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high-tidethunder · 4 years

Text

leaving eden

tell el-qadi.

Yusuf hates violence. Hates the man he’s been forced to become in the midst of it. There are days he mourns the loss of the man he’d been before, the man who had traveled so far from his home because his wandering heart yearned for adventure, for a glimpse of the world he had only heard of from his father's stories.

He had only been in this city a few years when the Franks came. He had taken to sharing knowledge, and poetry, and prayer, and hoping that one of these things would ease the ache in his soul, the one born of some lifelong feeling that a piece of him was missing. And it had, a little, reduced it to a simmer at the back of his mind rather than an ever-present sting. The dull awareness one has of their own muscles a few days out from laboring with them over the fresh bite of a snake’s venom.

An insufferably quixotic part of him wonders if this was what had been missing from him the whole time; the cold weight of a saif in his hand, the thrumming heat of adrenaline as it surges through his veins, the ache in his heart ebbed for the first time since he’d been old enough to notice it. It’s not a notion he likes to entertain, not without qualifying it with intricate justifications that he hadn’t been born to kill so much as he’d been born to protect, but at the end of the day, it is still another man’s blood that he is covered with when he retires to his encampment.

He tries not to think about how long it’s been since he’d first abstained from prayer, unable to wipe himself clean enough from the gore and not bold enough for the irreverence required to forgo doing so. Instead, he finds himself trying to picture his life after this war ends, wondering whether he’ll be able to reconcile the man he was before with the man he is now. He knows he will not be able to live and act as though his hands have not been soaked in blood, however justified the fight that spilled it. He thinks a third man must be born of the two he’ll have already been, some amalgamation of a scholar and a warrior, a man filled with stories of bloodshed told in words that are too beautiful for the situation. He wonders if he will hate him, too, if he will find his own self repulsive in his delicacy after having seen such brutality.

And he thinks, as he stares down at the fletched bolt newly sprouting from his chest, that it is a gift that he will choke on his own blood before he ever has to find out.

(Across continents, two women will dream of him when he wakes in anguish and snaps the bolt, wrenching it from his flesh and marveling at the way the jagged wound stitches itself back together.)

(Across a battlefield, a man who’s throat should have stayed split open will dream of a man he had shot rising from the grave built of bodies around him, the tear tracks on his cheeks the only part of his face unmarred by blood.)

(Yusuf will dream of him, too. He will be indecipherable from the nightmares of the battlefield he has every night until they meet, the Frank’s dagger piercing his side as his own sword buries itself in the other man’s heart.)

leddan.

Yusuf wakes with a shout and the rapidly fading memory of a blade slitting his throat. It marks the 3rd time today that the Frank had killed him, though how many days the two had engaged in their own war, he isn’t sure. He looks out at the sun, still low enough over the horizon that he thinks dawn must have broken only an hour or so ago. They’re getting slower in their slaughter, he thinks idly. This time last week he’d have been dead 10 times over, the other man just as many.

Waking up is always the worst part, coming back to the stench of blood and decay and the realization that this battle will never be over, not for him, and not for the cursed, filthy Frank whose stolen sword has cut into him in every way possible and yet left no mark as proof. Not that he had done any different with his own blade, but, to his merit, he was doing so in defense of an innocent city under siege.

He turns his head and stares at the hard edges of the Frank’s face as he waits for him to wake, wondering, not for the first time, what compels a man to travel so far from his home with no desire to understand, only that to kill. It must be a miserable life, he thinks, to love a god who would tell you that hate is the only way forward.

There is not a strong enough love in the world that would drive him to commit the atrocities that have surrounded him since he first picked up a sword for this city.

His thoughts are broken when he sees the man’s jaw start to move with a sharp inhale, and he contemplates pretending to not have woken yet just to rest a little longer.

It’s already too late, by the time the thought crosses his mind, but it doesn’t matter anyway. The Frank makes to stand but hesitates with one knee still firmly planted on the ground. «Why do we do this?» he asks Yusuf in a slow, broken approximation of his language, the weariness in his clear eyes accented by the dark blood that’s spattered across his face. «We have...we have died so—» he breaks, then, mutters something to himself, and frustration twists his features.

