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willshipanything-blog · 3 months

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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 22

We're here!!! A million apologies for the delay, but I hope this (almost) final chapter was worth the wait. But wait there's more!- hoping to post 2 cute epilogue sections in the next few days- so keep an eye out.

Dove needs to find a way out of the basement. And that's the easy part. After that, she needs to convince Al that doing the right thing isn't always the right thing. Can Al and Scout have any semblance of a happy ending together?

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here. As usual, minors please DNI!

Full Tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Chapter 22- Hang It Up

No. It can’t end like this. Not after everything. No. Nonono.

You never imagined, after every battle and brawl, every taboo and crossed boundary, every promise made, broken and renewed again even stronger, that it would end where it started. You, the Grabber’s victim, trapped in his basement. The only difference was this time, you weren’t holding out hope for someone to rescue you. The thought of somebody coming to ‘save’ you from this situation, lifting you out of these depths, was the worst, most horrifying outcome.

You didn’t need to be rescued. You’d already rescued yourself. Falling in love with Al was its own kind of escape. Unorthodox as it was, implausible as that escape route may have been, you’d tunneled your way out of the Grabber’s lair and into Al’s heart. Al just needed to be reminded of that fact, before he did something incredibly, incredibly stupid. But that required an escape that looked all too impossible in your current situation.

You’d been struggling in your bonds for what felt like a lifetime, but the sliver of still-rational thought in your head knew it had been mere moments since Al had shut the basement door behind him. His lingering, morose look was imprinted in your mind, hanging there starkly like a developing photo in a darkroom. However, the less rational and more instinctive side of your brain was in control, and it had kickstarted a panicked response in you. The shock and brutality of Al’s actions had your chest constricting painfully, the tight feeling further spurred on by the tight bite of the tape around your wrists and ankles, chafing and unyielding as you struggled against them. Your throat burned from the useless, unheard (or else purposefully ignored) cries behind the gag.

For a moment, the floor seemed to shake beneath you, the stone walls cracking in lightning-shaped fissures, the room spinning. It was all too much, but that still lucid part of your mind flared up, urging a message to the forefront of your thoughts. Stop panicking and think, or it will all be over. You nodded, as if answering your own plea. You stilled your body, closed your eyes and took in one long, inhaled breath.

I have a little time. Not much, but a little. That was your first deduction- Al would need to prepare the house first. He’d written out his confession, laid out evidence on the kitchen table as casually as serving up eggs and bacon. But he hadn’t wanted to reveal those things too soon, and there would be other things he’d need to organize in the house- hiding photographs and clothes, possibly. That would take some minutes, you concluded. Your sound reasoning was reassuring, and you could feel your body relaxing, thinking better for it, even if the thoughts were tragic.

How did I escape before? Retracing previous steps might provide a way out of the situation. You’d tried to run before- not possible in your bound state. You huffed a shaky breath out through your nose, thinking harder. You couldn’t fight Al- he was always too strong- had already used that strength to overpower you now. Another breath, trying to steady the panic returning to your body like a rising tide. You’d used your words before- but impossible now, when Al had left you voiceless and alone. You scrunched your eyes tighter, refusing to admit how terrible things truly looked. It had been a long time since you had felt so desperately, utterly helpless. Not since your last visit to this basement had things looked so impossibly bleak. When you thought Al was going to kill you, then had become even more terrified when he’d turned the knife on himself and-

the knife!

Your eyes popped open with a renewed sense of clarity. That knife- it had never left this room! In all those months since that fight, neither you nor Al had revisited the basement. The knife must still be here, tossed away and forgotten. You tried to think back, your head scanning furiously around the concrete cell- where had you thrown it in frustrated relief the last time it had left your grasp? Was that a faint glimmer in the dark shadows, under a tangle of metal pipes in the far corner of the room?

Despite your bonds, you managed to roll yourself unceremoniously towards the corner, ignoring the pains in your body as you inched nearer within a few moments. Pressing your temple to the floor, you peered under the rusted pipework to see- YES- a silver gleam of the knife, a beacon of hope in this dark situation. Heaving yourself to a sitting position, back to the corner, your bound hands scrambled blindly behind you until a cool press of metal touched your fingers. You grabbed the knife, relieved tears falling down your cheeks as you worked quickly to cut free the tape binding your wrists together, the pain of the awkward maneuver and your injured finger forgotten in the adrenal rush of it all. Your wrists tore free, and in another instant your legs were unfettered too. You ripped off the tape over your mouth and sprinted towards the basement door- mercifully, miraculously unlocked.

This was no covert escape; wild desperation to get to Al had feet pounding up wooden steps, slapping across the linoleum of the kitchen. You swung on the door jamb, careening into the living room as your feet finally thudded to a halt when they hit the shag carpet. Al was already watching you as you flew into the room, sitting in his chair with the phone receiver to his ear and fingers tracing the dial with unthinkable purpose.

“Hang it up!”

Your frantic entrance must have been quite the sight: your wild-eyed expression; the tear-streaked face; the bloody, bruised state of your skin; your chest heaving and entire body thrumming with fury. Still, if he was shocked, Al hid it well beneath that well-rehearsed iciness. Eyes never straying from yours, he set the phone's handset in its cradle. He stared silently a moment before those blue eyes flitted downwards. By instinct, you flicked your wrist under the burning cold of his gaze, letting the smooth handle of the knife soothe your shaky palm. You had barely registered that you were still holding the blade, but you were glad for it now, twisting the handle like a ritual to check the strength of your grip.

You didn’t dare let out a breath. There was no relief to be had- Al hadn’t followed your order to hang up the phone because he’d changed his mind. He was still adamant on that insane task, you were sure. But he wouldn’t use the phone while you were in the room. You, ready to fight and scream, ready to do anything to ensure he couldn’t dial those three little numbers to end it all.

Al gave a soft sigh, audible even across the vast expanse of the silence between you. It seemed sad in tone, as if Al would have to go through the motions of locking you up all over again. But you weren’t about to let that happen.

You’d been through too much together. Had traversed this fucked-up, beautiful relationship like a midnight van ride through a dark tunnel. And you’d nearly made it out to the other side, nearly securing some semblance of a happy life together, the light at the end of that tunnel within reach before Al’s confession had stalled that journey. Each hopeless second he’d tried to put his plan in motion, the light had grown dimmer. Everything moving in reverse, back to a time before. But you weren’t going to allow Al to convince you it was all an illusion. Not when you felt, deep in your soul, that all of it - every second, every smile, every scream of pain and joy - was all real.

If Al locked you up again, there would be no knife to facilitate an escape. You needed to show him the truth, needed to talk to him. Your words had always been your biggest weapon against him, would be more powerful and effective than even a knife in your hand. But where to start?

Al seemed about to make a move to stand up. Panicked, you blurted out:

“You don’t have to do this Al!”

You cursed the generic remark, but hoped the conviction and belief in your voice outweighed the cliched expression.

“Oh, but I do, dove. I do.” He tiptoed his fingers across the smooth plane of the phone’s handset. “I need to show you I can do the right thing.”

His tone was too matter-of-fact, his pose too casual, still sitting on the armchair as he spoke, as if capturing you would be the easiest thing in the world. Because it would be. That strength, which could be so comforting and assuring in its protectiveness, was cold and lethal when it needed to be. If it resorted to another physical skirmish, you weren’t ever going to win.

Keep talking to him. Make him see.

You needed to use your power to dissuade Al from this path, like sucking the venom from a snakebite, removing the poison that had infected his mind. You just needed those compelling words- hard to come by when your mind was reeling with fear and fury. But you pressed on, desperately hoping there was still a chance to change his mind.

“You’ve shown me that, Al! I know you would’ve done it, given up everything we have to do what’s right. It’s just-” your voice faltered, your own imminent confession caught in your throat. “I don’t want you to do the right thing.”

One of his hands gripped the armrest, nails clawing into the fabric as he spoke through gritted teeth. “DON’T paint yourself the villain here, dove. This is my decision, because those were my sins. My crimes.”

“They’re mine too, in part. It’s shared, Al.”

“You’ve done nothing-”

“I’ve done enough wrong!” you snarled, angry now. “How dare you think it okay to make that decision alone, to take away my choice in all this?”

Al looked once again like he’d been about to rise, but your outburst seemed a physical blow, the force of your words pushing him back in his chair. That spark of power in your words made manifest. You had to keep going.

“You took away my choices once, Al. I lived with that, did what I needed to survive, played the game. Until things changed between us, and you gave me back my autonomy. When you pressed that key into my hand, told me to run- what did I choose, hm?”

You might have given a hollow laugh at the silence that followed your question. At how troubled Al looked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, jaw clenched in disquiet. Because answering honestly would be admitting that you truly did love him- something he was desperately attempting to prove otherwise. You answered for him.

“I chose to stay. You finally gave me the choice, and I stayed.” You didn’t pick the word ‘freedom’. Deciding to remain with Al- it might have been freedom, or else the choice to remain bound to Al. You weren’t sure what distinguished the two, but you kept on. “And now, you’re going to take all the options away from me, as if I’m back to being your prisoner?”

Al was refusing to admit how much you liked the inky blackness of him - how much you swam in it, relished it, devoured it. But his brow creased. His eyes turned towards your hell, your prison of a basement, and you knew - Al was doubting everything. He took one last, long sigh, as if his opposing thoughts were warring with one another, until he blinked and a look of clarity washed over his face. One of the thoughts had won out. But which? Was he going to accept your plea, and allow things to carry on as they had been? Or was he determined to bring it all to an end?

He gently placed the white phone on the armrest of his chair, the gesture a glint of hope on the horizon, as if your plea had turned the tides of his grand scheme. But your heart sank in those choppy waters when Al reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a set of handcuffs and rising from his seat. That preternatural swiftness ached like an approaching rip current, ready to drag you down into the depths of the basement one more.

As Al stepped forward, you countered his movements, feet stumbling on the thick carpet as you backed away from his approach. He paused, and you realized you’d raised your arm on instinct, the knife clasped tightly in your fist pointing right towards his chest. Could Al be persuaded with violence? You didn’t think so, but you flexed the blade in your clammy hand nonetheless. An attempt to stem the shakes that threatened to show just how terrified you were - terrified of what mad act you might actually commit to stop Al’s own lunacy. You’d match his insanity if needed. His true equal in madness: wasn’t that just more proof that you belonged with him?

“Dove, we already did this dance once before. We both know you won’t kill me. But if you want to try again, that story could work.” Al huffed a sad hum of laughter. “Hey, that’s not a bad ending- finally killing your captor after months of torment.”

You were right- violence held no power, not when Al cared so little for his own life. But then- what did he care about enough to stop all of this? That question had a simple answer, evident in Al’s widening, fearful eyes as you brought the knife up to your own throat, the jagged ridge of the blade’s edge skimming your jugular.

“Drop that right fucking now.” A command spoken so sincerely, but the trembling fear in Al’s voice was palpable. He’d held up his hands as if to stop you, but had frozen in a surrendering gesture, clearly petrified that you were putting yourself in such danger.

“What do I deserve, Al?”

“You deserve to be happy, dove. To have a proper life-”

“I am happy,” you interrupted, “And I have a life here with you. If we were apart, I’d break, Al. Do you understand that?” you choked out as a single, hot tear slid down your cheek. “I’d rather be dead than without you.” You began to sob, your quivering hand scraping the blade against the delicate skin of your neck, but the near-lethal abrasion was a necessity to keep Al at bay. This wouldn’t end with him clasping those cuffs around your wrists, hauling you back into the basement and untethering you from him completely.

“Please, little bird. You’re going to hurt yourself, and neither of us want that.”

You weren’t going to relent with your argument, but that nickname he’d just used had lit a flicker of warmth inside of you: comforting, soothing. The side of you that wanted to be Al’s good girl obeyed a little, and you inched the knife away from your skin, though the weapon remained clasped in your shaky fist.

“Even if I won’t hurt myself, I’d be good as dead if you continue down this path,” you croaked, the tears flowing faster now, your fear and desperation nearing its limit. “What do you think happens if you do this? What happens when I go back and hate everything about my old life, because you’re not in it?”

A life without Al in the picture- it would be as colorless as those monochrome childhood photographs of him. As miserable as some of those memories, too. You took a breath through your crying plea, but Al chose not to fill the silence. He only tensed his hand slightly, the morning light catching the silver of the cuffs held in his grip. Almost as if to tell you ‘go on’. Almost like Al needed more of a reason to stay, more reason to throw away the morality he’d so recently found.

“I can’t live outside these walls, Al. I’ve changed too much- you’re not the only one who’s a different person than they were before we met. If you let me go, I’ll give up trying to live any sort of life.”

A flash of…something blazed in the blue of Al’s eyes. Was it a softening, a promise of this madness relenting, or him building up that steel wall to hide his emotion? Uncertainty surged through you, but it was worth the risk to keep going. Sink or swim.

You approached slowly, warily, as you might a scared animal. But a scared animal was a dangerous one, and you had the knife still clutched in your fist, ready, should Al make a sudden effort to restrain you. But he remained fixed in place: not inviting you closer, but not warning against your approach. You crept one hand upwards, tucking back a stray wisp of his hair that had fallen in his face, trying not to wince as your disjointed finger brushed the ashy hair aside. He shifted- trying to tug his head away in spite of himself- but remained, only his brow furrowing at the tenderness, the sweetness of it all. This was familiar. You’d been here before, months ago, on the other side of such a gesture. Violence had met warmth, mania had met calm.

Shakily, you moved your hand to Al’s cheeks, pressing a blood-stained palm into the unshaven skin, thumbing away the tears that kissed your fingertips. You tensed your shoulders when his own started to shake, but you forged on.

“You don’t need to protect me from your past, Al. I’m not the Grabber’s victim. But I’m yours.” You saw the puzzled glance through the burgeoning tears and cupped his cheek harder, thumb holding his chin, forbidding him from turning away from what he needed to hear. “The Grabber took me, hurt me, but I survived. But Albert Shaw was the one who kept me, loved me. I’m in love with you. I’ve fallen victim to you completely.”

You dropped your hand. Al inhaled a gasp as the biting clicks of the handcuff’s metal teeth sounded, and he looked down to see where you’d fastened one of the hanging bracelets around your own wrist. Al looked mutely at where you’d tethered yourself to the cuffs in his grip. Not diving to lock the other half around your arm, not wrestling you to the ground.

“I’m your responsibility. You made a promise to look after me and you can’t run from that.”

“I- I feel like I’ve broken you,” he said on a shaky breath.

“If you have, that’s your responsibility too. To put me back together. But we both know I won’t ever be whole again without you.”

“Is it- you can’t- no- it’s just like I said,” Al grasped to find his argument, trying to find some footing to hold onto, to make it sound as though he still had any choice in all this, as if you hadn’t determined to stay no matter what. “I made you feel that way-”

“Enough!” you barked, baring your teeth in anger. The darkness you’d witnessed a thousand times had manifested in you, and you adopted it willingly, an inherent part of your bones and blood and soul now.

“You forced me into that basement. But you never forced me to like it. Maybe I could have fought harder in the beginning-”

“Don’t say that after I forced-”

“No! You know it’s true. Even from the start, that first time. I didn’t hate it entirely. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. Not completely. I allowed you in when others would have rather died. I kept letting you in deeper, until I allowed your feelings to come out. Remember I asked you to admit them? I wanted you to say those words. Don’t you see, Al? You’re my victim too. You’re my victim. And I’m not letting you go.”

Another clank of metal, and you’d hooked the remaining cuff around Al’s wrist. As the band snapped shut, you swore the breath that Al let out was one of relief. But if any doubt remained, you’d need to slam that door shut and lock it with a final thud and click.

“I swear to god, Al. I’m keeping you.” You flicked the knife up to his neck, jagged ridges almost bursting skin. The living veins beneath the blade thudded audibly with fear, with regret, with anger, with love. All of it a part of Al, and you loved every drop of it. Owned every drop, too. If any of it spilled, it would be by your hand only.

You continued your threat, no mistaking exactly what you were capable of if he ever tried to separate the pair of you.

“If I have to lock you in that basement, I’ll put on that fucking mask and be your captor. Because you’re mine, Albert Shaw. All mine. Do you understand?”

A heartbeat passed by in silence. Then another, then another. You counted the seconds ticking by with each pump of venous blood that passed under the blade’s scrutinizing watch.

Then came the crash. In a single rush, Al had collapsed to the floor, dragging you down with him. You felt pressure everywhere, being gripped, held, swallowed whole by his presence as he cried and grasped at you. Bruises and bloodstains, tears and torn clothes. The knife had been lost in the fray, falling unseen to the floor with a smattering of blood upon its edge. A tumultuous cumulation of it all, but one constant that you heard above the din; Al’s soft voice, his repetitive chant

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A plea for forgiveness, a desire for retribution? You’d give him anything. You’d give him everything you had- your whole being, your freedom. Your life. It would be worth it. Right now, sobbing in your arms, you’d give him comfort. As his head burrowed into your neck and chest, you kissed the top of his head, softly, tenderly.

“Come on,” you rasped, letting Al’s body shake with tears. They swam and caught along the edges of your torn shirt, dripped onto bare, bruised skin. Al hiccuped and gasped in your hold, twisting your hair, working to wring clean the years, the hurt, the pain.

“I don’t know what to do.” He was that lost little boy again, hurt and scared and hopelessly outmatched by the crushing weight of a cruel, unfair world.

“You don’t have to do anything, Al. You’re safe, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“But I’m-” Al croaked meekly.

“Sh, sh, shhh,” you hushed. You gently brushed a finger over his lips. “Don’t try to speak right now. We’ve got time to talk later, alright?” You tried your best to lull your voice like a rhyme - like a mother hugging the bogeyman away.

As the tears faded, as Al’s breaths became more steady from your assuaging lullabies of soft shushes and kind words, you guided his shoulder away from you, needing distance for him to see this. You were spent from it all; a pleading expression and a final appeal the only thing you had the energy to muster:

“Al, look at me.” He obeyed. “Will you stop this? For me? Let us be happy.”

“But the things I’ve done-”

“You’re not that- that thing anymore,” you sat up on your knees, raising a hand to press against Al’s cheek once more, cupping it tenderly. “The Grabber? That was your creation, and you’ve killed it. It’s dead. But you still have a life here, Al. If you throw that away, you’ll be ending more lives than your own today.”

That argument, you knew, was flawed. Al had been the Grabber. But you spoke as though the Grabber was a separate entity entirely, a demon possessing Al against his will. For all that had happened to Al, there must have been some madness, some disease, that rotted and spread inside him, eventually causing those monstrous crimes to occur. It felt too much like an excuse- but you would excuse the worst sins to live with the man who, in your eyes, had finally wrung that evil from his bones.

Because that’s who was here, in the flesh, in your hold at this moment. Unmasked, vulnerable. Just Al. He gave a small smile, flexed his cuffed hand in a half-circle to grab your smaller hand in his. Al dared to let his gaze meet yours, red-rimmed eyes against black-bruised fatigue. It was almost too much to see: all the confusion, the anger, the hurt buried there. But you rode it out, looking, seeing it all there, as he saw the hurt and anguish in your eyes too. There was no haunting specter hiding behind that vast cerulean sea, just the occasional ripple of darkness that would remain with him forever, that reminder of his crimes.

Al dug into his trouser pocket, handing you the small silver key with which to unlock the handcuffs that connected you. They jangled as you unclasped the bracelets before falling quietly in the plush carpet. They weren’t needed to stay tethered to him anymore.

“Do we deserve a happy ending?” Al whispered, his now-free hands commencing that habitual rhythmic stroking, thumbs bumping along each fingertip. You reached out, touching softly to still the nervous spasm, squeezing a little until watery blue eyes looked into yours.

“Deserved or not, it’ll be our ending. To me, Al, you’re a good man. That’s all that matters, right? You and me.”

“You and me, dove.” His lips quivered as attempted a soft smile, trying to fend off the last of the heavy, sobbing tears. The expression seemed bittersweet; hopeful, but still possessing a streak of melancholy. You’d used most of Al’s old tricks against him to win him over- a little mischief, that hint of devilry, was in your repertoire too. You adopted a sing-song lilt of your own:

“Y’know, if you’re really that upset, I’ll let you put the handcuffs back on me.”

A croaky chortle from Al, his throat still raw from cries, but the humor diffusing the tension a little. You smirked at Al and the start of that sideways smile began to unfurl on his lips as he drew closer. You inched forward, lips parted, ready to-

BRRIIIIIINNG!!

The sudden ring of the phone pulled you and Al from the depths of your intense gaze, like an unwanted alarm clock waking you from the most sublime dream. The shock of the shrill ringing had you gasping, and Al’s startled reaction had him jumping madly, knocking the phone off the armrest when he jerked in surprise.

The muffled clatter of the telephone landing on the carpet halted the noise of the ringing, though you looked in bewilderment at the floor where it had landed, still discerning a faint noise emanating from the handset.

“hello? hello-oo. anyone there?”

The subdued voice, currently addressing the shag carpet, was unmistakably Max’s. You breathed a relieved sigh, looking up at Al through still-teary eyes. From his incredulous look (his blue eyes glossy with tears too), he’d heard his brother through the phone. As if Max had been affronted by the confession that it was just the two of you that mattered.

“Hey, uh- anyone there?”

“Max!” you yipped, scrambling to pick up the handset before he hung up on the other end.

“He-ey, Scout! Think the line went a little fuzzy there. Listen, I thought I’d bring some pizza round later. Just checking- you’re gonna want extra mushrooms, right?” The casualness of the conversation, in such contrast to what you and Al had been discussing, was a little jarring, and you stumbled a little before replying ‘yes’.

“Gross, but I thought so. I’ll get one with slugs on it and one without, then.”

You barked out a laugh, though the sniffles accompanying it seemed to tell Max you’d been crying recently.

“Hey, er, Scout- you good? Doing ok?”

“Yeah, I’m doing ok.” As you answered that question- honestly, you realized- your eyes strayed back to Al, who was watching you intently. “We’re both doing ok, Max.” Al’s eyes softened as you narrated that statement to his brother; voicing that the two of you were ok now, sharing that fact outside your tiny bubble for two, was like an extra fortification that things would turn out good.

“Aw, that’s real good to hear. I was worried when you two took off yesterday. I know things got a little heated, but ya know you can talk to me anytime- you both can,” Max chattered on, each kind word and affectionate promise bringing more small tears of joy and relief to your eyes. “My brother’s lucky to have you, ya know?”

“He has you too, Max. We both do.” Al’s mouth quivered as you spoke, realizing you and Max were talking about him.

“Aw, Scout, you’re too sweet, you’re gonna make me cry! I’ll see you later, ‘kay? And you tell that brother of mine he’d be stupid to let anything happen between you two.”

“Here, I’ll put him on Max- you can tell him yourself.” Max’s voice wavered a little down the line, as if wary to admit such an earnest confession. Similarly, Al leaned back as you held out the phone receiver, palms turned out as if apprehensive about taking the call. If the brothers were reluctant to talk to each other, you’d just have to give them a little push, a little encouragement. That’s what families were for, right?

You thrusted the phone into Al’s hands despite his protests, your fingers brushing his as you passed it to him, giving an encouraging nod as he brought the handset to his ear. A faint buzz told you Max was speaking a mile a minute on the other end, with the occasional gruff response from Al in short bursts of ‘yeahs’ and ‘sures’. The only real indication the two were speaking about something raw was the single, dewy tear that glided down Al’s cheek, which he rubbed away with the back of his hand as Max carried on speaking. Al said a few more short replies:

“I will. Soon. Yeah, I mean that. Ok, see ya Maxie.” A short buzz down the line as Max spoke, followed by the briefest of silences before Al replied: “Love you too.”

If the use of Max’s childhood nickname wasn’t enough to have more tears falling down your face, those last three words Al sent down the phone line ensured it. You scooped up the base of the phone from the floor, holding it out to Al, who placed the receiver carefully back in the cradle, where it clacked into the holster with a final trill as the call hung up. You rose on your knees, eye level with Al, who smiled softly before putting the phone on the armrest once more, staring longingly at you a moment before pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your arms came up behind him, gripping at the back of his silky shirt, as if ensuring that yes, truly- Al was really here with you. You were unsure how long you stayed in Al’s grasp, but any time would feel too short after the paralyzing fear of losing him. To be held captive in his embrace was the most free you’d felt in a long, long time.

It had been drizzly and gray in Denver, much like any other day this late into fall. Looming clouds, holding a promise of thunder, rolled in with the late afternoon dusk, a pewter sky hanging heavy over the city. As you and Al looked out the window onto the rain-splattered street outside, you wondered if the weather was a bad omen, or a renewing baptism. You supposed neither mattered too much, not if Al would be beside you.

