
***
Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.
“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”
“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”
“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”
“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”
You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).
Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.
He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.
Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”
You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”
“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.
“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”
You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.
Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.
But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?
Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.
And gut says make Hawks eat shit.
“You think I’m cute?”
“I know you’re cute.”
You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.
“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”
Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.
He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.
Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.
Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”
Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”
“Was I good?”
Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”
“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.
“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.
You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”
“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”
“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”
“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”
“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”
Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).
Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”
“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.
“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”
Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”
“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”
Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”
“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”
“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”
“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”
Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!
Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?
“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”
“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”
“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”
Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.
Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”
Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”
You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll join you.”
“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.
Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”
“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”
***
“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”
Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”
If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.
“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”
Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.
“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”
Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.
“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.
“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”
Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.
“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?
With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”
Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.
“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”
“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”
You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.
***
When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.
The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.
Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”
“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.
His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”
Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.
“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”
God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”
“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”
“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.
“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”
***
“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.
Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”
“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?
Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”
“No explanation?”
“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.
“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.
“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.
“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”
“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”
He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.
You’re going to wring his neck.
You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.
The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).
“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.
Yet you shook your head.
***
“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.
“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”
��Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”
“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”
Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”
“Promise?”
***
When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.
You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.
***
“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”
Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”
“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”
You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.
Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.
The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.
God. You’re going to throw up.
The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.
Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.
The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.
“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”
Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?
You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.
You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.
Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.
Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.
“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”
“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”
From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”
“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”
Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.
“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”
Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—
Time.
You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?
No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.
Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.
You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.
He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.
Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—
“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”
You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.
You can’t deal with anyone new right now.
A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.
Oh god oh fuck not now
“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”
Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.
And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.
And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.
When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”
You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.
He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”
Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.
“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”
Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.
He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”
“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.
“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”
Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.
“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”
Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”
“Window,” you said.
“Window?”
“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”
“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.
Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.
“Better?”
“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.
“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”
“Not right now.”
Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.
Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?
Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?
Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.
But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.
The last ten months had proved that.
“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”
Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.
(Bird man big and safe.)
([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])
(BIRD MAN SAFE—)
Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.
Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.
Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.
For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)
Don’t think!
When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.
Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—
Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.
Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.
It’s what he wants.
Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.
“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”
“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”
It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”
Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”
His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.
You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.
***
“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”
He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”
“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”
“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.
“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”
“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”
“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”
“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”
“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”
Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”
“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.
“It’s your finger?”
“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.
“No?”
“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”
“You’re popping it?”
“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”
“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”
“Can I film it?”
“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”
“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”
“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”
He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”
“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”
“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”
“Describe them to me.”
“I can show you—”
“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”
“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”
“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.
“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”
“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”
“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.
Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”
He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).
“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.
You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.
You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.
He waited for you.
“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”
He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”
“I’m missing something.”
“I know.”
“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.
“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”
“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”
“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”
“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”
Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.
“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”
Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.
So, this is it. The way out.
Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.
“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”
Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.
Where do you go from here?
You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”
You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.
***
Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.
You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.
Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.
You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.
And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.
And maybe you do, too.
Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.
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The Covenant Campaigns: A Timeline
So, this is gonna cover all 9 chapters of each of the campaigns, so it’ll cover all the story for each thus far, which might be spoiler-y if you haven’t played through all four.
Three of the Covenant campaigns are connected to each other, while Ardenweald’s is a complete beast of it’s own. I threw it in for approximate times, but like who knows?
The first Maw Walker makes a choice of which covenant to go to.
Other Maw Walkers coming to the Shadowlands make their choices.
The Maw Walkers are introduced to their covenant halls, and sent to Torghast to try to save their leaders. They meet the Runecarver, and somehow fail to tell anyone that a giant ass man who can make epics is there. The Night Fae do a theatre performance of All The Shit You’ve Been Through *jazz hands*.
The venthyr meet with the Harvesters to try to pull together a unified front; it does not work. The Necrolords aid the remnants of the House of Eyes. The Kyrian aid Kleia in getting her wings and damn Ben Howell’s soul to the Maw. Devos destroys the altar and reveals she is the leader of the Forsworn.
The Night Fae go to the Maw to find Tyrande, follow her into Torghast, and bring a metric shitton of kaldorei souls back to Ardenweald who somehow don’t count toward the souls needed for sanctum upgrades because of course they don’t.
The venthyr secure Thornhill Manor for the resistance, reclaiming it under Theotar’s name and then acquire the Medallion of Desire from their frenemy, the Countess. The Necrolords acquire a necropolis. The Kyrian kill Devos and the Archon promises to reconsider her shit (she doesn’t).
The Night Fae are contacted by Bwonsamdi who is concerned that some Loa souls are going missing. It’s Mueh’zala, being an ass and making deals with the Jailer. The Winter Queen is not pleased.
The venthyr acquire the Medallion of Avarice. The Necrolords and Alexandros go to Bastion to clean up the mess the Houses of Constructs and Rituals made. Xandria makes Alexandros feel better about not being chosen for blue hell.
The Kyrian and venthyr aid Mikanikos in recovering Phaestus, Hammer of the Aeons. Mikanikos rebuilds the altar for ascendants for the kyrian and makes a crown to control the harvester medallions for the venthyr.
The Night Fae help a night warrior and his husband, who is cursed because he was helping the Maw Walker. They search for a way to break the Night Warrior mode so that Tyrande doesn’t die horribly.
The Kyrian and Necrolords team up to murder the shit out of the House of Constructs and avenge the Temple of Courage. The kyrian leave with Gharval’s heart to empower their altar, and the necrolords realize that Gharval has been working with the venthyr.
People screaming ‘Harder Daddy’ when Denathrius strangles them make things so awkward that he hides in Remornia to escape them. Everyone calls this a win. The venthyr are happy.
The drust are back on their bullshit and the Night Fae fight them off. While doing so, Ar’alon goes missing.
THE BEST BOI IS AWOKEN IN REVENDRETH. Also Kael’thas is there. The venthyr and necrolords team up to ensure the sindorei prince’s enrichment, try not to piss off the Accuser, and learn that Kel’thuzad is kicking around in Maldraxxus. No one is happy. Around the time this is going on, the Kyrian are in Revendreth with the Curator attempting to blackmail the Countess into helping them. Kleia reveals she is a body builder as she suplexes enemies left and right. The kyrian get the seal of contrition from Revendreth while the necrolords go home to wonder about how Alexandros never heard that Kel’thuzard was in his backyard.
The Night Fae kick Mueh’zala’s ass.
The kyrian go to Ardenweald for the last piece to empower their altar to make super ascendents. Pelagos is mildly traumatized by a new bestie turning into an inanimate object, but gets a cute pet out of it. In the meantime, the venthyr liberate Stonevigil Overlook from the Tithelord and then wreck his shit and get the Medallion of Envy. While that’s going on, the necrolords impersonate a lesbian skeleton, befriend a lich, and find out what Kel’thuzad has been up to (hint: it’s crime).
The Night Fae recruit Ardenweald’s best hunter to find more night warriors to talk about how to save Tyrande. The Night Fae hide as a bush. A very thin, scraggly bush. Somehow this works.
The venthyr and necrolords team up again to assault the House of Rituals. The necrolords forget that Margrave Sin’dane was one of the ones who intentionally fucked with Bastion and cheer when control of her house is returned to her. Surely nothing bad will happen with that. Kael’thas is sad he didn’t get to hit Kel’thuzad in the face with a fireball, but at least the lich is in the Maw now…with his new boss… The venthyr get the Medallion of Domination. Around this time, the Kyrian save the Temple of Humility from a forsworn attack and then go into the Maw, where they find Uther getting his ass handed to him by Lysonia, who is revealed to be batshit crazy and making pacts with Helya. Uther is saved, and he retreats from his responsibilities to think thoughts.
The Night Fae help Bwonsamdi make Mueh’zala his bitch. Vol’jin is there, but ignores all pleas to return to being the Horde’s warchief. Like people would have problems with a ghost warchief. The Night Fae go to the Maw and save a bunch of Loa and Vol’jin gets an upgrade to minor god. People wouldn’t have a problem with a minor god for a warchief either, just saying. Vol’jin please come back. We’ve effectively been left alone in a locked car.
The kyrian retake the Temple of Loyalty. Uther shows back up to tell Lysonia she’s mean, and the Archon decides to keep him around despite his active participation in taking down runes protecting the temples (which made it easier for the maldraxxi to attack in addition to the forsworn), recruiting people from the Temple of Purity and convincing them to attack their brethren in a revolution, and doing nothing to warn the other forsworn he persuaded to leave the path with his talk of keeping memories once he realized that those who didn’t want to become mawsworn were being ensnared and tortured in the Maw. But he said he’s sorry, so it’s cool.
The Nightfae kick the drust’s ass and like damned near everyone dies. What the fuck, seriously. Lady Moonberry even has a line, “Not you, too!” because people are dropping like fucking flies. It is a bad time to be a fairy. The drust are gone at least, so the whole, what, three survivors can throw a party now.
Unresolved Issues within the covenants:
Kyrian: The Archon is still serving the Jailer souls every second of every day and Ben Howell and all the innocent and good and only mildly ass-ish souls not receiving their proper judgments are still in the Maw.
Venthyr: The Medallion of Wrath has not been obtained.
Necrolord: The House of the Chosen is still on its bullshit.
Necrolord: Margrave Sin’dane should be a target for Bastion, as well?
Night Fae: Tyrande is still in the Maw.
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hi! i absolutely LOVE your tgcf au thank you for writing it! i was wondering how he would interact with some of the more prominent canon characters, like the main couple, the three tumors as well as he xuan and sqx as well as their opinions on him since he’s like a giant outlier. i was also curious about how he got some of those ridiculous titles lmao. any particularly ridiculous adventures?
i haven’t actually gotten that far into tgcf so i don’t know who most of these characters are (whoops) but for xie lian? yrz took one look at the weirdo covered in bandages and went ‘oh my god a normal person’. after 2k years of dealing with some of the most arrogant d-bags around, yrz can clock the size of a person’s ego at fifty paces and xl? he’s a regular person with a regular ego. but then yrz learned who xl was and went... ‘.. oh no....a Protagonist...but...a normal conversation...’ and proceeded to slowly fail to keep away from xl because he was just so normal and nice! they friends =) . (possibly more??? is yrz gonna end up the filling in a cannon sandwich again??? idk i haven’t decided)
hua Cheng, after realizing what a sarcastic asshole yrz is due to Shenanigans Yet to Be Decided, likes him a lot pretty much against his will. like, almost as much as xl (he’s never gonna like anyone better than xl, let us be real). plus he’s never forgotten how many nights he didn’t go to sleep hungry due to yrz’s temples giving out food.
For titles, I only have the two mentioned in the fic so far, but i know he’s got a couple more. for Humble Scholar Bows to Lotus, he was dragged to a mortal party by some young idiot gods (this was around year one hundred of being a god and no one realized quite how powerful yrz would end up being so no one tried to make him stay in heaven) and got ditched there. he drinks in a corner because of course he does, and turns out it was some preeety strong wine -- like. strong enough to intoxicate a god. Why did these random humans have such strong wine? *shrug emoji*
so, yrz, drunk out of his mind, walks to the middle of a random lotus pond because he’s a god and fuck it he can cosplay Jesus if he wants. there’s only one lotus in the lake because it’s the wrong climate/season or whatever. all of the mortals around see him doing this and go what the fuck, because obviously. yrz sits in the middle of the pond and starts bitching about being ditched at a party again, isn’t he supposed to be beyond this as a god, blah blah, whatever. to the mortals, who can’t hear him, yrz looks like an ethereal young man dressed as a scholar who walked on water and started conversing with a single lotus flower sitting in the middle of the lake. after some time, the mortals witness yrz bow deeply to the lotus flower (’thanks for listening to my bitching’), get up, and turn into a pillar of light (ascending to heaven to sleep off the hangover). before he goes, he hiccups and loses control of his godly powers the tiniest bit. The lotus flower is now glowing slightly. after a second, it begins to grow and grow and grow until the whole pond is almost smothered with lotus flowers, every single one of them perfectly formed. one of the mortals recognizes yrz as a god from his homeland and says ‘he must have gained some advice about perseverance from the flower and helped it cultivate in gratitude!’ and everyone else goes sure that makes sense. they start praising yrz for his humble nature, a rare god willing to listen to the advice of a single lotus flower, hence Humble Scholar Bows to Lotus. yrz wakes up to a new title, a new shrine around the lotus pond, and a case of terminal embarrassment. he swears off drinking and parties altogether. (the shrine becomes the site of his biggest, most important temple, and the lotus flower still blooms there all year round.)
Blue Glass Blade Cuts Heaven is slightly less embarrassing, but yrz still refuses to think about it. one day yrz gets an offering from a famous glass sculptor -- an incredibly beautiful sword made of blue glass. Even the hilt and pommel are glass. yrz loves this sword, but he’s not big on purely ornamental things and his followers know that, so he goes to test it out like you do. he descended to the mortal world because gods are getting annoyingly curious about what he’s doing around this time (about 500 years after ascending, about half his generation is gone already but yrz just keeps getting stronger). he asks a lady where a place nobody lives is becasue he doesn’t want to hurt anyone while testing his cool new sword, and gains a guide in the form a scared young man. in fact, everyone is scared, but yrz isn’t paying attention because new sword. the guide takes yrz a day away to a place that feels dead, and yrz is please because yeah nothing lives here, sweet. Thanks guide, ignores guides stuttered warnings and draws his sword. guide isn’t leaving for some reason, so yrz points away from him -- and swings.
fun fact: the sword is not ornamental.
it not only doesn’t break, in fact, it’s so well made that it concentrates yrz’s qi into the cut. there's nothing but destruction for at least a mile. the clouds above are scattered. yrz is like hm. HM. hhhhhmm. that’s awkward. the guide starts thanking him in tears, babbling about some sort of evil tree or something sucking the life out of the area and apparently yrz cut it down on accident? yrz tells the guide his name because the guy won’t let go of his robes until he does, and nopes right out of there by meeting himself back up into heaven. miss me with that emotional shit, yo. only it turns out that the sword was strong enough to pierce all the way to heaven, and left a nasty gash in the main square. yrz goes to hide in his cave for a few years to avoid the backlash before anyone finds out it’s him. they do find out eventually, but no one is willing to push it by then for some reason. yrz is pleased he dodged a bullet.
until prayers start coming in for Blue Glass Blade Cuts Heaven. the rest is history.
#wow this got long#all yrz's names have stupid stories attached to them sorry i don't make the rules#bfiasc au#bfiasc#vrrm writes#you've got questions we've got answers#tgcf#hob#Anonymous
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Sole Mates🦶❤️🦶 (Bakugou x Reader)
Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞
Part 1, Part 3
Part 2:
Izuku Midoriya never thought that he would be the kind of boy to fall so passionately in love. To be frank, he wasn’t sure if he would ever fall in love. He was a nervous wreck throughout his daily life—probably only a hair away from a mental breakdown at any given moment of the day, so if you were to add a girl into the equation his anxiety would certainly increase exponentially.
That’s why, when he stumbled upon you seven years ago, during his freshman year at U.A., romance was probably the last thing on his mind.
The first time he saw you was actually pretty fleeting. You worked at a small convenience store near U.A. that he would sometimes go to when he needed miscellaneous things for his dorm. In fact, he is sure that your first words to him were, “Your total comes to 1480 yen.”
He knew that they were simple words, but he just wished someone would tell his heart that! The muscle had inconsiderately thumped against his chest as his hand shakily handed you the cash. He was sure that it stopped beating altogether when you blessed his day with a lingering smile as you handed him his items, gently biting your lips to keep from smiling too hard, “Thanks, please come again,” you had drawn out as you tilted a daring expression toward him.
Was—was tha--? No. No way you were flirting with him. Him? You? You and him!?
Izuku had tried to blink those ridiculously hopeful thoughts out of his head as he turned away from you. He had tried to forget the gorgeous way that you sang your goodbye to him when the bells to the store front rang as he made his exit, and how happy you looked when he threw one final glance back at you. He had tried so hard.
There were far too many stresses in his life at the time—with the League at full force, his work study with Endeavor, and of course, his mastering of One for All all needing his dire attention, but that wouldn’t keep him from stealing timid glances for the next few months whenever he returned to the convenience store.
One day Izuku had found himself staring at you for a bit longer than he had meant to, ‘Crap.’ he had suddenly caught himself as the two of you made brief eye contact before throwing his eyes back toward the items in his clammy hands. God, why was he being so creepy? You must hate it every time he comes here.
Izuku’s heart dropped at the thought, ‘Well… Maybe she didn’t notic-‘
“Hey, Green eggs and Ham!” he heard your voice firmly call out, sending him into a deep panic,
‘Me? Does she mean me? She must hate me. Oh god, she is gonna call me out for staring at her all the time. I mean, if I were her and some weirdo was coming to my store to gawk, I would be a little creeped out too. B-but It’s not like I come here only for her! I have groceries! Oh no! She probably does think I come here to stalk h—’
“You’re never gonna ask me out on a date,huh?” you planted your cheek against the palm of you hand as you leaned toward him on the checkout counter. You smiled, almost sadly at him as you waited for him to answer.
Izuku shook his head slightly as he tried to readjust his hearing, because there is no way in hell he just heard you right, “W-w-wha…” you suddenly spoke up and cut off his stuttering,
“If you’re not feeling me, then stop looking at me like that,” you rolled your eyes, standing yourself back up straight, “You’re kinda getting my hopes up, dude,” you shrugged your shoulders before returning to your small tasks: re-shelfing tidying etc.…
“Y-your... up... hopes?” Izuku could only stand a stammering mess as his overwhelmed brain tried to compute the information thrown at it. An imaginary light-bulb suddenly appeared with a sharp “ding!” above his head.
He gave a sigh as if he were preparing his thoughts on the tip of his tongue, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare it’s just… you’re really pretty…” he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he looked toward the ground. He looked back up to meet with your shocked expression. He jumped as if your face had suddenly thrown a left hook in his direction before furiously correcting his statement, “N-not to be creepy or anything. I am sure you get that a lot, so you know I don’t mean anything by that! Well, I am not saying that to be flirty or something, I don’t have a crush or anything! Ha! That would be ridiculous! You don’t even know my name, although Green eggs and Ham is a new one. I haven’t heard that one be—"
“Well I do,” you abruptly cut him off as you raised an eyebrow into your wide-smiling expression.
“W-what.”
“Have a crush. On you.” You nonchalantly shrugged your shoulders, “Want to meet up after I get off in an hour?”
Izuku’s heart had practically dropped straight out of his chest, and he was sure that he was ascending on his way to heaven. He somehow managed to gather up enough life force to accept your request, and after that day the ball began rolling fast.
Like a clump of snow pushing its way downhill, your small dates quickly accumulated and turned into a full-fledged relationship. It was very easy for Izuku to fall into you. You were very assertive and knew exactly what you wanted out of your days. You were never exactly the shy type, and that must have rubbed off on him and given him the support that he needed to become more sure of himself.
As your uplifting whirlwind of romance progressed, the two of you rapidly meshed into one being, your personalities mixing and bringing out the best qualities of one another. As much as you would have denied it at the time, you two were almost too involved with one another-- pretty much inseparable. Despite this, the two of you hardly ever hung out at U.A., and even when you did, he would, only after being reassured a million times that you wouldn’t get caught, sneak you into the Alliance dorms.
Even though the two of you never actually did get caught, the thought of you being so close to his other life brought him an unexpected sense of dread. Izuku didn’t necessarily want to introduce you into his hero life. Even as a young boy of fifteen he knew that his life had a certain degree of danger that he would never want to involve you in. Your quirk was very small and wouldn’t help much of you were ever in a dangerous position.
Still, he was sure that you would never have to worry about any of that, because he would keep you as far away from his dangerous lifestyle as possible. He was sure that he could do it, because of your endless enthusiastic support for him.
Izuku was so sure, in fact, that he proposed to you only weeks after the two of you graduated high school and you got married a year after that. The wedding was small—only having a few of your closest friends and family and some faces on his side that were slightly unfamiliar to you. You had met his mother years prior of course, but the wedding was actually the first time that you had met any of his friends from high school, or anyone associated with his hero life really, and you didn’t really see much of them after the fact—until your daughter was born.
Your daughter, (D/N), or Koko as the two of you liked to call her, was born a little after you were married when you were only 20 years old. You two hadn’t planned to have a baby so early and neither of you really knew how to take care of child at all. You fumbled around for only a while before finally giving in and allowing outside help from some of his friends.
After all it takes a village to raise a child and six heads is better than two. Todoroki, Iida, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu all pitched in to help raise Koko for her first three years of life and helped to life a tremendous weight off your shoulders.
But with that innocent opening came a flood of misfortune.
It was as if the safe little bubble that held the two of you in place, had suddenly burst wide open allowing the evils of this world to rip you apart.
Izuku flinched at the sudden memories as if he were trying to jerk away from them before the painful ones could emerge. He tried to refocus on only you as you furiously sat on your hospital bed.
He couldn’t help the sudden ache in his heart as you threw an awkward glance in his direction, but the two of you made eye contact, causing your gaze to dart away from his forlorn expression. He had been missing the enthusiastic look in your eyes for the past two years. He missed the light determination that was also etched in your voice as it loudly and proudly carried into the atmosphere.
Here he was, 10 months after the finalization of your divorce, finally looking you in the eyes again, holding a conversation…
So, why, in God’s name, did it have to be this one?
“Bonded,” The green haired man instinctively pinched this chin as he thought, “A quirk that allows to you now only read each other’s minds but feel each other’s pain and presence. I have never heard of a quirk like that before, although I guess it is similar to a telekinesis quirk mixed in with a consciousness transfer quirk. Although the two of you don’t swap consciousness, just share pieces of it…” his mutterings trailed off and were shortly after followed by Bakugou’s enraged shrieking,
“THAT’S WHAT THE HELL I JUST SAID, YOU NERD!” he seethed, grinding his teeth in a slender effort to keep from snatching up the other man by the collar of his shirt again. This day honestly couldn’t get any worse. Seriously! How the hell, out of the millions of people in this city, did he get in such a fucked-up TV drama of a situation with fucking Deku’s ex-wife?