Yusuf is not sure why, maybe he’s empowered by the other man acting on their shared exhaustion, but he takes pity. “So much death and it does not take?” he asks the Frank, in his tongue, pushing himself to a sitting position so they’re face to face.

A look of relief flashes across his features. “Yes. What if we are meant for more than this? We are entangled, and I do not think it is meant to be a curse. It has been a long time since I have seen hatred in your eyes when you kill me. It has been a long time since I have felt it. There must be something more.”

Yusuf realizes, suddenly, that what the Frank says is true. The air between them had known their exhaustion, their anger, their desperation, but not their hate. Not since they have waited for each other to stand again before resuming their gruesome dance.

He stands, himself, before answering, reaches out a blood and dirt caked hand to the other man, and pulls him to his feet when he takes it. They stand close enough that his breath is hot against Yusuf’s cheeks.

He lays his free hand on his chest, over his heart. “Mi chiamo Yusuf,” he says, struck by the way gratitude floods the other man’s eyes at his words.

«Ismii Nicolò,» he responds, hand over his own heart, and the longstanding ache in Yusuf’s wanes.

(Nicolò will release Yusuf’s hand when he bends to retrieve his sword from the sanguineous mud at their feet, and the feeling of missing something will creep in at the edges of his consciousness, but Nicolò’s knuckles will brush against his when he rises again, asking Yusuf to lead the way, and the touch will act in the way a torch brandished at a bank of shadows does.)

buhayret tabariyya.

«Why did you do it?» Yusuf asks him one night, about a month after their shaky truce has been established. He asks the question in his own tongue, something in him not wanting to give the other man the comfort of familiarity.

Nicolò looks at him across the fire flickering between them, its glow haloing half his face in gold, the other half obscured by shadow. He squints at Yusuf, face remaining otherwise impassive and hands stilled on the whetstone he’d been running over the blade of Yusuf’s saif.

He blinks, then goes back to sharpening the blade, and an old sea of resentment begins to roil in Yusuf’s gut once more.

Then, «I have been a very foolish man,» Nicolò says, hardly loud enough to hear over the sound of stone on metal. Yusuf can see his language stalling in the other man’s mouth, as his jaws work like gears trying to construct the words. «I am sorry,» he finally says, and takes a deep breath. «I know you...you have no reason to believe me, and it is,» he pauses, looking up at the stars and closing his eyes. «It is hard? sì? to trust me? I know. You are right for this. I did not see that our,» he huffs out a sigh and leans the blade in his hands against the pack next to him. «I did not see that we were the same. I had been told, and foolishly thought, that what made us different was too big to ignore. I was wrong. You and I,» and to punctuate this he gestures between himself and Yusuf, «we are the same man, we bleed the same blood. We breathe the same air and bathe in the same water, no?» his face twists again and he stares down at his hands, muttering something Yusuf can’t hear. «I have only ever known one thing,» he says, haltingly, and takes a deep breath. «I have only ever known that God does not make mistakes. If He gave us both the same gift, then we are the same.»

The storm not quite calmed, Yusuf finds himself asking, «And those who don’t share our gift? Who are not of your blood? Not of your god?»

«They are of your blood, of your god. If I am the same as you, then I am the same as them, too, are I not?» Nicolò says, before a look of consternation suddenly crosses his face. «I’m sorry,» he repeats in a low whisper, casting his gaze to the flames in front of him. «I should not claim that. Not with what I have done.»

A different kind of ache settles in Yusuf’s heart at the look on Nicolò’s face, one that gnaws at him and spurs him to stand and skirt the fire to sit by Nicolò’s side. He rests a hand on the other man’s shoulder, grateful when he doesn’t shrug it away, and lets the hissing of burning brush be the only sound while he thinks.

«Maybe,» he says, at last, and Nicolò turns to look at him, «maybe you should not claim that. And maybe I should not be the one who is sitting here, accepting your apology. But I think,» and here he pauses, searching Nicolò’s pale eyes, «I think that right now, we are the only two who matter. And I think I can forgive you, not because what you did was not wrong, but because that is the way forward, now, is it not?» He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the shine in Nicolò’s eyes. «Forgiveness,» he says, then again, «forgiveness...this is the thing that brings us out of the dark. It is the spark of stars against the looming night sky, or, no, it is a fire,» he says, grateful for the metaphor that dances in front of him, «it will bring you warmth, and light, and life, but you have to feed it for it to grow. You,» he says, gripping Nicolò’s shoulder now, steadily holding his gaze, «you have cut the wood and you have struck the flint. So, I am forgiving you.»