“What do we do about that?” Al asked softly, nodding his head out towards the view in front of you both. The house across the street was framed like a tragic painting by the window pane. The gnarled tree in the front yard held its branches aloft as if shrugging and you silently agreed: no one could really answer such impossible questions.

“There’s nothing to do. Except let it be a stark reminder for us. Another consequence we have to suffer for staying.” There was no running or hiding from the past. No pretending that those things hadn’t happened, their existence false.

“We?” Al turned his head in your direction. You mirrored the action.

“We.”

The pair of you returned your focus back to the house, and you forced yourself to think about what lay inside. You hated how those crimes were almost an afterthought in the shared decision to stay. You still felt a deep sorrow- a visceral, aching thing- when you thought about those boys. The pain you felt was deserved, the cost of choosing to stay. But you knew you were guilty of putting your own emotions ahead of any morality you still possessed. As much as the pity and remorse ate away at you, as much as you hated the things Al had done, those feelings were weaker than the love you felt for him.

A small nudge against your thigh; Al had reached a hand across the small space between you. You gripped it tight, fingers interlacing with his. That connection as unbreakable and binding as steel cuffs; fortifying, comforting.

You and Al were the same- you’d determined that a long time ago. But now, you’d truly accepted the darkness that lay inside you, rippling just under your skin like black veins inked into your body. It would reside permanently beside the light and goodness you still knew yourself capable of. Just as it did in Al.

Not wholly good. Not wholly bad. But okay. That was enough, for you and Al. It had to be. It was all you had. The drowning depths had almost dragged you both into endless oblivion. But if you both swam through those dark waters together, holding each other afloat, it would be okay.

It would always be okay.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

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bananadrinkxxx · 8 months

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THE BLOOD CROWN

Aemond Targaryen Fanfic

WARNING: 18+ / 21+

Part 15

I got the question if I have a tag list. Wants someone part being of a tag list for the next updates ? Just comment and I will make a list. If there is a possibility to tag users. I am new here on tumblr so help me out. Thanks.

Cheese and Blood wanted to kill an innocent boy and Rose had no idea how to stop them.

These are not men who would bow to pleas. There is no reasoning with them.

"Please don't," Helaena pleaded, pressing her daughter even closer to her.

Cheese laughed while Blood played with his sword. She lowered her eyes to the broadsword at the huge man's hip. He was ready to kill, she could see that. They were going to kill an innocent child. Rose had to stop it.

She put the plate with cake on the table and slowly walked across the room until she stood in the middle, her body between Helaena, Alicent and the children and these men.

Blood and cheese were sent here to do harm. What had they said? A son for a son? Surely they meant Lucerys Velaryon. Had Daemon Targaryen sent them? Or his wife? What were they going to do with the boy? Kidnapping ? But they looked like men capable of far worse. Two strange, horrible men in a room with two women and three innocent children.

"You see, woman," Cheese said slowly, "you either choose one or we kill them both. And before we do, your girl won't be untouched." A smirk was on his lips as his gaze settled on the innocent girl hiding fearfully in her mother's skirt. Horror kicked Rose in the face. They were going to kill the children? But Lucerys was alive. No matter who had given the order, he couldn't think that the Greens would let him live if this cruel deed was carried out?

"Are you here for Lucerys Velaryon?" she interrupted Cheese, who was about to speak again. "He is alive and well. You can take him, we can send for him, and you-"

"Do I look stupid, you stupid cunt?" Rose winced at the insult. "There's no chance of getting away with him. That's not our job either. We're only here for one of the boys." Then he looked back at Helaena, who was sobbing at him. "So choose woman, or Blood will do it for you."

Then Cheese grinned again. "Blood wants to get his sword wet."

Behind her was another broken sound. Rose looked over her shoulder. Alicent's eyes glazed over and she threw herself in front of Helaena.

"You will not touch her," Alicent shouted warningly. She was shaking all over but she seemed strong.

Cheese laughed, a shrill sound. "Well, I see why you think we meant this sword, but no, I mean its steel, woman."

Then he yanked the boy out by the arm. Jaehaerys. He was crying and looked frightened, but his gaze was fixed on Maelor, who did not yet seem to understand.

"Which boy?" he suddenly shouted, and everyone present flinched. Blood laughed.

Blood approached the fire, Alicent and Helaena. Helaena's sobs hissed around the room and Rose felt her heart beat even faster until her chest was so tight she could barely breathe.

Suddenly, she was aware of a shadow on the wall. Her eyes flashed. It was barely visible; she probably wouldn't have noticed it if the fire hadn't caused it to flicker. There was someone. They weren't alone. She had to distract them until they could be helped.

"Princess Rhaenyra sent you?" she asked.

"Ay, the Queen who is supposed to be on the iron throne," Cheese said, giving Helaena a reproachful look. "Not nice, not nice at all."

"Well your Queen will certainly appreciate it more if you save her son."

"Not our job, not our job," Blood groaned angrily, puffing in annoyance.

Cheese shrugged his shoulders. "We're here to collect a debt. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Don't worry, we just want the boy. We need a choice. Otherwise, we'll kill them both. Go."

Helaena was as white as a sheet.

She looked helpfully at her mother, who just stared at her, stunned. Then her gaze slid back to her sons. Jaehaerys stared at his mother with wide fearful eyes and it broke Rose's heart. Unlike his brother, he understood the situation. Rose's eyes turned to Maelor. He was still very young, he didn't understand what was happening at the moment, did he?

"Choose, choose," Blood demanded roaring and reaching for his sword.

Helaena shrieked and leapt forward. She fell to her knees and looked up, trembling. Her eyes were filled with horror.

"I choose...," she looked between her two children. She bit her lip, which was bloody by now. "I choose, Maelor." Helaena pointed trembling fingers at her youngest son. She gave a pained moan.

Cheese laughed. He leaned down to the boys, pulling him closer. Cheese whispered into the boy's ear, "You hear that, little boy? Your momma wants you dead."

Rose saw Cheese look to Blood and nodded. But instead of walking toward the little, younger boy, he lifted the arm of the elder prince.

She understood immediately.

They would kill the boy Helaena had not chosen. Blood reached for his sword and before Rose knew what she was doing, she grabbed the plate of cake and hurled it into Blood's face, who backed away screaming. She got his eye. He did let go of his sword, but not the boy.

Cheese had his eyes on Blood, so Rose reached for the rake from the still-burning fireplace. She felt the hard grip and before Cheese could react, she hurled the staff into his face.

The man cried out and fire mixed with blood.

Fire and Blood.

Blood, meanwhile, had regained his composure and lunged at Rose, but before he got to her, she threw a load of glowing coals in his face.

Blood roared, deafening as flaming coals hit his face, sparks flying, and he tried to protect his face. He stumbled back.

Rose didn't see Cheese coming. She only felt the pain and the impact on the ground. He felt Cheese's hand bury itself in her hair and he slapped her face again.

"You miserable cunt, I'm going to-," before he could continue speaking, Rose heard a pop and suddenly Cheese was pulled away from him. Her eyes darted sideways to Aemond and Daeron and hope spread through her heart.

Aemond had torn Cheese away from her and it was over before it even began. Aemond's sword bored into Cheese's chest, while Daeron's sword entered Blood's groin. They both had swords of Valyrian steel and they looked like a chef effortlessly cutting the flesh of dead animals. Aemond pulled the sword from Cheese's chest and slid it through his entire torso. Thick guts flowed outward and blood splatters so dark it looked black.

Cheese was dead in an instant. Blood, on the other hand, was more unruly. He struck at Daeron, but the young Targaryen prince had the situation under control and with a few movements, he had also killed the big man, who in his last seconds was reaching for young Jaehaerys, who was already in his mother's arms. Alicent held Maelor and covered his face.

"Rose," rasped Aemond, helping her up. His silver hair, fanned open over his shoulder, was dyed blood red. He looked ready for bed. Aemond hadn't even bothered to put his sapphire in or wear his eye patch. It was the first time she had seen him without an eyepatch. She couldn't take her eyes off him and Aemond seemed to understand. He quickly looked to the side so Rose could only see his healthy side.

Daeron ran to his mother. He was drenched in blood.

So was Aemond and Rose realized that she had not been spared the blood either.

"Seal off the fortress," Aemond ordered angrily. "Secure every corridor. I want no one else to come in and no one else to leave this castle. Close the gates to King's Landing. Search every tavern, every whorehouse. If another attempt is made, I want to know before it happens!" Aemond's voice echoed over the uneasy silence of the city guard officers who had gathered behind them. Where were you, Rose wanted to shout. How could it happen that Blood and Cheese could become such a danger? Who had let them in?

"Yes, my prince," rang out the ranks, and Aemond pointed to the gates and sent them away without another word. Then he went to Helaena, who screamed and held him away. She clutched her oldest son, who looked pityingly at his mother. He seems so grown up, Rose thought.

"Mommy?," Maelor said suddenly. His voice sounded confused and all eyes turned to the little boy. Helaena looked at him with wide eyes and let out an agonized sound as the boy tried to come toward her. "Take him away, take him away," Helaena screamed, burying her hands in her face. She huddled against the wall. The sight broke Rose's heart into a thousand pieces. She understood immediately. Helaena had decided against her youngest son, she had condemned him to death and now she would always look into his face, knowing full well that she was willing to sacrifice him. But she had had no other choice, or not only would both boys have died, but the men would have taken advantage of her and her daughter. Helaena did not deserve this. She was the purest person Rose had ever met.

"Helaena, my child," Alicent said, pained, and tried to step toward her, but Helaena only shook her head. "Go away, go away."

Alicent looked broken. She took the three children and hugged them to her. "Ser Erwin," she called, and it wasn't a moment before a man stepped forward. "Take the children and take them to their nanny. Do not leave the room. You stay there and protect them with your lives," she ordered. Ser Erwin bowed and left the room with the children. Alicent slowly approached her daughter, but with a deliberate distance, and she spoke softly and gently to her child.

"My prince, we have gathered in the chambers of the small council," Ser Criston said. "The Hand informs the King at this moment."

"I want you to stay with my mother and sister," Aemond barked. He freed his sword from the blood of his victim on his body and slid it back into its scabbard. "My brother and I will attend the gathering. Ser Waters and Ser Mayford will also remain here."

"Ser Arrak will secure your room," Ser Criston said. Then he looked suddenly at Rose, eyeing her suspiciously as if she were the enemy. "What of her, my prince?" All eyes turned to Rose. Their looks were dismissive, as if she were the enemy.

"She stays here, too," Alicent commanded quietly. "She has protected us. She belongs with us." Their eyes met and she saw warmth and gratitude in the Queen's eyes. Her coolness and distance were gone. Aemond stepped closer to Rose and slipped two fingers under her chin to survey her face. Their eyes met again and Rose had to force herself not to stare at his missing eye.

"Bring a maester here. The maid is to be examined scrupulously as well. Any injury is to be treated," Aemond said before letting go of Rose and moving away with one last look at his mother. His steps were quick and pounding. It made him long for revenge.

Rose looked after him before her gaze turned to Helaena, who stared blankly into space.

The chambers of the small council were secured by the King's Guard. Aemond stomped into the room. Otto Hightower looked at him in dismay, with his brother sitting beside him, more asleep than awake, looking at Aemond through glazed eyes. Before he knew what he was doing himself, Aemond jumped toward his brother and pushed him back against the table, his hands on his shirt collar.

"Where were you, you miserable-," he roared and to his surprise Aegon didn't even try to fight back. The smell of alcohol rose to his nostrils and Aemond grimaced in disgust.

Aegon was trembling. His eyes were red. He had been crying. Instead of protecting his family like a man and a loving father, he had cried like a little girl. And this was the king of this realm. Aemond was ashamed that instead of Rhaenyra, they had put his brother Aegon on the throne. Even this cunt could have led the kingdom better.

Filled with disgust, he let go of his brother, who lay like that for a moment before he stood up. None of the guards had dared to come between the two brothers. Even though Aegon was their king. Perhaps Aemond should reexamine their loyalty. First and foremost, they were under his command, not Aemond's. Even if he didn't like it.

"How did they get in?" barked Otto harshly. His eyes blazed. "How did they slip into the queen's chambers without being seen?"

It's times like these that remind Aemond how great his grandfather was. He was usually a much more outspoken and calm man, so his tone was something new to him. Full of anger and unruly. He reacted the way Aegon should have reacted. His family had been threatened. His son.

"There are secret tunnels in Red Mountain that most have long forgotten. There's one in the nursery."

"So someone allowed them in? Who else was there?"

"A maid, Lord Hand," Ser Criston said suddenly from behind him, and Aemond's eye focused coldly on his teacher. Why was he here? He had ordered him to be with his mother.

"A maid?"

"The maid that Prince Daeron brought, Lord Hand."

"So the maid let her in?" He said the word maid, but he pronounced it like the word whore.

"The maid," Daeron interjected, looking gravely at Ser Criston. "Was fighting for my family. She was hurt."

"Possibly just an act to avoid looking suspicious," Lannister suggested, and Aemond had to control himself not to wring the man's neck.

It was an insane notion that Rose had let the men in, only to join them and fight them. His mother had made it clear that Rose had protected them. And Aemond's himself, even without his mother's confirmation, believed in her innocence. She was faithful to them. The doubts he had at first had been justified, trusting strangers was foolish and dangerous, but Rose had proven her loyalty. His affection for her was out of proportion, yet it infuriated him that Lannister dared even mention these options. He would brook no more words of shame about her.

"She didn't do it," Aemond defended her, his voice leaving no room for doubt or argument.

Lannister looked to Aegon, but Aegon was not here. He was elsewhere, in his own mind.

"Your Grace?" Lannister repeated. Aegon just stared at the table. Then the lord looked at Aemond. "How do we proceed now?"

"They declare war on us," Aemond said. He took one quick breath, trying to find the right words. He pressed his hand on the table and those present. He skipped over his weak brother. "We must not, no, we cannot let this crime go unanswered. They are laughing at us. We have been far too lenient with them. They have forgotten that we have powerful dragons at our side, and I will remind them of that."

Lord Strong nodded, a light of appreciation in his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace." It meant nothing to Aemond what this worm thought of him.

"I will spend the early hours of the morning sending ravens to summon our bannermen to war," Otto said, his eyes wide. He had wanted to prevent war, but now his family had been attacked. Even the last among them now wanted war. "I will in the same breath order the execution of Lucerys Velaryon."

Otto thought the same thing Aemond did. Good. He had no time or inclination for discussion.

"Will you execute him with Vhagar, my prince," asked Larys Strong. "As a symbol of the eye you lost because of your rightful ascent of Vhagar?"

It was a soothing idea. "No," he said nonetheless. "My nephew is not a true Targaryen. He does not deserve to die at the fire of a dragon. Let him hang. He is a traitor and shall die like a traitor."

"Good," said Otto. "Get everything ready!," he ordered.

"I'm sorry, Lord Hand," Larys Strong interjected. "I am also in favor of execution, but only the king can give that order."

All eyes turned to Aegon, but Aemond felt the weight of Aegon's gaze on him. Aegon had once said that he lacked the strength to do what needed to be done. Aemond had no such limitations. His brother was weak. Completely out of place, where Aemond should be sitting. But there he sat, huddled like a soft weakling. And he himself had helped to put him there.

"You must give the order, my king," Otto urged promptly, and all eyes turned to Aegon, who for some reason still seemed to be considering.

Aemond pressed his fingertips on the table.

"Aegon, look at me," he commanded, and his brother obeyed. Red-eyed and pale-faced, he looked up at him. Aemond had to suppress the urge to grab him and shake him. "There is no other way. They attacked your sons, your little girl and your wife. You almost lost everything. We almost lost everything."

Aemond hoped his brother would finally man up.

"Give the order for execution. Only you can do that."

"You want me to kill my nephew?"

"You are to kill a fucking traitor. If Rose had not come, your children would be dead now. And your wife," Aemond hissed. "We would have lost mother, too."

Why didn't this idiot understand the seriousness of the situation? If he had to, Aemond would execute his nephew even without Aegon's order. Lucerys had made his decision and so had his half-sister, the whore.

"How did you know, Aemond?" asked Aegon quietly, "that they had been attacked. Why were you there and not me?" A wail escaped his throat.

"You are king now, Aegon," Aemond began without answering his question. "Learn to be responsible."

Aegon said no more, but his eyes spoke volumes. He did not want to be a king. Unlike Aemond, he never wanted to be. They had put the wrong prince on the throne. He would ruin this country if Aemond would not stand by him. Even though he despised Aegon's ways, he loved his brother. He was his family and he would protect him. And if it meant protecting him from himself.

Aegon swallowed. His gaze remained fixed on Aemond.

"I, Aegon II, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, do hereby order the execution of Lucerys Velaryon. I condemn him as a traitor to the realm and thus a traitor to the crown. His execution is to be carried out tomorrow, shortly after sunrise."

The words were spoken. Aemond looked into satisfied faces. He expected to feel that satisfaction as well, but it did not come. Instead, he felt an emptiness within him that he did not know how to classify. Shouldn't he be happy and content? He would finally get his revenge. Maybe he should cut out one of Lucerys eyes and present it to his mother to make his revenge perfect.

Rose was sitting on Aemond's bed when he entered his chambers. He had ordered that she be taken to his room after the examination. She had washed and waited patiently for him. Aemond still had blood on him, though only his face was affected. He had changed his clothes.

When he came in, he didn't notice her at first. He was in thought and when she stirred on the bed, he flinched and reached for his sword. Aemond looked at her menacingly before he recognized her and his tense posture relaxed.

"Excuse me," Rose apologized, but before she could speak further, Aemond came up to her, grabbed her face, and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her so hard that his teeth bounced against hers. It was a very dominant kiss and Rose submitted to him. But the kiss didn't last long and Aemond released the kiss to press his forehead against hers.

"You saved my family," he said softly. She heard the pain in his voice. "I will never forget that. I am forever in your debt."

Rose shook her head. "There is no debt. It was my duty, and even if it had not been my duty, I would have done it. That act was unsurpassed in cruelty."

Aemond nodded and straightened up. He looked her in the eye. "We will have Lucerys executed tomorrow." He spoke these words carefully.

A pang of pain ran through Rose. She had expected this. His execution had already been talked about, planned, and now it was a bitter reality. But his mother alone bore the blame. Lucerys Velaryon had to die because his mother cared more about warming a throne than hearing her son breathe. Rose did not know Rhaenyra, but she knew enough to despise this woman. What a pitiful fate to be a child of hers. They called her Realm's Delight. If people knew who she really was, they would title her differently.

Rose nodded dejectedly. She accepted Lucerys' fate. If Lucerys could do it, then she had to be able to do it. It was his life.

"How is the Queen? The children and your revered mother?"

Aemond didn't often show emotion, but at that moment he was like an open book to Rose. Pain was in his face and anger.

"The children are asleep. My niece cried herself to sleep and Jaehaerys didn't let go of Maelor's hand for a second."

"Do you think the young prince understood what happened?"

"I hope not."

"And the queen?"

"My sister," Aemond swallowed hard. "has a difficult mind and she is wracked with pain and guilt. My mother is with her at this moment."

"It's not her fault. It was either or, or they would have killed everyone."

"I know. I don't blame her."

Rose wondered what she would have done. Would she have risked the lives of herself and her children if faced with such a question. Would she also have sacrificed the life of her youngest child to save everyone else? She did not know. Helaena would now have to live with it forever, and the worst part was that every day she would have to look into the eyes of the child she had chosen to die.

"When is the execution?"

"Tomorrow, just after sunrise," Aemond explained. "Usually everyone is ordered to attend the execution." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingertips gently slid across her cheek. "But you can stay here. You don't have to watch this."

Rose reached for Aemond's hand and clasped it with both hands. She opened his fingers and gently stroked its rough inner surface. Years of training had made the hand rough. "Thank you, Aemond," she said, looking up. She would actually prefer it if she could stay here. But then she thought about Lucerys dying alone, surrounded by enemies, and that she couldn't do that to him. He deserved to have a friend with him in the last moments of his life. She would not abandon him. "But I'll be there."

Aemond didn't comment on her decision. He just nodded and regarded her for a moment before pushing her back and climbing over her. She lay on her back and looked up at him. He was wearing his eye patch again. His long hair fell over his shoulders and lay over them like a veil.

"I need you," he said, and Rose nodded. She straightened slightly and kissed him gently. Though everything about him was rough, Aemond's lips were soft and gentle.

She broke away from him again and undid the strings of her dress. "Then take what you need."

In the moonlit night, it was easiest for Rose to pretend she was fine. She pushed Lucerys out of her mind, letting go of thoughts of him and turning all her focus to Aemond. Just as he needed her, she needed him.

Aemond helped her take off the dress and in a few seconds he was also naked. He was already hard, just like she was already wet.

"You're trembling," Aemond whispered against her neck. "Out of fear or desire?"

Aemond dragged a tongue across Rose's collarbone. Rose moaned. Aemond looked down at her.

"You want this, don't you?"

Rose looked at him, confused. "I'm not forcing you, am I?" Where did he get that idea? "I'm far too selfish with you. It was never my intention to dishonor you, and yet I can't stop wanting to feel your body.

His words brought a smile to her lips.

"I want you," she whispered, stroking his head. She spread her legs and enclosed Aemond with them, pressing his body against hers. A grin appeared on Aemond's face.

"You want me?" She nodded, returning his grin.

"What do you want from me?"

Rose groaned as she suddenly felt Aemond's finger inside her. She leaned toward the finger, trying to take it further inside her.

"All of it," she admitted, moaning louder as he added a second finger.

"You sure are greedy," Aemond commented. "Are you mine?" he asked, and as he pushed a third finger inside her, Rose lost control. She pressed herself down on the bed, her hips lifting her, and she felt the first tear escape from the corner of her eye. She didn't think the feeling from their first night together could get any more intense. Her arousal was driving her crazy. She wanted to feel him deeper inside her. She wanted more of him. Much more. Her thighs twitched and she tried to press him deeper against her, but Aemond's body was so wide she couldn't do it.

"To think that just days ago you were here untouched," Aemond said in a cool voice as he pumped his fingers inside her. "That I am the first and only one to ever touch you here and now you are helpless against me. I can do whatever I want with you."

Rose moaned. The idea and his fingers were driving her crazy. Her back arched while Aemond fucked her with one hand and kneaded her brush with the other.

"Tell me, my rose," Aemond demanded. "What do you want?"

"I-" Aemond's thrusts became firmer. This man was a beast in bed.

"What did you say? I don't understand you."

"Fuck me," Rose demanded, her words bringing a blush of shame to her face. She was ashamed of it, but it was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to feel him inside her. Not just his fingers. Just everything.

"How greedy," Aemond mocked. "But your wish is my command."

He kissed her as his fingers slid out of her. She gave an indignant gasp, but then she saw him remove his last clothes and anticipation arose in her. She continued to spread her legs, if that was still possible. Aemond regarded her for a moment.

"By the gods, if you could see yourself now," he breathed before leaning down and kissing her thighs. Then he slid further up and placed his lips on hers as he pushed his cock into her, sinking it in with one thrust. Rose cried out in pleasure. He widened her, hot and hard and pressed against her walls, rubbing against them and Rose no longer knew where up and down was. She moaned into his mouth then Aemond grabbed her waist and lifted her up so that she was lying on the bed with just her head and shoulders. Rose was irritated by the position, but before she could say anything, Aemond pulled back and thrust into her without restraint.

He buried himself so deep inside her that she felt like he was completely inside her. He fucked her the way he fought. Hard and precise. It felt like he was pounding into her.

"Faster," Rose screamed between her moans. Her whole lower body was on fire. But instead of complying with her demand, Aemond pulled his cock out, depriving Rose of the breathtaking sensation. She made an outraged sound, but then Aemond grabbed her, spinning her around so that she was sitting on top of him while he was under her.

"I'm exhausted," Aemond said. "You do the work."

Rose looked at him in surprise. She sat up in irritation and looked down at him.

"I don't know how," she confessed, and Aemond smiled. He took his cock and guided it to her burning spot and lifted her slightly to squeeze on it. They both moaned out at the same time.

Then he pushed her back up and Rose understood. Her body made itself independent and kept dropping down on him at her own pace, driving Aemond crazy. He buried his fingers in her hips and met her thrusts with his hips. Rose felt the energy leave her.

"Aemond, I can't take any more-" she said shakily, and Aemond didn't wait long. He turned them both over a second time and this time she landed on her knees. Her bottom stretched out toward Aemond and when he suddenly slapped his hand on her bare skin, Rose drew in a startled breath and looked over her shoulder.