Let’s repeat that for emphasis. HOW in the ever-loving FUCK did his end up with a shitty, nagging bitch of a woman prying around in his mind, with shitty annoying Deku also butting into his business, in the middle of what was supposed to be a shitty easy job, and end up in a in a shitty fucking hospital!! He was wearing a god damn gown for Christ’s sake!
A sudden thought of yours popped into his mind—sending a hot wave of blood to his cheeks.
Izuku took Bakugou’s sudden pause as an opportunity to faintly speak up, “Sorry it’s just... a lot to take in,” he tried his hardest not to let his gaze fall in your direction.
“Don’t apologize to him, Izuku,” you addressed him for the first time, causing his heart to flutter. His name rolling off of your tongue also gave your stomach invisible butterflies but you continued despite this, “This is all his fault,” you turned to Bakugou, causing the mentioned blond to snap a quick glare at you, “This is all your fault!” you barked to the angry porcupine of a man.
He immediately barked back, “How the hell is it my fault? You were the hero wannabe that stuck her nose where it didn’t belong!” As he screamed back, Izuku could only watch in horror as the two most head-strong people that he knew began heatedly bickering back and forth.
He was only shocked out of his stunned state as you threw yourself forward toward Bakugou with an accusing finger, your body almost following after off of the side of the bed. “Your feral ass is the one who scared off our only lead! He was snatching kids!” you yelled incredulously toward Izuku, “If someone talked to my kid like that, I would…” you trailed off as a lie almost fell out of your mouth. You decidedly fixed your angry face back toward Bakugou, “well I guess I wouldn’t run away like she did. I would beat your ass!”
His hands angrily crackled, the heat of them at his sides causing his hospital gown to whip violently at the bottom hem, “I’d like to see you try, hag!”
“Hag?!” You clumsily jumped out of the hospital bed, but Izuku held out a soft arm in front of you. You ignored his pleading glance as your hot gaze could only fixate on Bakugou, “You’re not too good looking yourself! And you smell like burnt shit.” This egotistical asshole might have gotten by with treating other people like shit, but you’d be dammed if you were gonna let him walk all over you.
“Liar! I can read your mind, you know!” he snapped, causing your heart to momentarily drop before he nastily continued with a deep smirk, “You’ve been wondering how I “can still look so sexy in a hospital gown”, perverted bitch!”
Both yours and Izuku’s jaw dropped at the accusation. As Izuku’s heartbroken eyes darted to yours, searching for the truth, your face became sizzling hot with a rush of emotion—the forefront feeling being rage. You most certainly did not feel that way about an egotistical piece of burning garbage like him. He must be mind-illiterate because there is no way that that thought was read correctly.
But before you could open your mouth to respond, Izuku, who’s emotions had also been building during this entire dispute, finally exploded,
“KNOCK IT OFF!” his soft demeanor cracked, revealing a seriously frustrated man, “Kacchan, don’t talk to her like that.” He very seriously demanded. He knew that, because of Bakugou’s hatred for instruction, he wouldn’t be able to say his next point if he didn’t continue quickly, “You both need to calm down, or else I am gonna have to ask you to leave,” he said lowly, causing your eyebrows to sharply raise. You had only ever heard him talk this seriously on two occasions.: the night All Might died, and the day the two of you decided to get a divorce.
“Like you can fucking tell me what to do, Deku,” he snapped back, before throwing his clenched fist tightly at his sides, wishing that he had some pockets on this stupid ass gown to throw them into. He scoffed at Izuku’s unphased glower before turning away toward the room’s exit, “Tch. I don’t fucking care. I’ll go right now! You two idiots wouldn’t be able to help much anyway. I’ll fix it my damn self,” he stopped around the frame’s corner.
‘Well that was unexpected,’ You watched Bakugou’s figure retreat with a sudden heavy feeling in your chest. What the fuck what even was that feeling?
Guilt?
Shit, it just might be.
You had been just as much of a brat as him, if not more, so you were just as much as him to blame for things getting out of hand. You anxiously bit your lower lip as you contemplated apologizing to him. You were far from being above apologizing. You were certainly a type of person that could admit when they were wrong, and It was hard to deny that you would need Bakugou’s presence if you wanted to figure out this whole ‘bonded’ situation. The sole of your foot throbbed simply at the thought.
Dammit, guilt is not a good look for you.
Izuku’s voice abruptly knocked you out of your thoughts, “I know this is probably the last thing you want to do right now, but I don’t think you should go home alone,” you averted your gaze away from him as the heavy realization that you two were now in isolation together sunk in. He awkwardly continued, “The nursed told me you could be released right now, but needed to be watched, so… would you mind if I took you to pick up Koko from my mom and then maybe I stayed with you two for a few days?”
Koko.
Her name suddenly slapped you in the face, harshly reminding you about your life outside of this “TV drama” as Bakugou had thought of it as. What did this situation entail for your everyday life? Would you be able to work as efficiently as before? Was everything you strived for the past few years about to be ripped from your grasp? Hell no.
Your body involuntarily moved as you stepped toward the door to find Bakugou; however, a gentle hand found its way around your arm. You followed the appendage up its length and found Izuku’s beautiful, yet anxious eyes, “Where are you going? I-I know it will be weird with me being around again all of a sudden, but I only want to help. Nothing else, I promise.”
He could, in theory be a massive help to you figuring this “foot mate predicament thingy” out. He was extremely clever, and was the number one hero in Japan, but… also your ex-husband with whom you had… unresolved issues with. Were you even able to suck up the wagon full of emotional baggage that was between you two?
Then again, the angry porcupine didn’t seem like much of a better option either to be honest.
Fuck. What should you do?
Should you follow after Bakugou and apologize? Or go home with Izuku?
YOU DECIDE
Click this link to cast your vote!
#bakugou imagine#bakugou katsuki#boku no hero academia#bakugou x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#izuku x reader#my hero academia#bnha x reader#bnha#my hero fanfic#mha#bnha imagine#bnha imagines#mha imagine#mha imagines#mha x reader#midoriya x reader#deku x reader#deku imagine#midoriya imagine#izuku mydoria#interactive series#interactive stories#solemates
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Love Bug
Day Three of #ineffablehusbandsauweek by @ineffablehusbandsweek.
Today we venture into a small-town that seems pulled from a Hallmark movie: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599846
Aziraphale paced the length of the waiting room, nervously twirling his ring and hoping that his darling was saveable - if only because he couldn’t handle thinking about the cost of replacement. Grace had been in the family for years - it’d be a shame that a silly thing like a trip into the country would put her out of commission.
But she’d been sputtering and smoking for the past few weeks - this had been inevitable.
The door opened and he'd never been more grateful to have been ready to speak because at least it hid the dropping of his jaw. The man who walked out was unfairly attractive - disheveled in a way that looked purposeful. His coveralls were tied around his waist, leaving him in a loose black tank and there were grease stains covering the lightly defined muscles of his arms and the long-fingered hands.
When he glanced up, the mechanic took a moment to stare at him - Aziraphale bit down a sigh at the sight of his molten gold eyes - and then took a step towards him.
“You must be the owner of the Volkswaggen,” he reached out a hand, then looking down at the grease, wiped it on the coveralls. “Sorry, I’m filthy, otherwise I’d shake your hand.”
Aziraphale’s mind caught up as the man spoke, “Right, yes. Is Gracie going to be okay? Is she - y’know - ascending to car heaven?”
Though he wanted to smack himself for that comment, it was worth it for the sharp smile that bloomed on the mechanic’s face.
“Nah, nothing of the sort, dove,” said the mechanic. “I’m Crowley, by the way and your - Gracie - she’s gonna be just fine. Just had a little leak that ended up making a bigger mess. Nothing that should break the bank.”
“Oh, wonderful,” said Azirpahale, shoulders dropping with relief. “I’m Aziraphale. Thank you so much for doing this so last minute. How much do I owe you?”
Crowley shook his head, “Nothing at the moment. I’m afraid to say that she’ll be out of commission for a few days at the least - the clean up’s gonna be a bitch.”
Tension returning, Aziraphale felt himself lose color, “Oh, dear. Oh, I was meant to head back home tomorrow. Gabriel will be so cross. I wasn’t meant to be away so long and, I’d only set up a room for a couple of days and now - ”
“Easy there, dove,” said Crowley, hands outstretched but just out of reach. “Take a seat, you look like you’re going to double over. Deep breaths, that’s it, dove. We’ll get you sorted out.”
As Aziraphale sat in one of the rickety, blue plastic chairs and focused on the gold eyes that were now watching him so worried as the mech - as Crowley - squatted before him and, despite the state of his hands reached out towards him. He greedily took the spindly fingers and relished in the warmth of the hand.
“There, we’ll work through it, alright?” he waited until Aziraphale nodded, then swept a thumb across the back of his hand and continued, “I’ll try to get it fixed so you’re not here any more than you need to be. And I have a friend that runs a bed & breakfast, I’m sure she can squeeze you in a room. As for this Gabriel, if he has a problem he can shove it.”
A laugh bubbled out of him and the thumb pressed against his knuckle gave a little squeeze, “I don’t want to put anyone out - and Gabriel is my brother…and boss. I was just supposed to be doing a little travel piece and now it’s become immersive.”
“ Ah, that just means that you’ll have a hell of a piece,” said Crowley. “Look, my break starts in a few minutes. How about I treat you to lunch? Least I could do for freaking you out.”
Aziraphale couldn’t believe his luck, so he just gave a nod which was answered with a bright smile.
“Brilliant. Just wait here. Let me get decent if I’m going to be seen out with an angel.”
Without another word, Crowley straightened up and sauntered out towards the workshop, hips swinging while Aziraphale’s eyes tracked the movement with wide-eyes.
Oh, good Lord.
While he waited, Aziraphale called Gabriel, bracing himself for the berating. And, as usual, his brother didn’t disappoint.
“Honestly, sunshine,” sighed Gabriel and the eye-roll was palpable through the phone. “I told you that that car was unreliable. You should’ve just taken the Lexus we offered.”
Aziraphale pouted, “That car was mother’s, Gabriel. You didn’t want it, Michael didn’t want it, but I did - it was one of her favorite things in this world.”
Another sigh, this time more exasperated, “I know, we don’t have to go through it again: I got the newspaper, Michael got the house, and you got the car. I know. Just - are you gonna be able to get the piece to me in time?”
“Yes, Gabriel.”
“Then for all I care,” the man said. “You can stay as long as you want - get a quaint little cottage there, hell, get married to that God-forsaken town. Just - get me the piece. It’s the tie-in to everything else.”
“Alright , I’ll - ” the dial-tone met his voice, “see you soon.”
He pressed the ‘End Call’ button a little harder than needed, but didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought would come from it.
“Whoa, there, take it easy, angel. Don’t want you breaking the phone,” said Crowley’s voice from behind.
Aziraphale turned, blushing, “I just - he just- ”
“I’m sure your brother deserved it. No doubt,” said Crowley, smirking. “But put the muscle away, dove, might need it later.”
Implication dripped off his words and, had his eyes not been covered by glasses, Aziraphale would’ve expected a wink directed in his direction. He was, nonetheless, disappointed that the gorgeous gold had been covered up, but pleasantly distracted by the new outfit donned by his companion.
Tearing his eyes away from the tight shirt and pants, he asked, “So - ahem - lunch?”
Crowley smiled, “I know a perfect place. I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”
A sleek, black Bentley sat waiting and Aziraphale’s jaw did drop this time at the amazing vehicle before them.
“This is yours?”
“Belonged to my grandfather,” said Crowley, preening under the attention. “I’ve kept it in great shape. She’s my little darling.”
Aziraphale couldn’t help be impressed, if a little jealous, as a pout curved his lip, “And I can’t even keep Grace alive.”
“Oh, dove, things happen. She hasn’t looked like this always, believe me. Come on, in you go, let’s get lunch.”
So as Crowley drove around the small town, the two swapped stories about cars, then family, and then into more casual topics as they relaxed - slipping into the bistro amidst laughter and hand swats.
“Oh, you are dreadful, dear.”
“Look, Bea shouldn’t have tried it - they knew what they were getting themself into.”
The server looked between them, then shot Crowley a sly smile that he pointedly avoided, “Hey Tones, who’s your friend that you took a lunch break for?”
Crowley clenched his teeth, “This is Aziraphale. He was having a rough day so I decided to distract him a little. Don’t be nosy, Ligur - that’s not what you get paid for.”
Ligur just scoffed and turned to Aziraphale, “Regardless of his grumpiness, it’s an honor to meet the person that somehow got the hermit out from under a car. I’m Ligur, Crowley’s oldest friends and I’ll be happy to get you anything you want.”
Aziraphale blushed at the attention from the newcomer, “Aziraphale, pleasure to meet you. The spinach quiche sounds good, I think I’ll have that - and a glass of lemonade.”
“Uh-huh, sure thing,” he glanced over at Crowley and asked, “and dessert?”
Crowley bit back a groan, “Ligur.”
“Not - not at the moment, dear. Thank you.”
With a little huff of laughter, Ligur turned to Crowley and took his order, leaving only after he’d ruffled the red-hair out of its perfect disheveledness. Then, pink sprinkling across his cheeks, Crowley turned to Aziraphale.
“Please, don’t let Ligur freak you out, he’s just trying to be funny.”
“Dear, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to squeeze Crowley’s hand. “I know all about annoying friends. Believe me, you are not being judged by the pushiness of your friend.”
With easing shoulders, Crowley smiled, “Thanks, angel. But, trust me, he’s not gonna be the worst of them all.”
It was true.
While they tried to enjoy their lunch, still joking and Crowley taking little breaks to watch the enraptured look on Aziraphale’s face as he ate, more people dropped in to catch a glimpse of their famed ‘hermit’ and his new friend.
Hastur, Ligur’s boyfriend, came in and made snide comments that only ended when Ligur upended a glass of cold water atop his head and swept him out of the bistro. Then came Anathema - the friend with the B&B.
“I have a room with your name on it, Aziraphale,” she said, clasping his hands in hers, then giving a little hum. “Your aura is so bright, querido, like a halo. Ay, que chulo,” then turned to Crowley, “tenías razón, si es un angelito mandado por Dios.”
Crowley blushed and hid his face behind his glass of water as Anathema continued to coo over Aziraphale, telling him that the room would be his for as long as he needed - or until he found better accommodations which he thanked with a bright smile and a shake of her hand.
“She’s very pretty,” Aziraphale said, sipping on his drink and watching Crowley’s reaction.
A quirk of a smile, “Yeah, her fiance thinks so, too.”
“Oh,” said Aziraphale, and a happy wiggle ran through his body. “Well, thank you for lunch, darling, but I think I’ve imposed on you for far too long.”
“No imposition, trust me,” said Crowley. “I’m my own boss and I get to decide how long my lunch break is…so you’re not getting in anyone’s way - trust me.”
“Well, if you say so.”
Anathema was sitting along the flowers of her little cottage when Crowley dropped Aziraphale off and she peeked through the foliage as her friend helped unload the suitcase. Aziraphale knew she was there, he had seen the crest of her curls, but figured that it was just another Ligur incident and should just be ignored.
“Thank you for everything, Crowley,” he said. “Now, you have my number so just let me know when Gracie’s good to go.”
Crowley nodded, “Of course, angel. And I’d say I hope you keep entertained - but I’m sure Ana will find something interesting for you to do. I’ll see you soon.”
“Mind how you go, dear.”
He watched Crowley drive away and when he turned around, he found Anathema perched over the gate - looking far too much like the Cheshire Cat to be comfortable.
“Welcome, Aziraphale,” she said, swinging the gate open. “Ven, amor, let’s get you settled. And then join me and Newt for tea, we’d love to get to know you a little better.”
The woman was intimidating and zipped through the cottage like a hurricane while Newt, a tall and quiet young man, just smiled at Aziraphale and tried to settle her down for a cuppa. Eventually, he won and the woman settled into her white-washed, wooden chair nursing a cup of lavender tea and the couple grilled him until he was hot under his collar and wishing for the earth to swallow him up.
“Don’t look like that, angelito,” Anathema said, patting his cheek as she passed into the kitchen. “We just want to make sure that you’re good enough for our little carino. Crowley’s special to us and he barely ever comes out of his cave.”
Aziraphale focused on her echoing footsteps instead of the heat of his body, “I’m not anything - I - I’m just a failing journalist from London. I’ll be out of town before you know it and - ”
Newt gave a little snort, “Yeah, that’s what Ana thought. It’s what I thought. This town has a way of dragging you into its heart and making you stay.”
“Opens your heart, too,” said Anathema, reappearing and placing a kiss on Newt’s forehead. “Just - keep the possibilities open, okay amor? You never know what might happen. But enough of that, it’s time for sleep - it’s time for good little angelitos to get ready for tomorrow.”
As dismissals go, it was the nicest Aziraphale ever got and he was ushered into his room by an apologetic Newt. He lay in the soft bed and stared at the ceiling with their spirals that he tracked with his eyes and thought of the curve of Crowley’s smile.
He wished nothing more to wrap himself in this life with Crowley and his gold eyes - but his life was in London and wishes only took you so far.
The next afternoon, an unknown number rang Aziraphale’s phone and - with only one unknown person who knew his number - he answered to the drawl of Crowley’s voice.
“Is - is she okay? Are we ready to go?”
Crowley’s silence made Aziraphale nervous, even more so with the sharp intake of air, “Okay, so there might be a little more wrong with Grace than I thought at first glance and I’m going to need some more time.”
As Aziraphale’s breath hitched, Crowley continued in a rush, “Relax, dove, breathe. I’m picking you up and taking you to lunch again - somewhere you won’t be harassed - and we’ll talk this out, alright?”
The soothing tone released some of the tension off his shoulders, “How do you know just the right thing to say?”
“Practice,” said Crowley, laughing. “I’ll be over in a few, angel. Just be ready - the last thing I need is Anathema on my ass.”
Aziraphale joined in laughing, “Of course not, I’ll make sure I’m ready.”
Anathema, like the seer that she was, was already waiting for him at the door of Jasmine Cottage, “Have another date with Crowley?”
He blushed, “Hardly a date, dear. I think that he just - just feels bad that I have such a bum car.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If that were the case, I should be worried about my fiance being taken away from me - his car is worse than yours. Believe me, Aziraphale, this has nothing to do with your car and everything to do with you, chulo.”
She pressed a kiss on his forehead before gliding back into the heart of the home. Aziraphale, rubbing the spot she’d kissed, kept his focus on the road and processed her words.
Angel. Crowley called him ‘angel’, and there was no way it was because he knew the meaning of his name so it had to be a - a pet name. So when the Bentley pulled up to the curb, Aziraphale blushed and hurried in.
“You seem in a better mood then when we last talked,” Crowley said, tilting his glasses to look upon him with bare eyes. “Let me guess, you told off that hardass brother of yours and now are gonna follow your dream and open up your library.”
Aziraphale stopped in the act of putting on his seatbelt to blink over at his companion, “You remember that?”
“Course I do, ‘s hard to forget such a dream,” drawled Crowley, a hint of a pink brushing his cheeks where they met the rim of his glasses. “So, did you tell Gabriel to fuck off?”
“No,” he said, slowly tracking the blush as it made its way lower into the collar of his shirt. “Not just yet. But he did give me permission to stay as long as I want - might even stay forever - with the right incentive.”
Crowley’s hand slid off the wheel as he turned, “O-oh, yeah? And what incentive would that be.”
Aziraphale, feeling bolder than he had in awhile, hummed, “Let’s start with lunch. Then I’ll let you know.”
A small chuckle was coupled with a change in gears, “Then I hope this lunch is everything you’ve ever wanted, angel.”
#ineffablehusbandsauweek#ineffable husbands au week#Ineffable Husbands#aziraphale#crowley#crowley x aziraphale#good omens#gomens#gomens fanfiction#good omens fanfiction#fanfiction#my fanfiction#human au#mechanic au#mechanic crowley#journalist aziraphale#mutual pining#anathema device#anathema & crowley friendship#newton pulsifer#ligur#hastur#gabriel#aziraphale drives a broken down bug
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JayRoy short fanfic I whipped up inspired by this god damned song right here lol👇
youtube
@aceofenderdark i was in a legit mood lol
💘💘💘
Roy speaks in the way that Siren’s sing, flooding venom in to my mouth and watching it drip like a ruptured peach to the sting of front teeth. Ripping such fragile skin into nasty pieces of flesh, letting lay bare the very salacious core hidden in the seam.
His flaming hair has grown out (frequently used to twisting or tying it up into a knot) tonight it remains loose. Untamed. And my fingers play through that somehow flawless shit storm, tangling each lock into madness; they overall might dangle into his glaring eyes but that does nothing to befog the fire smoking from within. He looks wild above me. Never have I asked to be such a blooded piece of meat at the ready to be gutted; staring into the yawning mouth of the lion, of whom, is fucking starved.
Right now, I know that he knows that it’s not his nails nor teeth that I fear will gift me new damage, but his eyes. They inspire, burn, destroy. I’m left suspended in the company of a gore leaking orifice that bellows ‘look at me’ should my mind toe outside the line of our depraved Love Nest; this being no more then the feral charge then skirmish to the floor of a Gotham City safehouse.
We sure are givin’ some poor son of a bitch a show, I think, spotting the newfangled surveillance camera I hadn’t noticed sooner, newly installed high left. My mind darts to Tim making my hands sweat, however, Roy’s fingers bruising my chin pull me back down into the waters of our fucked up little fantasy.
The holsters loyal to each my thighs are disengaged, followed by the faint skidding rattle of two M1911 pistols being launched across a cement floor. This all titters a secret to me that I am now in the hands of no mercy.