Nicolò breaks his stare, then, glancing at the fire, jaw twitching. He’s silent for a long moment, shadows flitting across his features in a way that makes his expression unreadable. «Thank you,» he says at last, eyes meeting Yusuf’s once more, and he can see gratitude in their depths.

(When they finally lay down to sleep, Nicolò’s back will face Yusuf, and he’ll realize with a jolt that the other man had never lain like that before. He’ll wonder, then, at how long Nicolò had been deliberating over his apology.)

yarmouk.

Nicolò seems lighter, in the days following their talk, their conversations now flowing with the same effortlessness as the river they followed to the port city they’ve found sanctuary in for the time being.

They spend their days picking up odd jobs to earn their keep in their rented room. Yusuf usually finds work in the dockyards, the bright mix of languages and kind of physical labor that leaves you feeling comfortably sore a welcome reminder of the youth he’d left behind. He finds that his thoughts drift to the warm mornings he’d spent with his family before his father would board another ship and set out across the world. He thinks fate is kind, that such mornings would eventually lead him to where he is now.

Nicolò finds rougher jobs, a hired blade for merchants transporting precious goods, or posted outside by those renting rooms to throw out anyone getting too unruly. These jobs leave his bedroll empty until the dark hours of the morning when he finally slips into their room and lays down, always between Yusuf and the door. Yusuf notices he’s taken to sleeping with a dagger under his pillow, as well. He figures there must be a kind of paranoia that settles into the bones of men like Nicolò, who spend their days on edge, figures that mindset must be hard to break out of.

On the nights they’re both in, Yusuf spends the hours teaching Nicolò to write in his language, teaches him sadeeq first and cherishes his soft smile, the reverence with which he writes it out on the dirt floor of their room. He traces waasa’ on the bare skin of Nicolò’s shoulders, belly warming at the rich laughter drawn from the other man’s lungs when he tells him what word it is.

They settle in like this, staying in the city through the end of the wet season until the Frankish forces lay upon it, too. Yusuf has to persuade Nicolò to leave, to remind him that their immortality is not invulnerability, that he cannot fight an entire army on his own.

They manage to get passage on a trading galley headed west along the coast of Africa in exchange for their labor at the end of the journey. Yusuf is almost surprised that Nicolò fits in as seamlessly as him, until he notices that the men on the crew he associates with carry edges of the same slanted accent that Nicolò speaks in Yusuf’s tongue with.

He asks him about it one night, about halfway through their trip, as they eat tucked away from the rest of the crew. A bittersweet kind of warmth laces Nicolò’s voice as he speaks of the country of his birth, a story he’d been reluctant to share with Yusuf until familiarity and alcohol loosed his tongue.

Yusuf goes to sleep that night soothed by the sound of waves lapping at the hull of the ship and the gentle rasp of Nicolò’s voice singing a lullaby he remembers his mother singing to him.

(Nicolò won’t sleep until the early hours of the morning, sitting against the swaying wall of the ship as he studies Yusuf’s face in the dark and thinks of the village he grew up in and the less than fulfilling life he’d left behind.)

nahr al-urduun.

They’ve been in town for a few months when Nicolò dies. He’s cut down by a desperate man whose tanned and leathered skin suggests he’d once been a sailor, with the way that one arm hangs limply at his side suggesting that it was no longer a viable form of employment. It’s early enough that no one is around to see the dead rise, a small source of relief for Yusuf as he carries Nicolò’s body away from that of the would-be thief.

It’s a deep wound, still oozing blood, and some macabre spirit whispers in Yusuf’s ear that maybe they were only blessed in the Holy Land, maybe the gift cannot reach them here. He thinks they had been spoiled, in the year since they’d left the battlefield, the jobs they worked no longer putting them on the wrong end of a blade. Yusuf realizes abruptly that, before now, the last time either of them had fallen had been at the other’s hand. It feels like a lifetime ago.