"If you only knew what a sight you make me, Rose," Aemond said, and without warning he pressed his cock into her again. A sweet pain accompanied it and Rose moaned loudly. She never wanted it to stop. She liked the position and pressed herself against his hip. Aemond hammered his cock into her dripping opening while he wrapped his other hand around her, sandwiching it between the crevices of her cunt. He rubbed against something and Rose felt something brewing inside her.

"Oh, Aemond, I-I-" Rose stammered over her own lust as the fire in the pit of her belly continued to spread.

Aemond lost his rhythm and instead sought more. His thrusts became uncoordinated and wilder. He too was on fire and the knowledge that he was enjoying it excited Rose more.

Rose moaned as she came and Aemond followed her shortly after. He gave her a few more lazy thrusts before pushing her down on the bed and pressing his body down on her. She felt him soften inside her. Aemond rolled off of her and fell into the sheets next to him. Rose lay there watching as Aemond lay next to her, eyes closed, enjoying the moment. Aemond was making her a whore and she was enjoying every moment of it.

A wild and raging knock at his door woke Aemond from his sleep. He opened his eye and looked at Rose, who had also been awakened. Irritated, Aemond stood up and grabbed his sword. He stood beside the door and demanded the name of the troublemaker.

"Ser Criston Cole, my prince," came the reply promptly, and Aemond wrenched open the door.

"Why do you disturb me? Has there been another attack?"

Unfortunately, the bed was right in the door's field of vision, and Ser Criston's gaze opened in surprise as he turned to Rose, who was pressing the sheets against her naked body. His gaze was condemning. He made Aemond angry.

"Ser Criston, speak or I-"

"Lucerys Velaryon is gone."

For a moment, everything in his head boomed. Aemond even forgot to breathe. He felt the blood pulsing in his ears, his heart beating painfully against his chest. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

"What did you say?"

"The guards who came to take the prince from his chambers found the room deserted. But there were no traces of a struggle to be found, or doors and windows destroyed. Someone had released the prince."

Aemond felt the anger explode inside him. His blood began to boil in his body and he had to pull himself together not to thrust his sword into Ser Criston's chest. How could this have happened? Who had dared to let him go free?

Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

He would kill them all. He would have them tortured for days, one by one, until he found the culprit.

"Are all the entrances and exits still guarded?"

"Yes, my prince. As you commanded."

"Put the city under lock and key. No one is to leave it. Any child that looks like Lucerys Velaryon will be brought to us. The bastard will not escape his execution, and if I have to fly to Dragonstone myself to wet his bastard blood with my sword."

This could only be Rhaenyra's doing. That cunt had done it again.

Aemond vowed her death. Her execution would be a feast for the gods. But before her death, she would kill Daemon and every one of her children. In front in his sister and his uncle. And if it was the last thing he would do. He would wipe out her entire clan. Every bastard she had squeezed out of her. He would make sure that Rhaenyra's line would be completely wiped out.

Aemond would not let anyone who had Rhaenyra's blood in them live.

He would kill them all.

Every single one.

And again, a new chapter. What do you think?

What do you think? Who freed Lucerys?

25 notes · View notes

breitzbachbea · 1 year

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#i remember reblogging a very cute fruk fanfic from you - and frenchsplaining to the francophone 🤦‍♀️ whelp that was embarassing on my part

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Now THAT'S a statement coming from @catilinas

264 note - Postate 22 agosto 2022

I do think that portraying Feliciano as a kindhearted and cheery person does in no way exclude that he is also a spoiled and entitled little bitch. In fact, you SHOULD write him as such. And the kindheartedness isn't a mask to hide the bitchyness, these two things just co-exist in the same person. The man wants people happy. He also thinks he can wrap everyone around his little finger to make himself happy.

[And before the fandom police gets on my ass again, idc how you write him, I won't barge into your house and police your Feli fics and headcanons, the 'should' is an emphatetic plea for my case]

371 note - Postate 13 ottobre 2022

I was looking for the Bi Pride Firefox theme I used before I cleaned my browser, but found this gem instead:

520 note - Postate 27 giugno 2022

People make art to not explode, even if it is shitty fanfiction. Why is there so much grief inside of me and into how many fictional little people do I have to cram it before it stops being unexpressable.

682 note - Postate 9 ottobre 2022

Il mio post numero 1 del 2022

*medieval historian voice* give that ancient jewish person a gun

1.041 note - Postate 5 aprile 2022

Guarda ora l'Analisi del tuo anno 2022 di Tumblr →

#tumblr2022 #bilancio annuale #Il mio bilancio dell'anno 2022 #Il tuo bilancio annuale #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #2500 POSTS WHY DID NONE OF YOU STOP ME #and most of it was storie nostre. I really am number one at talking to walls no amount of non-interaction could discourage me #-slaps fingers that want to work on the latest IP chapter-

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lilywoood · 1 year

Text

You've got a mail 8/15

I originally didn't plan on posting anything on Tumblr anymore but I'm having some issues with my AO3 account so to be sure that I'm not loosing anything I'll start to post here again.

Tag list : @comablog2 @justsmilestuffhappens @gxtop @chrrlees @hardychick89 @jb-ap-94 @chioink @peroquenotevean @tk-carlosforlifex @nighting-gale17 @fyeahhipsterdoctor@leslilupe @anthony-e-stark-3000 @haderofthesociety @iamonlyaliveformalex @wearelosersyoudumbfuck @serena040506 @multi-fandom-writing @my-name-i-we

Words count : 2340

Song : L'Enfer - Stromae

She failed him, she let him down when he needed her the most, she ignored his calls, ignored the signs, ignored his pleas and cries…She failed him.

He’d always been there for her, he saved her more times than once, he heard her, saw her, found her when she was lost, freed her from the darkness, saved her from misery and she failed to save him in return, she let him drown in his own despair, she ignored him blindly believing that his smiles were sincere, that his laughs were real, that his happiness wasn’t faked, she was so blinded by her new beginning she forgot all about him, she ignored how he was wearing a mask even in front of her, that he was lying, hiding and suffering all alone.

The guilt was eating her alive, consuming her, she couldn’t help but replay all their last interactions in her head, trying to see if she could see the signs now...she couldn’t, the more she tried to remember the last time they talked with one antoher, the more she realized that they hadn’t seen eachother face to face in a really long time, he’d been avoinding her yet she never questionned it, putting it on his busy schedules, thinking he was back on the dating game, she never wondered why he was always canceling dinner night nor did she wonder why he didn’t want to come over anymore, the answers, the signs had been there all along yet she ignored them.

She hadn’t left his bedside in three days, she refused to leave him alone, refused to abandon him once more, refused to make the same mistake twice, he needed her and she needed him to wake up, his room was disturbingly quiet, they had removed the machines only leaving the respirator as his current state didn’t allow him to breath on his own.

He should have woken up by now, the doctors had assured her that he was out of danger, but for some unknowns reasons Buck remained unconscious, as if he refused to come back to reality, as if his psyche was trying to protect him from the outside world, protect him from someone or something but Maddie was determined to discover what it was not knowing that the answers to all her questions would come to her sooner than she expected.

They were all sitting patiently in the hallway across from his room, all pretending to feel remorse, regret and sadness for Buck, watching without discretion as to when Maddie would come out of the room to only pretend to support her through this difficult time.

They were a bunch of hypocrites and their very presence made TK's blood boil, how dare they show up here, how dare they pretend to care about Buck when they were responsible for his condition, when they were the cause of his torment, Buck may have swallowed the pills but in the young man's eyes they had each taken turns shoving a pill down his friend's throat.

He was blinded by rage, anger and disgust, and was about to go and show them exactly how he thought when he felt someone pulling him in the opposite direction.

-Carlos, he marveled, what…why did you stop me

-I know that look, he replied sympathetically, I understand that you don't hold these people in your heart, but causing a scene here and now is probably not a good idea.

He nodded dejectedly and dropped on the nearest chair, Carlos joined him, letting a separating seat between them. His heart sank at this gesture, as he would have liked to feel him closer to him, would have liked to feel the comforting warmth of his body against his own, would have liked to hold his hand,to feel him pass on some of his courage.

-So you and Buck, Carlos hesitated, stumbling to breach the heavy silence.

-Just friends,TK reassured him, avoiding his gaze, he understands how I feel, he tried.

-While I didn't, he chuckled bitterly.

-No...not that kind of stuffs anyway, TK sighed, grabbing the other man’s hand softly stroking it with his thumb, but…he fumbled, that…that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to tell you about it one day.

-Okay, Carlos croaked his gaze fixed on their hands.

A new silence fell between the two men and unlike the others this one was neither heavy nor stressful, it was a simple pause in their conversation, a simple halt allowing them to sort out their restless minds.

-Why do you hate them, Carlos demanded suddenly, Buck’s team why do you hate them.

-It was because of them he ended there, TK explained without going into details, they bullied him until he ended up there and now, he chuckled drily, now they want to pretend in front of his sister that they care about him, that they’re there for her, he whisper shouted, where were they when he was drinking himself to sleep, or when he decided that sleeping was useless and that by staying awake he would avoid the nightmares.

-What do you want to do, Carlos asked, do you want to tell his sister.

-I told her to ask her boyfriend, he sighed, I didn’t feel like I should be the one telling her.

-You want to confront them.

-I hate hypocrites, I hate the fact that they’re not there because they’re worried, he growled, they’re here because they want to save their asses.

-Okay, then go and make them regret, Carlos smiled encouragingly, make them feel bad.

-I will, TK grinned hugging him, thank you…for everything, he added raising from his seat.

-What else are friends for, Carlos smiled.

-I...

-I know TK, he replied, I'll be waiting for you when you're ready, he added, now go.

He always felt like words were more impactful, more influential and destructive than any kind of weapon, he’d always felt mesmerized, fascinated, draw to their power, after all words could start a war as much as it could bring peace, words were a cure as much as it was a curse, word could shape as much as it could destroy and in this case, in this day at this precise instant words have been his friend’s doom.

He could hear it now, could hear their venoms, their mockery, their poison, he could hear what Buck was hearing every single days, could understand his friends pain and despair, could see why he would go to such extremes. He never heard so much nastiness, so much malice and viciousness in his life, never would have thought it could come from people who were supposed to have his back, rage and anger were now blinding him and the desire to make those traitors pay increased the closer he got to them.

He was only a few feet away from them when he suddenly felt doubtful, was this really a good idea, was it really necessary to expose them while Buck was still in a coma, while Maddie was only barely holding on, was this really for the sake of his friend or for himself, millions of questions crossed his mind causing him to suddenly stop in his tracks.

He took one last look at Carlos who gave him an encouraging smile and that was enough to revive him and give him the strength and courage to confront the 118.

Bobby was the first to enter his sight, soon followed by the rest of his team, they were sitting close to each other and hardly noticed his presence, busy with the animated discussion their chief was having with his own captain.

As if on cue, Owen reached out to him, smiling slightly, urging him to join the conversation, a rapid glance was all TK needed to understand that his father was serving him revenge on a silver plate.

-You must be the famous TK, Bobby said, flashing him his fakest smile. Your father was just telling us about you and your prowess, he chirped.

-My prowess,he articulated with a twitch of his lips.

-Yes,Bobby continued, I wanted to thank you personally for saving Buck's life, too.

-He's the one who's saved mine on several occasions, T.K. remarked, striving to maintain his composure.

-How did you meet, Eddie interjected, He never told us about you, he gestured to the rest of the team.

-Therapy, the young man countered, squinting at Eddie sideways.

-Well, it looks like we don't know a lot about Buck, he quipped, between the suicide attempt, the therapy and now the Texas friend, he gestured frustratingly.

TK took a deep breath and exchanged another subtle glance with his father, his frustration and annoyance growing as Eddie's interventions increased, the fact that the 118 nodded and allowed this kind of remark only served to cement his already poor opinion of them.

-Do you even know why he tried to kill himself, T.K. snapped,Do you have any idea about what he's going through, he groused.

-Maybe he wanted a little more attention, Eddie shrugged uncaringly.

A dry, sinister laugh escaped TK, as his gaze roamed over the rest of the team he quickly realized that all seemed to have the same opinion about Buck as did their teammate, that all seemed to have the same incorrect perception of his friend, the one of a spoiled brat whose failure to get his way led him to choose the utmost solution.

-You really think he did all this for attention, he cackled disbelievingly.

-Why else, Chim interjected, Buck has always been a drama queen, he will never admit it to himself, but subconsciously I think he was just seeking some extra attention,he mused.

TK laughed maniacally, clutching his sides and shaking his head at the sheer amount of ignorance, disillusion and spite those people possessed, not once had the 118 considered themselves responsible for Buck's actions, neither of them seemed to believe that their abuses and noxious behavior might have caused the current incident.

-You wouldn’t know what’s an attention seeker is even if it was in front of you, he declared after calming down.

-And you would, Eddie scoffed.

-Yes cause I’m one, he revealed glancing at his father, I’m an addict, he added, I oded thrice, he revealed smiling at Hen supporting look, my captain had every right to doubt my ability as a firefighter but he didn’t, he smiled fondly remembering how his father was set on second chance, he could have gone behind my back, he could have told his chiefs that I wasn’t stable enough for this line of work, he could have, he insisted, but he didn’t because he respect me enough to confront me, to share with me his doubts about my abilities, he leaned over Bobby, his eyes never leaving his, trust and respect is essential between a captain and his crew, he disclosed, I might have my differences with my team but at the end of the day I know that I can trust them, he shared, same can’t be said about you, he half shrugged.

-Oh please, Eddie scoffed, don’t act as if you know him better than us, he waved off, we’ve been working with him for years, we know everything about Buck, he added jamming his hands in his front pockets, you’ve knew him for what a months or two, he snarked before being cut off

-Time doesn’t define how deep you know someone, TK retorted, I’ve knew him for three months and yet I know more about him than any of you, he raised his chin defiantly still focusing on Bobby, did you know that the reason he over exhaust himself during his recovery time was because he didn’t want to disappoint you, he asked Bobby, because you’re his hero, his model and he didn’t want you to think he couldn’t handle it, he hummed, did you know that after the tsunami he hadn’t be able to take a bath or a shower for two weeks because he was afraid of drowning, he asked looking at Eddie, better did you know he was the one who convinced his domestic abuse survivors sister, your girlfriend, he emphasized, to take a chance on you, he frowned, there isn’t a single selfish bone in Evan’s body, he snared, everything he did he had the 118 in mind, he added, the lawsuit you seem to reproach him, it was for you and he had every right to go through it, he laughed, but it could’ve been avoided if you had an ounce of respect for him, he snarked at Bobby.

Guilt and remorse could be read on their faces, none of them dared to speak after the young man's revelations, none of them foresaw how their bullying would affect Buck.

-It was you, Maddie asked in an accusing tone making them all realize that she’d heard everything, from the beginning it was you, she continued with a grim expression, you knew what was wrong with him, you knew why he swallowed all those pills and you stayed quiet.

-Maddie, Chim started.

-Try to take even one step towards me and I swear to God you will bitterly regret it, she menaced.

-Please let me explain, he begged.

-Explain what, she chuckled, explain that you bullied my little brother over some bullshit, she roared, that you bullied him to the point he tried to unalive himself, she scoffed, explain how you lied to me for months telling me I was worrying over nothing when you knew damn well what was the issue, what else is there to explain Howard, she barked drying her tears with a sweep of her sleeve.

-We didn’t, he stammered, it’s not what we wanted, he tried miserably

-No but it’s what you did, TK interjected before being interrupted by people running past them and toward Buck’s room, doctors and nurses were screaming orders at each other, sirens and red lights were blaring, making them quiet down instantly, making them stare at each other, making them dread what was happening.

#911 fic #911 fox #season 3 buddie #buddie #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 ls #crossover fic #tv 911 #angst #you've got a mail

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arllenn · 3 years

Note

Hey there, I rarely check on Tumblr nowadays due to work and stuff but I've played Dragon Raja for a while now so if it's not too troubling, I would like to request a fic of MC giving Osho and the others a well deserved verbal smack down during the final showdown (the MC didn't blame the Gen siblings for what happened to them and managed to save Erii from Osho). Bonus if MC cut ties from everyone after the mission... Sorry, I'm a huge fan of angst.

Tags for this chapter: angst, violence, all bitter no sweet, respawn system gets abused for angst Tw: cannon typical violence, graphic-ish descriptions of death, blood, suicidal thoughts and almost actions, wounds and the like

You’re clutching yourself as you shake knees getting weaker by the second, hiccuping and heaving the flood of tears that decorates both your face and the street under you with the weight of your emotions are the only constant for you. You’re drowning in your own emotions, phantom pains of all of your recent deaths and revivals clawing at you demanding your attention, demanding your time. You’re hugging yourself trying to mimic the comforting action that you remember from your childhood. “Why isn’t it working.” You choke out sobbing harder as you grip your arms. It’s too tight yet not tight enough, your limbs responding to your pleas is a sign that you’re still alive yes, but, but this is, this isn’t what you want.... this isn’t what you want at all. Your nails are far sharper than you remember them they tore through the flesh of your arms lightly. You could feel Herzog’s claws ripping through your flesh as well, everything hurt, you want to go home, you want to go home, you want to go home.....

But you can’t. Everyone was dead, at one point Caesar had said that Black Swan Bay had sunken, so the actual land was probably gone too, nothing left to remember that place but you Zero and Z. God you wanted to see them right now, the area on your head that he had patted earlier seemed warm giving you a small amount of comfort but also dealing even more damage to your psyche. You wanted to go back to those warm days in your childhood when none of this was known to you. When you weren't running around matchmaking and doing everyone else's work while also getting nothing in return, not a thanks, not even a small indirect amount of appreciation or encouragement. Your legs buckled under you your arms reching out as if to grab onto something to stop you from falling. Your knees met with the ground violently scraping at the skin there. You can't breathe, you can't breathe, youcantbreatheyoucantbreatheyoucantbreatheyoucantbreathe, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts, why is he doing this to you didn't he love you? That man, Herzog, had raised you. You had spent so much time at that orphanage, you were so happy. So why. whywhywhywhywhyhwhywhy. You recalled warm winter nights spent in front of the fireplace curled up with Zero on one side and Z on the other.

You remembered one day specifically. Back then you lot were young, so, so, so, young. You chuckled choking on your tears, that day Z and you had spent a solid hour arguing over who would run over to get Zero, that day it had started raining, then the rain had turned to hail mid hide and seek game. Z had found you moments before the storm started. You two ended up huddled under the ice bridge. The orphanage in sight but seeming miles away due to the storm. Zero had been caught first and had gone back to the courtyard as per the rules so she was probably fine. You needed one of you to go and get her so that she could bring back an umbrella for the other. Then you had heard it, the sound of thunder wolves nearby. Then Z, with no hesitation had, scooped you up put your head under one of the flaps or his jacket and ran back to the cottages. All while you could hear the heavy ‘thunk thunk thunk’ of wolf paws behind you. Looking back on it now those wolves were probably the result of Herzog’s experiments and not a naturally occurring species. The souring of your childhood memory made bile rise in your throat, the thought of looking at your early life through that lens rather than just christmas day made you want to scream. Z and Zero were so different from your seniors. If you had been with any of them back then you knew for a fact that they would’ve sent you to deal with the wolves, only coming in when you were a hairs breath away from dying.

But that hadn’t save you before, you can’t count how many times you’ve died sense meeting them. From your flesh being torn from your bones by death servitors to bleeding out in some nameless alleyway after being shot by hydra’s soldiers. You had also drowned at one point, that death had been the worst. You remembered clawing at the water begging for the chance to live once again, you remembered feeling your legs tear off after the submarine had exploded, you remembered reaching your mangled arms out, out, out towards the light that came from the surface of the water. You remember feeling the water force itself down your throat and into your lungs, it burns, it hurts, it burns, it hurts. You had been seeing flashes of reality as well as the last time you ended up in cold waters like those. It didn’t matter because in the end you had died. It never matters how hard you try, how many times you die, because you always end up failing.

You lay on the sidewalk screaming, there was no one nearby nor anything that you could hear other than the pounding of rain on the sidewalk and your own sobbing. Your hand burned with the new blood that flowed inside you. Your mind burned with the scars of the past that it never got to address, your heart burned with the open wounds this mission had left you with. You wanted to die right here, sink away into nothingness. Stay in the room with the grand piano and flowing waters. No one could bother you there, no one could make you do meaningless tasks without your say, there was no matchmaking, no pointless errands, no suicide missions, there was nobody but yourself there, just you, just you. Luminous wouldn’t be there to make you do his work, he wouldn’t be there swearing to be by your side to help you while simultaneously doing nothing at best and dragging you down at worst. There wouldn’t be a Caesar there to send you on every reconnaissance mission with no backup and no direction. Johann wouldn’t be there to demand information on your past like he had even earned the right to know it, like he didn’t need to earn that right because it should just be given to him. Just you in a place where no one could hurt you.

You looked up from the ground that you had been staring at, bringing your hands up to your neck you squeezed. It wouldn’t work in terms of killing you, you knew that, but it worked as an easy substitute, feeling the pressure of your own hands on your neck, the shortness if not complete lack of breath, the light headed feeling, it served as a less drastic solution for now.

“It’s great to see you all safe and sound!” Eva’s voice cut through the momentary peace that you had found, your hands reflexively letting go of your neck.

“Safe and sound?!” You repeated in disbelief, “What part of any of me seems to be safe and sound?” It felt like she was mocking you. The memories of Herzog’s claws slicing through your spine, through every part of you, flashed then the words ‘It’s great to see you all safe and sound!’ Played over them, those words were the last thing you wanted to hear right now. Why,why,why,why,why is your pain always ignored like this? Why is it always your job to make everything right? You can’t do this anymore! You won’t do this anymore.

Bringing your fist up you smashed at your communicator, “Cassell- will...turn th-this into- into no-nothing more th-th-th-then a dream for every- every- everyone” Eva’s voice though distorted still managed to snake its way out of the thing despite all the damage you had done to it.

"AGH, SHUT UP!" You yell slamming your fist down harder and harder, each time screaming, begging for her to "JUST SHUT UP" You're crying even harder now. The glass that made up the outer layer of the screen. The rest of her words came out broken and jumbled, and even if they hadn't been due to the damage your screaming and shouting would've drowned it out anyways. "STOP. TALKING. JUST. SHUT. UP."

"Caesar helping you to-to-to destroy- criminal underworld.... true story- believe." Your fist paused midair at those words. Caesar had helped to destroy the criminal underworld? That was the story that they were going with? Not even the whole team, just Caesar what kind of absolute bullshit was that. You had done 100 times more then the supposed hero of the story, hell Luminous had done more, fucking Erii had done more. So where did they get off on this- this- you didn't even have a word for it it was so stupid, so stupidly infuriating. Herzog had said that the people from Cassell had experimented on you, and while he wasn't one to be trusted you sure do feel so fucking dumb for defending them. At least Herzog had the common decency to put up an air of kindness. These people just treated you like a convenient tool, something to be used and dealt with as they pleased. Something that didn't need thanks or praise or a break because it was an object meant to be used and thrown away as they saw fit. "Re-re-re-return to takamagahara to say-say-say-say-saysay goodbye-bye-bye to-" Your fist swung down with overwhelming strength shattering the communicator completely. Broken pieces of metal and glass embedded themselves in your hand bringing a fiery pain that slowly destroyed all of you in its wake. You fell even further onto the concrete clutching your hands one in the other relishing a bit sickly in the pain that it brought. Your right palm glowed with the same light it first had when you had accepted Erii's blood. Then it started rejecting the pieces of metal and glass in both of your hands. Slowly pushing them out and healing the cuts instantly once they were out.

Chuckling you flipped over your hands looking at both perfectly healed sides. It was like you had never been hurt in the first place. You marvled at them, twisting them over and over again, bringing them to your neck once again you smiled and closed your eyes. You had no idea what you were. Had you always been like this? An undying freak with special powers? Had Herzog's experiments done this to you? It was obvious that your new healing ability came from Erii's and the light king's combined blood but what about everything else? Had you been born this way? Was it Herzog's half baked evolution pills? Had Cassell truly experimented on you? Z said you had the capability to become a dragon lord now, but what did that mean? What did that make you? Your chuckles turned into full of peels of laughter, your cheeks stinging at the feeling of both the semi dried tear tracks being pulled at as well as the force of your laughter. The peels of laughter soon mixed with pained sobs and you were once again back to crying. You weren't going to put up with this anymore. Dropping your hands you slowly stood up like a puppet on strings. Walking at a slow pace one second in between each step you started walking.