It’s during a moment like this (offering myself over to be caught in the line of fire) that I swear by the unholy mess in me that Roy Harper is some sort of Saintly Deity of Insanity that which no god can put a name to. Why else would I worship this fucker’s dick like i do ? Call me crude, vulgar, whatever...doesn’t change the fact that the shitty ass truth, is in fact, the shitty ass truth. That truth being that I demand his unsympathetic grip akin to an infant demanding it’s very first breath of life. The affliction of every scar mapping my body is something that I didn’t fuckin’ ask to be met with, nevertheless, something about the power that comes with directing an overdose of a serpentine thirst such as this one that makes me feel more in control then when my hands are gripping lead.
Our lips meet with vigor. I’ve never known it to be smooth. Never known us to take our time, yanno ? It’s always fierce. Hot. A clash of potent teeth seeking to grip and rip apart tender skin. To taste blood. And what’s a good fuck without the taste of blood ? C’mon. We’re deep. We’re thorough: two adrenaline filled junkies having gotten our first real swallow of the golden necator that has seduced us, dripping from uncut fruit laying bare in our wake while with instructions to never have one bite; we’re obsessed.
The tinkering jangle of an unhooked belt. The lick of Roy’s tongue into my mouth still tasting of shitty liquor from the corner store. A sinners Paradise. I tilt my head back for him and let teeth ascend onto my neck. I’m the lamb, sticking it’s neck out for the butcher. I want this. I want him to brand me intensely then cool it with a kiss because that is something that this world has done too many fucking times to me, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.
Yeah, only because the world never did leave a kiss of apology.
Chewed mint gum, stale tobacco, and secrets kept out in the rain for far too long, left to tarnish with the coming of nightfall; this is his eternal flavour.
Isn’t there some goddamn way for us to endure this way ? Twined together ? Just like this. Simply him ritualizing my abdomen that rose and fell with shaky gasps, his tongue marveling the carved indent of muscle there, tracing every groove proving personal fortitude. Proving that my ass didn’t get dropped down onto this fuckin waste land of a planet just to roll over like a creature without fight.
A trifling jungle, Life is.
“God. What a million mother fuckers would trade to see the Red Hood in this wrecked state. You wanna beg for me, doll ? That’s right. Beg for me then,” Roy’s voice is an instrument. His words, musical of filth. I’m being serenaded by the devil and it’s mother fuckin’ magical. Even so, I aim to punch him in the throat. I wasn’t gonna do much damage, was just gonna let him know what toes the line, but his hand wraps around my curled wrist and my bicep tenses. I’m straining to reach him. Straining to infect him, however somewhere in the tangle of that violence dance I strained also for his mouth like an addict for a needle. A taboo puppet. A homicidal angel, like he once called me before I spit in his eye earning my face into the wall.
What even are we doing, Roy Harper ? Why do we do this ? And why does it feel so right to scream your name into the hush of a blacked out room while you turn me inside out ? I’d ring God on the manner, but fuck—I just start pissing myself with laughter each time I start.
Gotta love this shade of grey I’ve established my life in the thick of. Grey is the blueprint of a soul caught in limbo. It’s a nice color. The ambiance is sedated, disrupted here and there by the tortured hollar of a condemned conscience—but life ain’t no fucking picnic.
Then again, even a tongue tied fool knows that.
…...
I can feel the frayed corners of ultimate reality beginning to shimmer. Roy watches me rising high even while knowing that soon I’ll crash, we will, together. And it’s so gorgeous for just a second that I could die like this. I know that it gets old hearing others romanticize death, yet I serious in the face of it. Serious and deeply, deeply in enamoured. Swept upon sandy beaches as to evade the lusting leviathan of the sea again and again. But I just wade back into the waters, deluded at times. Something like a drunk falling around town with an empty bottle of gin; everyone stares but no one will give directions to the nearest pub.
The vast gulf of the abyss beckons nearer with breath peppered by wanderlust and saliva spiked in moonshine. I can only take so much, however I’m forced, and so gorge on this easy feast.
Has a human ever been so unsteady and yet resistant ? So crippled and yet defiant ? I have many bones to pick with myself. I’ve splintered the masterpiece of my life into something ugly.
But I am a beast, aren’t I? And a Beast has always been one to see the Beauty in crude things. There is peace in the bloodstains, there is marvelous enrichment in the grimace of the faces. Cut me deeper Roy, squeeze red from my flesh so to let me continue my artistry. Open up the brushes of my fingers with your fangs and allow this woeful composer to create something for us both to laugh at.
Each finger in my mouth taste like pure sin. They scrape my gums until lips go down onto mine; then the fingers are put back into place. I choke. He chuckles. Fucking bastard.
Through these eyes of mine white with carnal tears, I look up and into the face of the man I didn’t mean to fall in love with wearing my blood upon his lips like a god damned badge of honor.
There’ll be no victor at the end of this unchaste warfare and I feel the cannon fires terminal blow. Yup. that’s my fucked up heart. What a tool.
But it’s been this way for centuries, hasn’t it ?
Sensuality is the baddest of bitches with hips that carve into yours tastefully. She’s the perfect fusion of warm and wanton that leaves you so powerfully drugged, that when you turn over to sleep soundly for having seen Nirvana it’s self, she’s able to hijack your shit with ease. Now your ass is left high and dry. But hey, you gotta relish her; notably on the day you find Sensuality knocking at your door again for having conceived with you a child named Regret, something that she drops off for you to raise alone. Now you’re in solitary as Regret clings to you tightly, sucking the life from your chest, but yet, still you nourish it. You love it because shit, it’s half of Sensuality isn’t it ? And had she not once been your reason worth living ?
I twist my fingers around Roy’s cross necklace still finding a way to glint silver in the dark, and pull him down into me with a grunt. For once, it’s his eyes that are glossed with hysterical fever, swimming and asphyxiated by all 7 of the Deadly Sins.
Yeah. That’s right fucker. At least for tonight, “You’re mine.”
Was that his whine that I heard ? Unquestionable was his moan. I think I hear him praying, but that doesn’t change the fact that come sunrise
We’ll both be waking up alone;
the bruises I left on his neck the only souvenirs of my Love.
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The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Six
Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character
Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and sex.
Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.
The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist
Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.
The Bonds of Time
“Did you think I’d forget you? Just ‘cause I ain’t visited in a while?” Colm shook his head with a soft laugh. “How could I ever forget my only niece? You was a firecracker back then, too, runnin’ around, wantin’ to hold your daddy’s guns and shoot at the rats before the cat got ‘em.”
He laughed again and all she could do was cry silently, her breaths shaky. He talked so fondly.
"Shit, yeah, you was more entertainin’ than your brother—”
“Don’t you dare talk about him, you son of a bitch—”
“But he’s a ball of fire himself now.”
She froze. He smiled, his leg bouncing up and down slightly, as if in excitement, as if he had been waiting for this.
“He’s dead,” she whispered after a few moments, unblinking.
“Is he?” Colm watched her closely, his voice softer. “Or did he just decide to stay with us?”
She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly, her jaw tightening as anger started to build. “He went after you to kill you, he would have rather died than be part of your gang.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said himself,” Colm sighed, “But... when I told him it was Dutch and not me who killed your daddy, then, well... he changed his mind.”
Her hands curled into fists and she would have given anything to be free.
“He wouldn’t have believed you—”
“You don’t seem so shocked at that particular bit of news.” Colm tilted his head, a faux frown settling on his features. “You ain’t callin’ me a liar, either. It was my understandin’ from Thomas that you all thought I was the one to do it, so I guess you found out the truth, too. How recently? Go on, how recently?” he prompted as she remained silent.
"Before we came to meet with you,” she whispered, and he laughed with joy.
“Today? Ah, shit, girl.” He grinned at her in disbelief. “Out of the mouth of God himself, I presume?”
When she didn’t say anything he laughed again, shaking his head.
“Today, I don’t believe it...” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “I reckon you might owe me an apology of some sort, then.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, shit, you look just like your ma when you look at me like that—"
“Don’t you dare talk about her, you bastard, because of you she is dead.”
That made him pause just slightly. “Is that right?”
“Yes, we were living in Strawberry and your men attacked it a week ago. Do you even remember?” She spat each word out.
He nodded a few times. Then, a corner of his mouth twisted up. “Yeah, I remember. We were gettin’ young Colin and Andrew out of jail before they could spill their guts to the law. We ended up spillin’ 'em nice and good ourselves.”
“You killed them?” She stared at him, horrified. “So all that bloodshed, all those lives taken—”
“Is sometimes a necessity, to keep family safe.”
“You don’t care about family, Colm.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “It seems you don’t know me at all, my darlin’ Addy. We’ve lost out on a lot of time together.”
All she could do was stare at him, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She’d forgotten his nickname for her.
His smile widened a little more, before he sighed contentedly and stood with a quiet groan. “Well, I must be goin’ now, my darlin’.” Straightening up, he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand before returning his gaze to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, they’ll let you go, the law. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.” He reached out and stroked her hair. This time she jerked her head away, her lips curling. He laughed. “Just like your ma... I’d take you with me, but I don’t fancy sleepin’ with one eye open. I’ll come and find you soon, though, once you’ve calmed down and seen sense.” He then gave her another fond smile. “Family should be together. Thomas’ll be so happy to see you.”
“He isn’t alive,” she half-hissed, half-pleaded.
He just smiled, then turned and walked away.
"He’s dead!” she yelled after him, pulling against the rope, ignoring it as it cut into her skin. “He’s dead!”
He didn’t know how he’d found the energy to do it, but he’d freed himself. Freed himself from being hung upside down like a God damn animal ready to be butchered. He’d swung, managed to grab the metal file on the nearby table and picked the lock that held him bound. He’d used the same file to cauterise his wound with the help of the candle and, God, he didn’t know how he kept quiet as pain spread through his shoulder once more. He sat for a moment, trying to catch his breath─
The doors above opened.
“... he’s dead!”
Annie.
Shit...
“Shut your hole!”
Shit...
“I don’t wanna go to Mexico. I wanna go home... home!” Another voice, nearer.
Keeping hold of the file, he pushed himself up from the chair and staggered to the wall near the stairs, pressing himself against it.
“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.”
The man, carrying a lantern, moved down the stairs, paused, then darted forward, raising his lantern higher.
“What the hell?!”
Arthur lunged.
Wrapping one arm around his neck and pressing his hand over his mouth, he started to choke the man, then twisted his neck, breaking it. Shoving the dead man side, he sucked in air, the task tiring him more than it should have.
You can rest when you’re dead, you idiot...
Searching the man’s body, he found a gun and throwing-knives. Knowing he couldn’t take them all on at once, he took the knives, opting, and praying, for a quiet escape.
Moving towards the stairs, he crouched as he ascended them slowly, straining to hear who was outside the doors.
“What’s he still doing down there?”
He paused at a new voice.
“It’s one thing torturing a man, it’s another putting him through stories of the homeland.”
A man passed by the open doors, mercifully, without looking down, a cigarette between his lips.
“He better hurry it up... I don’t wanna be here when the law comes for that side of beef.”
As the man’s voice grew quieter, Arthur started moving again, and peered out over the doors.
There was no one close by, but he could see lights shining from lanterns in a couple of places not too far off. Pressing his lips together, he stepped out from the stairs and, keeping low, turned to the left, spotting the man he’d seen speaking. Quietly, he approached and lunged once more.
It took mere seconds for him to break the man’s neck. This time he took the man’s gun, gripping it tightly. Glancing about, he headed towards the next source of light that was moving away from him. Fuelled by adrenaline now, he ran to the tree near it, paused for only a moment, then raced at the man, tackling him to the floor.
The man could only hiss out a brief, “What the hell?” before Arthur drove his fist into his face then choked him, watching the man as he died. Throwing him down, he huffed out a breath then stood, searching the area.
Where the hell is Annie?
He strained to hear once more.
“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, are you implyin’ somethin’ there, bitch?”
Pressing his lips together, Arthur moved quietly towards the voices, coming to an old shack and pressing his back against it.
“I didn’t think you would be intelligent enough to pick up on it.”
“I think you’re lookin’ for a fight, aren’t ye? Well, I don’t fight women—”
“How noble of you.”
“You ain’t any better ‘an me, sweetheart, at least that’s what I heard—”
“Shut your mouth, you bastard, or I will kill you.”
All he had to do was wait until the man was completely distracted, Annie was doing a fine job of that—
“Oh, yeah, and how are you goin’ to do that?”
At the sound of a second voice, Arthur grit his teeth and peered through a gap in the slats of the shack. All he could make out was the top of a fire, Annie’s skirt and a man’s hand. Lowering himself, he slowly moved behind one of the crates.
“Huh? Tell us. How are you goin’ to do that when you’re tied up like that? You ain’t gonna do nothin’, are you.”
The man laughed, and Arthur quickly rounded the crate, ducking behind a stack of them and—
His guns. Exhaling a short breath, he quickly collected his revolvers and gun belt from on top of the box beside him and secured them around him as the men continued to taunt Annie.
“You just like talkin’ a good talk, don’t ye? Just ‘cause ye know we can’t do nothin’. Talk all you want, sweetheart, ye’ll be ours soo—”
Ada gasped as the man suddenly choked on his words, a knife buried in his head. He fell to the floor, his eyes wide, narrowly missing the fire.
“What the fuck?!” The moustached man grabbed his gun and made to stand, but before he could even straighten up, a knife sank into his neck. He made a gargled sound and collapsed, his shotgun tumbling out of his hands.
“Oh my God...” she breathed, staring at his body.
“Hey, you all righ’?”
She inhaled sharply as someone suddenly crouched beside her and her gaze darted up—
Arthur.
She stared at him, trying to process that he was actually there and the state he was in.
“Oh my God, Arthur—”
“Are you all right?” he asked again, more firmly, but she could see he was just barely focusing on her.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my, my hands...” Her voice shook, in fact her whole body was shaking, and she didn’t know whether it was from shock finally settling in or the cold breeze that now blew over them.
“All righ’, hang on...”
As he used a knife to cut through her bonds, she took the few moments to study him.
Jesus Christ...
His face was bloody and bruised more than hers, he was only in his red long johns, there was a large patch of dried blood on his shoulder—
“Arthur, your shoulder, Colm said it was bad—”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”
Her arms fell as he cut through the last of the rope and she hissed at the stiffness, her eyes closing tightly.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
She felt his arm around her back and his hand on the pole behind her.
“Annie... Annie?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
“You have to stand up with me, all right? We have to get out of here.”
She nodded a few times, wetting her lips.
“All right...”
Tightening his arm around her, he gripped tightly at the pole and pushed himself up, clenching his teeth as his body protested. Wincing herself, she held onto his good shoulder as they rose, her legs weak. Trying to plant her feet firmly as blood rushed back into them, she leaned against him, her eyes closed.
“Annie, we gotta—”
“I know, I know, just let me...” She could hear how weak he was, could feel it as he swayed slightly against her. Swallowing, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, his face close to hers. “All right, let’s go.”
Nodding, he let go of the pole. Keeping his arm around her, either to keep her up or support himself, probably both, he started to move.
“Over there...” he murmured, pointing at at a small group of horses under a tree.
She guided them over as he searched the darkness for any signs of movement. Arthur didn’t believe Colm would have just left those four men to defend the camp, others must be around somewhere.
Ophelia and Faithful lifted their heads and each made a sound as they approached, turning and walking towards them.
“Hey, girl...” Arthur murmured to Ophelia as Annie led him to her, and she ducked under his arm, reaching up to lift his hand and place it on the back of the saddle.
“Up you get, Arthur.”
His other hand settled on the pommel and he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then, he hauled himself up, grunting through gritted teeth. It was painful to watch him, but just as she went to aid him, though, he swung his leg over and sat up, his head tipping back slightly. Exhaling breaths he must have been holding, he wet his lips and held his hand out to her.
“Come on.”
"I’ll be fine, I’ll get on Faithful.”
Before he could protest, she mounted Faithful and clicked her tongue gently, prompting him into a walk. Ophelia, perhaps sensing her owner wasn’t in a good state, starting walking, too.
Arthur, clinging to adrenaline and knowing he had to not only get himself but Annie away alive, too, made himself grip the reins tightly and straighten a little, urging Ophelia into a canter. Annie followed his lead as they turned down onto a wide dirt path. A lake was to their right, waves gently lapping at the shore.
They kept their gazes fixed ahead, searching the distance for anything.
“I reckon there’ll be more of ‘em in the area, so we just gotta get far away, then we’ll make a plan.”
His quiet words were slightly slurred and her eyes darted to him. He was leaning a little to one side.
Christ...
“Arthur—”
“Shit, look, there...”
Her head whipped up as they slowed their horses. There, in the distance, were flickering lights that were growing closer.
“This way, down onto the bank,” she whispered, turning Faithful and guiding him down onto it, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Arthur was following.
He stayed behind her and they kept to a walk to make as little sound as possible. Above them, the lights grew brighter and they began to hear the voices.
“Why does Colm want us there? What’s he gonna do if he’s tied up?”
“He ain’t worried about Morgan, it’s Dutch and his gang he’s concerned about. He don’t want ‘em ambushin’ us before the law gets here...”
The voices passed and Ada released a breath. There was no way they could relax just yet, though. Turning, she looked at Arthur. He sat slumped, barely holding the reins, leaning to his right.
Shit...
“We’ve got to go faster, all right, Arthur?” she murmured, her heart racing. “Just for a little while so we can put some distance between us and them, okay?”
He nodded but didn’t respond, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard her properly, when he cleared his throat and urged Ophelia into a gallop. Swiftly doing the same with Faithful, they raced along the shore, Ada keeping an eye on the bank above and the other side of the lake for any lights or O’Driscolls. She could hear Arthur breathing harshly beside her, and prayed to God Almighty that he just held on for a little longer as they passed under a train track that sat high above.
Glancing down, Ada noticed deep lines and hoof marks in the sand, evidence it was used as a crossing area.
That coupled with the tracks... She knew where they were.
“Arthur, look...” she called quietly, slowing Faithful to a stop, Ophelia automatically doing the same. “We’ll cross here. We’ll go at a walk so we don’t make too much noise.”
He just nodded again, his head dropping down slightly.
Please, God...
Taking the lead, she guided Faithful into the river, Ophelia following behind. She could have taken them further up the bank, crossed in shallower waters but she knew time was precious. Cool water rose up her legs, soaking her boots and the lower half of her skirt, and she couldn’t help but shiver lightly. Arthur made a sound behind her as the water soaked his legs and she looked back at him, her eyes momentarily darting to the bank behind them to check they were safe.
“Just a little farther, Arthur. We’ll just put the river between us, all right, then we can take it a little easier, okay?”
He didn’t respond.
All she could hear was the water sloshing quietly as the horses swan across. There were no birds, no voices, nothing.
They were so close to the other side.
Just get there, just get there, just get there...
She could have cried when the water started to lower as they made it to shallower waters and the small island close to the bank, and moments after Faithful stepped onto the shore, his gait quickening into a canter.
“Good boy, come on,” she murmured, urging him up the incline to the path above, checking Ophelia was indeed following.
Finally, finally, they made it onto the flat path. Blowing out a breath, Ada gently halted Faithful and turned to Arthur.
“If we just—”
She broke off with a sharp inhale as he collapsed to one side. Swiftly sliding off of Faithful, she lunged forward and caught him around the waist before he fell, her shoulder pressing against his chest. She could hear his ragged breaths against her ear.
“Shit...” she breathed, trying to adjust her stance as she supported the full weight of him. “You’re all right, you’re okay...”
Breathing hard, she squeezed her eyes shut before pushing him up, trying to get him upright. Keeping her hands on his sides, she steadied him as best as she could.
“You’re okay, you’re okay...” she repeated under her breath, almost to herself.
Lights caught her attention.
Staring beyond him, she saw lights moving slowly across the other side of the lake, farther down.
“Oh, shit...”
Whether it was O’Driscolls or travellers she didn’t want to wait to find out.
Gripping the pommel of Ophelia’s saddle, essentially just her straining forearm keeping Arthur up, she placed her boot in the stirrup and pulled herself up. Sitting on his bedroll, she slipped her other boot into the other stirrup and gathered the reins. She guided Arthur to lean back against her, tilting her chin up and resting it on his good shoulder.
“There we go, we’re all right...” she murmured, her whole body tense to bear the weight of him.
Nudging Ophelia’s sides with the heels of her boots, she prompted her into a canter, calling quietly to Faithful to get him to follow.
Just get back to camp, just get back...
“All right, girl, come on, take us home...”
Arthur’s head leaned against hers as they rode and she listened to his shallow breathing, her chest tightening.
Please, God, let him make it.
He swam in and out of consciousness.
He was cold and hot all at once, and everything was so painful he was almost numb. A gentle voice sounded close by, so close it felt like it was in his head. He couldn’t hear what it was saying but it sounded soothing.
Hours or minutes passed, he didn’t know.
The next time he came to, though, the voice sounded a little clearer, if strained.
“We’re here, Arthur... Please wake up...”
He gave a slight groan, and he thought he heard the person, the woman, breathe a ‘Oh, thank God...’
Ada watched him for a moment as he groaned, before she returned her attention to the path. She brought them back to camp from the north side; no one had been guarding it.
Please still be here...
As they rose up the small incline, relief flooded through her as the camp came into view, the tents, horses and wagons still there.
Pulling the already slowing Ophelia to a stop, she cleared her sore throat as she dropped the reins.
“Somebody help!” she called hoarsely, unsure as to whether anyone would even hear her.
Swallowing hard, she winced as she slid her boots out of the stirrups and slowly moved a leg back, her hands gripping Arthur’s waist tightly as she dismounted. Her knees almost buckled when her feet touched the floor. When Arthur tipped to the side and leaned against her, they did.
Her body finally gave out as she collapsed, Arthur falling with her. They landed on the ground, he with a grunt, she with a gasped inhale.
She could hear how weak his breathing was and it terrified her.
“Someone help!” she called again, her voice no louder than her first attempt.
Then, mercifully, someone appeared above her.
“Arthur! Annie!” Mary-Beth gasped, her eyes wide as she pressed her hands against her cheeks.
Karen was suddenly there, too, kneeling beside Arthur. “Oh my God, are you two—”
Then, Dutch was there.