He tries to not let panic seep into his bones as he watches Nicolò’s body, pushing the whispers away when he sees the flesh around the wound slowly starting to heal and tracing where the edges had been with a feather-light touch. The skin is tacky with blood but otherwise smooth, bearing no other mark to suggest Nicolò had ever been wounded. A sudden wave of boldness compels Yusuf to press his palm flat against the other man’s side, heart skipping when he feels it swell with breath.

An unwanted and unneeded wave of guilt hits Yusuf and he pulls his hand away as though he’d been burned, skin still buzzing from the touch as Nicolò pushes himself into a sitting position against the alley wall. He frowns at the bloody mess of his side and pulls mindlessly at the fraying threads of the gash in his tunic.

“This was my favorite shirt,” he mutters in his native tongue, slipping into it the way he always does when he’s distressed. Yusuf barks out a sharp, hysterical laugh and looks at Nicolò with wild eyes. How strange it is to die and only worry about the state of your clothes, he thinks, when his gaze is met with a confused stare from the other man.

“Come,” he says in kind, pushing away the amazement, and stands, “we should get back to our room before it is light enough for anyone to see that you are covered in blood.” He extends his hand to Nicolò to help him up, bumping their shoulders together to pull the other man’s attention from where he’s still frowning at his abdomen. “Nothing to lose sleep over,” he tries to sound teasing, though his mind is still heavy with anxiety, and pokes at Nicolò’s pale skin through the tear in the fabric. “I will buy you another when the stalls open.”

(That night he will press himself to Nicolò’s back after the other man has already fallen asleep, reassuring himself with the warmth of Nicolò’s pulse against his skin. The sliver of moonlight that escapes into their room through the broken shutters will illuminate the expanse of Nicolò’s skin that had been marred and Yusuf will run his thumb over it, gently, as though it will anchor his life to the other’s.)

(Nicolò will try not to shiver at the touch.)

al-bahr al-mayyit.

Another year passes, spent traveling the coasts of the Mediterranean and offering their services where they could. Nicolò still opts to take jobs that require his vigilance, and Yusuf those that require his vigor, and they have only come close to dying again once apiece. They are more careful than Yusuf supposes they have to be, but he has seen enough death for a thousand lifetimes. If this gift means he has to live those thousand lives, then he does not want to have to see Nicolò’s prone and battered body and pray that he will still wake again any more than he already has.

They don’t talk about it much, their gift. Their days are spent busy, and often apart, and the work leaves them too exhausted at night to do much else besides eat before laying down to sleep. These days, it’s more often than not that they wake to find themselves curled together. Sometimes they discuss the dreams, in the early hours when the light is still grey and watery, but the quiet words dissolve in the daylight, like mist, when they have to part for work again.

There is a measure of freedom on this coast, though, the cost of their rooms not requiring their hours to be as filled as they tend to be. They spend the empty days exploring the countryside, every morning they didn’t have to work coming back to the overgrown apricot grove Yusuf had found to see if the blossoms had yielded yet. It takes a few weeks for the boughs of the first tree to be weighed down by the bright orange fruits, but Nicolò’s resulting delight is too intoxicating for Yusuf to think any time had been wasted in checking.

Yusuf graciously accepts the fruit when it is handed to him, waiting to take the first bite until Nicolò’s arm is looped around his and they’re walking amongst the trees. They share a companionable silence as they eat, breaking it only to remark at the birdsong or point out a tree whose blossoms had not yet fallen away.

Their walk remains quiet even after they’ve each finished their fruits and discarded the pits. Yusuf leads them in the way of an alcove amidst the trees, and when they arrive, Nicolò sprawls in the grass, hands tucked under his head and chin jutted toward the sun, and Yusuf slings himself into the low Y of one of the trees’ trunks, propping his back against one branch and stretching his legs out on the other.

The sun is warm on his cheeks, a drowsy kind of heat, and Yusuf feels his consciousness starting to slip away when Nicolò asks, Arabic accented but unbroken, «Do you ever feel like time has stopped?»

Yusuf opens one eye to look at him, watches as a light breeze sways the branches of the trees around them and throws dappled shadows over Nicolò’s face, and hums.

«What do you mean?»