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

Anjou is in one of the VIP rooms with a man dressed like a pastor. You don't care what they're talking about, stepping in front of the pastor you look over at him. He takes steps back on his own, unprompted, it's a first but then again you suppose that you probably look like the walking dead, and in a way you were, not to mention that you also felt like it. A lukewarm apathetic haze settled over your emotions as you looked down at Anjou. He's the second person you met after waking up, he's the whole reason you, a freshman at his wacky school that you hadn't even been asked if you wanted to join, were on this mission. How stupid is he? He had sent you, a person who had what he described as 'little control' over your extra skill and who had just woken up after a freeze bath in Siberia on this mission, an SS ranked one that he was hesitant to even send his best students on already. So why had he chosen you? Why did you have to die over and over for a cause you didn't understand and people you don't know. "Freshman." he nodded as though prompting you to speak. He never broke eye contact or even showed any emotions other than a laid back and relaxed expression. It pisses you off. Why is this old dingbat relaxing, kicking back and enjoying his time while your'e such a mess? He gestures for the priest to leave and he does. Leaning forward elbows on his knees he looks you up and down before going back to making eye contact. "What has you so worked up?"

You want to cry, its the closest you've gotten to an 'are you ok' sense waking up but at the same time you wanted no part of a wellness check led by the man in front of you. "Herzog said that Cassell College experimented on me. Is that true?" You can almost make out a hint of surprise in his eyes before he starts laughing. You bight your lips pulling them into your mouth in a desperate attempt to hold back your anger wanting to get your answer first before you rip him a new one.

"Goodness no, why would you ever believe anything that old snake had to say, and here I thought you were a once in a decade genius. I suppose that title still belongs to Johann then." You ball your hands into fists. Its more than obvious that he's making light of the situation. Didn't he know that you had been raised in Black Swan Bay? Didn't he know that Herzog, a man who you had trusted, had experimented on you? Is he incapable of connecting the dots between your trauma and your current situation combined with Herzog's words? No he did know, he knew and he still chose to make light of everything you had gone through. Insinuating if not blatantly saying that you were an idiot for believing that what happened to you once could happen again. Slamming your hand down on the table you levied on him the worst glare you could, the burning behind your eyes letting you know that you probably looked less menacing then you wanted to.

"Where the fuck do you get off saying something like that to me." It's phrased as a question but its really not. It's a challenge for Anjou to defend his words, one he unfortunately takes you up on.

"I understand that this whole mission and especially today has been taxing on your team but that doesn't mean you should and can snap at everyone like that freshman. Take sometime to cool off, go outside and talk to your seniors, hopefully they'll be able to reach you in ways I cannot." He's getting up to leave after his mini lecture, essentially passing you off to be someone else's problem but you wont let him leave that easily. Your hand grabs onto his forearm stopping him in his tracks. For a millisecond you consider punching him. Beating him over the head with one of the glasses on the table, but the part of your brain that still, despite everything, says that you ca't do that to him because he had pulled you out of Siberia's ice who knows how long ago says not to. And it wins.

"I'm not going to apologize for my language-" He cuts you off with a tut of his tongue, now you have no regrets for the words you planned on saying next. Letting go of his arm you continued. "I'm entitled to be angry when an asshole says asshole things. And I'm allowed to curse said asshole out however much I want." You step in front of the exit crossing your arms, you catch a momentary glimpse of your face in one of the metal outlinings of the wall as you do. You truly do look dead, eyes lifeless and lightless, face twisted into a painfully weak version of the you that you wanted to portray. You know that in this position you run the risk of your conversation leaking out of the room but honestly you don't care, like at all. At this point you want to just scream and cry your emotions out. But you can't because you don't want to, you don't want to be any weaker in front of anyone than you already are.

"Freshman-"

"I was raised by Dr. Herzog for so so many years and the whole time he was experimenting on me and everyone I knew. And-and-and you expect me to just trust you when you say that you didn't do anything. You expect me to rule that out as a possibility when you've given me no reason to, not in terms of character or proof. So why would you say that me believing that random strangers who I've known for less then a month and who I, if I'm being honest don't trust, experimenting on me is a dumb fear?" You clutch at your heart bunching up the cloth that protects it. "I just- do you see why thats dumb? Do you see why it makes no sense to me? One day I'm celebrating christmas as normal with my friends the next minute I'm smacked in the face with the fact that the man that I considered a father," you gag a bit on the word, "has been experimenting on me and everyone that I love, that he's been killing all of us as soon as we turn 18 because we wont survive to 22 because of his experiments? Finding out that he thought of us, children he had been raising for years as nothing more then science experiments who had outlived their uses. Do you have any idea how much that fucking hurt? I had to watch everyone die around me while I wasn't able to do anything! Zero even sacrificed her life to save me and I still ended up dying so many times anyways." You're clutching at yourself again, seeking comfort in the only arms that you can trust right now, your own. You're glaring down at the floor trying to blink the tears away. It doesn't work. You're basically two steps away from dry heaving and sobbing. Anjou reaches out his hand, most likely to guide you to sit down but you slap it away. "Don't fucking touch me. You sent me, a freshman who hadn't really even enrolled in your school or been given the choice to do so on a suicide mission with other students and no adult supervision from the college itself. I've died so many times sense waking up. It always hurts, it's never been painless, I've never been thanked and yet you expect me to just what- put my blind trust into you? I spent more time around Chime then I did you and he spent half of the time as Ruri Kazama."

'"Freshman you're hyperventilating you need to calm down."

"I WONT CALM DOWN" You're yelling now, its not the same kind of painful shouting that you had done earlier on the street, this is loud as well yes, but its from a frustrated sadness rather than a devastated anger. "Why did it have to be me? Weren't there other students you could've sent? Adults? Why did it have to be me? You had no reason to trust that I wouldn't kill the others. I had justwoken up and you decided that I was your best choice? You didn't tell me anything you just threw terms out and expected me to understand. You didn't even give me time alone to breathe let alone ask questions." Your chest is tight, you can feel each of your deaths, piercing pain of claws slicing through flesh, the burning heat of bullets, the singeing of fire, being torn to pieces. You can feel it all and it all hurts so much. You want it to stop, you need it to stop. You don't want to hear these people talk like they're your friends like they care anymore. It's all too much, you're almost sobbing now, curling in on yourself to try and mitigate any pain that may come.

"Newbie whats-"

You turn eyes catching onto Caesar, Johann, Luminous and Finger standing behind you. When did they get here, how much did they hear. It burns and it burns devouring everything in sight. All the memories that you have with them that you've been trying to view in a happy light, all of them crumble to the ground in front of you the moment you see them. "SHUT UP, USE MY NAME FOR ONCE WILL YOU?! NEWBIE DO THIS, FRESHMAN DO THAT, YOU HAVE NEVER EVEN ONCE USED MY NAME!" Full on sobbing you bulldoze through every thought that comes to mind yelling them out at the people surrounding you. "YOU'VE NEVER ONCE ASKED ME IF I WAS OK. YOU;VE NEVER ONCE SENT ANYONE WITH ME WHEN YOU SEND ME ON THOSE STUPID SUICIDE MISSIONS. I'M A FRESHMAN A NEWBIE YOU HAD NO REASON TO TRUST ME WITH ANY OF THIS. WHAT WOU;LD'VE HAPPENED IF I HAD DIED AND STAYED DEAD? WHAT WOULD'VE HAPPENED IF I HAD BEEN CAPTURED? WHAT THEN?" You clutch onto yourself harder, seeking even the smallest bit of comfort from the feeling. Your voice has lowered in volume, you no longer have the emotional or physical strength to do anything other than keep your voice above a whisper. "Do you lot remember when Ruri had specifically said that even two of us couldn't handle Herzog alone? And yet you still thought that it would be a good idea to send me up alone, acting like you were tough for taking care of the death servitors at the entrance." You sigh, there are so many other examples you could go through but you also don't want to be here any longer. "What about you Luminous? I get that you had to watch Erii, but making me do everything and anything you could think of by myself while knowing that Johann and Caesar were constantly sending me on missions as well? You even complained that I took too long to do things. Maybe if you did something for yourself for once instead of just saying that you will then running away and hiding like a coward these things wouldn't happen. Maybe then Erii, Chisei and Chime would still be alive and I wouldn't have to deal with- with this fucking guilt!"

"Look I'm sorry about the Erii thing but listen, we had no idea you were feeling like this. You should've come to us-" Finger is trying to mediate, trying to comfort you, but it only makes things worse.

"And how could I have," You croak out, "How could I have trusted that you would listen, that I would get a break? You never even presented the option for me to have any kind of choice in how I carried out my missions let alone not do them at all. I had nothing I still have nothing. I'm presumed dead at best and no longer exist at worst in terms of my original legal documents. And even if I had access to them I'm still 20 years younger then I'm supposed to be." With a watery chuckle you continue, "Even if I did tell you if I was thrown away I wouldn't have any papers to do anything, to get a job, to live a life, I'm completely reliant on the college for everything. Not to mention the fact that I know nothing about the world. If Cassell had deemed me" You shudder at the word "a failure, then I would've had nothing, not information on the world at current, not even an identity." You shake your head walking in between them and towards the exit. "I don't care I'm not doing this anymore. Find some other freshman to be you dog."

You walked out and onto the streets of Tokyo. You glanced back once lamenting the fact that you hadn't gotten to say goodbye to Zero. You turned away glancing in the direction of the convenience store that Luminous would always make you go to to buy Erii's milk. You trudged down the streets of Tokyo back to that place. Hopefully you can buy paper and a pen to leave her a note with what little money you have.

The bell on the store door jingled when you opened it. The man was standing behind the counter as he always was. You're experience with father figures have been lack luster this far but you've always thought that this man gave off the air of one. It made you relax, seeing someone that while familiar wasn't from the orphanage or Cassell. He looked up at you wearing that same smile that he always did. You knew it wasn't for you specifically but rather something that he probably gave all of his costumers but still it made you feel a bit warm inside.

"Hey kiddo you look a bit rough, everything ok?" You take a few steps forward and nod a bit

"I think it will be now. Or at least I hope so." He hums and nods his head at your answer deciding not to pry, a decision you appreciate.

"So then you here for the usual?" You look back at him and glance around the store, you don't see paper or pens of any sort. It's a bit of a let down but you suppose asking wouldn't hurt.

"Ah no actually," Your voice is still raw, and a bit choked up from all the crying and yelling that you did earlier, you hope you don't sound weird." "Do you sell like, um... paper and pens or something like that? I want to write a note to a friend before I leave."

He scratches at his chin mumbling under his breath as he thinks for a few seconds before getting up and going around the store coming back with a bottle of warm milk in hand. He then returns to his spot behind the counter pulling a note pad and pen out from under it. He places the milk next to the writing utensils and pushes them towards you. "Here, milks on the house, I don't sell paper or anything but feel free to use that and leave the note with me. I'll give it to your friend."

You give him a small smile. It's all that you can manage right now. Your eyes burn with tears again. "Thanks, my friends name is Zero she's blonde has blue eyes and is about," you place your hand were Zero's head is about as accurately as you can, "This tall. She has a flat affect and seems kinda emotionless but she really is a sweet girl. Um, her hairs long and she has a big black bow tying it back." The man nods his head repeating your description back to you. After gaining conformation he sticks his thumb up and takes the letter from you promising to hand it to her the moment she walks through the doors of his shop. You thank him one last time and promise to come back there if you're ever in trouble before leaving.

As you walk through Tokyo's streets aimlessly, you repeat the words in your letter, speaking them into the rain. "I hope that we can meet again in a more peaceful time, preferably away from the bay and Cassell as I don't have the best impression of them. With lots of love, your best friend..." You laugh a bit, your words were supposed to be a parody of what Z said to you. You think its fitting for a farewell letter.

You meld into the raindrops after looking back one last time.

#me when respawn #dragon raja #dragon raja mc #caesar gattuso #johann chu #luminous lu #finger von frings #fanfic #writing #major character death #but they dont stay dead #its just alluded to #angst #hurt no comfort

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mari-beau · 3 years

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PARTNERS - A Rogue One Fanfiction

Written for Cassian Appreciation Week 2021 Day 4: Alliance Intelligence

(I know I missed Cassian Appreciation Week entirely with this one, but it got a little more out of hand than the quick scene tags and etc. Actually, tumblr posting etiquette question: At what point is a fanfic considered too long to post directly and should be hosted elsewhere and linked to? Or is inserting a ‘keep reading’ break enough?)

Title: Partners

Characters: Cassian Andor POV; Jyn Erso, Draven

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn

Words: 2633

Setting: Post-Rogue One, Canon-divergent (in that Cassian & Jyn live)

Summary: Cassian receives his first assignment for Alliance Intelligence after recovering from his Scarif injuries, but something is amiss with Jyn Erso. And something is gnawing at him as well...

Spoilers: Rogue One

Warnings: Our heroes have a little bit of PTSD/Separation Anxiety; Also it’s in a layered/nonlinear narrative format, which hopefully is clear/works.

“Where?” she asked. Was there a desperate edge to Jyn’s voice? Or did he just want there to be?

“You know I can’t tell you where.”

Cassian thought she would at least roll her eyes, if not spout sardonic criticism of Alliance Intelligence not even trusting their own people, not trusting those rebels who’d sacrificed everything for the Cause. But she surprisingly remained silent, pursing her lips and giving a little shake of her head.

“Are you allowed to tell me how long you’ll-” She swallowed, uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’ll be gone?”

“I’m not sure.” Cassian wanted to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but he’d never seen her look so fragile, and he was afraid a single touch might shatter her.

“Okay.” Her response was clipped, even for her, and she just nodded her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be back, Jyn,” he said. And maybe he’d never actually said it outright, but maybe she needed to hear it. “I’ll never leave you behind.”

Again, she only nodded her head, repeating “Okay.”

He gave into the urge, placed a hand on her biceps and stroked her arm through the layers of her thick thermal jumpsuit.

“Are you-” he tried to ask her whether she was feeling okay, but she shrugged his hand off and bolted, leaving him to watch her fleeing back as she disappeared down an icy corridor, blinking in surprise.

…

Earlier…

“Medical informs me you’re cleared for active duty, Captain Andor.” Draven managed to make it both a statement and a question. Of course he was the head of Intelligence, a spy to his very core, working in vagaries. Except when he issued orders. Those were always clear.

“Yes, sir.” Cassian tried to stand at full attention, but the stance honestly put a little too much pressure on his bad leg. If it was just the artificial hip, he’d probably be sprier than he’d been before. But the deep tissue damage was going to take awhile, if he ever did regain the full musculature in his leg, the tendons and ligaments would never be the same. The fractures in his vertebrae and ribs had thankfully knitted back up and neither bothered him too badly. Even with the unrelenting cold of Hoth.

“I have your next assignment.”

Cassian nodded, accepting the datapad with mission specifics. He gave it a cursory glance.

Deep cover.

“Is this a solo mission?” he asked, but pretended to continue to study the information rather than risk revealing his insecurities to his commanding officer. “Or am I going to need a team?”

Maybe just a partner?

“It has to be you,” Draven said. “And only you. They’re your connections. Well, one of your alias’ connections.”

The older man hesitated, not dismissing Cassian, not continuing with the briefing, just standing, waiting. Cassian mustered the best impassive face he could before meeting his commanding officer’s gaze.

“You’re still one of the best agents we have, Andor.”

Cassian nodded his head in silent acceptance of the reassurance.

“When do you need me to leave?” he asked.

“Whenever you’re comfortable enough with the mission brief. But the sooner, the better.” Draven was still studying him intently, with more scrutiny than Cassian had even faced as an undercover spy. “You know where to find me if you have any follow up questions.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said, recognizing his dismissal.

Something twisted deep in his chest as he walked away.

He needed to find Jyn and tell her he’d be leaving.

…

That Day on the Beach of Scarif…

“Look.”

It sounded like Jyn’s voice. Was there an afterlife, then? And could Cassian have somehow been lucky enough to be with her there?

No. No, that couldn’t be the case. There was too much pain. If he no longer had a body, then why did it hurt in the way physical flesh only could?

“Cassian!” Jyn’s voice was more urgent and she was squirming in his arms, her hands tugging on the sleeves of his shirt. “What is that?”

He forced his eyes open. It was bright. So bright. Why was she confused? It was Death.

No. No, it wasn’t?

He squinted, blinking his eyes as he looked off toward the ocean, well, where the ocean had been, where the wall of destruction had… stopped?

Jyn looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Is that a-”

“Shield,” Cassian gasped, in utter shock himself. “The Empire must have installed an emergency shield to protect the facility.”

“How long?” Jyn was breathing hard, already scrambling to her feet.

“Against that blastwave? Not long,” Cassian said. “Maybe it has dispersed some of the explosive force already but…”

“Come on.” Jyn was standing, leaning down to tug at his arms. He felt like he was ten times the weight he’d ever been on any planet.

“There’s not a lot of time,” he said, hoping she’d understand.

“Which is why you need to move your ass.” Jyn squatted in front of him instead, shoving her arms under his armpits and basically hugging him, she tried hauling him to his feet, but he was dead weight. He hissed with overwhelming pain that was practically blinding, his legs refusing to function. They collapsed back to the sand in a heap.

Jyn got back up, wincing and holding her injured shoulder before she renewed her attempts to get Cassian onto his feet.

It was a herculean effort for his weary body, but he managed to grab her arm.

“Listen to me, Jyn.” She locked eyes with him, and the desperation and pain he found there stabbed him in the chest, hurting worse than his aching ribs. “You have to go. You have to leave me behind. There’s got to be others still alive out there. Find them, get off Scarif. Leave me here. It’s okay. I want you to leave me. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said. There was a ferocious passion in the depths of her eyes, the green gone all steel grey. Any argument he could possibly make, any plea for her to save herself would not be tolerated.

“You listen to me, Cassian Andor.” Her hands captured his face. Her fierceness took away what little breath he had. “We live together. Or we die together.”

This time when she grabbed him, somehow her small body managed to haul him up, maybe she’d somehow given him some of her strength, some of her unrelenting determination, because his legs held... mostly.

…

Present

Cassian found Jyn hiding in a storage room, sitting on a crate with her hands on her knees, doubled over, breathing in big, sobbing gulps of air. He could only stand there and stare in complete shock. Not even on the beach that day had he ever seen Jyn Erso so… such an emotional mess. Angry. Passionate. Vulnerable. Yes. All those things he had seen in her eyes. But this sort of tangible, physical reaction? It was jarring to witness.

And he hesitated. Never hesitate. It could cost lives, the lives of others, your own.

Rushing to her side, he dropped to his knees beside her, the hard ice floor’s impact mitigated by his thick thermal pants.

“Jyn, what is it? What’s wrong? Should I find a medic?”

He placed a hand on her leg, tried to get her to look at him, but she turned away, her breathing still disturbingly uneven, like she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“N-no,” she choked out. “Just- Just give me a m-minute.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m right here. If you need anything, I’m here.”

A sob escaped her, and then she gasped, continuing to struggle to breath, hyperventilating. Cassian just remained there, kneeling beside her, a previously unfamiliar agony tearing at him, watching Jyn suffer whatever it was she was enduring and unable to help her. But he’d stay there, by her side, forever, if she needed him to.

Her breathing gradually grew placid until she was taking deep, regulated draughts of air. And then those determined breaths evened out as well until she was finally breathing normally. And still he waited.

Jyn swore, wiping at her face before she turned to him, and oh, force, her cheeks were raw-looking with tear tracks staining her skin. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. As if she’d been awake, hunted, for a week. How did that happen in just half an hour or so?

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Cassian asked. He wanted to know, needed to know, so, “Maybe I can help.”

She nodded but her eyes were bright, welling up with tears. This was Jyn Erso. It took a lot to make the woman cry.

“What is responsible for this? Did someone hurt you?” Cassian could hear his own accent thickening but didn’t care, becoming too agitated to focus on proper Basic pronunciations.

Jyn shook her head but said, “No. Yes… I… fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“What is it, querida?” He took her hand and when she didn’t pull away, squeezed it, caressed her bare palm with his thumb, noting that her skin was getting cold and he should get her back closer to the core of the base where the temperature was more bearable. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

She nodded. And again, Cassian was struck by how vulnerable the woman was. She always had a deeply hurt portion of her soul, but she seemed incapable of letting it show, even to him. It wasn’t deluding himself, or an over-exaggeration. Cassian knew that her friendship with him was different than any other she’d had in her life. It was the same for him. They finally had someone they could trust wholeheartedly.

But he still held his breath, waiting for her to bestow that trust once again.

She looked down at her hands in his, then to his face, her weary eyes holding his gaze, searching for something.

“You haven’t realized it, yet, have you?” she asked. Cassian’s heart beat faster. Realized what? “Until your Intelligence briefing this morning, we hadn’t been more than an arm’s length apart since Scarif. And force, I’m having a fucking panic attack just at the thought of being separated from you. How ridiculous is that?”

Cassian’s mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and wet his lips before he could even contemplate speaking.

“It’s not ridiculous, Jyn.” Maybe he hadn’t realized why, but that uneasy feeling had been twisting his insides since he’d first left for his briefing. And now, now he couldn’t deny its cause.

Because Jyn was right. She’d basically dragged him bodily out of that massacre, off that cursed planet, held him as he drifted in and out of consciousness until he’d blacked out entirely, to wake up in the infirmary on Yavin 4 with Jyn sitting at his bedside, arms folded on the edge of his cot, supporting her head as she slept. And from there, she had been with him his entire recovery. She refused to leave the room when medical staff or droids checked on him, only turning her back to give him privacy. He hadn’t complained. He hadn’t objected. Even when she set up a bedroll in the corner of his quarters when he’d been released from the infirmary. Even when she wordlessly climbed into his bed to soothe his fitful, painful sleep, even when she helped him dress. And shower. And limp down the corridors to exercise his injured leg. And after he was basically as recovered as he was going to get, she stayed. Always by his side.

The memory that would always forever be seared into his existence slapped him in the face.

“We live together. Or we die together,” he whispered.

Jyn’s pupils dilated, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his.

“I meant it,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t think…”

Her hand reflexively clutched at the front of her thermal jumpsuit, seeking the only possession she cared about, the only thing she had left of her mother, her father, the only thing she had that was her own, special. But hadn’t she realized?

She had him.

Cassian took a risk, slid his fingertips over her cheek, which was soft and smooth and warm against his doubtless chilled fingers. But she didn’t flinch from his cool touch. Rather, she leaned into his palm as he cupped her face.

“I know,” he said. And he did know, could see the knowledge of it in her eyes, as well. He didn’t much believe in the Force, and despite the kyber crystal perpetually around Jyn’s neck, she had had a hard life, was a survivor, with a practicality that ran so deep it had taken him, a heartless assassin to make her believe in hope again.

Sometimes, though… Okay, often, he felt like that blastwave had swept them away, disintegrated them on the submolecular level. And then somehow they’d reformed. But their atoms had been mixed up, and he was as much composed of her stardust as his own, and she of his.

It was fanciful. And completely unlike Cassian. The Before Cassian. But now, it was absolutely the way he felt. It was foolish to deny it. And from the way Jyn was looking at him...

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers, his lips feathering over hers as he hesitated, waited for any signal from her, acceptance, invitation, or rejection.

It was an exquisite, agonizing eternity.

But then Jyn sucked in a sharp breath, one of her small yet strong hands grabbing the front of his coat, the other the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. She pulled him into her, her mouth crashing against, hard and hot, and needy. Aggressive and tender at the same time. An inextricable mess. It was how they were. It was who they were.

It was perfect.

…

A little bit later...

“You have concerns regarding the mission, Captain Andor?”

Cassian had managed to catch General Draven in the rare moment where the man was actually in his office, sitting at his desk, reviewing… who knew what… intelligence, battle plans… food reserves…

“I do, sir.”

Draven looked up. Cassian had never questioned an assignment before. He’d always been such a good little soldier-spy. Even though it had been costing him his very soul.

Still, even with the feeling of Jyn’s kisses freshly on his lips, the presence of her burned into his entire being, questioning orders made him nervous. Almost as nervous as allowing himself to have wants, a sense of self beyond what the Alliance had given him.

“Well, what is it, captain?”

“I need a partner.”

Draven frowned in thought. “If I recall… the assignment is best suited for a single operative.”

Cassian swallowed but looked his commanding officer straight in the eye. “Then I won’t be taking this assignment. Or any others for Alliance Intelligence. Not unless I can work with a partner.”

Draven stood, did a quick pace behind his desk before he fixed Cassian with a hard stare. “You would desert the Alliance over Jyn Erso?”

Cassian wet his lips. Revealing such personal, emotional aspects to himself was… entirely against his nature. Jyn did not count. She was simply an extension of himself.

“I would choose her.” Cassian held the man’s war-weary, hardened gaze that still somehow seemed to have an iota of softness about the edges. “I have chosen her.”