“Arthur—”
“I told you it was a set up, Dutch...” Arthur groaned.
Ada gazed up at the sky, trying to regulate her breathing.
“My boy, my dear boy, what?” Dutch continued.
“They got... me and Annie but we got away...”
“He needs help,” she finally whispered, her gaze meeting Dutch’s.
He nodded slightly, staring at Arthur’s wound. “Yeah, that you did, my boy.” Straightening, he looked around, calling out, “Miss Grimshaw? I need help!”
"... he was gonna set the law on us...” Arthur carried on as Dutch, Mary-Beth and Karen helped him to sit up, his voice straining with the effort.
"... They had us over the river from Flatneck Station...” Ada murmured over him, blinking slowly.
Charles was suddenly there, gently brushing the hair from her face as his eyes swept over her and the state she was in. He carefully slid his arms underneath her and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather.
As he carried her away, she heard Pearson apologising profusely.
“... I’m sorry, Arthur, I’m, I’m so sorry, Annie—”
“It is a bit late for apologies,” Dutch snapped before calling out once more, “Swanson!”
Pearson swallowed hard before gripping Arthur’s arm as he, Dutch and Mary-Beth lifted him to his feet. “Mr Morgan, you’re safe now, you and Miss Sawyer are both safe—”
“Where is she, where’s Annie?” Arthur slurred, trying to look around as Dutch and Pearson drew his arms around their shoulders so they could support him.
"Charles has got her, don’t you worry, you’re both safe now,” Dutch soothed him gently as they half carried him towards his area, his feet stumbling slightly.
“Let’s get him to bed,” he heard Miss Grimshaw order, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Was he insane or was the ground flowing like water?
With a slight grunt from both men, Pearson and Dutch lowered him onto his bed, Dutch repeating, “You’re safe now.”
Arthur huffed out a harsh laugh that startled them all. “That’s pretty, Dutch...” He dropped his head back against the pillow, his eyes already closing. “... That’s real pretty...”
Dutch watched him, his mouth in a thin line.
“Miss Grimshaw,” he murmured after a moment, “Will you sit with him awhile?”
"Of course,” Susan answered quietly. Pulling a chair from the table beside his bed closer, she patted Arthur’s arm gently. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan, you’re home.”
Dutch stared for a few moments, then turned on his heel and strode across the camp.
“You’re all right, Annie, you’re going to be fine now...”
She gazed at Charles as he carried her. She couldn’t quite believe it yet, couldn’t quite believe they’d actually made it.
“Am I really here?” she murmured, so quietly.
“Yes, you’re here now. You’re safe.”
He had such lovely hair. The soft ends of it brushed against her cheek.
“Arthur’s in a bad way.”
“Miss Grimshaw’s looking after him. She’ll take good care of him.”
She heard herself exhale a faint laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
Good. Good old Susan. She would allow nothing to pass that she didn’t want, even death itself. Arthur would be safe.
Charles looked at her as he came to a stop and started to lower her down.
“Are you all right—”
“Put her in my tent.” John was suddenly at his side, a grim expression on his features. “She’ll need the privacy.”
“Thank you, John.”
She looked at John as Charles straightened again, adjusting his hold on her gently, and hoped he understood her silent gratitude, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.
John nodded, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, before he was gone, walking in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He passed Dutch, who was heading towards them.
She looked away, returning her gaze to Charles.
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“The bottom of your skirt is damp. Did you cross water?” He was speaking as quietly as she was, and it was so nice, like there was no one else in the world.
“Yes, it was the quickest way to get him back.”
“And you, too. We’ll have to get you warm, though.” Charles ducked a little as he entered John’s tent, and gently set her down on the bed.
A long breath left her as she sank against it, her eyes closing. She felt Charles kneel beside her, his fingers lightly touching her jaw, checking for swelling or fractures.
“How do you fee—”
“My dear girl...”
Ada’s eyes opened as Dutch stepped into the tent, concern etched across his features.
“Are you all right? What happened?”
Charles continued to carefully check her face as she spoke, her eyes half-open. “They took us on the ledge. Knocked us both out, I think, they certainly did me. When I came to, we were on the move, on their horses. We were crossing water, it was such clear water, I could see fish, and I started calling out, hoping someone would hear us. They hit me, and I just yelled louder, then they hit me again and again and again, and I fainted again...” She broke off to hiss quietly as Charles touched a particularly tender part of her cheek, relaxing at his murmured apology. “... The next thing I knew I was tied to a post. Then Colm...” She broke off again, his words suddenly flooding back.
The tears that had filled her eyes suddenly spilled, slipping down her cheeks. Charles paused his studying, one of his fingers gently brushing the tears away.
“What, my dear?” Dutch prompted gently, his eyes fixed on her. “What did he do to you, Annie?”
Her mouth moved slightly but nothing came out.
“Annie?” Charles murmured, his hand settling on her shoulder.
She turned her head a little to one side, then shook it. “Nothing. He did nothing to me.” She felt Charles relax. “He just... He’s just an awful man.”
“That he is,” Dutch agreed, anger seeping into his tone. “That son of a bitch... Miss Sawyer, I promise you, this great wrong will be righted, I will see to that.”
She just nodded, taking in a slightly shuddering breath.
“What happened after tha—”
“Where is she? Annie?!”
Sean all but burst into the tent, his eyes wide as he caught sight of her.
“Oh, darlin’, are you all right?” His frantic tone instantly softened as he knelt beside Charles, his hand finding hers.
She smiled weakly, her features crumbling slightly as she tried not to sob.
Don’t...
“I’m fine, Sean, really. It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s probably true,” Charles added, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t feel any breaks or fractures. Is there anywhere else—”
She shook her head quickly when she felt Sean tighten his grip. “No, no, it’s just my face, nowhere else.”
“Well, that is a relief.” Dutch sighed heavily before inclining his head. “I shall leave you to rest, then. Are you all right to tend to her, Charles?”
“Yes, if that’s all right with you, Annie.”
She hummed quietly. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Can I stay, too, Annie?”
“Of course you can, Sean,” she murmured, her eyes closing.
“Very good. Rest well, Miss Sawyer.”
She hummed again, hearing Dutch exit.
“Sean, will you get me some clean cloths and water?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Her hand dropped from his, and she heard him leave quickly.
Fingers gently brushed her forehead.
“Sleep, now, Annie,” Charles murmured.
She finally gave in to the exhaustion.
Warm sunlight danced across her face.
Karen hadn’t closed the tent flap properly last night.
Ada didn’t mind, though. It was wonderful.
She’d spent a full day sleeping after their return and the next resting. She’d relayed again all that had happened to Dutch and Hosea on that second day, Hosea sparing her from having to reveal all the details by gently cutting off Dutch’s barrage of questions. After that, the girls had joined her and talked with her, Mary-Beth braiding her hair while Karen and Tilly took turns showing off what they’d stolen recently. Sadie even joined them and laughed along, and when the other women left she quietly told Ada that Arthur was still sleeping but Miss Grimshaw had done the best she could and the wound looked a little better.
On the third day her body felt stronger but Sean had persuaded her to stay abed, telling her she should take all the time she needed to recover. Secretly, she was relieved. Something in her just couldn’t face leaving the safety this tent had provided from reality. He stayed with her all day and she welcomed his distractions, listening to his stories of wild adventures that might not have been all true and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.
On the fourth day, Abigail brought Jack to see her.
“He’s been complainin’ about wantin’ to see you,” Abigail said apologetically but, again, Ada welcomed the distraction, and listened to him talking about his drawings or the books he was reading or the fish he’d seen in the lake for hours. She had to hide her dismay when Abigail came to retrieve him, as the times she was left alone...
The nights were hard. Left alone with only her thoughts and memories, she couldn’t help but turn over Colm’s words in her mind, obsessing over the way he’d said it, his expressions, the language he’d used. Was he telling the truth? The idea of her brother being alive was as unbearable as it was him being dead. She didn’t want the tiny spark of hope it had built within her. If it wasn’t that she thought about incessantly, then it was the knowledge that her father’s murderer was sleeping only a few feet away. Could he even remember the two small children that had been there when he’d killed Michael O’Driscoll?
The only brief reprieve she had was thinking about, despite what Colm had said, Arthur had saved her. He had come for her and saved her. And she had saved him.
If she did sleep, it was fitfully, waking always with a start at the slightest sound. She thought of getting up and walking around the camp but she didn’t want to talk to anyone, too vulnerable in that moment to mask her pain.
It was the fifth day, now, and she knew she could no longer hide away in John’s tent under the pretence she was recovering. She didn’t want to have to explain that while she might have physically recovered, emotionally she was still in complete turmoil. Mary-Beth helped her to dress, gifting her a slightly worn plain black skirt with pockets that went beautifully with the emerald blouse Sean had stolen for her. She then braided her hair again up into a bun, looking very satisfied and proud once she stepped back.
“There. Oh, you look beautiful, Annie! Here, have a look...”
She handed her the small mirror from the barrel on the other side of the tent that John probably used to shave with, and for the first time in five days Ada saw her reflection.
The cut on her eyebrow had scabbed over, making it look worse than it probably was. Bruises along her jaw and cheekbones were smaller than she thought, though they were still faintly purple and blue, only a few starting to turn a little yellow. Dark circles hung under her eyes, evidence that she was perhaps not coping as well as she wanted everyone to think.
What a fright you look, her mother would have said.
Mary-Beth had done a lovely job of her hair, though, so Ada smiled as she lowered the mirror, handing it back to her.
“Thank you, Mary-Beth, you’ve turned me into something wonderful.”
“Oh, gosh, no,” the other woman dismissed gently as she took the mirror, returning it to its position, “You’re very pretty, Annie, I just made your hair a little neater.”
Ada’s smile widened a little more as she pushed herself up to stand. “You’re the beauty here, Mary-Beth, neat hair or not.”
Mary-Beth beamed as she shrugged her shoulders. “I always like to look nice, so, thank you, Annie.”
Ada lifted a grey, probably once white, shawl from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, about to follow Mary-Beth out when the other woman paused before turning back to face her.
“I think it was so brave... how you brought Arthur back like that.” She played with the ends of her chestnut-brown hair slightly as she looked at her. “You could have left him out there and saved yourself, so many other people would’ve.”
Ada looked at her, her forehead dipping slightly. “No, I couldn’t.”
Something Ada couldn’t quite place passed over Mary-Beth’s features, but before she could dwell on it the woman was smiling again. “Let’s go and get somethin’ to eat before Uncle has it all.”
Stepping out with her, Ada smiled gently as she pulled the shawl a little tighter around herself. “Actually, Mary-Beth, I think I’m going to go and see how Arthur is.”
The woman paused and the same expression appeared again, vanishing as quickly as it came. “All right, then. Would you like me to save you a bowl?”
“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry.”
Mary-Beth nodded and smiled widely before walking away. Ada watched her, her pace quickening as Uncle staggered towards the pot of stew.
Inhaling a long breath of crisp air, Ada tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A clear and brilliant blue.
Just go.
Wetting her lips, Ada turned and began to walk. From the corner of her left eye she saw that Dutch’s tent was, thankfully, empty.
Someone had draped more cloths and blankets over Arthur’s area, probably to give him some more privacy, so she had to pull one of them back slightly to peer in. He lay on the bed, his eyes closed, lips parted. She watched him for a few moments, her gaze dropping to his chest to check if he was breathing. It rose and fell steadily; he was asleep.
The chair beside his bed was vacant so she quietly slipped past the blankets and took a seat, her eyes remaining on him. He didn’t move, his breathing remaining regular.
Sadie had updated her on his progress over the past few days and she said he’d seemed to be starting to get a little better. They had to make him eat, but that was nothing new, apparently, from a man who was so busy taking care of ‘business’ he often forgot or didn’t have the time. Someone had changed him into dark brown trousers and a cream undershirt, which had the faintest stain of blood just around where his wound was. She stopped herself from pulling back the open of his shirt to inspect it; Miss Grimshaw had probably patched him and the others up a thousand times before and was therefore most likely an expert. The stubble that usually framed his face had grown a little longer but his skin and hair was clean. He looked... gentle, for once.
What the hell am I doing here.
Blowing out a quiet breath, Ada lifted her gaze from him and stared ahead at the side of the wagon. Then, she narrowed her eyes slightly.
Were they... photographs?
She’d never noticed them before. Then again, she hadn’t exactly been around his area before to notice them. Sitting forward in the chair, she leaned over him a little, getting a better look.
One photograph had three men in it, one standing, two sitting down, in some kind of parlour. It only took her a few moments to realise it was Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, albeit them probably about ten years or more so ago.
A corner of her mouth lifted.
Arthur looked so young.
He probably turned a pretty head or two... I bet he still does.
She had to stop herself from snorting loudly at the sudden thought.
What a silly thing to think about.
Her eyes darted to the next photograph.
It was of an older man, probably around Dutch’s age now, maybe younger, but she didn’t recognise him. He was holding some kind of board, however, and upon leaning a little closer she saw that it read, ‘Lyle Morgan. Larceny. 12-7-1847′.
It really does stay in the family.
There were a few other trinkets and items, too, like a horse shoe and an article that told of a robbery, one that probably meant something to Arthur.
Sitting back, her legs crossing, Ada grazed her teeth over her lower lip. She couldn’t stop herself from continuing to inspect. At the base of the bed was a chest with a rug thrown over it and his revolvers and gun belt rested on top, along with his hat. Beside her on the table was a flower in a bottle (a gift from Mary-Beth?), a cigar, a map and a picture of an older woman. She studied the picture, a corner of her mouth lifting. It had to be his mother.
Arthur mumbled quietly and her head quickly turned to him. His brow furrowed slightly and he mumbled something again, though she couldn’t make it out. She was about to murmur his name when his eyes opened.
Swallowing, he took in a long breath and exhaled it, then his eyes darted over to her.
She smiled automatically, wanting to put him at ease.
“Good morning.”
He watched her for a moment, as if his brain was catching up with where he was.
“Good mornin’.”
His voice was rough and low, somehow prompting her to make her’s quiet.
“What were you dreaming about?”
He looked away from her, then, his eyebrows raising slightly as he adjusted his head on the pillow.
“Deer.”
Her smile seemed to want to linger. “That hungry? I’m afraid it’s fish for breakfast.”
He grunted his disinterest.
“Yeah, I’m not jumping at it either.”
“You’ve gotta eat somethin’.”
“So do you.”
“Yeah, but you look like shit.”
A sudden laugh escaped her before she could stop it, her smile widening as she raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, really? I do?”
He glanced at her before closing his eyes, a faint smile pulling at his lips, and she suddenly found herself very interested in it.
“Yeah, you look like you’ve been to hell.”
“Oh, I do apologise. You look radiant, however, Mr Morgan.”
“Yeah? I feel it.”
Her smile faltered as she watched him shift slightly, a pained wince flashing across his face. She played with one, frayed end of the shawl.
“You shouldn’t have come for me, Arthur.”
His eyes snapped open and he looked at her in disbelief.
“Are you kiddin’ me? You might be dead if it weren’t for me.”
“I would have been fine. The law doesn’t know I’m with you all, I could have told them the O’Driscolls kidnapped me and they would have let me go.”
“Yeah, and then what?”
Her mouth opened, then closed slightly.
“What, you would have come back?”
She didn’t answer.
“Nah, I don’t think you would’ve. Maybe I should’ve left you there,” he grumbled, directing his gaze ahead, dismissively.
Why did that notion offend him so?
Her skin prickled slightly.
“Do you remember the journey back here at all?”
His brow furrowed as he glanced at her, slightly suspicious of the sudden turn in conversation. “No.”
“Exactly,” she retorted, “You’d be dead in a ditch or a river right now if it wasn’t for me so show a little gratitude.”
He stared at her incredulously. “Why don’t you show me some gratitude, woman, I got you out of there, and you wouldn’t have been able to be a damn hero if it weren’t for me.”
“Well, you didn’t have to save me.”
“I didn’t have to save you?”
“No, you didn’t.”
He opened his mouth, then swiftly quashed whatever it was he was going to bite back as she arched an eyebrow, his teeth gritting.
“You’re a stubborn, irritatin’ woman,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, you’re an ungrateful bastard,” she shot back, crossing her arms as she sat back.
They fell silent as he closed his eyes, probably praying for strength not to murder her, and she stared at him, silently daring him to snap back because there was something so simple and easy about arguing, despite how difficult she knew but absolutely would not admit she was being.
But... the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly.
He just looked so... put out. Like a cat that hadn’t been fed the moment it was hungry.
The question of the day was still nudging at her, too.
“Why did you save me, then?” she continued. “Seeing as I seem to be such an inconvenience, and don’t give me the ‘save people as need saving’ preaching or I will choke you and I don’t think anyone would stop me.”
His jaw moved minutely. “Save people as need savin’.”
She gave a humourless laugh. “So because Dutch says so?”
He turned his head to stare at her. “Because it’s right and there was no way in hell it was righ’ to leave you with those bastards.”
Her lips twitched again. “So you’re a criminal with a heart?”
He made an almost disgusted sound, looking ahead before he closed his eyes again. “Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to rest here.”
The twitching broke out into a smile. Tilting her head, she lowered her voice into soft awe.
“Thank you, Arthur, for saving my life, you’re a real hero—”
“Ah, shut up, woman, before I tell Grimshaw you’re ready to get back to work.”
She laughed as he grumbled, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze dropped as she was suddenly reminded of the absence of her ring. She licked her lips, shifting in the seat.
“I do mean it, Arthur,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter, “Thank you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he answered, though he didn’t grumble.
Silence fell again, and it felt rather comfortable. She gazed at the photographs again, her eyes drifting from the one of his father to him, comparing. She found herself wanting to know what his childhood had been like. Had his father raised him in a gang? Or had he been kept away from it all as a child? What had led him to—
“He told me you...” Arthur’s voice startled her out of her musings, his words hesitant as her eyes found his. “... you weren’t in a good shape.”
She knew what he was dancing around.
“None of them touched me. In that way, anyway,” she answered, giving a faint smile. “I was just hit to be quiet, then tied to that pole. Nothing else.”
He nodded, casting his gaze over her bruises. “That’s a relief, then.”
“Yes, it is.”
She watched him for a few moments. His gaze returned to hers.
“Annie, can I ask you somethin’?”
She raised her eyebrows a little, rather surprised.
“Sure.”
"When we were talkin’, before we went to see Colm, somethin’ Dutch said... affected you.”
Her heart dropped. Keeping her features neutral, she lifted her gaze, as if recalling the conversation.
“Did it?”
“Yeah. When he was sayin’ about how he killed Colm’s brother.”
“Oh...” She pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. “I just... it all seems so petty, doesn’t it? How this long feud started.”
He frowned. “Petty?”
She nodded, holding his gaze. “Yes. I’m sure there’s more to the story but... to play with people’s lives like that—”
“What ain’t you tellin’ me.”
Her mouth stayed open as she broke off, her eyes searching his before she frowned.
“Nothing, why—”
“You said someone was dead, too, when we were bein’ held by the O’Driscolls. I heard you yellin’ it, who were you talkin’ about?”
Her frown deepened. “It— I thought you were dead. Colm was spinning lies, trying to get me upset and he led me to believe you were dead.”
He didn’t answer, wanting to see what she said next. She remained silent, too, just staring at him.
She probably thought she was hiding it but he could see the pleading in her eyes for him to not press the matter, to be a gentleman and let it go. But he was no gentleman. He knew a poker face when he saw it, and a liar when he heard one.
“Annie... It don’t have to go any further than you and me, whatever it is.”
She continued to stare, panic starting to claw it’s way up.
“It’s nothing,” she implored, trying to keep her voice low because, God, who knew who else was around, but she knew she had already lost.
“Annie—”
“Not today.” She had to give him something. Shaking her head a little, she murmured, “Please, Arthur... not today.”
He studied her and she didn’t dare look away. Then, he sighed and nodded begrudgingly.
“All right... Not today.” He pressed his lips together before continuing, ”If you’re in trouble, though—”
“You dead yet, Morgan?”
John Marston, her unknowing saviour, brushed past the blankets with a bowl of stew, the widest grin she’d seen from him yet on his lips. It didn’t falter as he caught sight of her, inclining his head.
“Good mornin’, Miss Sawyer, how are you today?”
“Very well, thank you, John,” she beamed, grateful to him for the second time that week. “How are you?”
“Just fine, just fine.” His gaze slid over to Arthur. “I’ve been told to feed our patient, here.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake...” Arthur grumbled, closing his eyes as she stood, clasping her hands together.
“Oh, isn’t that wonderful! How kind you are, Mr Marston.”
“I do what I can, Miss.”
“Can I thank you again for allowing me the use of your tent?”
“Oh...” Arthur opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the younger man. “So that’s why you’ve been lurkin’ around here, snorin’ on the ground beside me.”
“Well, you wouldn’t let me get in with you.”
“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Annie grinned as she departed and Arthur watched her, his mouth in a thin line.
How could she do that? Change from one person to another just as quickly as blinking? And what in the hell was she hiding? He’d had a feeling from the start she was and now he was so close to finding out—
“Come on, Morgan, I’m gonna feed you like a little baby bird.” John was still grinning as he sat down, holding the bowl towards him.
Arthur groaned. “Get outta here, Marston, leave me to die in peace.”
“No way in hell. Now sit up, old man, come on.”
“I should’ve left you on those mountains with those wolves.”
“But you didn’t.”
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homestuck recap
i hated this so fucking much bc my 2 am bitch-ass didnt want to read a recap thats probably longer than any slowburn out there
anyways here it is
also, uhhH sorry im using this as a end of session discussion bc that shit gets explained in her as well. and im not writing up more recaps of a recap so this is where im done for the day. (by done for the day i mean last nights session, im still doing a liveblog soon. i just wrote this yesterday)
also that this is long
you dont have to read it, theres nothing of importance
ive been coping with humor to get me through it
neato.
have fun with what i suffered through:
why was “beta” the only thing unhighlighted?
like did i miss a page???