We live together. Or we die together.

“She’s my partner.”

Draven sighed, but inclined his head.

“I’ll update the rosters. Make whatever alterations to the mission outline you view fit.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t know if you should be thanking me, Andor,” Draven said, but an elusive smirk flitted across his face.

Cassian did not hide his smile as he left, to find Jyn, and to tell her she was the newest member of the Alliance Intelligence unit.

#cassianappreciationweek #fanfiction #Rogue One #rebelcaptain #Cassian x Jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

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(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! Completed stories are planned to be posted all through December and most likely into January, so if you don’t want to see them you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories!

I received this request from @atlasistryingherbest, I hope you like it!

All Dolled Up

Summary: Fearing Roman’s newfound obsessions after the events of SvS Redux, Patton decides to break things off with him before they can get worse. If only he realized just how bad it could be. Written as a request from tumblr.

Warnings: bruises, forced confinement, threatening with a weapon, unsympathetic -if there are more let me know

Ships: Royality, Roman x Patton

Prompt: Defeated and Trophified

“You can’t-!”

“Roman!” Patton reached out to him with a desperate plea, trying to scramble to find the right words that would make all of this okay. “Everything’s gonna be okay, kiddo.’

Mentally berating himself as hurt flashed in Roman’s eyes he nevertheless held his gaze in earnest. “We love you.”

“Right.” Thoroughly dejected Patton watched as Roman sunk out, shame tinting his cheeks as he tried to make it seem like he had everything together, despite the lesson he had just learned not ten minutes before. He was grateful as Janus and Thomas reassured him but he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to the image of Roman alone in his room, having to ride out his conflicting emotions on his own and the miserable expression never leaving his face as he did so. That wasn’t the way to leave things with the prince, that wasn’t the way to leave things with anyone but especially someone he cared so deeply for and shared so much with.

Mind made up after he was sure Thomas would be alright with Janus he quickly sunk out to the regular common room, seeing no sign of anyone let alone Roman he made his way up the stairs and towards the door he had walked to so many times it was muscle memory at this point. All the sides had different kinds of relationships with each other, whether it was familial, platonic or romantic and Patton and Roman were certainly no exception. With their shared enthusiasm fo the things they were interested, their strong urge to take care of the members of their family and Thomas and their passion to make other happy no matter what it was never really a stretch to imagine the two of them together; so it came as a surprise to know one when just that ended up happening.

The mindscape had certainly been a brighter, happier place since they had made their relationship official, even if Virgil did cringe and scoff teasingly while Logan simply rolled his eyes and requested if they they were going to engage in public displays of affection then to please do it elsewhere or at least warn him so he could leave the room. Hand holding, hugs from behind, cheesy musical numbers, forehead touches, cuddles at movie night- nothing was below them when it came to showing their love for one another. But everything started to change when Janus began to come around, especially since Patton was the first one he had impersonated.It had hit Roman hard that he hadn’t recognized the deceitful side until later on ,and no amount of Patton telling him that that’s what he did and was supposed to do and he wouldn't be Deceit if he wasn’t good at well...deceiving could convince Roman of anything other than Janus was a horrible person from that day forward. A villain meant to be shunned and punished like any other Disney villain should be. At first Patton had somewhat agreed with him but as time passed he began to doubt that notion more and more...until today he realized he needed to take a step back and really evaluate what it was that Janus contributed to their family as a whole.

He lamented his mistakes of how he handled Janus’ situation- all of the “dark sides” situations really. All they were doing was their jobs how they knew how to do them, and maybe their methods were a bit misguided but so were his own to an extent. He needed to learn how to adapt and let go of past misconceptions- and that came with getting Roman to understand that as well.

He stopped short of knocking on the Prince’s door to listen for any sound coming through, from his or any of the other doors. He figured Logan wouldn’t be particularly happy to have been dismissed and replaced yet again but that was something to unpack and fix on another day. So Logan and Virgil would most likely be boiled up in their respective rooms waiting for the figurative fire to die down before venturing out again. Remus was most likely preoccupied with something Janus had left him to keep him busy and away from making Thomas’ mental state even more scattered than it already was and Janus himself was going to be occupied with their manifestor for at least a couple more hours after everything that had happened. He and Roman would have plenty of time to themselves then to work out what needed worked out for them to hopefully be okay again.

Taking a deep breath he tentatively knocked on the door and, hearing no answer, knocked a bit more firmly before easing it open and glancing quickly around the room before his gaze landed on Roman. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his rumpled prince costume with his hands folded between his knees and his eyes shining with unshed tears as he made stubborn, steady eye contact with the floor. Patton sighed quietly as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and carefully stepping over to sit beside the other.

“Roman-”

“Am I-”

They both stopped as they started at the same time, Roman ducking his head down further and angrily swiping tears off his cheeks. Patton was thankful when the hand he placed on the others knee was left there, looking back up at Roman’s face and smiling kindly. “Go on Roman, I wanted to hear your thoughts.”

“You’re about the only one.” Roman muttered, looking away and towards the door as if debating how quickly he could run and hide somewhere else before his shoulders dropped as he resigned himself to his fate. “Patton, am I..am I still needed?”

Patton gasped quietly, squeezing his knee tightly. “Of course, why would you think-”

“Because if Deciet is coming around, being accepted...if he’s going to be a part of things now...I don’t know what that means for us. For Thomas.” Roman finally turned to face him, his eyes shining earnestly. “I always thought him the villain, someone to vanquish when his deceitful means seeped into the mindspace too much, someone to wave my sword at to defend my and everyone else's honor. But if he isn’t the villain...and I was in the wrong...doesn’t that then make me-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Patton gently took Roma’s face in his hands and leaned closer, making sure to capture his eyes. “You are not the villain Roamn, you never could be. Sometimes...well sometimes there doesn’t even have to be one and that’s okay. Things are changing and that’s okay.”

Roman scoffed quietly. “Patton, you’re the one who likes change the least out of all of us.”

“Which is why I’m the one that needs it the most.” Roman was quiet at that, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Patton’s softly, making him small and moving his hands from Roman’s cheeks to loop around the back of his neck gently. It was comforting and quiet, neither of them wanting to move and speak again in fear of ruining the temporary standstill they had come to. Eventually Patton shifted, pressing his lips softly to the prince’s nose and smiling when he was rewarded with a soft laugh.

“It’ll be okay, Roman you’ll see. Everything always works itself out.”

“But what if something happens? We can’t just leave him with Thomas.”

Patton grinned at him sheepishly. “Well...he’s already with Thoams and has been since I left. Nothing bad has happened yet has it?”

Roman’s lips thinned as he looked down at his lap, twisting his fingers in an uncharacteristically nervous way. “What does that mean for me? I- I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” He looked up imploringly. “You- Patton you need to be there when I mess up. I still trust you to know right from wrong and if you’re there to keep me in check I’ll be their hero again!”

“That’s not quite how-”

“No it’s perfect; I’ll just tell you everything I’ll do before I do it and you can say yes or no and then I won’t mess up again!”

“Sweetheart I can’t do that.”

“Patton no you have to! Everyone already hates me, I have to do better, I can’t just- not be better.”

Patton grasped his hands and squeezed, hoping to distract Roman from his spiraling thoughts. “Nobody hates you honey, I swear on my honor as a side of Thomas. But I can’t be there all the time. We’re going to make mistakes going forward, and the ones we’ve already made are still going to hurt, but all we can do is try our best and let that be enough. I wasn’t lying when I said we still love you.”

He brought Roman’s hands up to his lips and planted a chaste kiss on the knuckles. “And I will never lie when I say I still love you, Roman. We aren’t our mistakes, we are the growth that comes from them. It’s going to be okay.”

Patton wasn’t sure if Roman truly understood but accepted the other nodding his head anyway, even if Roman did look incredibly deep in thought. It had been a long day for all of them, they both just needed some rest and hope that the next day would be a better one. Nodding to himself, Patton stood and gently ran his fingers through Roman's hair. “It’s getting late. Wanna watch a movie and cuddle before bed?”

Roman leaned into the gesture and moved to reach for his laptop; Patton, taking that as an agreement, snapped them both into their pajamas and summoned a fluffier blanket for them to snuggle under. Any more conversation could wait for tomorrow, now was the time to wind down with his favorite person in the mindscape.

-----

The next few days...weeks...worries Patton to say the least.

Roman could never be found less than a few feet from his side, and although he’d usually find it sweet and endearing the way his every movement was tracked like he was small prey being hunted had begun to make him twitchy. If the others noticed they didn’t say anything, which made Patton feel as if he was simply overreacting and just more jumpy than usual from the frog incident. He giggled at the thought- that would certainly make sense.

But it wasn't just that. Despite their heart to heart Roman was consulting him before nearly every decision he made, down to whether he put creamer in his coffee since that might be taking away from the others. Patton had hoped this phase would only last a couple of days and then they could move on but it honestly didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. He was loath to speak to the others about it since everyone was still a bit touchy and Roman couldn’t be shaken long enough to talk to anyone else in private anyway. Which left talking to Roam about it himself.

Which Patton...also didn’t want to do. He loved Roman with his entire being, and their relationship had always been a steady, even give and take. They had pretty good communication considering their individual track records and always made sure to set and respect boundaries, but with Roman being a bit testier...to say the least. More demandant for answers that Patton simply didn’t want or feel the need to give. Picking what T.V. show to watch, especially if it was just the two of them was not an entire dilemma that needed solving before they could move on!

And yet...when he didn’t answer, Roman had started to get more and more demandant. Throughout their relationship Roman had never once raised his voice at him, but it was becoming more and more a constant occurrence. He needed constant reassurance that he was doing fine and no one hated him and Patton still loved him which he would normally be happy to give, but it was so much. It was too much for any side alone to undertake upholding an entire sides’ mental health. To the point where he could feel his own slipping, and still he said nothing. For the first time in his existence Patton was almost...afraid of Roman. He had so many outbursts now and his movements towards Patton were always so jerky and it made him twitch away which only meant Roamn needed more reassurance and so the cycle continued. But enough was enough.

Breaking things off with Roman was surprisingly easy for how much his stomach was twisting with the nerves. Roman remained passive through it, expression so neutral you could pretend they were discussing the weather or what tp have for breakfast the next day. He was so afraid, so ready to have to call on another side for help, but he shouldn't have and he immediately felt incredibly silly for even having the thoughts. This was Roman, and Roman would never hurt him no matter how much he was spiraling right now. He’d wait a little longer for everything to cool off and then they’d have a meeting and discuss how to move forward. Simple. Then maybe when both he and Roman gained more solid ground to stand on they could try again and everything would fall perfectly back into place.

-----

That night Patton crawled into bed alone for the first time in years, missing the warmth of strong arms wrapped around his middle and holding him close until morning. He consoled himself with the thought that things weren’t completely over between them; it was just a small break. Everybody needed those from time to time and Roman had understood completely. He had just settled in to sleep for the night when his eyes snapped open suddenly. What was that?

He sat up in bed and listened carefully, sure he hadn’t been imagining the sound. Just as he was about to shrug it off and lay back down he heard it again faintly.

“Patton.”

The voice was so faint but now that he had heard it there was no mistaking it. Ripping off the bed sheets he hurried to his door and swung it open, listening carefully to hear the voice again.

“Patton.”

Moving to the stairs and rushing down them he turned into the living room and gasped at what he saw before him.

“Patton.” Janus’ voice was relieved but pained, tugging at the restraints that held him fast to the back of the rather small cage he was being held in. Dark bruises littered his face and his eyes blinked slowly as he struggled to focus on Patton. Rushing to the door of the cage Patton fiddled with lock as he looked desperately around for a key, his mind whirling too fast to form a coherent thought.

“Janus who did this? How can I get you out?”

“Patton you need to leave me.”

“I- what?” But you called me down, he wanted to say, shaking the thought away. Janus was clearly in no position to voice coherent thoughts. “No. We need to get you out. Do you know where the key is? We can start there.”

“You need to leave, I deserve this. I’m the villain- I deserve to be punished.”

Patton’s eyes widened, shaking his head vehemently. “No. No, you don’t, don’t talk like that. You deserve just as much as any other side and right now that means not being locked in a cage.”

Janus coughed out a laugh weakly. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course, honey. Let me just-” Frustrated Patton shook the bars of the cage, pausing when Janus locked eyes with him, a steady glare boring into his very being.

“Wrong choice, love.”

-----

Patton cowered in the far corner of the cage, eyes tracking Roman’s pacing fearfully as his wrists rubbed raw above his head. He still couldn’t dispel the image of Janus’ face melting into Roman’s, the cage falling apart only to wrap around and trap him instead as Roamn had straightened in front of him, eyes filled with nothing but passive disdain as Patton had pleaded desperately, mind confusingly fuzzy and still trying to comprehend what had happened. The had sunk out into Roman’s room, where he had been pulled to the far side of the cage and tied to the bars so that there was no chance of jiggling the lock on the far side to escape, leaving him trapped and scared and at the mercy of whatever it was Roman had become in the face of his perceived rejection.

Suddenly a knock was heard at the door, Patton tensing as the tip of Roman’s sword was thrust in front of his face.

“Roman? Patton? It’s after 9, Lo made breakfast.” Virgil’s voice came through the door. Roman nodded his head, an unspoken warning in his eyes as he gestured for Patton to go ahead.

Swallowing hard, Patton called out. “We’re both in here kiddo! Just- finishing up a project; might take a bit though.” He struggled to contain himself, to contain the anxiety rolling off him in waves so Virgil wouldn’t sense it and god forbid become suspicious. He needed to keep everyone safe, even at his own cost.

There was a pause, and then: “Are you guys sure? I can bring something up.”

“No need hun, thank you though. We’ll get something in a bit.”

“Okay.” They both listened as the footsteps faded away before Roman turned to face Patton, grinning wickedly.

“So, my heart; what is it that we’re doing today?”

Patton swallowed against, tears pricking at his eyes. “Getting rid of Jan- Deceit.”

“Good.” Roman moved the sword to gently caress his cheek. “And you’re going to do exactly as I say. I’d hate for this beautiful face to become just as deformed as that snake’s.”

He snapped his fingers and Patton’s pajamas were changed out for his regular attire, albeit a nicer variation of it. He could feel makeup cake his face thinly and he knew from the weight in his hair that his favorite barrettes had been pinned in neatly. Roman smiled and reached in to cup his cheek gently and Patton felt himself leaning into the touch despite the spike of fear he felt.

“There,” The prince crooned. “A sweet little doll to puppet as I please. Deceit never could resist coming too close to what was out of his league now could he?”

Stifling a sob by biting his lip Patton could only watch as Roman moved away to begin concocting another illusion that would draw in Janus later that day. Hanging his head in shame, he sagged against his confines, feeling the ropes dig into his wrists and the cage run painfully against his spine. A useless doll thrown to a corner, forgotten in its disuse after its purpose was met.

This work is also available on AO3!

#false writes #false bthb #bthb #bad things happen bingo #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #unsympathetic roman #tw violence #captivity tw #defeated and trophified #roman sanders #deciet sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides angst #cage tw #bruising tw

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tartagilicious · 5 years

Text

checkmate (theo x reader) *repost

(thanks a lot to @cinnamon-smutcakes for pointing out tumblr’s shadowbanning habit lol, I wasn’t aware of it when I wrote this and never thought to go back and change the tags ^^)

checkmate bitch

genre: smut

wc: 3.6k

@pkmnmstrchf thank you for requesting, and also for your comment! this prompt is probably one of the best I got, so out of pure respect for the ideas in my head and the character, because I fuckifhj love him, this is gonna be a spicy one lol. (Because like I said, I’ll accept some~) yeah, this is gonna be a pretty explicit one since I jack up the monologuing and description so much to hide that I suck at dialogue 😘

(i’m sorry this took so long T_T)

written to miss you by gabrielle alplin and the enemy by Andrew belle

—

“Why do you insist on doing this, Theo? It would take little for you to leave me alone until the sand in the hourglass falls, yet you-“

“Because,” He interrupted sharply, his lips curling in a half-hearted frown. “You must have mush for brains, knabbeltje. Don’t you get it?”

You felt like you had made an enemy of him the moment you stepped through the mansion’s doors. Even if he hadn’t known of you until later, his annoyance and irritation had still somehow stuck to you anyway.

And it really did seem that way to you.

You bickered with him constantly, almost as if he took pleasure in seeing you squirm because of his words. You argued unironically with equally sharp tongues, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like feeling as if you’d put him in his place. But, of course, that was only mutual. Both with fiery personalities, you each naturally yearned for nothing more than to put the other in their place.

You assumed that was what he was doing when he came to your room; doing nothing more than picking a fight, but he showed you that he was less predictable than you thought in more ways than one that night.

You narrowed your eyes as he came closer. “Obviously I don’t.”

His eyes held as much tension as your own did, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could go without cracking under the weight of it. It was clear he felt the same way, his normally stern eyes swimming with unfamiliar emotions. Predictably, he was the first one to make a move, his eyes unwavering on yours as he walked up to you.

“You’re the one that has mush for brains.” You mumble, avoiding his eyes for the sake of your wildly beating heart.

His cool eyes swept over your face before he laughed with mock concern. “You can’t come up with a better comeback than that?”

“I could,” You gave him a steady look. “But you’re not worth it.”

His lips curved up slightly into a daring smile as his fingers came out to run teasingly on your jawline.

“Is that so? Prove it.”

And, before you could so much as get a word out, his lips were on yours. He took you as if you were an aphrodisiac, his movements ardent yet gentle, and you couldn’t help but find yourself getting lost in it as his tongue began to swipe across your lips. The pleasure he gave you from a single kiss was inconceivable, and though you knew it was wrong, you let yourself continue with as much of a comprehensible thought as you could manage.

You opened your lips to him, sighing languidly as your tongue played with his. The feelings he gave you rushed to your stomach immediately and settled there as you moved closer to him, giving up your justified senses as you silently begged him for more.

He pulled away after what felt like only a few moments, a thin string of saliva connecting you as you both breathed hard.

“___, I’m in love with you and it scares the hell out of me.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him for an instant, your mind suddenly asking you if what was happening was right. But, before you could dwell on it, your body gave into his lingering touch and his adoring words. You unconsciously reached out and pulled him close again, a content moan stumbling from his lips as your arms wrapped around his neck.

His kisses were sweet with just the right amount of intense, but, they ultimately weren’t enough.

You shakily found his hand and laced your fingers tightly with his before lifting it up your skirt to push directly over your clothed heat. You were admittedly unsure of the boldness that came with your actions, but he, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice as he stopped to ask you one last thing before you crossed the point of no return.

His whisper was rushed but gentle as he asked, “Are you sure?”

I’m never been more unsure of anything in my life.

But, you had no choice but to give into the painful arousal flaring in your stomach, putting aside your worries rather than stopping things where they stood because of them. You gave him the firmest nod you could muster, and he took to you expertly right away. His fingers pressed into you as he moved to pepper kisses down your neck, stopping sporadically and leaving marks that were sure to show well into the next day.

You moaned his name in a quiet vibrato as your fingers dived into his hair, gripping whatever you could as he continued to press into you. His fingers worked neatly, kneading you in ways that had you about melting where you stood. Your knees trembled as pleasure overcame your body, and you gripped his shoulder as a soft plea for more.

The knot in your stomach tightened as his voice came out low and raspy, his lips brushing up against your ear as he spoke.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping, ___.”

He dragged a single digit across your clothed slit in a single slow motion that had a whimper tumbling out of your lips and colour flooding your cheeks.

“It’s because of you,” You pushed out the words with a shaky gulp. “You jerk,”

You felt him smirk at the side of your face as he pulled his hand away from you.

“Are you asking that I stop, then?”

His teasing was expressed in a haughty tone that you would normally despise, but now the sound did nothing more than add to the slick mess between your thighs.

You pulled back to stare him in the eye, your expression twisted into a pout. It didn’t take long for him to give into you, though, and with your arm still wrapped around his neck, he pulled you back in to a fiery kiss that took your breath away. He kissed you roughly, as if his life depended on it, and you responded steadfast.

He backed you into a corner with his tongue in your mouth and his hand slipping past your panties before catching you by surprise and lifting you up to sit on your desk. You let out a gasp as he hiked up your skirt and slipped the first digit into your heat without warning, grabbing onto his shoulders and trying to steady yourself. Arousal was dripping through your panties and onto the wood finish of the desk beneath you, and you couldn’t help but whine in embarrassment and pleasure at the lewd sounds that echoed throughout the room.

“Theo-“ Your eyes squeezed shut as he added another finger, and you just heard him push out a laugh as he panted.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you come so undone, ___.”

Your grip tightened on his shoulders as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, and you couldn’t even find the heart to respond fully. So, you did all you could as you reached up and pulled him into a desperate kiss. Your lower stomach burned as your tongues swirled together and his fingers continued to work to a point where you could almost taste your release. But, he seemed to notice this, too, and immediately ceased all of his actions. He backed away from the kiss, and pulled his fingers clean out of you in a quick motion that had you moaning yearningly for him.

“Hondje, did you really think I was going to let you finish so quickly?” He whispered this to you as he pulled his fingers away, taking pleasure in the way you squirmed.

Your breaths were uneven but your eyes were determined as you spat out, “Fuck you,”

He smiled beratingly before responding casually. “Don’t worry your little head, that’s already well on its way.”

Reaching behind him, he grabbed the desk chair he’d pushed away and sat on it so he was almost at eye-level with your pulsing heat. But before he could go any further, he noticed that you had already sneakily slipped your hand down your panties while he was looking away. Your eyes were shut and your brows were knitted tightly, your face so wound up and delicate that he even hesitated in interrupting you for a moment.

But, seeing the look on your face as he grabbed your wrist to stop you was worth it.

“What did I just say?” He asked, his voice dangerously low as his fingers played with the waistband of your underwear. “You don’t get to cum until I say so, got it?”

Before you could respond, he had slipped your underwear clean off and thrown them on the floor. You moaned at the contact of cold air and he took the opportunity of your blindness to pull you legs down and hook them smoothly over his shoulders.

You gasped as his tongue ran slowly across your clit, your back arching easily at the quick change in position. But he did little to ease you into it, his tongue licking into any crevice and going as deep as it could almost immediately. Your moans grew so loud and desperate that you were half-worried that the other residents could hear them, but you long forgot about it as lewd slurping sounds filled the room and pleasure filled your chest.

You panted as Theo’s nose rubbed against you, and soon, with the combination of his tongue, you were seeing colours in no time. Your first release was a heavy feeling that had you groaning in pleasure as your essence was quickly lapped up by the man responsible for it. But in the moments after, he couldn’t help but cease. Everything was very sudden, and even he was having a hard time wrapping his head around what was happening.

He did all he could before catching your lips in a gentler kiss, hoping the action conveyed his thoughts well enough before he decided to hoist you up and bring you over to the bed for a more comfortable change. He dropped you on the soft mattress in one smooth motion, backing you up to the headboard. But, he took an extra second to look at you before continuing. Your skirt was still hiked up, revealing you nude beneath, and the top two buttons of your shirt had somehow come undone in the events prior. Never in a thousand years did he think that you, the strange woman who had unknowingly waltzed her way into a different time, would be lying in front of him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed. But, there you were, in the flesh.

Without wasting another second, he pressed his lips contra yours once again, reigniting the undone passion with no trouble. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer as your lips worked against each other’s, equally desperate to continue where you left off. Pieces of clothing came off one by one before long- your oxford, his jacket, your skirt, his pants; until you were both bared before each other in yet another way.

Because even if you’d made temporary enemies out of each other, there was still a certain type of smile exchanged between the two of you, certain words and certain levels of trust that put both of you out there in more ways than just physical. You were one hell of an arguer, but, you were also one hell of listener, just as he was the same. Your relationship wasn’t easy to explain, so, he thought he could at least try then.

His lips made their way slowly down your body, stopping to leave generous marks on your neck and collarbone, and occasionally your stomach. He couldn’t help but indulge in the way you shook with pleasure, after all, your moans only fuelling his actions further. But as soon as he ceased for even a moment, you gathered all of your strength and flipped him over so you were straddling his lap. He moaned as you held his shoulders, your cum still gushing down your thighs and onto him.

You were breathing heavily, but you still managed to laugh. “Checkmate, Theo,”

He stared up at you and the marks all over your body and couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth when he met your smouldering eyes.

“Ride me.”

You faltered momentarily, just blinking, and for a second, he was afraid you were going to bail. You had been very clearly enjoying yourself and had made no effort to stop him, but he couldn’t help but notice your occasional hesitation. He didn’t want to force you to do anything you didn’t want to, so he couldn’t get rid of the thought you potentially didn’t want to be doing what you were. He wanted to ask you, but before he could, you made up your mind. You shifted and sank down onto him, groaning and grabbing his hands as you positioned yourself on him. Your stomach was beating almost painfully as you began to rock your hips into a rhythm, closing your eyes as Theo gripped your hands back.

“Shit,“ He moaned, leaning his head back into the headboard as you began to lift yourself up and down. “You’re so good-“

You moaned his name as tears came to your eyes, your hips becoming sloppy as your releases both approached quickly.

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a soft whine, feeling him twitch inside of you as you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m close,”

If you were being honest, you don’t remember what happened after that very well. You did trust Theo enough to feel okay not asking as you laid down in bed, already half asleep, but you were also just too embarrassed to admit that you’d almost blacked out for a few minutes. You wished you could have fought your exhaustion, but, after a hard day, you knew it was unavoidable no matter what. Your thoughts were like soup, and you could barely form a sensible thought as you quietly let Theo clean you up.

You were well on your way to a deep sleep, but, there was one thing that stuck out in your mind and flared in your chest above the rest of the emotions you were feeling. Pleasure, relief, and happiness pushed at your heart, but heaviest of all, regret rose to the top and overpowered the rest. You told yourself it wasn’t Theo, nor anything he’d done specifically, but no matter what, the fact that you were soon leaving the world behind stayed the same. You couldn’t afford to get close to anyone just as much as they couldn’t afford to get close to you, yet there you were.

Theo was walking over to you after disposing of the towels he’d used, but had stopped to pull his clothes on. You didn’t wait then.

“Theo, I think you need to leave,” You pushed this out in a single breath, bracing for his reaction as you internally apologised over and over again. “Before we wake up and regret what we’ve done.”

You were expecting a rash reaction from him because; he was still someone you weren’t on the best terms with. That hadn’t changed, no matter what you did with him. But, after a few long moments of silence, he just nodded quietly. You felt all kinds of things watching him force a smile and walk out, but you felt guilty that you were none the wiser about the thoughts whirring through his head.

Theo felt regretful. He mentally kicked himself for not listening to his gut and taking away concern in the way you had been hesitating, because it had come back to bite both of you. HeÂ knew it was his fault for that, and really, what could he do besides respect your decision?

The next time you saw him was in the dining room late the next morning, and you felt an unnecessary desire to avoid his gaze. Out of what, you didn’t know, and that alone was enough to frustrate you to your core. But you still kept your thoughts hidden, trying not to react to his eyes that stuck on your back as you walked.

That went on throughout the next few days, like a meaningless game. He stood next to you but you didn’t acknowledge him; you exchanged brief glances but nothing more, and it had so many things swirling in your chest you didn’t know what to do. It was almost too hard to act that way. You had gone over what to say to him in your head what must have nearly been a thousand times, yet, every time you saw him, your heartbeat picked up and you couldn’t help but look away.

Both of you were too quiet to say anything, and you knew that if you didn’t get the guts to say something, you would leave it to sit and nothing would change. So, you resolved that the next time you saw him, you would say what was on your mind. Then, you couldn’t help but repeatedly chicken out. It was like a cycle and you were tired of it; then it became clear that he was, too.

You met Theo by chance in the dining room at suppertime a few evenings later, and while you were fine in distracting yourself by talking to Arthur, who also was there, you still felt as though the issue was weighing down hard in your chest. It wasn’t much for the author to pick up on something so trivial, but he still had enough sense to not bring it up. He was his usual teasing self otherwise, but there was a kind of solid understanding swimming around in his eyes as he spoke that had you silently thanking him.

He didn’t butt in once, and merely left once he was done with his meal with quiet reassuring words and an entirely too characteristic wink of good luck.

You didn’t feel as though you’d gotten any luckier, though, because now, you were stuck in a room with the very person you needed luck regarding. You’d seen Arthur out of the room, seeing as you’d both finished your meals around the same time, and you almost felt weird about turning back to face Theo. So, you just called out a half-hearted goodbye, too deep in your thoughts to realise that he was coming up to you.

When you turned to leave, he caught your wrist in a swift motion that had your breath hitch.

“___?”

His voice was softer than you’d expected it to be, melting your heart in just the way you’d been trying to avoid. But, even you recognised what was happening; and it was far too late to do anything about it.

“…Theo.” You trailed off as you turned around to courageously meet his eye. It took all the confidence you had to speak. “What is it?”

He raised a brow. “Do you really want to play that game? You haven’t said a thing to me all week.”

You hesitated. What were you supposed to say to that?

“Sorry,” You managed, giving him a bashful smile as your cheeks flushed. “I honestly didn’t mean to ignore you, I swear - it was sort of just like an instinct after the first time.”

“I’m sorry if I, you know, did something wrong. If you weren’t comfortable I shouldn’t have forced y-“

Your brows knitted in confusion as you interrupted, “You didn’t force me to do anything! Theo, is that what you thought?”

He didn’t answer, dropping your wrist to put a hand on the back of his neck.

“You didn’t really give me a choice, did you?” he mumbled, sheepishly avoiding your eyes. Your heart did flips as you watched him, and, you finally realised the severity of what you’d gotten yourself into. No matter what you tried to convince yourself, the conclusion was clear as day. You had fallen in love with Theo, and there was no turning back now.

“I’m sorry,” You loosened up, exhaling your regrets. “it was stupid of me to do what I did. I regret it a lot, and I’m sorry I put you in such a bad spot.”

He stared at your expression before quickly grinning. “When you put it like that, ___, I have no right to be angry.”

“But also, Theo-“ You continued with a nervous smile. “I’m sorry for telling you to leave that night. You were, you know, good…”

You trailed off before covering your face as you laughed, fuelled by his laughter ringing alongside yours.

Moments later, he grabbed your hands and brought them away from your face so you could meet his eyes, and you had a hard time not blushing at how attractive he looked while smiling.

But, his smile was sly as he said, “You can tell me I’m a good f—“

You ripped your hand from his and put it over his mouth before he could take the sentence any further, adoration oozing from your gaze as you watched him laugh. Then, in sparked retaliation, he put his hands slyly around your waist but then began to relentlessly tickle your sides. So, when you had no choice but to let go of him, he took you in your arms and brought you close, your face just below his as he grinned yet again.

“Checkmate, ___.”

You smiled at the repetition of your words from the other night.

“You think you’ve already won?” You asked, smiling widely as you pulled his collar down to give him a slow kiss on the lips. The action undoubtedly completed your goal of surprising him, and with a slight murmur in-between your desperate actions, you whispered,

“Well, I win.”

#ikemen vampire smut #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #Theo ikevamp #theo ikemen vampire #ikevamp theodorus #ikevam theodorus #ikemen vampire imagine #l #ikevam smut #ikevamp smut #holy shit lol #writing this was an entire roller coaster #my writing

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ckret2 · 5 years

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anon: Something for TFP StarWaveWave conspiracy AU you talked about on tumblr?

I would like to personally thank this ko-fi commissioner for ensuring that I was incapable of thinking about anything else at all today; and secondarily thank @kurxo for accidentally indirectly inspiring this by drawing Starscream being friendly with Soundwave and Shockwave. Fic based on that fanart and some posts I made a few days ago about a potential Starscream + Soundwave + Shockwave conspiracy to overthrow Megatron; this fic is a setup for how such an alliance could come to be. The related posts are tagged #starwavewave conspiracy

If he’d stopped to think about it beforehand, Soundwave would have expected the hardest part of starting a mutinous conspiracy to be convincing himself that he wanted to help Starscream to overthrow Megatron. Certainly, that was the slowest part. Convincing Shockwave had been much easier. But no—it turned out that the trickiest bit of the whole thing was convincing Starscream that he wanted to overthrow Megatron.

###

“Thank You For Listening, Soundwave”

###

"Legend tells that it holds the power to revive the dead," Starscream said.

Megatron replied, "We require only a cadaver to be certain. Are you willing to make the ultimate sacrifice?" and Starscream cringed away from him, laughing nervously, deflecting the question.

Soundwave recorded.

Soundwave hadn't realized until that moment that so much of what he disliked about Starscream was how he shrank and shriveled and cowered in fear.

He hadn't realized until that moment that—even faced by the most highly-trained Autobot guerrilla force in history, by energon shortages and hungry soldiers, by carving out secret strongholds for the Decepticons on an alien world—he hadn't seen Starscream cringe once in the last three years.

Until now.

###

"Megatron's greatest mistake was ever allowing you to live, Prime!"

It was true. Soundwave didn't like the thought of Megatron making mistakes—but when he allowed himself to dwell on his leader's flaws...

Watching a dozen camera feeds from a bank of screens on the Nemesis, Soundwave recorded. He recorded, spark rising in hope and disbelief and delight, as Starscream dove toward the defenseless Prime. He recorded, spark sinking back down into the dark, as Megatron intercepted Starscream before he could destroy their greatest enemy.

He recorded.

"But the Autobots—Optimus—right there, waiting for you!"

“My greatest mistake? I've made a few. But there is one I do not intend to make again!”

That should have been how Megatron announced that he was correcting his mistake by ensuring that the Prime did not live.

When that wasn’t what Megatron did, for a moment Soundwave didn’t understand.

He turned a camera toward the Prime, who was helpless and totally ignored. He turned another toward Megatron, hauling away the Decepticon that had nearly killed the Prime to thrash him instead.

Soundwave had a good idea how Starscream had earned Megatron's wrath. He told himself that Starscream deserved this beating. He told himself that it was a punishment proportionate to his crime.

He told himself this to avoid wondering why Starscream was a higher priority than their greatest enemy.

"N-no! Master!"

The Decepticons rose up to throw off their chains. Soundwave wondered why they called Megatron "master."

###

"I have been a fool. Made mistakes. Monumental ones. I now realize I was never destined to be leader, or even an equal partner. And, I am at peace with that. I have gained a clear understanding of my place in the universe. Of who I am. Of who I was always meant to be. Starscream: second in command, humble servant to Lord Megatron."

At Starscream's request, Soundwave recorded.

Soundwave told himself that this was as it should be, that this was something Starscream needed to learn. He tried to ignore the bitterness rising in his throat at Starscream's resignation to servitude.

The Decepticons rose up to escape servitude.

He told himself he only felt bitter because he knew Starscream was probably lying. He tried to ignore the slight comfort he felt at the thought that Starscream might still be hiding a defiant spark.

"Thank you for listening, Soundwave."

No one ever thanked Soundwave for listening.

###

"I know you can hear me."

Starscream's fugitive voice floated like a ghost through the halls of the Nemesis. Yes, at the other end of the labyrinth of halls, Soundwave could hear him.

"I'm only hungry. All I’ve come for is fuel. Merely a few cubes." He was so, so quiet. "Please, I beg of you, do not betray me. Recall how many millions of years we have been fellow officers—I'm sure I've never said it, but I truly hold you in the greatest esteem, and were the situation reversed I would certainly not betray you. And remember who gained you—gained all of us—that energon."

Soundwave thought of all the energon mines Starscream had located and established in three years, and all the mines Megatron had lost in half that time.

Soundwave thought of how they had convinced themselves that Starscream would be easy to replace; and how his replacement had challenged Soundwave to a fight, something Starscream had never dared nor desired to do, even when they had disagreed during Megatron’s long absence.

Soundwave thought of how Megatron had come home with Orion Pax unharmed and protected; and just as easily as Starscream, Soundwave had been replaced.

Soundwave recorded Starscream's whispered plea. And he told no one.

###

When a whole flock of Starscreams crept on board, and one whispered into the air, "I am, of course, still grateful for last time," again he recorded, and again he told no one.

When the flock attacked Megatron, Soundwave still wasn't entirely sure he'd made the wrong decision.

###

"Do not ever make me regret which one of you I spared."

Soundwave recorded.

So many of Megatron's recent changes to the chain of command seemed to be a notable step down. Airachnid over Starscream. Orion Pax over Soundwave.

Choosing Starscream over Dreadwing would have been a step up, if it had been the Starscream who led them calmly and competently for three years, shrewdly preserving their numbers and bolstering their fuel reserves, quietly respecting Soundwave’s competence and perspective even as he loudly complained about his specific opinions. But this broken, scared thing, who seemed more interested in winning Megatron's approval than winning the war, was just another step down.

Strange, but Soundwave hadn't thought Starscream had seemed so broken when he came home with the Omega Keys.

He reviewed his recordings.

###

"What should I call my new domain? New Kaon? Or perhaps 'Gilded Earth.'"

Soundwave recorded as the Prime sliced off Megatron's arm.

He recorded as the Prime’s blade swung down into the Omega Lock, so close that Soundwave could have reached out and touched it.

He recorded from where he had crashed to the ground as Cybertron's one hope of resurrection vanished in a ball of flame.

He recorded because he was too horrified to look away.

When Soundwave was on his feet again, too dazed from the blast and from sudden grief to begin to think about what to do next, he drifted, automatically, to stand at Starscream's back.

It was Starscream who snapped to his senses and seized control of the situation. Starscream who commanded Knock Out, "Attend to our master. He requires medical attention!" Starscream who sought the Autobots just in time to watch them retreat, and snarled, "Prime! He will pay for dooming Cybertron to remain a lifeless husk." Starscream who put a voice to the rage Soundwave couldn't speak. Starscream who, Soundwave realized, easily buckled under the threat of pressure, but always stood strong once it was actually applied—as he stood strong now.

It was Megatron who laughed. Megatron who said, "They can run, but they can never again run home." Megatron who spoke like he thought this was a victory.

Soundwave felt like he was standing at the correct mech's back.

###

Soundwave played back his recordings over and over. Megatron's every moment of charisma and heroism, his every moment of spite and malice. Starscream's every moment of cunning and caution, his every moment of self-doubt and self-interest.

Soundwave was grieving for Cybertron. He knew that. He wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't know whether his shaken loyalties were founded in a fair assessment of the current state of Decepticon leadership, or in the frustrated feeling that everything was slowly falling apart. Despite their new stronghold on Earth and the scattering of the Autobot forces, he felt like they were on the losing side. He feared he was being irrational.

But he didn't know what he alone could do to figure out the rational course of action. So he did what he'd always done: remain silent.

"I find myself in urgent need of good news, so please, Knock Out, tell me that you found something useful."

"Some things, my liege. And someone."

Enter the most rational mech Soundwave had ever met.

###

“But you will be pleased to know that I avenged your seeming demise by personally terminating the Autobot Cliffjumper.”

“Careful, Starscream. You may dislocate a landing gear patting yourself on the back.”

Soundwave found himself, again, standing just behind Starscream. When Megatron had been gone, he’d stood at Starscream’s back for years without thinking about it. Now that Megatron was back and he could compare, he was finding himself more and more comfortable standing at Starscream’s side than Megatron’s, and he could not quite identify why.

When they had left the room, Shockwave turned to Soundwave. “I am certain Starscream did not go out of his way to avenge me.”

Soundwave gave him a slight nod.

“Then if he performed, as it were, a mere incidental execution, why does he consider it so notable that he killed Cliffjumper?”

Soundwave displayed a graph on his face, with a label identifying it as a chart of every Autobot the Decepticons had killed since coming to Earth. The graph was empty. He zoomed in on the only month with a bar displaying a kill count higher than zero: one.

“Ah,” Shockwave said. “So he’s the only one who’s gotten anything done on Earth.”

Soundwave was relieved Shockwave thought so too.

###

From the exit to the flight deck, Shockwave watched as Starscream argued futilely with Predaking, who continued to do absolutely nothing that he ordered.

Soundwave lurked behind him and echoed Megatron’s words. “‘Starscream, assume command of my beast.’ ‘Starscream! You have failed me enough for one day.’”

“No, he hasn’t met with any success.” Shockwave turned slightly to glance at Soundwave. “But you wouldn’t expend the effort to point out something obvious like that.”

Soundwave shook his head; no, he wouldn’t. No, that wasn’t his intended meaning. He tried to rearrange the statement. “‘Starscream! You have failed me enough for one day.’ ‘Starscream, assume command of my beast.’” Was that clear enough? “‘You have failed me’—‘assume command.’”

Shockwave tilted his head back as he puzzled over Soundwave’s meaning. “It is possible that Megatron anticipated Starscream’s failure before giving him the order?”

Soundwave nodded.

“Rather… self-defeating,” Shockwave said. “You think Megatron is deliberately sabotaging one of his first lieutenants.”

“‘It is possible.’”

“I have not witnessed Megatron displaying such self-destructive tendencies.”

“‘Wouldn’t expend the effort to point out something obvious.’”

“Hm. True.” Shockwave watched silently for a moment as Starscream shrieked and cowered back from the Predacon’s enraged snarl. “You’ve been here longer than I. And see more than most. I will observe Megatron closely.”

Soundwave bowed his head. “‘Thank you for listening.’”

###

"Soundwave. May I speak with you about our energon supplies? There appears to be a significant discrepancy in our record keeping."

Soundwave nodded warily to Shockwave, already wondering what new crisis they were about to face.

"For over two years, our quantity of energon mines—and, correspondingly, output of energon—has steadily declined. However, records indicate that our store of reserves has remained consistent. Do you know the reason?"

Soundwave slowly shook his head. He couldn't imagine. Who would tamper with the records? Surely he would have noticed any unauthorized meddling. And he could see their energon stores on his cameras; now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember noticing that they were any lower than usual. Yet they should be. Were his cameras compromised?

"Strange," Shockwave said mildly. "I will investigate further and update you on my findings."

When Shockwave found Soundwave later, he was pouring over old computer logs, looking for any indication that anybody had touched the inventory system who shouldn't have.

"I have found the reason for your consistent energon stores," Shockwave said. “Our Eradicon fatality rate has remained inversely proportionate to our energon production rate, such that the dwindling amount of fuel available to consume and the dwindling amount of soldiers consuming it have remained roughly equal."

Soundwave nodded, then remained still until Shockwave had moved on.

He punched a hole through his computer monitor.

For the first time in his life, he deleted some of his own surveillance footage.

###

“Even now, you do not criticize Starscream,” Shockwave commented, examining the mutated head of a Terrorcon Eradicon.

Soundwave shrugged. Did he have to? Soundwave felt that this debacle spoke for itself; it didn’t need Soundwave speaking for it.

“I am beginning to believe you are trying to persuade me of Starscream’s worth.”

Soundwave didn’t reply. He was doing no such thing; but he wasn’t trying to dissuade Shockwave, either. He was only reporting all of the little things he’d noticed—all of the little things he’d recorded—all of the little things that were otherwise so easy to overlook in the face of Megatron’s commanding presence and the way Starscream repeatedly fumbled under Megatron’s gaze—and waiting to see Shockwave’s judgment on how they added up.

“His recent behavior has been erratic,” Shockwave said. “And stupid.”

Soundwave remained silent.

Shockwave carefully set down the mangled head. “However, Starscream is not alone in that,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he’s not even the worst offender.”

“‘I have been a fool. Made mistakes. Monumental ones.’ ‘My greatest mistake? I've made a few.’”

“Then you are measuring them against each other.”

Soundwave nodded slowly. “‘I find myself in urgent need of’—’a clear understanding of’—‘Starscream!’—‘And,’—’Lord Megatron.’”

“Hm.” Shockwave didn’t say more. But Soundwave remained, listening, all the same. Just in case.

###

“He left me for dead on Cybertron,” Shockwave said. “I am convinced that his reasons for doing so were logical enough—for the position he was in. However, I am not convinced that that they are sufficient for someone who would be the leader of an army.”

It was the first time Shockwave had directly broached the subject of Starscream hypothetically leading an army.

Soundwave almost suspected Shockwave resented Starscream for leaving him. He answered in Megatron’s voice: “‘If Breakdown allowed himself to be captured by those smaller than him, weaker than him, he deserves whatever fate awaits him.’”

“I see.” Shockwave remained silent a moment, musing on that. “No, I don’t suppose Megatron would have been any more likely to rescue me than Starscream was.”

Soundwave played a video on his visor: Starscream speaking to Megatron, “‘But Breakdown is a key player in our…’“ and flinching back from Megatron’s snarl, “‘uh… Your wisdom reigns supreme, Lord Megatron.’” Then the footage sped up, cutting between different cameras as Soundwave traced Starscream’s path through the Nemesis until he got outside and flew off without telling anyone.

Shockwave watched evenly. “No doubt, Starscream considered Breakdown a resource of some sort.”

No doubt. But Soundwave didn’t know that for certain—Starscream had never utilized Breakdown in any significant way.

Shockwave said, “I would far prefer the leader who does not consider his resources so quickly disposable over one mistake.”

Until the relief washed over him, Soundwave hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped Shockwave would lean in that direction.

“In your measuring of Lord Megatron and Starscream’s flaws… what do you intend to do if you conclude that Starscream is the better option?”

“‘If you conclude,’” Soundwave corrected. “‘Your wisdom reigns supreme.’ ‘I am’—‘an equal partner.’”

“Then I shall consider the matter carefully.”

###

Soundwave approached Megatron, and in Knock Out’s voice, said, “‘My liege, we’ve located another of Shockwave’s Predacon energy signatures.’”

“Have you?” Megatron glanced at the map displayed on Soundwave’s face, then turned to glower across the bridge. “Starscream! A chance for you to redeem yourself after your string of recent mishaps.”

Starscream sucked in a sharp breath when Megatron shouted his name, but rallied quickly. “Yes, of course, master. I shall not disappoint you—you have my word.”

Megatron scoffed. “I don’t intend to give you the chance. Knock Out will be accompanying you, to see that you behave yourself.”

Soundwave tilted his visor back into Megatron’s view and displayed a new image: a range of steep mountains, with the red dot flashing atop one of the peaks. No place for a car. Megatron frowned, but said, “You’ll go then. I trust that you are more than capable of keeping Starscream in line.”

Soundwave bowed his head. Megatron had always had great faith in Soundwave. Soundwave had always been proud of that.

But he still remembered how quickly Megatron had shifted from venting his ire on Starscream to venting it on Knock Out once Starscream became unavailable.

And he still remembered how quickly Megatron had replaced Soundwave with Orion Pax.

He wondered how far down the line of officers Megatron would have to go before Soundwave became the next acceptable target; and how much was Megatron’s faith in him really worth, then, if it was conditional on maintaining a buffer of punching bags between them?

When they were well outside Megatron’s hearing range, Starscream turned to Soundwave and said, ”I assure you, I do not need to be 'kept in line.' The very thought is ridiculous!" Starscream laughed; it wasn't convincing. "It's the Autobots that we need to be wary of. You keep your watchful optics peeled for them while I retrieve the fossil, and we'll have no trouble at all!"

Soundwave thought Starscream was doing enough talking for the both of them, so he made no reply.

He transformed and waited for Starscream to follow suit before he opened a bridge; flew through; shut the bridge, immediately transformed back, and landed; and waited for Starscream, who’d shot off into the distance, to realize that Soundwave had stopped and circle back. “What’s the matter? Autobots?” Starscream looked around at the empty grassy plain. “Where’s the mountain range?” He transformed and landed as well. “Soundwave, are these the correct coordinates?”

Soundwave nodded.

A second bridge opened and Shockwave approached. Starscream took a step back, wings shooting up in alarm. His wings had been telegraphing his every mood since he came back from exile. “What’s going on?” he snapped. “Soundwave? What is this?” He crouched, clearly ready to spring into the air and transform.

Soundwave couldn’t fault Starscream for being wary. He’d had experience with being lured out alone to be tortured. Soundwave held up a hand toward Shockwave, gesturing for him to stop.

Shockwave halted. “We wanted to speak to you where Megatron can’t overhear.

Starscream looked between them nervously. “Okay,” he said, uncertainly. “Why?”

“We have been analyzing the last few years of the Decepticons’ progress,” Shockwave said. “Or, rather, the Decepticons’ decline. We've been bleeding energon, soldiers, resources, and advantages. Our conclusion is that, without new leadership, the Decepticon Army will soon perish.”

Starscream flinched. “No, that’s impossible,” he said. “There’s—there’s hardly half a dozen Autobots. We’ve all but won the war on numbers alone.”

“‘For over two years, our’—‘amount of soldiers’—‘has steadily declined.’”

Starscream studied Soundwave’s visor, then Shockwave. “You’re serious about this?” he asked. “But—no. You can’t possibly be. Are you?”

“Have you ever known me to play practical jokes?” Shockwave asked.

“‘We require only a cadaver’—‘Megatron’s.’” There was no point in mincing words. Starscream needed to know they were past the point of mere hypothetical musing. The words Soundwave had just spoken were grounds enough for execution—if he was willing to risk saying them, then he was willing to risk putting them into action.