OH its the beta version of HS thats why
damn its like 5 pages and thats it
mmh
well youll all be happy to know im clicking every single one of these links again bc i like looking back like ahh i remember that. good times. also in case i forgot some shit existed.
do you think andrew had fun writing this? or was he like “fuck”
thats a lot of fucking package talk. good thing im not confused as of now and remember it pretty clearly. of else, this early on in the recap, id be screwed.
god remember when i did an analysis on each item and what it did
i feel as if i have the technology engrained inside my head right now
cruxite, alchemeter, all that jazz
flashbacks are starting up already
yeah, that was the good part in homestuck where i knew 100% that i probably would continue on this liveblog in its entirety, ngl
that one explosion scene. bc it kept me going.
OH W A IT SHIT
i just realized how the intermission spades probably fucking foreshadowed the whole jack revolts thing and gains the ring, which was also technically JOHNS fault considering he slashed up the doll in the first place
my god, i guess thats the only good aspect of the recap. looking back at things and realizing the missing pieces.
oh that makes sense for the whole “this prototyping had no effect on the enemies, since he was already in the medium” i didnt actually think about that
little did rose know where that would get her right now
oh yeah
there’s still the whole entire lab terminal thing and how mom basically knows the place exists. i guess we’re still venturing onto that and itll come up later when we find out how mom knows SO MUCH about the game.
still think shes some weird spy or secret agent
i kinda love her ngl
anyways, theres literally no reason for skaia to produce a cloning machine. so technically, they only sent the meteors in, right? so who put the cloning machine in if not mom?
oh yeah that impact was nerve wrecking asf
and still at this point in the comic i called dave fuckboy red
huh, how times change
i hated reading that whole paragraph ngl, the frustration just kicked me in the boobs again
yeah nobody else got tornadoes, huh?
OH that makes also much more sense
bc she did prototyped them before she entered the medium.
i gotcha
man one of my favorite edits i made, rose hitting that meteor with a bat
are you
telling me
the exiles structures they arrived on were in the form of the items the kids used to enter the medium?
THE EGG
THAT EXPLAINS “EGG”
of course it was 413 years ago. that was never explained. simply vague “many years in the future....” but i expected no less from this
man serenity is the most wholesome character in hs no doubt
damn thought andy here was really gonna spoil us jade’s planet
okay cool, im glad i now have the layout to the whole “their stations went to the coordinates of the home button” shindig
man i honestly dont know what else to say besides “yeah cool recap” when i already pretty much know what went down? ofc im looking into each link and shit and adding in things when i see fit, but otherwise its just me going “ah good times” yknow
the whole meteor thing kinda makes sense now?
we’re still missing a few pieces of info but we’re getting there, folks
oh yeah that reveal
god jade and dave have it in the shits for parents huh
bro isnt the best and jade has a fucking dog
who lowkey
is doing better than bro
who knew a fucking dog is a better guardian than bro lmfao
dreambot = terminator. im telling you.
sorry im still on that idea and it will never leave unless i have the actual proof in front of me that its not going to become a thing. meaning, ive finished hs and theres still no terminator dreambot or either andrew himself gives me a canon letter with “the robot is not arnold, mackenzie, pls just let it be”
why is the entire game session highlighted
i swear to god if this is like to a second recap or smth of the whole game session i may fucking CRY
okay thank god its just a design of the skaia layout
which is honestly cool
idk why its blurry tho but i can at least see the layout now. which is honestly how i pictured it anyways.
yeah, john did make a huge impact in his friends’ life and i find that so fucking touching
yep. got that. everything loops around. cool.
especially when the trolls come in. god we havent even gotten to that recap portion yet, we havent even gotten to the INTERMISSION
pls can this be the halfway point to the recap
AT LEAST
so they were exiled after the whole jack: ascend thing, right? considering theyre way in the future. man no fucking wonder.
speaking of jack
man that whole dad and jack interaction was gold, ngl
OH THAT EXPLAINS THE RING THEN
and wow, andrew’s really giving us the best female content huh. andrew is the true god of equality and diversity.
also hey, i didnt realize that wow. so PM tricked the queen in showing the parking ticket to be able to take the present from jack. she’s a smart cookie, that one..
she and PM basically snitched on jack and it was the best thing that has happened to me so far
oh yeah okay
but why did AR panic over bec? bc thats something we havent learned yet, right?
anyways
exile town, the only town which should exist. facts. i dont make the rules.
noice
i love PM being queen. like.. thats canon now. shes an actual queen.
yeah that was a fun game and the consorts were cute
fuck yeah the dick head
hate them even more now that i know john was killed because of them
anyways, i wonder what dick move dave’s denizen did? maybe thats why its filled with lava bc the denizen was like “fuck it. make the land red. kill them all”
UH WHAT
WHAT
OH MY GOD HOW DID I JUST FORGET NANNAS LETTER LIKE THAT LMFAO
THEIR TITLES WERE THERE THE WHOLE TIME!
so i still dont know what they mean but i can gather it has something to do with the game giving them abilities. considering dave is the “knight of time” and he can go back in time. whack.
which means john can either control someones breathing or simply wind. and rose is... like that one girl in the winx club who does the sun shit. bc whenever i think of light powers, i think of stella.
and jade is space. witch of space.
nice
i have no idea what that means ngl
okay finally
we’re at the trolls
maybe this recap will end soon
i remember when i thought they were internet bullies
yesss
someone asked if i basically knew the trolls were on a different veil than the kids, so not presently with them, and i know lol. i was making a joke before btw. jsyk. dont think im incompetent to forget these things when sometimes i choose to forget it so i can add in a joke
it be like that, i annoy many
then again, pls dont assume im trying to say im not incompetent bc im also a fucking dumbass and DO forget shit and i have no excuse
imagine being so bored on the meteor, your last resort is speaking to aliens
ngl me if i was ever trapped on a meteor and could potentially do that
nah ik its bc its their only hope at helping with their session or whatever tf CG said to john. but there was BOUND to be a conference meeting between them like “okay guys. humans. that needs to be sorted out” and you just hear CG screaming in the background
i cant wait to meet them honestly bc im growing on all 4 of the ones we’ve seen already. and on top of that, i know what they look like and i know theyre not THAT bad, just a little on the crayy zee side sometimes
but theyre trying
OH MY GOD
I GET IT
FUCK
DOES THAT MEAN THE INTERMISSION IS *APART* OF THE MAIN FUCKING STORY??
AND SPADES IS WV FOR THE TROLLS
GOD D A M N
wow
i didnt expect that. but maybe the signs were there and i was just willingly choosing to ignore it or smth bc “haha couldnt be, right”
flashbacks to how i thought the trolls were humans
anyways, i guess he got his revenge on the kids version of “snowman” ie the black queen. but really
he did not have to do that. he could have cut off the finger and fled. but he decided “nah, lets implode her” so the loml is dead and all i got was a catchy song
i knew they were different types of “bullies” but now i just have to replace bullies with uhh
trolling strategies
anyways, this is cute. i love how they’ve come to be friends through mutual frustration. good part in the comic.
i wonder why it explodes
more importantly
....
terminator time?
this was my favourite sequences of dialogues in the whole entirety of homestuck. that is to say the back and forth thing that the kids went through to become a sort of wingman for the other.
absolutely gold.
all except AT’s rap.
GC was the only smart one with the linear shit
anyways fuck he still has to kill the denizen now but apparently its hard to beat for a sleeping dick head so
that will be fun for the future
john will probably need to kill A LOT of imps to get there
yeah rose is a badass bc she slayed that thing with needles of all things
OH and the white queen was the cursive
damn did AR ever do the whole guide process to a kid yet? maybe he will with dave, idk
oHHH
i fucking SEE
thats why he said DNA
to use it and replace all the life forms in the ocean
fucking neat wow
man that sounded sarcastic but im genuinely impressed bc all i got was bullshit as i read jaspersprites log
so thats the secret. it was “meow” bc that somehow translates to the genetic code she needs then. and that code apparently took fucking years to write as well. sick. whack. oh man.
derse is very pretty, ngl
and wow shit
“dave had already been awake in his tower all along without realizing it” how tf does someone just
do that, awake in both places at once
i didnt even fucking realize that fact as i read that pesterlog wow
ah yes, around the time things got confusing
okay so the capsule makes sense bc at first i didnt know it was a fucking time capsule so i got confused as to how it just apparated the game lmfao
the more you know i guess *twinkle*
i find that a neat concept tho
like the whole whatever you prototype affects the imps and shit
yeah so that whole “he had no advice” basically impacted his future
no shit dave wanted to reset things bc he probably thought he caused some sort of bad butterfly effect and killed his best friend
fuck calsprite thats all im gonna say
i read that first sentence and i think i got an aneurysm
and then everything else just made me sad again
i mean good thing he fucking did amirite?
we got pain at first but now we got cool shit like idk
fucking DAVESPRITE
damn idk how that works
will rose have like two minds now? or will this be some steven universe fusion shit?
“and understood their meaning” course well i fucking didnt so could you pls elaborate, rose?
okay but then what the fuck did he use that was inside the fucking box
bc i thought he used his knife?
im only every going to refer him as that now, thank you andrew
alright okay..
god that was a lot
i dont know what will happen once i click on those links but i am going to see that for myself bc i refuse to add ANYTHING ELSE
#homestuck#homestuck liveblog#hs65#hs65 end#act4#pg1674#THANK FUCK FUCKING CHRIST#THIS TOOK ME A SOLID 4 HOURS IN TOTAL TO DO#INCLUDING PROCRASTINATION THO#LIKE I DID SNIPPETS WHILE I WAS AT WORK#AND THE MAJORITY LAST NIGHT#GOD#NEVER AGAIN#anyways#i learned some new stuff but then again this isnt even worth it for you all#like i didnt even say anything witty enough for it to be at least entertaining#just 'man that was cool'#and other synonyms of that sentence#im so sorry this took so long#and was tedious to read
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Shaded In Grey
Summary : Jason loves Roy just as much as he loves the bruises that he paints into his skin; but to hell if he’ll ever let him know that and change the interplay of their lusting dance amongst the grey
💘💘💘
Roy speaks in the way that Siren’s sing, flooding venom in to my mouth and watching it drip like a ruptured peach to the sting of front teeth. Ripping such fragile skin into nasty pieces of flesh, letting lay bare the very salacious core hidden in the seam.
His flaming hair has grown out (frequently used to twisting or tying it up into a knot) tonight it remains loose. Untamed. And my fingers play through that somehow flawless shit storm, tangling each lock into madness; they overall might dangle into his glaring eyes but that does nothing to befog the fire smoking from within. He looks wild above me. Never have I asked to be such a blooded piece of meat at the ready to be gutted; staring into the yawning mouth of the lion, of whom, is fucking starved.
Right now, I know that he knows that it’s not his nails nor teeth that I fear will gift me new damage, but his eyes. They inspire, burn, destroy. I’m left suspended in the company of a gore leaking orifice that bellows ‘look at me’ should my mind toe outside the line of our depraved Love Nest; this being no more then the feral charge then skirmish to the floor of a Gotham City safehouse.
We sure are givin’ some poor son of a bitch a show, I think, spotting the newfangled surveillance camera I hadn’t noticed sooner, newly installed high left. My mind darts to Tim making my hands sweat, however, Roy’s fingers bruising my chin pull me back down into the waters of our fucked up little fantasy.
The holsters loyal to each my thighs are disengaged, followed by the faint skidding rattle of two M1911 pistols being launched across a cement floor. This all titters a secret to me that I am now in the hands of no mercy.
It’s during a moment like this (offering myself over to be caught in the line of fire) that I swear by the unholy mess in me that Roy Harper is some sort of Saintly Deity of Insanity that which no god can put a name to. Why else would I worship this fucker’s dick like i do ? Call me crude, vulgar, whatever…doesn’t change the fact that the shitty ass truth, is in fact, the shitty ass truth. That truth being that I demand his unsympathetic grip akin to an infant demanding it’s very first breath of life. The affliction of every scar mapping my body is something that I didn’t fuckin’ ask to be met with, nevertheless, something about the power that comes with directing an overdose of a serpentine thirst such as this one that makes me feel more in control then when my hands are gripping lead.
Our lips meet with vigor. I’ve never known it to be smooth. Never known us to take our time, yanno ? It’s always fierce. Hot. A clash of potent teeth seeking to grip and rip apart tender skin. To taste blood. And what’s a good fuck without the taste of blood ? C’mon. We’re deep. We’re thorough: two adrenaline filled junkies having gotten our first real swallow of the golden necator that has seduced us, dripping from uncut fruit laying bare in our wake while with instructions to never have one bite; we’re obsessed.
The tinkering jangle of an unhooked belt. The lick of Roy’s tongue into my mouth still tasting of shitty liquor from the corner store. A sinners Paradise. I tilt my head back for him and let teeth ascend onto my neck. I’m the lamb, sticking it’s neck out for the butcher. I want this. I want him to brand me intensely then cool it with a kiss because that is something that this world has done too many fucking times to me, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.
Yeah, only because the world never did leave a kiss of apology.
Chewed mint gum, stale tobacco, and secrets kept out in the rain for far too long, left to tarnish with the coming of nightfall; this is his eternal flavour.
Isn’t there some goddamn way for us to endure this way ? Twined together ? Just like this. Simply him ritualizing my abdomen that rose and fell with shaky gasps, his tongue marveling the carved indent of muscle there, tracing every groove proving personal fortitude. Proving that my ass didn’t get dropped down onto this fuckin waste land of a planet just to roll over like a creature without fight.
A trifling jungle, Life is.
“God. What a million mother fuckers would trade to see the Red Hood in this wrecked state. You wanna beg for me, doll ? That’s right. Beg for me then,” Roy’s voice is an instrument. His words, musical of filth. I’m being serenaded by the devil and it’s mother fuckin’ magical. Even so, I aim to punch him in the throat. I wasn’t gonna do much damage, was just gonna let him know what toes the line, but his hand wraps around my curled wrist and my bicep tenses. I’m straining to reach him. Straining to infect him, however somewhere in the tangle of that violence dance I strained also for his mouth like an addict for a needle. A taboo puppet. A homicidal angel, like he once called me before I spit in his eye earning my face into the wall.
What even are we doing, Roy Harper ? Why do we do this ? And why does it feel so right to scream your name into the hush of a blacked out room while you turn me inside out ? I’d ring God on the manner, but fuck—I just start pissing myself with laughter each time I start.
Gotta love this shade of grey I’ve established my life in the thick of. Grey is the blueprint of a soul caught in limbo. It’s a nice color. The ambiance is sedated, disrupted here and there by the tortured hollar of a condemned conscience—but life ain’t no fucking picnic.
Then again, even a tongue tied fool knows that.
……
I can feel the frayed corners of ultimate reality beginning to shimmer. Roy watches me rising high even while knowing that soon I’ll crash, we will, together. And it’s so gorgeous for just a second that I could die like this. I know that it gets old hearing others romanticize death, yet I serious in the face of it. Serious and deeply, deeply in enamoured. Swept upon sandy beaches as to evade the lusting leviathan of the sea again and again. But I just wade back into the waters, deluded at times. Something like a drunk falling around town with an empty bottle of gin; everyone stares but no one will give directions to the nearest pub.
The vast gulf of the abyss beckons nearer with breath peppered by wanderlust and saliva spiked in moonshine. I can only take so much, however I’m forced, and so gorge on this easy feast.
Has a human ever been so unsteady and yet resistant ? So crippled and yet defiant ? I have many bones to pick with myself. I’ve splintered the masterpiece of my life into something ugly.
But I am a beast, aren’t I? And a Beast has always been one to see the Beauty in crude things. There is peace in the bloodstains, there is marvelous enrichment in the grimace of the faces. Cut me deeper Roy, squeeze red from my flesh so to let me continue my artistry. Open up the brushes of my fingers with your fangs and allow this woeful composer to create something for us both to laugh at.
Each finger in my mouth taste like pure sin. They scrape my gums until lips go down onto mine; then the fingers are put back into place. I choke. He chuckles. Fucking bastard.
Through these eyes of mine white with carnal tears, I look up and into the face of the man I didn’t mean to fall in love with wearing my blood upon his lips like a god damned badge of honor.
There’ll be no victor at the end of this unchaste warfare and I feel the cannon fires terminal blow. Yup. that’s my fucked up heart. What a tool.
But it’s been this way for centuries, hasn’t it ?
Sensuality is the baddest of bitches with hips that carve into yours tastefully. She’s the perfect fusion of warm and wanton that leaves you so powerfully drugged, that when you turn over to sleep soundly for having seen Nirvana it’s self, she’s able to hijack your shit with ease. Now your ass is left high and dry. But hey, you gotta relish her; notably on the day you find Sensuality knocking at your door again for having conceived with you a child named Regret, something that she drops off for you to raise alone. Now you’re in solitary as Regret clings to you tightly, sucking the life from your chest, but yet, still you nourish it. You love it because shit, it’s half of Sensuality isn’t it ? And had she not once been your reason worth living ?
I twist my fingers around Roy’s cross necklace still finding a way to glint silver in the dark, and pull him down into me with a grunt. For once, it’s his eyes that are glossed with hysterical fever, swimming and asphyxiated by all 7 of the Deadly Sins.
Yeah. That’s right fucker. At least for tonight, “You’re mine.”
Was that his whine that I heard ? Unquestionable was his moan. I think I hear him praying, but that doesn’t change the fact that come sunrise
We’ll both be waking up alone;
the bruises I left on his neck the only souvenirs of my Love.
#my fanfiction#jayroy#jason todd#red hood#roy harper#arsenal#Based on the song Fifty Shades by Boy Epic
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the game (chp. 3)
(read chp. 1 or chp. 2 on ao3!)
(read on ao3!)
Gamora waits.
The universe continues on from that fateful day, in the Terran year 2018, because she lets it.
She does not allow the dusted to return. She doesn’t raise a hand to the few pieces left on the board, in their absence.
For the first time, she sits back and watches the universe move on, trying to make sense of Thanos’ actions.
Within one Terran month, Thanos destroys the Soul Stone.
She feels it—feels a deep, shattering, rift in her very being, but she still doesn’t budge, because Thanos may have destroyed this year’s Soul Stone…but not the ones of years’ past.
(Honestly, her mind struggles to comprehend it all, because she is mortal and not meant to exist out of time with the stone, but there is no other way.)
But with the destruction of the stone came the destruction of her ability to leave it, to resurrect the dusted and live among them.
Part of her panics. This was a good move on his part.
But it’s not over. It can’t be.
She continues waiting.
What’s left of the Avengers—plus her sister and Rocket—track down Thanos to his garden and kill him, shortly after he destroys the stones.
This is not her victory; it’s quite the opposite, in fact. If Thanos is removed from the game, then the game itself is ended.
Thanos knows this. And the few times she feels his presence in the Soul World, she can detect his sneers and questions, reminding her this is another loss.
But, once again, she doesn’t budge.
In total, she waits five Terran years.
It doesn’t feel like it in the Soul World. She lives out of time.
But that’s when things start getting interesting.
The Avengers decide to use time travel to get the Infinity Stones. It's not a bad plan, considering it's, well, their only plan, but Gamora already senses things will go south.
After all, only she knows the rules of the Soul Stone.
In practically every single past game, she's explained it to everyone, after returning to life with them.
But that never occurred this time around. So no live soul knows—not even Thanos, as the Thanos who did know has already perished.
Somehow, they split their forces up in such a way that two specific Avengers with an established deep, intimate, personal bond are the ones tasked with retrieving the Soul Stone, and Gamora figures the faintest of echoes from past games have swayed everyone's thinking in that direction.
She senses when the two Avengers in question arrive at Vormir and begin ascending the mountain.
She’s come to know each of the Avengers intimately over the…however many years it’s been, that she’s played this game.
Clint Barton. Also known as Hawkeye. He had a wife and family—all lost in the snap. Gamora usually gives them back to him. This time, she didn’t, and instead watched him turn to ruthless slaughter in his efforts to cope. She tells herself that when everything is over and she’s won, she will apologize to him personally.
Natasha Romanoff. Also known as the Black Widow. Gamora sees herself in her—a child stripped of her childhood, raised by monsters to kill others, for some grand purpose a child could never comprehend, but is expected to die for. Unlike Clint, Natasha channeled her grief into attempts to preserve whatever life left after Thanos, and even held out hope that the snap wasn’t the end. An impressive reaction, considering Natasha’s past. Gamora takes notes.
Both are lone wolves, from what Gamora’s observed. But both have learned to work in team settings and have given themselves up for those they consider family and friends.
On Vormir, a fight breaks out between the two of them for who must be sacrificed for the Soul Stone.
And Gamora knows it’s time to stop the game, then and there, because there's only one way this can end—a way she cannot, will not condone, because no one deserves to know this life, the endless cycle.
So, she stands, and says, “We have to reset."
But her child self doesn’t move.
Clint and Natasha teeter closer to the edge.
“No one else is supposed to die this way,” Gamora says, desperate.
Her child self just scrunches her nose, contemplating.
“We can stop this.” Gamora grabs her by her shoulders and shakes her. “Why won’t you stop this?”
“It’s a valid sacrifice,” she says.
Natasha hangs off the cliff, about to let go of Clint’s hand.
“She wanted nothing more than to be with her family again,” her child self continues. “She’s giving up that wish to save them.”
Gamora releases the child, and tries to reset everything herself. She closes her eyes and concentrates, but…
“This is the key to victory,” the child says, and holds up a hand to Gamora.
Orange fills her vision and she falls.
Natasha Romanoff also falls.
Gamora comes to beside Natasha's body. She looks around, but her child self is nowhere in sight.
She looks down at Natasha, and finds herself feeling…numb.
Her mind’s racing with a lot of other things—grief, guilt, anger, confusion.
But in her heart…nothing.
Because this is the first time she won’t be alone in many years.
It’s a strange pill to swallow. Too many emotions to feel at once.
Instead, Gamora thinks back to the countless games she spent working closely with Natasha, plotting against her father. She recalls how intimately they came to knew each other, fellow children of monsters who stole them away from their homes and the childhoods they deserved to use them for their own agendas. Where Peter and the other Guardians couldn’t quite understand Gamora’s past trauma, Natasha was there, reminiscing in her own experiences that left her struggling to do what little good she could do in her world.
She thinks back to the child’s—the stone’s—face, curious and ruthless and unwilling to prevent this tragedy.
Only then does it hit her, and she cries out, over Natasha’s unconscious body, for the second life to be saved, but ruined, by the Soul Stone and its games.
Sometime later, Natasha slowly sits up and look around, expression hesitant.
“Hello,” Gamora says calmly from behind her, trying to maintain a relaxed, yet still defensive, stance, in case she attacks, because this Natasha will not recognize her, and the realization hurts Gamora more than she thought it could. “You’re the one they call Widow."
Natasha looks unsure of what to make of Gamora. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“Anyone. Everyone.” Gamora almost smiles. “You’re one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Gamora says. “Because they call me the most dangerous woman in the galaxy.”
Natasha’s eyes dart around her quickly, and her hands move to where Gamora knows her weapons would normally be. “Who are you? And where the hell are we?”
“My name is Gamora,” she says, slowly. “And this is the Soul World.”
Natasha calms down fairly quickly after that, once it’s clear Gamora doesn’t pose an actual threat. She paces around a bit, trying to work everything out in her head. Gamora watches.
“What do you last remember?” Gamora asks.
“I remember…going to space. No, not just space—time travel. With…” Natasha pauses. “Clint. Oh my God.”
“He’s fine,” Gamora says.
“The Soul Stone…did he get it?”
Gamora can feel him carrying the stone—carrying them—back to the rest of his team, heart heavy with grief. “At your expense.”
“It had to be done,” Natasha says, boldly, without any hesitation. “Whatever it takes to bring everyone back. And stop that purple son of a bitch.”
Gamora wonders just how far Natasha is willing to take this "whatever" to save the universe.
They watch the rest of the timeline play out together, and the Avengers try to gather up the rest of the Stones to reverse Thanos’ snap. Banner snaps his fingers with his own Infinity Gauntlet, and the world around Gamora and Natasha practically comes undone.
Suddenly, Gamora feels the souls of the dusted leave all at once.
It’s a strange feeling—one she’s never had before, as the typical gatekeeper of the souls, controlling when they’re released.
Now someone else has taken over the controls.
“I can’t believe we just,” Natasha pauses, gesturing vaguely. “We just sit here?”
“There isn’t much else we can do,” Gamora says.
“I don’t like it.”
Gamora doesn’t reply.
Sure enough, the Avengers triumph against Thanos again—for real, this time. It may be a Thanos who doesn’t know what’s to come, yet, regarding the stones and the snap and most definitely not their game, but it’s something.
And then Steve Rogers goes back in time to return the Soul Stone, because he's an honorable man Gamora's come to respect but question, and Natasha no longer owes a debt.
She’s a free woman.
“Come with me,” she begs Gamora.
“I can’t.”
“You have someone—your family—all waiting for you,” Natasha points out, as if Gamora has a choice in the matter. She bites back a cutting reply that would’ve reminded Natasha of the fact.
Gamora settles for, “So do you.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Natasha insists, and Gamora swallows back the sudden urge to cry.
“You have to,” she says.
“I’ll come back for you.”
“Natasha—“
“I’ll—I’m gonna figure it out,” Natasha says. “I swear. I will. I’m coming back.”
Natasha fades completely then. Gamora wipes a stray tear from her eye.
“Yes,” she whispers. “You will.”
This is not her victory, nor does she believe it’s the most victorious outcome for the people she’s come to love and admire after countless games who have no memory of her nor any knowledge of her power.
She can get them a better ending—get everyone a better ending.
So, she resets.
This time, after the snap occurs and the dust settles, a familiar face joins her in the interim.
“Why am I here?” Natasha asks. “What—where…?”
“Just give it a moment,” Gamora says calmly. “It’ll come back to you.”
As it does, Gamora watches Natasha’s face embark on a journey of expressions, visualizing her mental process, before Natasha finally settles for a soft, “What the fuck?”
“You're back in the Soul World,” Gamora says, an echo of their first meeting. “And you can now wield the power of the Soul Stone. With me. To defeat Thanos.”
Natasha blinks. She looks like she’s about to say something, raising a hand and opening her mouth.
Then she turns abruptly and walks away.
Gamora takes a few steps after her. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere. I don’t know. Anywhere.” Natasha continues walking. “Just. Not here.”
Gamora watches her walk until she fades into the orange hues, only for Natasha to reappear on the opposite side of where she’d walked to, now walking toward Gamora.
“There is nowhere but here,” Gamora says.
Natasha stops. “This is above my pay grade.”
It's a shitty fate that Gamora doesn't know how to justify. But a selfish part of her relishes in the fact that she won't have to do this alone anymore.
So, Gamora gestures to a nearby pillar, and moves to sit down. "We have a lot to catch up on."
#gamora#natasha romanoff#endgame#gotg#avengers#endgame spoilers#mcu#my fic#here we are folks!!! the end!!!!!#well for now obvi...gonna go work on the next parts soon
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so what do you think about the episode?
I was afraid someone would ask me that bc I have some controversial opinions on the last episode of Vikings… So, let’s see…
First of all: WHERE THE FUCK IS FLOKI?
I really want to believe they wanted to leave us with the suspense. It is too stupid for me to believe Floki died that idiot way. Such a huge character, such a big person, dying that way was too stupid, even for me. Like Lagertha - who was supposed to be dead LONG AGO and has NO FUCKING AGE to be dressed to battle as she was in the fucking trailer for season 6 - he’s part of the old cast and I really wish to see Floki in season 6, having a better ending than buried in a mountain tricked by the Christian God.
Now… One by one, and the shorters first:
Ubbe Ragnarsson
The meeting with Hvitserk, in the end, was TERRIBLE. I was waiting for any kind of talk, even an angry one, anything. But they didn’t exchange more than glares and Hvitserk’s eyes were pretty confused, not letting me understand if he was sad because of Ubbe’s clear rejection or if he was mad for seeing his older brother there. A weak presence, strangely punctual, with no introduction and bad worked for something we wait through this entire season. I love Jordan’s acting, but in this episode, the script swallowed him.
Lagertha
What in the actual fuck is she still doing in this show? She’s old, tired and has no purpose but spoiling Björn by being alive.
For someone who started this war with a selfish behavior, for a crown that wasn’t hers anymore, placing brother against brother because of her impossibility to accept Ragnar’s current wife - and queen of Kattegat - wasn’t her, killing dozens of people for cowardly refusing a single combat against a crippled sixteen years old boy, and fucking with an entire lineage because of her need to be queen for a couple of months, Lagertha seems to be receiving too much attention and too much care from the writers.
Please, someone send this woman to Valhalla SOON. Love Katherine, but Lagertha was over THOUSANDS of years ago…
Magnus
Do I have to say something about this pitiful attempt to reintroduce the religious conflict into this series? This shit was presented with Athelstan (perfectly, btw), then with Ragnar (ok… good), then with Ubbe (fine, we got it, enough?), then with Hvitserk (what the fuck? Buddhism? And how in the actual fuck you just throw something you liked so bad away like he did with the little Buddha???), and Magnus…
Magnus was a TOTAL throw-away character, a total loss of time, with no real plot, no real participation, who did nothing but confuse the spectator and died without solving the mystery we all wanted to know: Was Ragnar telling the truth about sleeping with Kwenthrith or not? Think we’ll never know…
Amma
I thought she would be with Magnus and give him some plot. Now, idk what to think about her. She seems to be a strong character loyal to Björn, but also, a character who came just for this season finale. Let us see… I hope to see another strong woman in this show, at least.
Gunnhild
FUCK ME, WOMAN! I WANNA MARRY THIS GIRL! She’s amazing! Her battle skills were amazing! Her scene shooting straight to Ivar when everyone was shooting around was amazing! The way she fought EVERYONE to take Björn outta that place was amazing! I will fucking dry my stock of “amazing” with this woman. My favorite woman FOR SURE.
Harald
I have to say I was reticent with Harald since the beginning. I think Peter is a huge actor and gorgeous man and stuff, but Harald always got me with a foot behind… However, this episode showed me he’s trully a loyal man, who sticks to his word even knowing he could be a son of a bitch and warrant his crown by letting Björn die. He was intense in this last episode and I hope to see good things from him in the next season.
Now… The polemic ones…
Let us start with Björn…
I grew in hate for Alexander’s character since he started to act as Björn was when he was a child, showing himself an arrogant person, cheating on Torvi like fuck and doing things he reprehended his father for doing - for the ones who don’t remember, he was the one who reprehended Ragnar saying it was disgusting to know his father was fucking another woman that wasn’t his mother (when ubbe was made, btw).
However, I must admit in this last episode he was strong and intense. I would even be fallen for him if it wasn’t my analytic eyes who noticed since the beginning the enormous curve this season made to break Ivar and build Björn under the eyes of the public. So, I’m sorry Alexander - for his actuation is absolutely perfect and he’s good as fuck making Björn - but I still think Björn does not deserve the crown he’s wearing now and if it was to make Björn the king of Kattegat, Lagertha could only have waited until he came back from the Mediterranean bc Aslaug wasn’t denying his birthright and since Ragnar fell ill, she was collaborating with Björn to raise Kattegat into the great market center it became under their hands. So, no war would have been necessary and Björn would have ascended to King of Kattegat anyway. It was a stupid end, tbh. Sorry, sad, but true.
My baby, Hvitserk…
I love to see him fighting, but I’m tired to see Marco’s character being beaten in this show. This episode was a real beat down to his character who was beaten from the beginning to the end. From discovering his beloved Thora was dead burned alive by Ivar, to having his flank defeated in the war, passing by not being able to kill or even reach Ivar and going under his brother Björn’s shadow once again after all he did to prevail by himself, Hvitserk was knocked out in this episode and the last hit was Ubbe’s arrival, embracing Björn and twitching lips to him that disgusting way, causing me chills of anger for seeing such a bad ending for this relationship.
Hvitserk deserves better than live under his brothers’ shadow until the end of this series and the trailer for season 6 really made me have chills about this possibility, since we clearly can see Ivar is proposing Hvitserk to join him again - or forcing a dagger against his throat for a positive answer, which is just worse than just propose.
Hvitserk has been being treated as a game by the writers, being beaten from side to side, failing in finding his destiny whenever he jumps sides and extending a conflict that could have been already solved in his plotline. Every brother has its own side. It is passed time from Hvitserk to grown into an independent character.
Passing it by, the battle scenes with Marco’s growls and marvelous acting are amazing and I can’t wait to see more of his acting - which is actually the only reason why I’m still seeing Vikings.
I gonna be beaten for this, but… Freydis.
Everyone hated her from the beginning because of the bad acting Alicia gave for her. Fine.
Now let us take off Alicia from this show. Put anyone there, idk, anyone you like. Forget the actress. Let us look at the plot story that was presented to us and what it was really supposed to be.
Freydis was a slave girl from Viking people (not Christian origins), a woman who believed in the Gods and, more than anything, who believed deformities were a sign of the Gods’ favor. Period.
When she’s brought to talk to Ivar for the first time, she already knows who he is and she seems pretty fascinated for him - Alicia’s inexpressive face at this point kinda killed this fascination, but when Freydis says “I would do anything you ask me to do” she was supposed to sound fascinated, looking to someone she sees as a God. Ok? - and she says what she really believes about him: that he’s fated to great things since she knows he’s the son of Ragnar, from Odin’s lineage, a God, a man marked by what she believes is the sign of the Gods’ huge favor - since Ivar’s deformity is huge.
Forward, she’s seen looking at Ivar from the other side of his room entrance… As a free woman, she didn’t need to be there to serve him, which means she was there to see him. It gives us the impression that she was observing him, looking at him from some distance - what is proved if you remember the party scene when she’s also looking at him from far away. So, she was a woman with a crush on the new king of Kattegat, who was seeing her crush become everything she thought he would become. Freydis was a fascinated woman, who was noticing some interest from the man she was fascinated with over her.
Their interaction was supposed to be an innocent love starting. She was supposed to be shown as a woman who really was doing everything for the man she loved and believed was a god. Even fucking another man, giving up her own dignity to create an illusion for him to have the child he wanted so bad, just to warrant his dream. Killing to warrant his dream wouldn’t be broken. In her mind, she was really doing a huge sacrifice for Ivar. She was going down and far for him, for his love, for her beliefs. In her mind, when Baldur was born deformed, she received a HUGE gift from the Gods, for her son was marked by their favor and deformed like his foster father. In her mind, the gods were giving her their connivance, marking her child with a deformity so Ivar would never doubt the child was his and her illusion would give him his dreams forever.
She was a woman, in love, deluded and with a mind broken by her beliefs - someone recognizes it?
A man, wanting love, deluded about himself and broken by his legs’ deformity and disease???
That’s what I’m talking about!
Freydis was supposed to be a pair for Ivar, for real! We were supposed to have suspicious she could be manipulating him, but the acting of Alicia in this character gave us the total opposite, causing us to doubt there was any love in her actions when Freydis was completely in love for Ivar and deluded by his false divinity.
She really believed he was a god! And it all breaks when he kills Baldur for his deformity, showing her he never believed the same she does, her son was never favored by the gods, her sacrifice was nothing for him, and the illusion she fought so hard to create for him was shattered, for he didn’t want to be a merciful and loved god, but he decided to be feared and cruel against his people instead of following her advice.
Baldur’s death killed Freydis heart, her love for Ivar but more than that, her illusions and beliefs. She lost her faith, she realized all she believed about deformities and the Gods’ favor was a lie, and it brought her the realization that all she believed about Ivar was a lie. He was no god, he was just a monster in her vision, a monster who killed her little child and destroyed everything she created for them. She became a broken woman who was supposed to have shown in the end that the love of a mother surpasses everything, by betraying her “beloved” Ivar in order to avenge what he did to her son.
I’m sorry for Alicia’s fans, I have nothing against her, but her acting destroyed Freydis’ plot and she had a REAL GOOD plot in here! She was supposed to be loved, not hated. We were supposed to be mourning for Ivar’s way to kill her love. But here we are, hating and celebrating…
The poor woman deserved better and she really loved Ivar for good. The bad actress’ choice, in this case, swallowed a good plot after all. And I’m sorry for seeing this. With fewer scenes and less interaction, Eve Connolly was able to make us love Thora more than Alicia did for Freydis in an entire season… Sad, again, but true.
And, in the end, but not less important, Ivar
A complete deface. That’s what I saw in this season.
Ivar was built to be a dual character, Alex made a HUGE job to show us his duality and, in order to promote Björn as Ragnar’s little favorite, Hirst defaced Ivar’s duality, feeding his ego, causing him to become a huge motherfucking asshole to make us hate him and open our hearts to sweet Björn’s cause.
Let us put things right here: Ivar was RIGHT. His mother was killed in cold blood by a bitter selfish ex-wife, coward enough to not to accept a single combat against him, coward enough to put brother against brother and kill dozens in a war that could have been solved simply fighting him when his ego wasn’t that swollen and all he wanted was avenging his mother.
Now, the initial purpose completely vanished in the battle of egos this season became and a character who had a real valuable reason to make war is now just being a spoiled little boy crying because his toys do not want to play his game the way he wants.
Sad and ridiculous to see the exact opposite we saw with Freydis: in her case, a good plot destroyed by bad acting. In his case, a huge actor being swallowed into a vortex of bad writing and bad plotting.
Like Jordan and Marco, Alex is being swallowed by the bad writing of the series and even then, he still shows his huge talent, carrying Ivar in his back as a heavy burden, showing us emotions in his eyes, feelings, sensations, breaking the bad plot with his intense actuation and causing us chills whenever he raises his fierce blues towards the camera.
Defaced or not, Ivar is still one of the best interpreted characters of this series and I am sad to see in the trailers that Hirst will go for madness to finish the defacing of Ivar, putting him totally sunk in the role of a villain when he was clearly a dubious character that could have been saved by a better use for Alex’s heavy talent.
Hallucinating with Freydis, forcing Hvitserk to join him as if his brother was nothing but a dog, Ivar is going down and down with the only purpose to allow Björn to glow in the eyes of the public since in season 4B and 5A, Ivar started to carry the series in his back and it was never the intention of Hirst that Björn could lose the position of, in Horik’s words, “Baldur” among the sons of Ragnar.
A sad plot for such a marvelous actor and a huge struggle from Alex to deliver us a phenomenal work from the beginning to the end of this season. Applauses for him and someone please stab the writers or come to fandom for some more ideas.
As Alex said himself: Some theories and stories from fans are “better than what is written”, but he didn’t say that… “Obviously.”
That’s what I think, dear anon! I hope you enjoy!
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lover!!!!
because we KNOW ms swift still has me right up her ass, i just listened to lover for the first time and thought i would share some unedited, unfiltered thoughts. im a wreck. enjoy
i forgot that you existed
funky instrumental yeah baby
the laughter...shes baby
gooD opener
catchy as fuck
fun!! so fun so funky so much sunshine and silliness and CATHARSIS
cruel summer
ohhoooo weve got a BOP folks
I JUST GASPED
that bridge switch up .. chills
the harmonies THE LAYERS
OOF
IM ASCENDING
THIS IS EVERYTHING
the man
holy shit go the fuck off
ooh she catchy as hell
YES
head boppin cutthroat tune...the duality of WOMAN
bitches....TWICE....shes grown up
this outro mmmm the maaaeeaaan
i think he knows
pullin us outta the track 5 tear sesh with some fun! i see u
GROOVY
ooh OOH
DROP INTO THE CHORUS
high its high
OH MY GOD
THE LIFT INTO THAT BRIDGE SHUT UP
FOLLOW THE SPARKS
OOH BABY THIS IS THE BUTTERFLIES
wHISper
i HAVE to bop
literally cant stop smiling
miss americana
oh dark EDGY
fuck
yes ooooh
WONDERLAND + I KNOW PLACES VIBES
go
fight
WIN
OH
THAT SWITCH UP
THE VIOLIN
bad bad girl ahhhhhhhHHHHH
paper rings
SHUT UP
the vinyl sound
I NEED TO DANCE
THIS IS SO FUN
IM IN LOVE WITH LOVE
PAPER RINGS IN PICTURE FRAMES
THESE VERSES IM SO IN LOVE
1 2 3 4!!!!!!!!!!!!!
its SUMMER ITS SUNNY EVERYTHING IS SO GOOD AND HAPPY MWAH
THE BEAT DISSAPPEARING ... MY HEART!!!
AND COMING BACK!!!!! MY HEARY!!!!!!!
fade out FADE OUT taylor is bringing back fade outs 2k19
cornelia street
i love it already
oh
sex? sex
yes
Oh my god
IM CRYING
you and i THAT WAS SO SOFT
driving song ohhhh yes this is
BAREFOOT IN THE KITCHEN SACRED NEW BEGINNINGS THAT BECAME MY RELIGION
THIS IS BOUNCING ME AROUND BETWEEN CRYING AND BOPPING NOT FAIR
death by a thousand cuts
oh my god the LAYERS THE LEVELS
THE GUITAR
so much is going on holy shit
my heart my hips my body my love!!!!!!
IM SO OVERWHELMED !!! THAT BRIDGE OH MY GOD
IM IN LOVE WITH THIS GUITAR AND MELODY LINE
london boy
oh the production in this WOAH
so fun !!! diplomacy and all world wars solved by taylot swift
love all these references to places ive never been
solid bop i feel it vibrating thru my whole body
soon you'll get better
shut up im not ready for this
ACOUSTIC COUNTRY BABY
TEARS
VIOLIN
my hearts broken
i need a moment.
false god
TRUMPET IN ONE EAR OH MY GOD
im so obsessed with this
OH MY GOD THIS CHORUS IS SO GOOD I GOT CHILLS
LUH UH UH UH OVE
im grooving oh am I GROOVING
wow
OUTRO
WOW
afterglow
oh no o
oh this bass
oh
INFELT THAT DROP IN MY VAGINA
MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW
i have no words this song is searing through my skin
SHUT UP SHUT UP HUST THE BEAT THAT WAS SO JJJJHHDHDHHHH
it's nice to have a friend
oh WOAH
creepy ? ok im so intrigued
this is giving me chills oh my god whats happening
SHUT UP
GAY
THIS IS GAY
TRUMPETS FAR AWAY BELLS
this slow build
im shaking
literally. GAY LONGING
THESE OOHS OH MY GOD
OH MY GOD WHATS HAPPENING
IS THAT IT
I WANT MORE
this song belongs to wlw dont fucking touch me
daylight
im soft
IM SOFT
IM GONNA WEEP
I ONCE BELIEVED LOVE WOULD BE BURNING RED BUT ITS GOLDEN
IM ACTUALLY GONNA COMBUST MS TAYLOR YOU FOUND IT
my whole body is shaking
YOU GOTTA STEP INTO THE DAYLIGHT AND LET IT GO
OK I WILL
YOU ARE WHAT YOU LOVE
YOU DID NOT JUST HIT ME WITH THAT MS SWIFT
#this is a mess#do taylor swift blogs still even follow me? who knows#im a mess#i dont know what to do with myself that was such a WHIRLWIND#wow#like all i can say is#WOW#lover#ts#shut up abby
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Rings of Fire (Sort of.)
Tagged: @theaveragedemigod, @the-daughter-of-wisdom, @abrimstonecosmos, @god-of-the-seas
Time/Place: After the Chase/Jackson wedding, in Percy and Annabeth’s apartment
Details: Percy and Annabeth are non-traditional to the surprise of no one, Hades doesn’t mind lighting people on fire but is otherwise allergic to most forms of human contact, and Poseidon is on supervisory duty to make sure no one blows anything up. In other words, a fairly average and tame Saturday afternoon. Told via RPNow. No trigger warnings to speak of, we kept this one mostly family-friendly.
RINGS OF FIRE (SORT OF.)
--------
PERCY:
It took a little doing, a little planning that was probably more
Annabeth's style than his, but he'd finally managed to do the thing.