Starscream reeled back like he’d been struck, and started pacing. “You are. No. You can’t be serious.” He wrung his hands together fearfully. “You can’t! Especially not you.” He glowered at Soundwave. “You stopped me when I wanted to pull the plug on him—now, now you want him dead? Impossible.”

“‘I have been a fool.’”

“Don’t you dare use my words against me! Why are you ready to betray him now when you weren’t when we had the chance?”

“‘Megatron’s greatest mistake was’—‘dooming Cybertron to remain a lifeless husk.’”

For a moment, grief and rage flickered in Starscream’s optics—the same grief and rage that Soundwave felt every time he replayed the sword cutting through the Omega Lock—but then he squeezed his optics shut and shook his head, pacing faster. “This is all behind me. I am loyal to Lord Megatron, now! I’ve no interest in being a party to any—any attempted usurpations! I don’t know why you’d want me anyway,” he laughed a shade hysterically, “I can’t seem to do anything right lately—“

“‘Megatron is deliberately sabotaging one of his first lieutenants.’ ‘You’—‘see more than most.’”

Starscream’s optics flashed back on. He froze, face twisted in pain. For a moment he didn’t speak.

Soundwave took a step closer. Starscream stepped back. “You’re mocking me,” he hissed, voice thick.

“Your confidence has been damaged,” Shockwave said. “Deliberately and systematically, I believe, from my review of your recorded session with the cortical psychic patch.” Starscream flinched. “Nevertheless, we both believe that you are capable of recovering and would serve our needs where Megatron would not.”

“‘Starscream is the better option’—‘for’—‘the leader of an army.’”

His wings lay flat and trembling along his back. His face contorted through several expressions in rapid succession—confusion, hope, fury, despair—but settled on distrust. “This is clearly a trap. You’re trying to lure me into saying something compromising so you can snip the recording out of context and tell Megatron I’m up to my old tricks.“

Soundwave tipped his chin up, catching Starscream’s attention so he’d notice the little red dot he’d started blinking in the corner of his visor—yes, it was true, he was recording as always—then unfolded Laserbeak just far enough from his chest to extract a slim data drive with a tiny microphone. It had a matching blinking red light; it was still recording.

“We had thought you might fear that,” Shockwave said. “An offering of mutually-assured destruction.” Soundwave held out the drive. “Should you agree to assist us and we betray you, you can present your own evidence to Megatron. We will go down together.”

Starscream took one step toward Soundwave, hesitated, then took another, hand stretched out to slide the drive from Soundwave’s fingertips—as though he was afraid to get too close to him. “And if I go and present this recording to Megatron right now?”

“If you’re right that this is a trap, then you will win Megatron’s favor for passing his test,” Shockwave said. “If our offer is sincere, you’ll still win his favor for exposing two traitors.”

“And if this is indeed a test and I keep the recording, I doom myself.” Starscream’s hand squeezed tight around the drive. “Then there’s no reason for me not to take it to him right now, is there?”

“‘A chance for’—‘personally terminating’—‘Megatron.’”

He continued to stare at the drive in his hand, expression still dark and distrustful.

Soundwave was sure Megatron hadn’t broken him all the way. Somewhere in him, he still wanted this—whether for a chance to lead or just for a chance to get out from under Megatron, Soundwave didn’t know. But he did want it.

But he couldn’t trust it enough to take the chance.

And Soundwave didn’t blame him.

Soundwave took a slow, cautious step closer, and whispered, as soft as a ghost carried on a breeze over the plain: ”’Please, I beg of you, do not betray me.’”

Starscream sucked a breath in.

“‘Recall how many millions of years we have been fellow officers—I'm sure I've never said it, but I truly hold you in the greatest esteem’—”

"Don't," Starscream hissed. "I said whatever I thought I had to, you can't blame me—"

“—‘and were the situation reversed I would certainly not betray you.’”

Starscream fell silent.

He stared at Soundwave, then at the drive in his hand.

"No," he said softly. "You didn't betray me."

He slid the drive away into a wrist compartment, and looked up at the two of them. "So. If we go down, we all go down together—is that the deal?" He spoke now with some facsimile of the bravado he used to be able to wear before his exile—it was a haggard, worn, jaded bravado now, but it was reassuring to see it back on Starscream all the same.

"That seems the most mutually acceptable arrangement," Shockwave said.

"'Acceptable.'" Soundwave nodded. "'Deal?'—'Are you willing to make the ultimate sacrifice?'"

Starscream shuddered at Megatron's words; but, all the same, he nodded. "As long as I don't have to risk making it by myself."

With Shockwave’s voice, Soundwave promised, "'Starscream is not alone.'"

###

#soundwave #starscream #shockwave #transformers #maccadam #tfp #fanfic #my writing #starwavewave conspiracy #(warning for uhhh clip show style examination of all the shit Megs put Screamer through in a manner highly sympathetic to Screamer)#(it's like the anti Patch)#(also why did nobody tell me that constructing soundwave's dialogue out of other people's dialogue was so fun)

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bulbinie · 5 years

Text

Little Red Riding Hood

Author’s note:I’ve been writing this for so LONG AND IT TOOK SO MUCH FROM MY HEALTH♣️😩 (I tried to put a ‘keep reading’ but tumblr didn’t let me post the writing so I decided to take it off.sorry to everyone that has to scroll a lot to get to another fanfic)

Genre:tokyo ghoul au,drama,the slightest of romance(both of them are just being flirty dicks to each other)

Pair:Investigator!Bang Chan x Ghoul!Reader

Warnings:blood,gory,a lot of Hyunjin in store

Word count:4.9K

‘Another body has been found near an old construction site, reportedly of a man in his 30s. The young adult, is said to have been seen earlier that week robbing a supermarket, holding the clerk and a couple of citizens at gunpoint. The man has a criminal record for carjacking, robbery and lewd conduct in public…’

‘The bastard had it coming.’ you say cheerfully, focusing on the newly announced piece of information from the walkie talkie attached to your belt.

You had stolen the old rusty communicator a couple of months ago from the local police station. Getting called in ‘as the last person who had seen the victim’, it was shortly explained to you that the bartender whose body was found limbless, chest wild open, was putting more than the needed stuff in the drinks.

And of course-you knew that. The moment you saw the man behind the bar spiking one of the women’s drinks, who was sitting at the bar, waiting for her beverage to get ready, and chatting in a happy-go-lucky way not suspecting a thing, you had become livid. Luring him outside in one of the dead-end streets near the bar, you listened to his screams and pleas with such satisfaction that you had gone overboard with your actions. Completely blinded by rage-the predator in you calling-you had opened him up, like a kid would do, a stuffed doll to see what’s hiding inside.

———————————————————————

Hearing a muffled cry, your gaze finally falls to the woman under your slightly hovering figure. The tentacles of the red kagune - starting at the base of your back - are tightly wrapped around her mouth to silence the screams.

‘Oh, I almost forgot about you, miss ’ you giggle softly, hitting yourself on the head, acting as if you had just forgotten something from the grocery store and not that a fragile human being was lying under your form. Most of her white coat was soaked up in blood, two small daggers that the investigator tried to use against you in a close combat fight, sunken deeply in the flesh around her shoulder area.

Balanced on your tentacles-planted firmly to the ground-you shorten the proximity between your bodies by relaxing your kagune enough, almost able to feel her ragged breath on your face.

Still smiling slightly, you delicately envelop one of the bloody daggers in your hand. At this point there are tears running down the face of the dove, her eyes screwing shut when you turn the dagger sharply, the movement making the little knife sink in even deeper.

As soon as she opens her eyes again, your expression has changed, no trace left of your breezy attitude. Your red eyes are hooded, a frown plastered on your lips.

‘I’m not going to kill you as I’m already running late because of the little stunt you pulled earlier,’ you explain with a calm tone. ‘-and I need you to be my messenger of the day, okay?’

‘Tell the new chairman of the CCG that me and the former one have a long lasting deal,’ you twist the knife again making the clothed area redden even more.’- and that I will kill every single dove I see strolling around my district and I won’t be as generous as today, got it?’ you finish with a tilt of your head and a cynical smile.

Loosening the grip of your tentacles around her after she nods to show you that she had understood your requirements, you step back on the ground your kagune retracting from its previous spot, disappearing.

While she is trying to fix her breathing pattern, you kneel down next to her, stuffing your hand in the pocket of the white coat, fumbling a little inside. Taking out a phone you quickly send an SOS message with an exact location, throwing it once you are done, next to the dove.

‘Oh and also,’ you say while putting on your red hood, positioning the mask that strongly reminded the lying woman of a wolf face.’-tell your boss that the message is from the Little Red Riding Hood and that I’m the last person the organization wants to mess with.’

And with that you were gone, fading into the shadows.

———————————————————————

‘Did you get here so late because you had to deliver some food to grandma’s house?’ the boy you were supposed to meet 20 minutes ago, teases the moment he spots your figure approaching the old abandoned building. Smoke filled the air from the cigarettes that some ghouls had come outside to light for a quick smoke. With a few fanning motions and a couple of greetings you break through the suffocating curtain that is between you and your friend, who is leaning against the wall. Instead of answering him, you slide out your hands from the pockets of your coat, pulling them up for him to see the dry blood all over your fingers and palms. His smirk falters, a worried look appearing on his face.

You found it cute when he got all worried for you in situations that weren’t even that serious, quickly coming to your aid when you got injured, even if it was a cut to the stomach or a bruised face that he knew was going to heal in a matter of minutes. But you were especially grateful for him when things got nastier, the ghoul always having your back, no questions asked.

‘Did someone attack you?’ he asks while hanging you a wrinkled napkin from the back pocket of his jeans.

‘They sure tried to. Too bad she was all alone, trying to fight with twin daggers.’ you laugh bitterly, starting to clean the blood off with the help of the napkin. ‘Can you believe it, Hyunjin? The old man resigns from his position and all of a sudden doves start flying in trying to hunt in our district.’

‘Maybe things would have been different if he didn’t die’ you finish off, the scenario you voice out, stopping at just that- a plot which will never unfold.

Hyunjin nods thoughtfully, stroking his chin with narrowed eyebrows. After a few seconds with no response from him he suddenly swings his arm tightly around your shoulder, pressing your hair uncomfortably under it. With that you know the boy is done worrying for the day, the big smile that appears on his handsome face, lifting up your mood a little. Trying to shake his heavy hand off your shoulder, but to not avail, you jab the tall boy right under the ribs with two fingers rapidly, which makes him shriek and laugh, letting you out of his bear-like grip. After a couple of minutes of messing around, you decide to get inside the building.

At first glance the building looks close to collapsing. No front door separated the inside of it from the dark street, the closest source of light being the street lamp at the end of the alley-almost useless considering the distance from the building and the constant flickering that it did. Inside there was no paint on the walls, the elevator that had once worked gone out of service, no electricity, no -nothing. The only thing left in the creepy place were the bad smell, tag murals all over the blank walls and of course the bar.

The underground venue was a save hang out place for a lot of the ghouls who were on the run or just wanted to relax from the craziness of the outside world. You found the description, your friend and the owner of the place-Minho, had used to introduce his new bar to you, ironic, considering that most of the chaos that he was talking about going down in the city, came from the actions of the ghouls and their habits.

‘Honestly, I’ve always wondered why Minho chose this miserable lot to start his business.’ the boy next to you points out while descending the stairs towards the basement.

With every passing step the darkness, surrounding both of you becomes less. ‘I mean, have you seen that guy? He would do anything to save money. Of course he would pick a creepy building like this that looks like it came straight out of a crime movie. The last time he paid for electricity, was the last time the electrician that got the guts to come here, saw the outside world.’

A loud cackle comes from Hyunjin. ’Lino has some serious problems as a ghoul and a citizen of this town.’

‘Tell me about it’ you say mimicking the wide smile that is plastered on the boy’s lips.

———————————————————————

The energetic song, coming from the end of the small corridor that the stairs lead to, begins to create a giddiness in your belly. The corridor in front of you is illuminated by lamps, all in different colors, littering the polished floor like a small galaxy with its stars. The muffled beat finds its way through your ribs, the piano that is softly playing a cheerful melody in the background and the thought of all the sounds mixing together and then mercilessly crashing with your body once you have passed the bouncer, keeping you away from your final goal-makes you even more ecstatic to get in and enjoy yourself. At the door the bouncer barely looks towards your direction nodding, gesturing with his hand for you to put away your IDs that you had prepared to show, in case it was a different person at the door. With a small greeting from Hyunjin and a smile in return from the other boy, you finally enter the lounge.

The music and the soft colors that are mingling with the dark surround you, at last. Hyunjin quickly hooks his pinky with yours leading the way towards your usual spot, close to the small stage, where on most days, the hired band performed until the early hours of the day. Almost at the end of the crowd that is gathered around the bar and the round tables Hyunjin stops without a warning-causing you to crash into him and accidentally step on the back of his shoe. He turns around and swiftly wraps his hands around your waist, leaning down towards your ear to whisper something you don’t hear at first.

'WHAT' you raise your voice slightly trying to talk over the strong music beat and the voices of all the ghouls. You put my hands around his neck, bringing him even closer to your ear that way showing for him to repeat what he had said.

'I said that I forgot to tell you that there is a new pianist. I heard from Jisung that the guy with the neck tattoo moved to another bar. 'He said loudly into your ear, moving away from you and silently pointing behind him. A slight pout forms on your face, your eyebrows subconsciously scrunching to show your disgust. The tall boy stifles a laugh, masking it with a big smile that shows his pearly white teeth perfectly. With the same sceptic expression on your face, you continue towards the table.

The small round table close to one of the brick-patterned walls, completing the whole “bar” look, always had on Friday nights-a silver plate with the word ‘RESERVED’, placed on top. Both you and Hyunjin were regular visitors of the venue on Fridays-the table close to the stage being a constant pick from the two of you, wanting to jam to the live music as much as possible.

Sitting down, you order a cosmo to Hyunjin, whose turn it was to go to the bar and order the drinks.

A loud whine leaves his mouth followed by a couple of accusatory words about how he was the one who got the drinks for the last two weeks and that it was your turn.

Without saying a word you fixate your eyes on his, the stare that you constantly used on him when you wanted for something to go your way making the boy ‘tsk’ after a couple of seconds, seeing that you won’t budge. Swiftly turning around he pushes through the busy place, leaving you behind with a pleased smile.

Drumming your fingers lightly on the empty table to the beat of the music, you look around the little lounge. On some of the tables scattered around the place, were sitting faces familiar to you and on others there were ghouls that you were seeing for the first time. Customers change regularly, the life of a creature like you, being a constant problem. If you didn’t have a formed group, someone to have your back or you were one of the weaker ghouls, the chance of being hunted down was given at any moment. That’s how it has always been.

Once your eyes have travelled around the whole place, they finally stop on the figure, with its back on display, from where you are sitting. Trying to take a small peak of the new musician’s face you raise from your chair, tilting to the right to attempt and get a look at the strangers’ face.

‘Hey what are you looking at?’

The voice startles you making you retreat from your position, turning your head in its direction.

‘Jesus, Jinnie you scared me.’ You pant, bringing your hand up to your heart.

The boy, with two drinks in his hands is looking amused by the little scare he gave you, averting his eyes to the stage, where you were looking just now. Bringing his gaze back to you, with an even more amused face-he raises his eyebrows teasingly.

‘Someone caught your eye already, Red?’

‘Shhhhh ’, you try to silence the loud boy, a finger in front of your lips to indicate that he should shut up.

Instead of taking a seat, Hyunjin puts the drinks down, flashing you a final glance. Before you can even ask him what the hell he is planning, he has already taken four big steps and is up on the little stage, starting a conversation with the new pianist.

‘Oh my god’ you breath out, quickly sitting down at the table, lowering as much as possible in your seat. Putting your hand over your face in embarrassment, shielding yourself from the situation happening in front of you.

Deciding to take a glance after a moment, you peak from under your hand and you are met with two eyes staring at you.

The first thought you get is ‘shit, he is pretty’

His dark curls are falling into his eyes and his expression is neutral-eyes hooded-but holy fuck you don’t think you have ever seen a boy more attractive than this one.

And his smell, almost makes you sigh, the strong fragrance coming from him, almost clouding your mind.

But then another thought appears in your head:

‘He looks familiar’

And suddenly, Hyunjin is back, smiling as brightly as ever, this time taking his place next to you.

‘What did you tell him?’ you ask, your whole attention on the boy next to you.

‘Not that much,’ he shrugs, bringing his straw up to his mouth to take a sip of the mixed beverage. ’I told him that you’ve got a little crush on him’

‘You want to die?’ you tell him with your most threating tone, punching him in the upper arm-the boy almost spilling the substance of the glass, from your sudden action. ’I don’t even know him, now he is going to think I’m all weird.’ You groan, covering your face with both hands.

A laugh erupts from the guilty boy, slightly nudging your side. ’Don’t worry, I think he was kind of amused’

At his words you remove your hands, squinting suspiciously at him.

‘I think I heard him mutter a little ‘cute’ ,while I was telling him how madly in love you were with him.’

‘You are a liar, Hwang Hyunjin’ you voice out, pointing a finger at him.

‘Am not’ he says in return.

‘Are’ you answer back, this kind of bickering being a usual thing in your friendship.

‘Am not’

The first tunes of a jazzy melody start replacing the beats of the music-now turned off, the little thing going on between you and the boy, stopping immediately, both of your attention shifting to the performers standing on the grey stage- a pianist, saxophonist, bassist and a drummer.

The live music, draws a content sigh from your lips, finally feeling relaxed. Quietly chatting with Hyunjin, now and then, wanting to enjoy the music as much as possible. At one point, you are discussing the new pianist, whose name Hyunjin forgot to ask about. His style was definitely different from the man with the neck tattoo that you were used to listening to. This guy’s technique was way cleaner, regulating the sound better and there was the needed emotion put into the playing to make the whole thing almost perfect.

After 30 minutes of non-stop playing, the saxophonist announces that they will have a quick break after one more song. The piece is lively, the energy of the performers-contagious. Hyunjin is dancing around in his seat, you joining him in the process. But at one point something doesn’t feel right, the feeling of someone watching you making you snap your head towards the still playing pianist. His profile is visible and even if he isn’t technically watching you, your gut feeling is going crazy, his presence all of a sudden feeling heavy. And the uneasiness doesn’t stop.

The song ends and you feel even worse, completely losing yourself in your thoughts, now that nothing was distracting you from the bad feeling in your stomach.

Something was just not right. You were sure that you had seen the new pianist somewhere around town. But you passed hundreds of people every day if not even more. You would surely remember a boy with such an intoxicating smell like his if you had passed him down the streets of the big town. And if you didn’t know any better, you would have almost mistaken his smell for that of a human.

But that can’t be, right?

Human in the bar which only the creatures of the underworld knew about.

Unless…

Stirring your drink, your gaze shift towards the little stage, feeling someone’s eyes on you once again. The boy you were just thinking about has turned his head away from the keys of the piano, in the direction towards the small table where you and Hyunjin are sitting, a bottle of water in his hands. When he catches you starring back a shameless smirk appears on his face, followed by a quick wink, dimples prominent.

And then it hits you. The dimples.

———————————————————————

‘I managed to collect as much information as possible on the new members of the agency that were at the latest conference. Had the chance to snap a couple of pictures outside the building.’ the text on your phone said followed by a list of names and five images of men and women all dressed up in fancy suits.

‘You should have heard the speech that the son of the new chairman presented. I almost spilled coffee all over one lady, trying to hold in my laughter. The speech was full of over political bullshit about the differences between the ghouls and the humans. Talking about good and evil as if he knows what those two concepts mean in the situation we are in. On top of that he got appointed for a leader of a new squad.’

Snorting loudly at the text, you scroll down to the provided images. There is a picture of a young boy, under which, the name ‘Bang Chan’ is written, followed by the title ‘The chairman’s son’.

The first thing that catches your attention are the dimples. He looks naïve, the cheerfulness that oozes from him, a strong contrast to the others around him, making you believe that he wouldn’t be that much of a threat to anyone.

Your phone dings again, the new message catching your attention.

‘I also heard that he is an artificial. Guess daddy doesn’t love his son that much.’

One-eyed ghoul, huh?

———————————————————————

Of course. How dumb can you be? That’s why his fragrance was so alluring.

‘We have to leave’ you say out of nowhere, unintentionally locking eyes with the suspect.

The ‘what’ that comes from Hyunjin’s lips, sounds as if you are in a tunnel, his voice coming from somewhere far away from you. Your mind is swerving with thoughts about the situation you are in.

How had you forgotten about him? You shouldn’t have underestimated the chairman’s son with just one look at a picture. You were so far from the truth. The fact that he had found the underground bar just in a month when high class investigators have been suspicious, trying to grasp on even the smallest evidence that a place like this, where ghouls gathered, existed, made a shiver run down your body.

‘Someone snitched the place out. God, when I find the snitch, I’m going to pull all the vocal chords out of their throat.’

Suddenly the ghoul sitting next to you, stands abruptly, the panic prominent in his body language.

‘Sit down, Hwang’ you command, lightly tugging at the silver chain hanging from his jeans. ’We shouldn’t attract any attention.’

‘I don’t think that would be a problem’ he says pointing slightly towards the stage.

An intense classical melody had started playing, the unusual genre for this place, drawing all the attention towards the pianist, producing the sound with his fingers. The music grows hectic with every note, the switching between the threatening octaves with quick chattering treble figures, reminding you of a constant chase between a predator and a prey.

Predator and a prey. Isn’t that familiar?

‘I think I was right, about him being interested in you’ Hyunjin laughs lightly, without taking his off the pianist.

‘What do you-‘

‘The piece he is playing? It’s Rachmaninoff’s Little Red Riding Hood.’

At this point the music sounds out of control.

And then the screams come.

The first thing that stands out to you the most in all the havoc that is created, once the door is kicked down is the whip-like quinque that comes through the wall.

You recognize the rattling sound that it makes the moment it slices through a girl that was seated opposite the wooden door.

‘Fuck, why is Woojin here?’ Hyunjin says in a panicky voice, squeezing your arm tightly, shaking it a bit.

You were feeling as if you were watching a movie, the scene in front of you unfolding slowly, every sound around you completely dull.

Good question? Why was he here? Why were one of the most dangerous investigators, at the venue that was kept a secret for such a long time?

Bang Chan.

At that moment something inside of you switches.

Finally, turning towards the boy with the strong grip on your arm, you smile.

‘Hey are you-‘

Before he can finish his question, you cut him off, placing both of your arms on his shoulders.

‘Take the emergency stairs, you hear me? Call Minho and tell him what’s happening.’

The emergency stairs were something that Minho had come up with for exactly situations like this one. You remember him telling you about it one day, puzzled by the hatch that was in the corner of the girl’s restroom. He had explained that the stairs that were under the hatch lead to some tunnels that he found about, when looking at old plans of the building. The tunnels were connected to a couple of streets down the venue.

‘And you want me to leave you behind?’ he asks in disbelief.

‘I’ll be fine, Jinnie. And when all of this ends I’m going to explain everything.’ you say already pushing him in the direction of the toilet.

‘Hey, no let me stay here and prote-‘you cut him off for the nth time tonight, stopping your pushing motion, turning him around. Cradling his face with one of your hands, you peck his cheek softly.

‘I can’t risk losing you.’

With those last words you turn around, slowly starting to approach the fight scene.

———————————————————————

‘Oh, Red Riding Hood, long time no see.’ Woojin say the moment he finally catches the glimpse of your red coat, sending his rattling weapon, swinging towards you.

With a jump to the side you avoid the flying blades, gracefully.

Woojin was one of the high-rated investigators, whose face never matched his true scary nature.

If there was someone that you avoided as much as possible from the whole organizations, it was definitely Woojin.

‘I missed you too, Wojinnie. I’m surprised to see you working under the orders of a newbie.’ you pout in fake sympathy, delighted once you see his expression falter for a moment. But he is back to normal in a second, him closing on you, ready to strike once again.

With another jump in the air you are on the other side of the man, a laugh escaping your throat.

‘Would be delighted to continue this between us, but I have a new target to hunt down.’ You tell the young man while scanning quickly the room for the boy who was sitting at the piano, but he wasn’t there.

Taking in your surroundings on the way to the stairs, slashing with your kagune through some doves, you can’t help but fill the scorching rage inside of you. Dozens of bodies were laying on the ground, some still alive and some ghouls still up trying to fight off the enemy. Taking two steps at a time you are finally out of the basement, feeling the light breeze of the night hitting your face once you are outside.

———————————————————————

You don’t get the chance to even take one step before you are pined to the wall.

And in that moment two red eyes, meet one.

Your arms and legs are painfully getting forced by the kagune of the boy standing in front of you, his hand pressing down on your throat, to keep you in place.