He was still a little shell-shocked that Hades, who barely knew them,
had offered to do their wedding ring tattoos in the first place. He
figured striking while the iron was hot was a good thing. Plus, the
back-pocket dad for support and/or watching didn't hurt anything. At
least, not as much as the tattoos would. He remembered when his
Praetor mark had shown up, and while he knew Annabeth was tough, he
didn't want to force her to subject herself to something like that --
and his ever-growing discomfort with the Gods he didn't know, and even
some of the ones he did, had him second-guessing ever opening his big
mouth about wanting a tattoo. It was too late to back out, though, so
all he could really do is make sure the apartment didn't look like a
war zone, and wait his dad and Hades to arrive.
ANNABETH:
Annabeth was fairly relaxed about the whole thing, knowing that the
pain wouldn't be worse than most things they'd already experienced.
She was nervous about Hades doing it, unsure about how the god truly
felt towards her and Percy, but Poseidon's presence was making her
more at ease with it. Watching Percy fuss with the apartment, she
smiled and shook her head. "Relax Perc. The house is straight.
It'll be alright. They'll be here soon, just..breathe a bit."
PERCY:
He turned and looked at his wife. Wife. Totally still wasn't old.
He pointed at himself, raising his eyebrows and pretending offense --
badly. "Who me? I'm totally chill. Just, y'know, doing my daily
cleaning." He dropped his hand and leveled a serious glance at her.
"Before my uncle comes over to light us on fire. Just your average
day as a Jackson, amiright?"
HADES:
Briefly, Hades considered simply appearing in the newlyweds' living
room. But that one word reminded him that he really didn't want to
accidentally walk in on anything newlywed in style. Instead, shadow
travel delivered him at their front door and he knocked firmly. His
impatience was clear but he tamped it down. After all, he had made the
offer. Purely selfishly, but they didn't need to know that. When the
door opened, his eyebrow quirked, "Hello, Jacksons."
POSEIDON:
He had been running late to his son's home, a customer at the shop
holding him up. He practically ran up the steps, smiling at both his
brother and son as he ascended the stariway to their apartment.
"Hello! Sorry. I'm not late am I? It's good to see you Hades! And
you too son."
PERCY:
Percy had just given Annabeth a roguish wink, maybe even saucy, when
someone knocked on the door. He'd always been just a touch
disconcerted with shadow travel, even when Mrs. O'Leary was helping
him do it, so he was glad there was a knock instead of another body in
their apartment as he'd been considering asking Annabeth about a
really fun way to kill some time. Anyway, he'd no sooner than
opened the door and his mouth, in that order, before his dad came
rushing up, too. "Hello," he said to both men at once, opening the
door so everyone could get in. "Thanks for coming. This should be
quick, right? Or we can make it that way. I'm sure you guys have
plenty of better things to do, so we won't keep you too long."
ANNABETH:
Annabeth smirked at the wink, about to suggest they lock the door and
do something a bit more fun herself when there was a knock. Sighing
a bit, Annabeth stood as the door opened, smiling at Nico's father and
then Poseidon. "Hey!" Her gaze lingered on Hades, the young woman
letting herself take the god in before she offered him her hand to
shake. "Good to finally meet you Hades. I've heard..some about you.
Read more. Thanks for offering to do this for us."
HADES:
Hades simply inclined his head to his brother, as aloof and distant as
people would expect. At the offer of Annabeth's hand, he took it
gently. "I'm sure you've heard plenty and little of it flattering," he
said bluntly as he walked into the far too tiny apartment. He pulled a
face, already ready to be done and out of there. "Who else was going
to? Thunderbutt?" He scoffed.
POSEIDON:
Poseidon didn't let his brother's distant nature bother him, the god
continuing to smile before walking into the apartment as well and
taking a place in the corner. "It's good to be here Percy, and I
wouldn't be anywhere else." He smiled kindly at them all and leaned
on the wall, letting the other three get in introductions.
PERCY:
He couldn't help himself. He was an adult, making adult choices and
here to do adult things (not that kind) in the apartment he and
Annabeth worked to pay for themselves-- but he had to laugh at Hades'
name for Zeus. Again. For not the first time and probably not the
last. "I don't think I want him to blow me or electrocute me. We
talked about having the forge make a branding iron or something,
maybe, but... yeah, this is probably better." He glanced at his
uncle. "Have you ever done something like this before? Like do I
just hand over what she drew for you or...."
ANNABETH:
Annabeth shook the god's hand firmly, smiling a bit at his words.
"The books maybe not, but the word of mouth hasn't been unflattering."
She let go of his hand quickly, figuring Hades and Nico's human
contact preferences to be similiar. Shooting Percy an amused look at
his laughter, she shrugged. "There were options, but you're likely
the most precise. And it really is an honor. There's likely not many
that can say they've been tattooed by Hades himself."
HADES:
Hades lips twitched at the corner when his nephew laughed at his
nickname for Zeus. It didn't make him feel bad for what he'd been up
to, but he was a little more amused by him than before. He held his
hand out to Percy, "Let me see the design, nephew." It kept him from
having to touch anyone else again unless he absolutely had to. It was
bad enough to be in such close proximity. His eyes flicked to the
blonde before to the design, "None living, that I can think of." He
looked at his brother, "Aren't we old for babysitting?"
POSEIDON:
Poseidon watched the threesome interact with a smile, pleased to see
the slight twitch of his brother's lips. It was nice to see Hades at
least somewhat relaxed, and his son as well as Annabeth seemed at
ease. At Hades question, the sea god laughed a bit "I don't believe
we're ever too old for babysitting brother! Besides, with these two's
track-record in dealing with the gods I can understand why they'd want
an audience of some sort for this."
PERCY:
There was a little bit of alarm at Hades' question. Percy didn't
really want it to come down to a we don't trust you sort of thing,
even if that's what it was. That made it less likely to all go
smoothly or for them to seem appreciative. He should've known his dad
would try and probably succeed at deflecting the tension. He handed
over what Annabeth had sketched out. "The olive branch on the front
and the cheesy initials on the back was the rough idea," he said,
swinging his elbow out to lightly bump Annabeth as he teased her. He
flicked a glance at his dad. "You'll still talk to me even if I have
an Athenian tattoo, right? I mean, you ignore the Roman one, and you
like my wife, but I'm still okay with not pissing you off."
HADES:
Hades quirked an eyebrow at his brother but said nothing, instead
looking at the sketch in his hand. "Simple enough to work for as small
as it has to be," he nodded and stepped away. His eyes rolled so hard
he wondered that they didn't pop out of his head at the exchange
between Poseidon and Percy, mentally patting himself on the back for
not gagging out loud. He held the paper back towards the newly married
pair and, in his silent way, demanded their attention by coming
closer. "Who's going first, then?"
PERCY:
It was almost a habit, as Hades subtly moved toward them, that Percy
tucked himself between Annabeth and whatever was coming. She could
handle herself, she had protected him more than once, and it was
probably sexist but... once an accidental leader, always an accidental
leader, right? "Me," he said simply. "Tell me what to do -- within
reason, obviously. I'm not gonna bark when you say 'chicken' or
anything."
HADES:
His eyebrow quirked at the move of his nephew to block Annabeth from
him. He did visibly roll his eyes this time, "Oh yes, because I live
for parlor tricks. Just hold out your damn hand and stay still. This
is going to hurt like a bitch, so I hope you're sure about it." He
gestured for Percy's hand impatiently.
PERCY:
"I just wanted to, y'know, address the possibility. Cover the bases.
Close the loopholes.
Whatever." Percy smirked a little and then rolled his eyes, giving
some parity to the fact that he wouldn't ever give a God carte
blanche. "This isn't my first time," he said dully as he held out his
left hand. Sure, maybe he hadn't seen the first one coming which
might've made it better, but details.
HADES:
"Never a bad idea when I'm involved," he shrugged with a smirk before
hovering his hand over the offered one. A tiny, precise line of fire
flickered over Percy's skin testingly before it began to burn deep
enough to suit their needs. Finishing the top, he flipped his nephew's
hand to do the bottom. He seemed completely unfazed by the smell that
accompanied the heat and simply withdrew his hand when he was done.
PERCY:
Even though it wasn't his first time, it was the first time he could
see it as it happened. He could feel most of his muscles tense, an
effort to keep his body in place as pain caught up to what was being
done. It didn't feel great, but it also didn't promote any sort of
natural flight response. He was mostly past that kind of thing, and
just folded his lips together to keep himself from making any
embarrassing noise.
HADES:
Hades gestured him towards his father, "Go on, let him look it over so
I don't have hovering while I try to get hers done. All it will do is
annoy me and that won't end well for anyone." He gestured for Annabeth
to come closer to him so he could do the second of the set and get
out. "If you want, look at his first so you can know exactly what to
expect at the end of this, because it can't be redone."
PERCY:
Since he watched with rapt fascination at the marks rising on his
skin, he didn't have to verify. He knew it was right, nothing more
and nothing less than Annabeth had drawn out. "Thank you," he said
simply before he pulled his hand back. He compromised and did some of
what he was told -- his specialty. Instead of going to where Poseidon
stood watching, he took his place at Annabeth's back before gesturing
to his dad. That way, he wasn't hovering, but he wasn't, like,
leaving her to fend for herself either. He held his hand out toward
his dad and brushed a totally unnecessary kiss over her shoulder so
she didn't forget he was there.
ANNABETH:
Annabeth watched the whole process with interest, her grey eyes
watching as Hades produced his precise flame and pressed into Percy's
skin. She was impressed, while also stressed about Percy being in
pain. However, he seemed to be handling it well, and it wasn't
excessive. Glancing at Poseidon, she smiled when she saw the god
watching, but that he was obviously not worried about his brother
slipping or hurting Percy too much. She would have touched her
husband to reassure him she was there, but she didn't want to
accidentally shift him or distract Hades. So she stayed quiet until
the process was complete.
When it was her turn, she couldn't help but sigh as Percy ignored most
of Hades instructions, giving the god an apologetic smile as she
traded places with the demigod and gave him her hand. "I don't need
to. You clearly know what you're doing."
POSEIDON:
Poseidon stayed relaxed in the corner during the duration of the
process as he noticed Annabeth glancing his way, but he was watching
it all with a sharp eye. He cared for his brother deeply, but knew he
had his sneaky ways of letting out his temper and the sea god intended
for his son's wedding tattoo not to be a way Hades did so. He was
pleased to see his brother's attention to detail, and had to admit he
was impressed with Hades work.
He stood as Hades sent Percy to him so he could examine the tattoo,
smiling a bit as Percy stayed close to his Annabeth. Crossing the
room, he took his son's hand and carefully examined the work, nodding
easily. "It's well done Hades. You're more artistic than I would
have guessed."
HADES:
Inclining his head at her words, he put his hand over hers but paused
for a moment. Hades looked to his brother, his face set in harder
lines that it should have been. "My realm didn't decorate itself.
Neither did I have access to people who wished to create my throne or
the room it sits in," he reminded him quietly. Quickly, he returned
his attention to the work at hand, glancing at Percy over her shoulder
with a slight quirk to his eyebrow. It was slightly challenging but he
went back to work, repeating the process on Annabeth's slim finger.
POSEIDON:
Poseidon met Hades hard gaze, his own slightly hurt for a brief moment
before he nodded. "Nor did I believe it was. I'll admit that my
failure to consider that was thoughtless. I meant no offense brother,
I apologize." He gave the fellow god a slight bow of his head before
looking at his son and offering him a soft smile. "It looks good, and
is unlikely to get infected or anything as long as you look after it.
Do you like it?"
PERCY:
It felt a little like they'd stepped into something he didn't want to
step into. Hades bitterness was apparent and Percy idly wondered,
before his thoughts could flutter to something else, if it was
something they had in common. While Percy wasn't the type to stay
angry, and Hades had likely been angry for lifetimes, it was still at
least a thread. He understood to a slight degree and glanced at his
dad to see how he'd respond. He knew his dad wasn't perfect but....
basically, it was just straight uncomfortable for a minute until
Poseidon apologized. He nodded in response to his father's question.
"Yes. It's one of three things she's drawn that I actually got
without the backstory. And Hades did a good job, I'm pretty sure."
He glanced to check Hades' progress on Annabeth but it was a curiosity
check only and he didn't want to actually be disruptive, so much as he
could ever control that.
ANNABETH:
Annabeth was silent during the tense moment between gods, knowing it
was neither hers nor Percy's place to speak. She did however study
the god of the Underworld's face during the interaction, and even
afterwards, not even tensing once Hades began burning into her flesh.
Once she'd had a moment to compose herself, she spoke quietly. "I'm
sorry if having Poseidon is making you addedly uncomfortable....we
really are grateful for this Hades. I know it's a rather useless
offer, but if you ever decide you need a daughter of Athena for aid,
you've only to call. Really, thank you. Your work is beautiful."
She gave a pained smile before looking back at her hand, watching him
finish with keen interest.
HADES:
It was strange, hearing apologies for the way things had been for
millennium. It changed nothing, but it made his eyes flick to his
brother for a brief moment. His attention quickly was full force on
Annabeth, the rest pushed to the periphery at her words. "Poseidon is
here to make the two of you more comfortable with my presence, I
harbor no delusions over that." Her offer made him pause his words
before he inclined his head slightly to her, "Thank you." He finished
her tattoo carefully and stepped back when it was complete to allow
the other two men to examine it, and her, knowing that was the way
this would end.
POSEIDON:
Poseidon was pleased to see the way Hades eyes flicked to him for the
briefest of moments, glad he didn't see hatred in his gaze before he
was distracted by his son. He chuckled a bit before nodding. "He did
an excellent job. And it suits you both and your situation as
demigods very well. I'll readily admit you two being together has
given me some pause and amusement." He smirked a bit remembering how
much it irritated Athena before looking at Annabeth once the tattoo
was finished, then his brother. "It was good of you to do this Hades."
PERCY:
Percy shrugged at Hades' lack of illusion, way more unapologetic than
his wife. Plus, it's not like Hades needed the apologies. He knew
exactly what was up and, if the roles were reversed, Percy was
guessing he would've done something similar -- he would've brought a
safety backup. He was distracted from his lack of sorry by his dad.
While he wasn't offended, he was still gonna ask. "Hold up,
amusement?"
ANNABETH:
"Not because it's you specifically Hades. You're a god we don't know
yet. I'd have asked him here if it was any of the others too. Gods
either take well to us or do their best to ruin our lives, and you're
never sure which way they go." Annabeth gave him another tight smile
as he finished up, giving him a bow of her head. "No, thank you. And
it's the least I can do." When he'd finished, she looked at it
herself for a long moment, biting her lip before flashing the god a
bright smile. "Thank you!" She had the sudden urge to hug him but
quickly realized he'd likely react just as poorly as Nico would and
just pushed her hand back towards Percy and Poseidon to stop herself,
glancing at the sea god. "Amusement?"
HADES:
Hades looked at the scene unfolding between the other three and rolled
his eyes. "I will leave the three of you to it," he spoke as he
shifted towards the door, completely unwilling to be an outside party
to the conversation that was sure to quickly unfold.
POSEIDON:
"Amusement. Athena was very disproving of her smartest child being at
all connected with me and my offspring. And now you two are wed. I'll
admit I get enjoyment from that." He smirked at the twosome before
looking to his brother. "Thank you brother. It's fantastic work. I'll
drop by to see you in the next day or so."
PERCY:
"Well, yeah, we made out in front of the spot where you and she fought
in Rome, too, so I guess we can all get some amusement out of it.
Maybe except Athena 'cause she seems pretty, um..." he hooked his
fingers like they were claws and then had to stop because it didn't
feel great.
As the 'man of the house,' Percy knew it was his responsibility to at
least open the door for his uncle. He seemed like a guy who didn't
like to be around people and, though Percy had tried more than once to
encourage Nico to not be like that, he didn't really have the leeway
to pressure or tease his uncle. Hades had been thanked graciously,
promised had been made, blah-de-blah, so really there wasn't a ton
left to say as he opened the door. "Thanks. They look great. We
probably couldn't have done it without you. There's a good-sized
shadow at the end of the hallway if that's your thing."
HADES:
Hades snorted quietly at Percy's motion, mocking Athena, thinking it
was incredibly on point, before turning his attention to Poseidon. He
inclined his head, "I will see you." He didn't count on it being
incredibly soon, and would certainly prefer that it wasn't.
Stepping through the door, he lifted an eyebrow at his nephew, "No,
likely not. Enjoy them and all they stand for, nephew." He made his
way to the shadow and simply disappeared, leaving all of the homey
mushiness behind him.
ANNABETH:
AnnaBeth rolled her eyes at both Percy and his father, choosing to
ignore their comments about her mother. They weren't close, but Athena
was still her mom after all. Looking at Hades, she gave him another
smile, still nervous around the god but more comfortable now. He
reminded her of Nico, though a bit more relaxed than his son seemed to
be sometimes. "Really Hades, we can't thank you enough. Maybe sometime
we..." she blushed, realizing she was about to offer social
interaction to Hades and his son, who both hated social interaction.
"Never mind. But really, I can't thank you enough."
POSEIDON:
Poseidon burst into laughter at his som's wprds, loving the
description and gleaning some enjoyment from Annabeth's eye roll. He
managed to give his brother a nod before he disappeared and looked
back at the two children. "That is good to know. The two of you truly
are full of surprises."
PERCY:
It wasn't even because they were married, he didn't think, but he
could feel Annabeth's eyeroll even with his back turned. Between that
and his dad laughing, it gave him life. Sort of. He turned around
and went to Annabeth's side because, you know, of course he did. He
grabbed her hand gently to look it over in more detail. He addressed
his dad at the same time. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I
can't always tell."
ANNABETH:
"You two are ridiculous." AnnaBeth looked affectionately at the two of
them, happy with this little family. Everything felt right, even if
she did still have a few concerns and worries she wished she didn't.
"Obviously it's a good thing. Otherwise we'd be much more boring."
POSEIDON:
He laughed again at his sons question, but nodded in agreement with
his daughter in law. "It's a good thing. It's made it difficult to
protect you at times, but I've always liked that you got into trouble.
Meant you were at least a little like me." He gave his son a warm
smile before nodding. "Well, I believe it's time I took my leave. I'm
sure the two of you would rather be with each other than have me
hanging around." The sea god gave them both a playful wink before
shifting towards the door.
PERCY:
Her tattoos looked just like his -- and the thought came that he
should find some sort of gift for Hades -- so he let her go in order
to get the door for his dad. "Yeah, I think that's pretty well
confirmed at this point, right?" He asked, comfortable in the idea
that it was. It wasn't just mystical powers that made him like his
dad -- it was his personality, too. He'd been told more than once
that he was the child of his father's better nature, and he believed
it. He also took it as a high compliment and didn't comment on it
very often, which was rare for his smartass mouth. He smiled as he
opened the door, though. "We can find things to do when we're alone
together, sure, but we don't mind having you either. Thanks for
coming, Dad. I appreciate it." He held his hand out for a handshake
because that's what grownups did, right? Or would a hug be more
appropriate? He didn't know.
POSEIDON:
"It is...but I'll admit I like the reminders. There aren't many of my
children that turn out like me. Especially ones whose lives I haven't
been involved with as much as I'd like." Poseidon smiled at Percy,
wishing hed been there long ago for his son. He'd done all he could
since they'd been allowed to meet, but he still couldn't help
regretting not being able to see him grow. Looking at the offered
hand, the sea god decided to ignore it and stepped in close, hugging
his son tightly. "Anytime son. I'm glad I could help." He stood
there a moment before letting Percy go and stepping out the door.
"I'll see you around son. Goodbye Annabeth! I'm sure I'll see you soon
as well." Giving them both a bright smile, he then turned and left,
leaving them to their day.
ANNABETH:
Annabeth stayed back, letting the two men react. It was nice to see
them talking, and she couldn't help but watch the two hug. She knew
Percy cared for his father, and she was happy to see the god being
affectionate with his child. Annabeth wished that would happen more
often. She waved back as he left. "Thanks Poseidon! For everything."
Before reaching out and taking Percy's hand to tug him back towards
her.
PERCY:
Between the fond smile, the words, and the hug, he was too stunned to
do anything but accept it, and maybe even sink into it for a minute.
He'd always been a hugger, personally, so he didn't mind one bit. It
was actually kind of nice. For all the times he'd been less than
thrilled with the explanations why he was how he was, it was now he
was profoundly glad to be a son of Poseidon. His dad's presence was
comforting and warm and he was a little sad to see it walk out the
door. He was definitely glad there'd be a 'next time.'
Annabeth tugged him away from the gag-worthy moment at the door and he
smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "Well, now there's really
no going back," he teased, launching into a pun that even he knew was
just awful. He smiled, though. because he had no shame. "You're
branded with my P."
ANNABETH:
"No, there's certainly not. But there wasn't before either. I've
always been yours pretty much." Annabeth blushed a little at how
ridiculous she sounded before practically choking a the next words out
of Percy's mouth. "Branded with your..Percy Jackson what is wrong
with you." She laughed, but shook her head at him, disbelieving that
that had come out of his mouth.
PERCY:
The choking laughter, unchecked and totally unexpected, was kind of
what he lived for, and the fact that he'd managed to surprise the
woman who knew him so well was like oxygen. He pulled her closer,
smiling broadly. "You've got the rest of a mortal lifetime to tackle
that list. Besides, I totally meant the letter P like my initial.
Why, what did you think I meant?"
ANNABETH:
Annabeth easily moved closer to him, chuckling at his words. "That's
true. And there's always the afterlife too. I'm sure we'll both be
hooked up with Elysium at this point." She smiled back at him,
resting her forehead on his and laughing quietly. "Well of course you
did. I'v no idea what my dirty little brain could've been thinking
of."