So he isn’t an artificial. He is a real one-eyed ghoul. Born like that.

‘I knew that there was something fishy going on, the moment Lee Felix-one of the ‘assistants’ almost spilled coffee all over one of the women in the conference room. He started acting all uneasy when I shared my plans for ghoul termination. And from there it was quite easy getting the information I needed,’ he says calmly, a lazy smile on his face. ’Maybe next time try to implement someone in the organization, who doesn’t squirm when we talk about gory stuff?’

‘If you did something to Felix, I swear I’m going to make you regret it’ a growl like sound leaves you at his words, trying to reach him, your head almost overpowering his tight grip on your throat, but it’s once again pushed harshly against the wall making you groan.

A loud giggle emits from the boy, seeing you struggle greatly, his suffocating choke-hold, automatically making your hands wrap around his, to try to pry them away

‘You know, everyone talks about you, amongst my squad. All of them are telling me what a pain in the ass you were before you made that cowardly deal with the former chairman. But all I see is a dumb puppy who walks around thinking that she is the Big Bad Wolf.’ He puts a strand of your hair behind your ear with his free hand, gazing in your eyes. ‘But, let me tell you something,’ he says leaning to whisper the next thing in your ear. ‘There is a new Big Bad Wolf in the game and you have nothing against me, love’

He was definitely something else. He had his way with words, goosebumps travelling all around your body while listening to his monologue. But that was all there it was to him, just talk.

‘You are, you are,’ you try to question with great difficulty. ‘-definitely new aren’t you?’ ‘Let me..let me give you an advice for future references. Cut the talk because,’ he sees the tentacles too late feeling the pierce in his abdomen, his kagune loosening around your limbs and his hand around your throat. ’because it takes your focus away from your surroundings.’

With a kick to his chest, Chan is sent back flying, falling to the ground with a loud thud, followed by

groans and incoherent curses.

You place your hands on your knees, coughing loudly, while messaging your throat, marks present on your neck, left by his fingers. Once your breathing is back to normal, you finally look at the lying figure, engulfed by the dark.

Humming to yourself, a slight sway in your hips, you approach his body, Chan’s arms pressed against the gash on his lower body that had yet to start healing. Kneeling down next to him you softly trace your fingers from his neck up to his chin, taking it between your fingers. Tilting his head up, for him to look in your still red eyes, you smile softly; the words leaving your mouth next, not matching your cute demeanor.

‘You still have a long way to go, before you can call yourself the Big Bad Wolf. For now, you are going to be my Little Red Riding Hood, Channie.’

Standing up from your place you put your hood up, taking your mask out for the second time that night. Before you put on the mask, you blow a kiss to the injured boy saying your last words of the night.

‘And if you don’t behave correctly, I will eat you up and no one will be able to save you’

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splendidlyimperfect · 5 years

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:TW for major dysphoria and some self-harming behaviorsSting’s life has been a mess ever since he was eleven years old and Rogue told when he’d promised to keep a secret. Now Sting is an adult, and the only way he knows how to cope is by getting drunk and forgetting the world. When drinking nearly kills him, he gets a chance to turn his life around, and maybe become the kind of man that Rogue deserves to love.

Chapter Summary: Sting's slowly adjusting to his new life with Uncle Wes, but he's still not who he wants to be.

Chapters (7/?): 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe & Natsu Dragneel, Sting Eucliffe & Weisslogia Characters: Sting Eucliffe, Natsu Dragneel, Rogue Cheney, Gray Fullbuster, Weisslogia Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Trans Character, Trans Sting, Friendship, Childhood Friends, Sting-focused story, Sting is a disaster, Natsu’s a great friend, Rogue tries to do what’s right, Tumblr: FTLGBTales Series: Part 2 of i’m still standing

**TW for major dysphoria and some self-harming behaviors

-----

dys·pho·ria | \ dis-ˈfȯr-ē-ə noun : a state of feeling very unhappy, uneasy, or dissatisfied

v autumn age eleven

Kelly comes by a few days after the hospital, like she said she would, and she and Sting sit out in the back yard on the porch swing while she asks questions Sting doesn’t want to answer. She talks a lot about big things like court and guilty pleas and prison, and Sting just nods and picks at his nails.

“Do you like staying with your Uncle?” Kelly asks. Sting doesn’t answer at first, just kicks his feet under the swing. “Do you feel safe?”

As soon as Sting nods, it feels like a betrayal. He knows his dad is far away and part of his heart hurts because it’s his fault. No matter how many times Kelly and Uncle Wes tell him it’s not, he doesn’t believe them.

If he’d listened, he’d still be with his dad.

Sometimes, Sting wants that. He misses his bedroom, the view of the garden, the path he took to get to school. He misses his favorite teacher, Mrs Dempsey, and the way she would let him stay after school to help her shelve the books when he didn’t want to go home.

Mostly, he misses Rogue. He’s tempted to ask Kelly if she can talk to him, but every time Sting thinks about it, all he can hear is Rogue telling his mom when he promised he wouldn’t.

Something’s wrong with her.

Her dad’s sick again so she had to sleep here.

I don’t understand why.

“I know this must be confusing for you,” Kelly says gently, and she doesn’t mention it when Sting shuffles over and leans against her. “It’s a big change. Is there anything you need to make it easier?”

Continue reading on AO3

Sting shrugs. Uncle Wes took him shopping yesterday and they bought new clothes that fit and don’t have holes in them. At first Uncle Wes had pointed out things like patterned leggings and bright shirts, but when he’d seen Sting looking over at the boy’s section, he’d smiled and guided Sting over to the jeans and hoodies.

Watching the price go up and up at the till had made Sting’s stomach hurt. He’d spent the afternoon thinking about the piggybank he left at home where he’d saved up his money from taking dad’s bottles to the depot.

“I don’t have my money,” he says quietly to Kelly. “Uncle Wes paid lots for my clothes.”

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Kelly says. “You don’t have to pay for your clothes. That’s a grown-up job.”

“But…” Sting sighs in frustration, dropping his forehead to his knees. “I feel stupid.”

“How come?” Kelly asks, and Sting shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and hugging his legs closer to his chest. “You’re not stupid, Abbey.”

Don’t call me that, Sting thinks. It hurts when she says that name, but he doesn’t know how to tell her that it doesn’t fit.

“I know things are different here,” Kelly continues, leaning back against the swing. Sting peeks up at her, then leans his head against her shoulder. It feels safe here. Safer than anywhere else, anyway. “You don’t have to worry about things like that anymore, okay? Money, or food, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” Sting says, rubbing his eyes.

Kelly sighs, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “I know, kiddo,” she says. “But I promise it’s going to be okay.”

Living with Uncle Wes is strange at first. He’s always awake when Sting gets up, drinking his coffee and doing his crossword in the kitchen, smiling and asking Sting how he slept. There’s always food in the fridge, and Sting is allowed to have it any time he wants. When he tries to clean, Uncle Wes helps him – sorts the clothes, puts the dishes away, mops after Sting sweeps.

“I can do it,” Sting says quietly one day while they’re folding laundry. Uncle Wes just smiles him and takes the next shirt out of the basket.

“I know you can,” he says. “But I can help you.”

Sting frowns at him. It doesn’t feel right. “I don’t need help,” he insists. “I can do all of it, you don’t have to…” He trails off when Uncle Wes raises an eyebrow. “I can cook stuff, too,” Sting says quickly, and he can’t figure out why his hands are suddenly shaking.

“Abbey,” Uncle Wes says gently, setting down the shirt and sitting down at the table next to Sting. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“But…” Sting stares at his hands. He can do it all – cook food, do the dishes, use the washer and dryer. He’s good at those things, and he doesn’t understand why Uncle Wes won’t let him do them. Maybe Sting’s not doing it the way Uncle Wes likes.

“Having you around is wonderful,” Uncle Wes says, reaching out and taking Sting’s hand. Sting tenses but doesn’t pull away. “And I’m very proud of you for being able to take care of yourself so well.”

“Then why—”

“Abbey, you’re eleven,” Uncle Wes says. Sting wants to cry, but he doesn’t know why.

“I’m not a baby,” he whispers. He’s not. He can get stains out of the laundry, and cook scrambled eggs, and unload the dishwasher without making any noise.

“I know you aren’t, sweetie,” Uncle Wes says, shaking his head. “You’re so grown up. But you don’t always have to be. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

Sting’s cheeks flush hot and he holds his breath to keep himself from crying. He doesn’t need anybody to take care of him – not his dad, not Kelly, not Rogue’s parents, not Uncle Wes.

Sting doesn’t need anybody but himself.

Schools starts two weeks after the hospital. The cut on Sting’s head is still healing and his arm’s still in a cast, and when the kids in his new class ask what happened, he tells them he fell off his skateboard. The boys all think it’s cool that a girl skateboards, and all Sting can think is, I’m not a girl. I’m like you.

Despite that, things start to get better. A month goes by, then two, then six, and Uncle Wes doesn’t yell or drink or throw anything. When he finds the hoard of food that Sting has hidden in his dresser drawer, he doesn’t get angry, just reminds Sting that he can take food from the fridge or pantry any time he needs. When Sting insists on cooking supper, Uncle Wes thanks him, then helps do the dishes afterward.

Eventually it starts feeling normal. They do things together like going to movies and riding bikes, and Uncle Wes even gets Sting a laptop so he can play Minecraft with his new friends from school. Uncle Wes is there every day when Sting gets home, smiling and asking how Sting’s day was while he helps Sting with his math homework.

When Sting turns twelve, Uncle Wes bakes him a cake and takes him out for dinner, just the two of them, at a fancy restaurant. When they get home and Sting starts to cry, Uncle Wes just hugs him and tells him that he loves him over and over again.

And then, just when Sting’s finally starting to feel okay, it all falls apart.

A month after Sting’s twelfth birthday, he wakes up to his sheets covered in blood and a sticky feeling between his legs. It takes him a minute, but when he realizes what’s going on, he feels like he’s going to be sick. He knew it was going to happen – they had health class at school and had to watch a stupid movie about bodies and changes and all the things that terrify him. But he’s not a girl, doesn’t want to be a girl, and this can’t be happening to him.

He tries to hide it from Uncle Wes, but he can’t. Uncle Wes is calm and kind, washing Sting’s bedding and buying him pads and giving him a heating pack when it hurts so much he thinks he’s going to puke.

That afternoon, Sting barricades himself in his room, pulling his dresser over to block his door so Uncle Wes can’t get in. He hides in the closet, pressing himself back into the corner and crying. It starts out as small whimpers, but works up to loud, wracking sobs that tear through his body and ache, deep in his chest. He’s wrong, this is wrong, and he wishes and wishes for another body that fits.

Eventually he throws up from crying so hard, but that just makes it worse, and after that Uncle Wes takes the door off its hinges so can get into the room. He sits down on the floor near Sting, not saying anything, just crossing his legs and waiting patiently. Sting presses himself further into the corner and shakes his head, digging his nails into his arms until he feels blood under his fingertips.

“Abbey,” Uncle Wes says gently, moving closer to the closet. “I don’t want to touch you if you don’t want me to, but I can’t let you hurt yourself.”

“Go away,” Sting whispers, jerking his head up and wincing when he hits it against the wall. Pain sparks through to his temples and clears the frustrated haze in his mind, so he does it again, and again, until Uncle Wes pulls him close and wraps a hand around the back of his head. “Stop it!” Sting yells, pushing hard against Uncle Wes’ chest. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

“I can’t,” Uncle Wes says sadly, hugging Sting tightly to his chest. “Part of me loving you means I have to keep you safe, even from yourself.”

“Let me go!” Sting shouts, twisting desperately in Uncle Wes’ arms. He hits Uncle Wes’ chest and tries to kick at him, but Uncle Wes just holds him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his cheek to Sting’s hair. “I want to help, sweetheart. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“No!” Sting screams, shoving harder at Uncle Wes’ chest, but he’s too strong and Sting is so small and stupid and wrong, wrong, wrong. “I hate you, let me go!”

“Abbey, it’s—”

“Don’t call me that!” A loud, aching sob bursts from Sting’s throat and he gives up, slumping against Uncle Wes’ shoulder and crying. “Don’t… it’s n-not, pl-please, I don’t want… I c-can’t…”

“It’s okay,” Uncle Wes says, loosening his hold on Sting and rubbing his hand up and down Sting’s back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not right,” Sting whispers, hot tears dripping down his cheeks and leaving dark, damp circles on Uncle Wes’ shirt.

“What’s not right?” Uncle Wes asks, and Sting can’t hold it back anymore.

“I’m not a girl,” he says, voice breaking, and when Uncle Wes doesn’t freeze or flinch, Sting grips his shirt tightly and doesn’t let go. “I’m not, I don’t w-want to, I’m a b-boy, pl-please—”

“Okay,” Uncle Wes murmurs, kissing Sting’s temple and pulling Sting into his lap. He’s warm and gentle and safe, and Sting is suddenly exhausted.

“Okay?” he repeats uncertainly through the tears as the tight, hot knots of anger dissolve into a heavy weariness.

“Yes,” Uncle Wes says gently, “yes, of course it’s okay. You’re okay. I love you. You’re safe.”

Everything Sting’s been holding in his body suddenly dissipates – years of tension and fear and uncertainty rushing out of him and leaving him feeling like wet paper, ready to tear at the smallest touch. He trembles against Uncle Wes, who holds him gently, kissing his forehead and reassuring him that it’s going to be okay.

Sting’s not sure he believes it, but he’s too tired to be afraid.

#fairy tail #ftlgbtales #ftlgbtfics #nbm2019 #nonbinary month #stingue #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #trans character #fanfic #new chapter #update #tw: dysphoria #my fic

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years

Text

Keep Hope Close at Hand - Chapter One

A/N: Okay, I might be quite a lot more invested in this story than I mentally was when I posted the prologue. As long as I continue to keep up with school first and foremost, chapters will keep being pumped out. (Not to mention the fact that I am incredibly overwhelmed by all the love, comments, and kudos that the first chapter received. You’re all part of the reason there’s another chapter so quickly.)

Summary: When a curse is going to send the inhabitants of Enchanted Forest, Captain Killian Jones, husband to the Princess, must take their daughter through the wardrobe to save them from the curse and give her the ability to break the curse when the time comes.

Rated G // Read on AO3 //

Start at the Beginning: tumblr // AO3

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Twelve years later

Killian sits at the counter in their apartment, his hand wrapped around the mug of tea sitting in front of him and his brace still on the table beside his bed. His flannel shirt is only half-buttoned, hanging loosely off his torso, revealing both his dark chest hair (yes, okay, maybe it was starting to grey a little, but apparently time is actually passing for him here), and the two rings hanging off the chain around his neck. His eyes are fixed on a knot in the wooden floor of the kitchen, thinking only of the brightest green eyes he has ever seen, memories of her that he only allows himself to pull up from where he has been pushing them down to in the quietest moments of the morning and sometimes as he drifts off to sleep.

But they are not eyes that have haunted his dreams, not for close to eleven years. Of course he still dreamt about her, but his dreams were always full of her laughter, reliving some of his best memories with her.

Until last night. Well, that morning, really, because when he startled awake and shot up in his bed, the morning sun had already started peeking through the curtains. Last night, instead of laughter, his dreams had been filled with her cries, her tears, her pleas for help. And that terrifies him more than anything he has experienced since he left the Enchanted Forest.

Without even realizing he is doing it, he finds himself releasing the mug from his grasp, his fingers finding the chain and moving along it until they find the rings.

When he hears Hope stirring awake in her room, his mind flies back to the present, back to the Boston apartment and the life he has built for himself and his daughter in the twelve years since they found themselves in the middle of the forest just inside the state of Maine. Looking down at his hand, he discovers that it has wrapped itself around the diamond ring that was once at home on the hand of his wife, sparkling in the sun the same way her golden curls used to, especially when they would spend days out on the water and — no.

No, he can't let his mind go there, especially knowing that his little girl would be emerging from her bedroom in just a few moments. With a shake of his head, he drops the chain back to his chest before pushing off his barstool to start making her breakfast.

He has only poured her glass of orange juice by the time she opens her bedroom door, still in her pajamas. Not for the first time, he asks himself when he allowed her to grow up so quickly — and, also not for the first time, this thought is followed by the realization that he, too, has grown up beside her, aging for the first time in hundreds of years, since the beginning of the time he spent in Neverland. His back aches, he needs reading glasses, but, perhaps worst of all, is the single stripe of grey hair that presented itself right at the forefront of his head, impossible to hide in the stark black that surrounds it.

Stupid bloody curse.

"Good morning, daddy," she says, her voice still thick with sleep as she makes her way across the apartment to join him in the kitchen.

"Hello, my cygnet," he replies, his nickname for her since the first time she had named constellations on her own, the Swan being the first one she was able to find. "How did you sleep?"

She mumbles something in response, and he doesn't believe she was going for coherency, so he just nods, grabbing her box of cereal out of the cabinet as she gathers the rest of her supplies.

It is not until she has poured her cereal and taken her seat next to him at the counter that she speaks again. "I had a dream last night. It was about mommy."

Then, as if this is not the single most surprising thing she has ever said, she simply takes another bite of her cereal.

If his mug had not already been resting on the counter, it would have fallen out of his hand.

"What?"

"She was holding a little baby with dark hair, and she looked scared. She was asking for help, saying that only I could save her."

Killian has had his heart ripped out of his chest and squeezed as a form of torture, the single most painful thing he has ever had to physically endure. And that pain is just a pinprick compared to what he feels at this moment, the overwhelming weight of everything around him as he pieces together the mystery laid out before him this morning.

"How do you know it was your mother?" He's not completely sure how he even manages to form the words, his thoughts moving at a thousand miles a second and his heart pounding in his chest so hard Hope can probably hear it.

"You tell the best stories of her, so I know what she looks like, that she looks like me. "

Without realizing that his body is moving, Killian is up out of his seat and across the living room like a shot. "Finish your breakfast, sweetheart, then pack your suitcase. We're going to go on a trip."

Before Hope even gets the chance to reply, he is in his bedroom.

It's just over an hour before they are in the car and on the road, their bags on the backseat of Killian's Subaru and Hope in the passenger seat beside him, using his phone to make a playlist of their favorite songs before she pulls up the map.

"Alright, captain, where are we going?" she asks, the same way she does every time he needs her help navigating, but this morning, the joke hits him particularly hard, a stab in the gut after Hope’s breakfast revelation already stabbed him in the guts.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he says, his voice as even as he can manage, and when Hope’s eyes jump off the screen of his phone to his face, he shifts his eyes to her for just a moment before concentrating back on the road. He’s trying to come up with some sort of answer when he thinks about something that he has forgotten at some point over the last twelve years: the words Blue said to him after he revealed to her that he was the one traveling through the portal.

“One day in the future, she will be the key to breaking the curse, to finding your family and being together again… When it is time, she will let you know. Keep hope close at hand, Captain. The day will come.”

And then, the words in the background at the end of his dream that morning, as clear in his head as if Blue were speaking beside him: “Only hope will lead you where you need to go.”

Keep hope close at hand.

Only hope will lead him.

Only Hope will lead him.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles through his teeth, shaking his head at himself.

“Daddy, are you okay?”

He smiles across the car at his daughter. “Hope, my love, I know this might sound crazy, but you’re going to tell me where to go. I want you to think of your mother and tell me where your heart is leading you, can you do that for me?”

They’re stopped at a light, so he can look over at her, make sure that she understands, but she is just beaming at him, looking so much like her mother that it makes his heart soar and sink at the same time.

The whole time, Hope herself was the answer.

The ride is only a few hours long. By the time they pull into the small town that Hope says is their destination, it’s barely past noon.

Killian is amazed. Sure, he has never doubted anything that a fairy has said to him, but something as simple as “keep Hope close at hand?” How did he miss the obviousness of that for twelve years?

“Here, dad, this is where you want to be,” she says matter-of-factly, pointing to the parking lot behind a bed-and-breakfast with a diner attached.

Granny’s. How small-towny.

Pulling into the parking lot, he’s taken back to his first experience with a small town, the first place he came to after going through the portal. At first, he thought it might work, not having that many people around him and Hope, but it quickly became overwhelming. Sure, there were fewer people, but every single one of them wanted to know everything about him: where he came from, where Hope’s mother was, what he does for a living.

It was all too much for him, every question bringing back thoughts and memories of the wife he had to leave behind. So he stuck around for just long enough to figure out what he needs to do to get them to a city. A few days later, he loaded everything they had into a backpack and they were on a bus to Boston. He never looked back.

But now, back here at Granny’s, he’s pulled back into it all. And, if this town is anything like the one he found himself in twelve years ago, he can only imagine the questions they will have not only for him, but now for Hope, as well.

Hope, who hasn’t seen her mother for twelve years. Who was too young when they left to remember anything about her, who has relied on his storytelling abilities to keep her alive in her mind. Because he knows that’s what the questions will revolve around: Emma.

Somehow, of all the places Hope's guidance could have brought them to, he hadn't anticipated another small town so much like the one he left behind twelve years before.

“Stay here, cygnet, and I’ll go get us a room.”

When he climbs out of the car, his back cries out immediately, angry that he’s been cramped in the car for as long as he was, just as his stomach rumbles, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since before Hope woke up, unable and unwilling to put anything in his sinking stomach.

Walking into the diner, he doesn’t know what he expects, but the bright colors and Jukebox were far from his expectation. But, even more surprising than that, is what he finds in the corner booth.

Because right there, just a few feet from the door, is Emma. The face he’s gone twelve years without seeing but that he hasn’t forgotten for a moment, looking just as perfect and beautiful as the day he left her behind. If he thought dreaming of her in distress the night before, thought hearing Hope talk about her that morning hurt, they were nothing compared to how he feels actually seeing here there, the man next to her with his arm around her shoulders. A man he doesn’t recognize, asserting ownership over his true love, his wife, the love of his life. And, just visible over the top of the booth, is the very top of a shock of dark hair, which turns to face him when the bell over the door rings as he walks through it. A young boy, around ten years old, with jet black hair and bright eyes.

It takes everything in him not to bound across the room and take Emma into his arms, tell her every moment for the rest of his life just how damned much he missed her.

But he can’t do that. Of course he can’t do that, because when her eyes meet his across the room, there is no change in her face. No recognition, not even a trace of interest. She has absolutely no idea who he is.

And that hurts more than anything else that has happened in the last twelve years.

Sure, he was told that the curse would wipe memories, but he really didn’t want it to be true. Part of him believed that he would meet her sparkling green eyes and that would be it. They would see each other for the first time since he left her behind as he went through the wardrobe and, easy as that, the curse would be broken. Everyone would remember. Happily ever after, right?

No such luck.

“How can I help you, handsome?” he hears from beside him, and he turns to the counter, where Ruby is leaning over towards him, a bright smile covering his face, but she is familiar to him in the face only. But the Ruby from the Enchanted Forest, the Queen's best friend, looked nothing like the woman standing in front of him, wearing something that he can swear he’s seen someone wear on one of the Halloween bar crawls that made its way past their apartment every year, revealing more skin than it's covering. Something that, at one point in his life, he would have killed to see, back when he was still Captain Hook. But now, barely covering this woman that he was acquainted with in Misthaven, the greying Killian Jones is just a little weirded out.

“I, uh, need a room for a few days. For my daughter and I.”

He can physically see her face fall as she continues to take him in, starting with his comment about his daughter and ending, less than subtly, on his wedding ring, which has not left his hand since the day Emma put it there.

“Of course, let me take care of that for you.” She’s no longer smiling at him. “How many days?”

“I’m not really sure yet, does that pose a problem?”

“No, no, not a problem," she says, but something in her voice leads him to believe it to be true.

“We can start with a week?”

She smiles at him again, but nowhere near as brightly as she did when he first walked in. “Perfect.” Within just a few moments, she’s procured a key from under the counter and hands it to him as he lays a pile of bills on the counter. “You’ll be in room three.”

Thanking her, he turns to leave, allowing his glance to turn back towards Emma one last time before opening the door and leaving.

When the door closes behind him, the boy turns to his mother, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement.

“Who was that?” he asks, just as excited, but Emma does not respond. Her eyes are set on the door, where the stranger was just standing moments before.

“Just someone coming through town, I guess, bud,” Neal says, and when he tightens his arm around Emma’s shoulders, she does not realize it.

Her eyes are still set on the door, asking her own set of questions about the man who just rented a room.

#my writing #cs ff #cs fics #my fics #wordsbymeganmichael #khcah #keep hope close at hand #captain swan #ouat #ouat ff #yes i made him a silver fox okay #i have I S S U E S sometimes #and i made his age #so why wouldnt i made him silver fox #you guys are literally the best #youre my lifesblood #my reason for living

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