PERCY:
His hands slid down just a little, not totally groping her ass but
pushing the boundary as he was so likely to do. Plus it let him press
a little closer to her and he wouldn't say no to that, especially in
the privacy of their own crappy little apartment. "I'd hope so. Do
you think we could just, like, past go twice and go straight to Isles
of the Blest? Or would you settle for Elysium if we were there
together?" He asked, genuinely curious. His grin widened. "Oh, I
think you do know what your dirty little brain was thinking." He
kissed her nose, a stupid and silly little gesture he actually really
loved doing whenever he got the chance. "Either way, your dirty
thoughts are hot."
ANNABETH:
Annabeth chuckled as his hands drifted, the young woman not giving a
single word of protest and smiling a bit at the question. "If there
is any justice in the world we'll go right for the Isles of the Blest
at this point, but I doubt Hades would bend rules like that. I'll
settle for wherever we end up, cause either way I just want to be with
you." She smirked at his big grin, leaning in a little closer to
press a light kiss to his lips. "I've got a lot more than dirty
thoughts right now if you want to stop talking about our deaths for a
bit and take me to bed Mr.Jackson."
PERCY:
He hummed his agreement with her words and his satisfaction at how
close she was pressed, then bit his lip and changed their course --
both in the conversation he didn't want to involve more talking and in
the direction they were moving. "I do -- Mrs. Jackson."
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New Orleans, Pt. 2
Chapter four of my fanfic!! I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. Feel free to message me and reblog it!! (Just no stealing it please). Trigger Warnings: panic attack, some violence, a make-out scene (I'm a thirsty bitch, what can I say?), mature language. ------------------- "Alright, well it seems like we still have a little time before that zunami gets to us, so we'll split up and look for supplies. Addy's with Doc, Murphy will go with me and Vasquez, and Tally and 10k will go together. Search stores and houses and we'll meet back here", Warren orders. "Aye-aye, cap'n", I drawl. Murphy snorts and I wink at him. 10k and I start toward some of the houses in a small neighborhood off the main street, searching for anything we can find. As we meander down the side streets, I sing quietly to myself. It's a tendency that seemed to carry over from pre-Z. I did it when I was nervous. The combination of being alone with 10k is enough to make my palms sweat and my mouth feel stuffed with cotton...add jump-scares from Zs into that mix, and you get a very nervous Tally. "Little black submarines, operator please, patch me back to my mind...", I sing quietly to myself. We go up the stairs onto a small, cramped porch. He opens the door cautiously for me, and take a deep breath before I step around it into the eerie house. "Oh , can it be, the voices calling me, they get lost and out of time", I sing as loud as I dare, trying to draw any Zs out. Two loud snarls echo through the foyer and the zombies they came from lurch from the living room at us. We each grab one and pike them. "4106", 10k murmurs, looking to me. I shrug. "Guess they didn't like my voice". He lets out a soft, short laugh at that. "Well, I think you sound amazing". Ugh, so cute and sweet and I just want him to kiss me so bad... I smile and our bodies unconsciously inch toward each other, as if they are magnetic. Becoming too aware of this, I take a step back. Whew, that was close. Too close. Don't go fucking this up, Tally. He probably doesn't even like you like that. He just doesn't have many other choices in females. Just focus. I send him a soft smile. "We should hurry up and get those supplies before we get overrun", I manage to get out. He nods, looking...disappointed? We manage to scrape up a couple gallons of water stored in old bleach containers. "Smart", nods 10k as he hoists one into his pack. Too bad the kitchen was completely empty otherwise. Someone tried to leave in a hurry, for certain. Too bad they didn't seem to get very far. "I'm gonna look for some clothes up in the bedrooms. We are starting to look pretty ratty, even for us." "I'll go with you". He throws the pack on his back and we quickly ascend the stairs, weapons ready in case we missed a particularly sneaky Z. We both huff a sigh of relief when we encounter no other zombies. "Let's check out that master bedroom, see if we can find any clothes that fit", he whispered. It's hard to break the habit of whispering to keep under the radar of anyone listening, like Zs. I nod and we walk to the bedroom, immediately going through drawers and the closet for anything practical. We hit a huge jackpot. The men's clothes seem to fit 10k pretty well, and we find some old fatigue pants in a couple different sizes. "They must have both been military", I say. A small sadness washes over me at the thought of so many lives, just snuffed out. Lost. Gone. I shake my head to clear the thoughts. We quickly change in separate rooms and meet back in the bedroom to stuff another few clothing articles in our bags. We can ditch the clothes later if we run out of room for supplies. We both dress in the fatigue pants and stuff them into our boots. I dress in a tank top that fits close to the skin so I don't get grabbed as easily, and we start to head out the door. Not paying attention is a huge mistake in the zombie apocalypse. I know that, and so does everyone else. So when I bumble out the front door and straight into a cool, rotting body, it's entirely my fault. 10k rips the Z from me, piking in the head. Yet another reason to thank God every day for 10k. I take in gasping breaths, stunned by almost being zombie food. 10k checks me for bites, hands smoothing over my arms and neck to ensure I am okay. Surprising us both, I grab his face and plant a big kiss right on his cheek. Oooh fuck. What did you just do, you absolute DUMBASS?! You've gone and screwed up everything! "I-I'm sorry...just, thank you so much for saving me. What a dumbass mistake to make, just waltzing out the door like that...", I stammer out as I try to fix this whole awkward mess of a situation. The look on his bright red face worries me, so when he breaks into a grin, my heart finally starts beating again. "No, it's...it's okay. We watch out for each other. It's what we all do", he says, hesitantly taking my hand in his own. This time, it's not either of us that stops the moment. It's a huge wall of zombies coming right for us. We run around the back of the house, looking for some sort of shelter. My foot catches something raised in the backyard, and 10k is just turning back to help me up when I realize that my clumsy ass just tripped over a cellar door. We both throw the doors open and hop down inside. He shuts the doors again and slides a metal pipe through the inside handles. "Shit. The group's gonna be so worried. Shit", I fret, pacing our small space before realizing that we are surrounded by a small amount of supplies. Cans, more bleach containers, and jars of food sit on shelves around us and I nearly burst into tears. Fucking jackpot. I do a small celebration dance while 10k looks on at me in amusement. He's much more observant than I am, and noticed the supplies as soon as we hopped down. "What now?", I ask, watching as he sits against a bare wall and makes himself comfortable. "We wait it out. The group's probably hiding somewhere too". ------------------------ The first 10 minutes of silence in the cellar aside from the occasional scuffle or grunt of a zombie is unbearable to me because I become so anxious. My chest tightens up and I feel as if I can't get enough air in my lungs. I feel trapped and horrified at the thought of the zombies busting down the doors and eating us alive. So helpless. 10k notices my shallow, strained breaths and scoots over to sit by me. He hesitantly grabs my hand and squeezes it, then moves close to murmur comforting words to me. Slowly, my chest untightens and I can breathe again. I look up to his face to thank him, grateful that he helped me through the panic, to find his eyes on me. His face is just inches from mine, and the proximity has my pulse hammering. I've noticed him watching me a lot when we are with the group, and I always get so self-conscious because I'm worried he's thinking about how strange I am or how bad I look with my curls frizzed and sticking up at all angles from my braid. But...the way he is looking at me now sets a fire loose deep in my chest. He starts to lean in closer and my eyes widen as his hand comes up to touch the back of my neck. Suddenly, our lips are pressed together. A whole horde of rabid Zs are set free in my chest, and my hands come up to grasp his collar, my body finally breaking from the shocked state and responding to him. His lips are soft and the kiss is everything a first kiss should be. His breath is sweet as it mixes with my own. We both pant as the gentle kiss turns hungry, desperate. 10k tightens his grip on me and his hands slide down my shoulders to my lower back, pulling me flush against his body. Tongues explore mouths and teeth knock together slightly. A noise I've never heard come from myself escapes my throat, like a noise a wild animal would make, and he responds with his own deep groan. The kiss slows after a while and we pull back to look at each other, still panting and both very red. A smile lights up his face in a way I've never seen on him, and I can't help but respond with my own. "I've wanted to do that forever", he mutters, "but I was always afraid to mess up us being friends". "Me too", I chuckle. His face turns slightly more serious. "That was a-actually my first...", he trails off. His first kiss? Him? But he's so perfect and cute and who wouldn't want to kiss him?? "Well", I grin, "I guess we will just have to do that some more to practice". I wink at him and he laughs, bringing my lips back to his own.
#z nation#10k#10k z nation#10k fic#fanfic#fanfiction#story#z nation fanfiction#addy carver#Murphy#roberta warren#doc#masterlist
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errica Benton awoke to the sound of short waves breaking against smooth rocks on the Pier 6 Pavilion. She yawned and flounced her hair, balancing out the streams of Starburst and Carnation extensions tangled together after last night’s impromptu pillow fight with her bandmates; Kimber, Aja, and Rayna collectively known as, The Holograms. The day before, Jerrica as her alter ego, Jem, performed at the pavilion with her band and was now spending the weekend held up in the Ritz-Carlton Estates, occupying the penthouse condos previously inhabited by bestselling book writer, Tom Clancy.
Jerrica slinked out of the Queen sized bed careful not to disturb the other inhabitants; she stood in bay window overlooking the harbor replaying sections of last night’s show in her head. She was pleased with the laser and smoke filled spectacle and decided to reward herself with a bump of “Bolivian Marching Powder”. A small yet non-committal indulgence she picked up in Central America while fighting for the rights of migrant farmers and plantation worker in the Coca Fields of Ecuador.
Jerrica looked over at the bed intent on waking her posse to start the day and use her bump to its fullest advantage. However, the bed was empty. She checked the bedside alarm clock, it was noon, far later than she hoped but still enough time to get her life in the Charm City. She ruffled the sheets and thought to herself;
“They must have gotten up early and hit up Blue Moon for brunch. I hope they bring me back an order of Captain Crunch French Toast. I wonder if the French know about French Toast; Do the French get royalties every time someone says French Toast? Oh my God, Do I owe the French Money for saying French Toast a million times? O.k. if I stop saying French Toast now maybe my debt won’t be so high. Where are these bitches?”
Jerrica reached under the bed and pulled out a designer high heel shoe; from it, she retrieved a small Silver Star shaped earring. She pressed the amulet into her lobe and gave it a tug; a familiar cybernetic voice filled the palatial waterfront estate.
“Hello, Jerrica.”
“Hey, Synergy; incredible show last night, you almost surged the power grid, though. Be careful with your use of light balance next time, we almost left the city in complete darkness.”
“As if Baltimore isn’t already dark enough,” Bantered Synergy.
“Excuse me?” Jem perplexed.
“The temped climate change due to excessive humidity in the area causes an extended amount of overcast in the mid-Atlantic region thereby blocking out the sun throughout large portions of the day. What did you think I meant.”
“That, I thought you meant that, and I was right, because I’m good at Meteorology.”
“Jerrica, I’m afraid there has been a bit of a kerfuffle.”
“Yeah, I know, The Holograms rolled out and got brunch without me. Don’t these heifers know who they came here with? I mean I do two things when I’m out on tour; I shut down shows and I open up brunches, I mean I put the “B” in Bellini.
“My life is so odd right now and I guess that’s why I just can’t even.”
“Jerrica, I assure you, the holograms are not at brunch. They have been kidnapped by an unknown assailant and jettisoned off to Hunger Island as tribute to, Katniss Everdean.”
“What the flip?”
“She heard about the “Jem movie” and is intent on sabotaging the property. She plans on force feeding the girls and killing them with calories.”
“It’s just a movie we can all premier at the Cineplex and fill seats. Nothing wrong with little friendly competition.”
“That’s just it, Jerrica, Katniss mind has been so warped by the Hunger Games tributes that she now views any form of competition as a mortal threat. Anything she views as an impediment to her success, she must destroy.”
“Katniss Everdean must be stopped. I have to save my friends, but how am I supposed to save my girls without the help of my girls?”
“Not to worry, Jerrica, I’ve called in some backup to aid you on your mission.”
“Well don’t be shy, tell me who it is, ooh is it the Battle Beasts? Is it Action Man? He’s so macho. He makes my queso ooze.
“Actually, Jerrica, you’ll be receiving support from you old adversaries, The Misfits.”
“The Misfits, why them, they don’t have a horse in this race?”
“Actually, it was Roxy who proposed the team up; she’s still indebted to Ban-Nee for teaching her how to read. That and Stormer teamed up with your sister Kimber some time ago and released an album. Pitchfork gave it an 8 of 10.”
“I don’t read Pitchfork; the writing is a bit too bloated for my taste. They tend to write as if their review is far more important that its subject matter and that turns me off.”
“Jerrica, even the group’s leader, Pizzazz is committed to the cause. Although she doesn’t particularly care for you, she seems to harbor an even deeper animosity toward Katniss.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable teaming up with the Misfits. They think their songs are better than mine.”
“Oh, Darling, Jem, their songs are better, but you are far more glamorous, and your glamour makes you; truly, truly, truly …OUTRAEGOUS!
“Now Jerrica you must morph into Jem, team up with the Misfits; fly to Hunger Island, and save your friends from Trans fatty fatality. Are you ready?”
“Send all my calls direct to voice mail, I gotta go rescue my bitches.”
Jerrica gives her amulet another brisk swipe, her body emits pulsing neon light as luminous as a quasar erupting in the Milky Way Pavilion. With her new formed alliance she is Jem and the Misfits, and on this day they will; Taste the Hunger.
“I wonder if Eric has anything to do with this; he could be the unknown assailant. He’s always involved in some crazy scheme to sabotage me off the board and steal my half of the Starlight Music Company. I don’t know why he wants this company so bad he doesn’t know anything about music. I guess that doesn’t make him any different than any other music exec.”
Jem snickers to herself and rubs her pointer finger across the glass dinner table, and inspects the tiny pearl flakes stuck to her finger tip.
“No blow left behind.”
She wipes the residue across her gums in anticipation of the Misfits arrival. The penthouse elevator chimes the doors open and out spill its contents; Roxy (Guitar), Jetta (Sax), Stormer (Keytar), and Pizzazz (lead vocals).
“Hi girls,”
“Don’t say hi to me, Say thank you,” Sneered Pizzazz, the group’s leader and Jem’s mortal adversary.
“Thank you”
“You got us a lift out to Hunger Island, or do you need us to hold your hand through that too?”
Synergy interjects. “G.I. Joe Staff Sargent Roadblock is gonna give you an airlift in the Eagle Hawk Helicopter. He’s on the roof now.”
“Wait, let me grab my sunglasses.”
“You won’t need sun glasses when you travel with me, because Pizzazz brings plenty shade.”
“O.k. well I definitely need to find my phone so I can live tweet what you just said.”
“Status updated,” intoned Synergy.
The girls ascend the elevator to the roof and are greeted by the decorated officer award winning chef and all around jovial guy:
“Roadblock is here and it’s clear to see/ that you need a ride so come along with me/ Put on your seat belt and your parachute/ but you don’t need to wear a helmet cause your hair looks cute/ don’t be a litter bug, girls/ knowledge!
“And knowing is half the battle,” Cheered Stormer.
The girls all took a Xanax and pretty much slept through the 8 hour helicopter ride to Hunger Island. They conveniently awoke within a two minute eta, enough time to receive landing instructions from Roadblock;
Use your parachutes to land after the ride/ when your boots hit the ground you’ll meet your guide/ Good luck on your journey, I’m sure you’ll win/ I hope to see you again/ before we get to Heaven/ I’m a Lutheran ya’ll/ Faith!
The girls floated safely to the ground nestled in a redolent tropical field of lush island frutex. They dumped their shoots, teased their hair, took a few selfies and updated their Instagram accounts. “Made it to the Island in one piece”: Hash Tag;
• blessed
• free rap concert
• free the holograms
• roadblock raps like them old heads from the70’s
• can’t even believe this island has Wi-Fi
• if there’s a Starbucks on this island im staying
• My stage name is Pizzazz but My Street Name Is Rohypnol Cause I Stay Knocking Dumb Hoes Out and Fuckin they ass up.
• No homo.
• I wonder if this island breeds small dogs
As the girls tuck their phones away and begin their trek, a soft glow of light beams through the tree tops, intercepting the girls’ slow procession.
“Hello, Ladies, I’m actor, writer, director, and now temporal tropical tour guide, Phillip Seymour Hoffman.”
“I’m here to guide you, because im featured in the Hunger Games trilogy, so I’m quite familiar with the terrain, and I’m also a blue chip actor usually employed to give mediocre storylines artistic credibility, like the Film, Almost Famous, and the story you’re in right now.
“Phillip Seymour Hoffman, you dead right?” asked Jetta.
“Yes. I am dead.”
“Yeah, I read about you, because I recently learned how to read. They found you in an apartment in Tribeca, right?” quizzes Roxy.
“No, it was Chelsea.” Hoffman stated ruefully
“You were surrounded by what, like, 50 bags of dope, some shit like that?”
“Well, yeah something like that,” he stumbles over his words foolishly.
“’50 bags of heroine is a lot of fuckin dope, you buy your shit from Sam’s Club or something?”
“Did you think they was gonna stop making dope after they sold you yours.”
“Did your dope dealer not have change for a 1000 dollar bill so you just bought it all?”
“Alright I get it, I bought too much dope, and obviously I did, because I’m dead now. O.k.? So can we just move on and get this over with please? I’m trying to help you save your friends life!”
“I appreciate all the help and everything Phil, I really do, but I just don’t see myself following a fucking junkie through a jungle. Oliver Stone wrote three movie about that shit and none of them end well so I’m gonna respectfully request that you jump back in whatever shallow grave you hopped your pale ass out of cause Pizazz can’t fuck with you, I loved you in Capote, though. Keep your ass moving on through to that other side, baby boy. “
“Oh, my God Pizzazz, he was our only way around the Island, Why did you run him off like that?”
“I mean we don’t have a map or anything, we gonna die on this Island like those kids in that book I was supposed to read in middle school, but I didn’t cause I was still illiterate back then” whined Roxy.
“That fat jerk was gonna sell us into white slavery the first chance he got. Besides we don’t need no week man telling us where to go and what to do. Shit the island has Wi-Fi. Just pull out your phone go to the google home screen the nearest me browser is gonna pop up. In that search bar put in kidnapping. And boom three kilometers that way.
Just then a camouflage Jeep crashes furiously through the bush. The driver adorned with long blond silky trestles’ flowing downs his back and across his German issue naval officer blouse hops rapaciously from the driver’s seat and advances on the girls.
“Need a lift old friend?”
“Riot?” Jem says pensively.
“Jem is it?” Riot says casually.
“It is,” she says with obviously inflection.
“Or is it Jerrica?” He says haughtily; as he laughs with arrogant conviction.
A collective gasp falls over the cluster of girls. Jem is caught off guard and before she has time to deny the claim her face tells a truth her words could no longer hide.
“But how,” she asks still shell shocked.
I’ve always known who you were Jerrica. Many years ago when you were just a little girl I knew your father. We were inventers and visionaries. We partnered up and created the Synergy technology together. It took many years to complete and during that time I became close to you and your father, you in particular, Jerrica. I took you to the park, I taught you how to ride a bike I helped you with your schoolwork. As you got older my feelings matured into something deeper, more complex, something I could not quite process. At the same time my feeling for you were maturing the Synergy project was also coming to fruition. I was proud of the project and I wanted to share it with the world. The advancements were unlimited, but you father had other plans. He wanted to keep the project secret and use it for more ethical practices whereas I wanted to mine it for its commercial value. We were at an impasse and instead of fighting I left with my half of the research. I kept the telecommunication half and he kept the light manipulation half.
“Wendell Wasserman, my dad’s doting assistant, I remember you. You were a kind man, leery, but sweet. You just up and disappeared when I was 14. What happened to you?”
I moved back to Austria, sold my half of the Synergy technology to a Japanese mobile communication firm. I got a facelift. I changed my name; started a glam rock band-Pink Lipstick. We had an international top ten hit. Maybe you’ve heard of it…”Walk you home from school”
“Walk you home from School, I remember that song. She recites a few bars…
I watched you grow up as a baby in your father’s arms
Then you grew into a lady and fell under my charms
I want to fall into you when I
Walk you home from school
“Oh my god was that song about me?”
“Yes Jerrica, It was about you, it was always about you. I moved back; started a new band-The Stingers, I even grew this luxurious flaxen mane and still you rebuff me at every turn. Well the honeymoon is over baby! I want that Synergy technology and I want it now or you and you friends will die.
Just then a righteous arrow pierces the sky. And lands square in the heart of Riot.
“Oh shit, I got blood in my succulent hair, and I think I’m dying…nope…I’m dead, yeah, I’m definitely dead. “
“Katniss Everdean” I presume. Hissed Pizzazz.
“Was it the bow and the arrow that gave me away?”
“I only asked because I could not tell you in person from your movie posters, they make you appear much more, slender, than you really are. I was worried about your health. It’s such a relief to see, in abundance, that your thighs really, do touch.”
“Yes, they do, just like my two, Golden Globes.”
“Ah, Miss Everdean are you gonna force feed us a ton of carbs? I really don’t want to fuck my diet up.” Stormer asked.
“Ah, no that was all that twisted pedophile, Riots plan, he kidnapped me too. He didn’t try anything too direct just a lot of foot baths, finger and toe nail polishing, and he brushed my hair three times a day. When he saw you all flying in he dashed out here and that’s when a nest of Mocking Jays came and loosened me from my bindings. I followed Riot here, and well you saw the rest. Hey you guys wanna watch My Little Pony Friendship is Magic?”
“There’s cable and internet on this Island too?!?” squealed Jetta, because it’s been a while since she had a line.
“No, well yeah, but, Riot also kidnapped The My Little Pony crew. They’re outback with the Holograms frolicking in a waterfall made of rainbow sprinkles. “
“Oh, my god he was gonna make the girls eat the My Little Ponies, gross.” Conjectured Stormer.
“Guy’s I’m sorry I never told you all that I’m both Jem and Jerrica”
Pizzazz, finger combed her hair, briskly turning a side eye glance to her arch rival and smirked. “Bitch, we knew.”
The End.
Jem and the Misfits
“Taste the Hunger”
Written By
Mike Smith
[email protected]
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