Nicolò turns to look at him, briefly, before staring up at the open sky again. Yusuf allows his eyes to close once more and lets the cadence of Nicolò’s speech wash over him as he talks. «Since the first day we met, it feels like no time has passed at all. I am lying here in this grove with you alone, I feel the sun on my face and grass at the back of my neck, and I know that I am not on the battlefield anymore. I know that two years have passed, or something close to it, but I feel like it was yesterday I woke up among a hundred dead with blood spilled down half my tunic. It feels like this morning I woke from the dream of you.»

The sentiment settles over Yusuf, and the more he thinks about it, the more it rings true. «It does,» he says, then tests his next words on his tongue before deciding to say, «You know, I almost feel younger, sometimes.»

He doesn’t say what he wants to, doesn’t say that Nicolò makes time stop for him, that it’s Nicolò who makes him feel young and idealistic again. He hopes the meaning fills the silence that follows his words.

When Nicolò says, «I do, too,» it’s a whisper, then, louder, «my youth felt so lonely. And now I am here, with you, given the chance to do it right.» Then, after a pause, pregnant with the chatter of bugs and the susurrations of the apricot leaves in the breeze, «Tell me one of your stories, Yusuf. One that makes us young again.»

Yusuf is helpless to do anything but oblige.

When he finishes the tale, Nicolò stands and suggests they walk some more, so Yusuf slips down from the tree and joins their arms once again, asking Nicolò to lead this time.

It’s not long before he bumps their shoulders together to get Yusuf’s attention before he points to another tree in the grove laden with fruit, grinning. As they approach, though, it becomes clear that the ripe fruits are on branches too high for either man to reach, so Nicolò pulls himself onto the nearest bough. He shifts so that he’s lying on it belly-first, and plucks one of the fruits. He hands it to Yusuf before taking one for himself.

He takes a bite, then tries to turn to lay on his back and shifts too far to his left and flails for a moment before tumbling off the branch and onto Yusuf, knocking him flat on his back. Nicolò’s torso and shoulders shake and for a second Yusuf worries he’s hurt himself before the other man pushes up, hands planted on either side of Yusuf’s head, and he can see that Nicolò is laughing. The mirth glimmering in his eyes is enough to break Yusuf into a fit of laughter as well, the sound ringing through the grove until the both of them are worn out from it.

And then, Nicolò is looking down at Yusuf, eyes shining, and Yusuf is caught in a daze.

And then Nicolò’s lips are crashing into his own, clumsy until he kisses back, pushing himself off the ground with one hand and clinging to Nicolò’s shirt with the other. The kiss is sticky with apricot juice and Yusuf tastes the tart sweetness of the fruit in Nicolò’s mouth as he pulls him closer, anchored by the weight of the other man straddling his hips and floating away on the buzz of his kiss. He lets go of Nicolò’s shirt to cup his face, pressing the pad of his thumb into the ridge of Nicolò’s cheek. Nicolò’s hands come up to cradle the back of his head in response, and Yusuf shivers when his fingers tangle through his curls, the suddenness of the movement causing them to pull a little.

«I have wanted to do that for a long time,» Nicolò pants when they finally break apart.

«How long?» Yusuf asks, soft, brushing his thumb over Nicolò’s bruised lips.

«How long has day followed night?» he responds, eyes glittering as he holds Yusuf’s gaze.

Warmth blossoms in Yusuf’s stomach at the words and it courses through his veins until it’s gone and left him needing more. «Do it again,» he says, breathless, then, «please.»

Nicolò wastes no time in acquiescing.

#the old guard #the old guard fic #tog fic #kaysanova #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #my fic #my writing #rory.txt #check ao3 tags for warnings on this one #also someone remind me about formatting on ao3 before i make a stylistic choice that relies on italics again

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the-mad-starker · 4 years

Text

Starker Fic: Untitled Royalty AU

So I was looking through my old drafts and this one was from June 2018 when I just started exploring Starker. Before that, I was writing for MCU ships and HP, and I've decided to post this because it's been two years since it was written and it feels like a whole other person wrote it. I think my writing style has changed? And I'm not entirely sure if it's for the better haha

Just felt like sharing, this is more of a tease and I doubt I'll ever get more in since I feel like my writing has changed

WC: 1500

Summary:

Royalty AU. Tony is the King, Peter is his manservant. Tony is clearly in power and Peter has no choice but to obey his king.

Obadiah Stane insists that it is time for the beloved King Anthony Stark to marry. For Tony, who has rarely involved himself in the politics besides wearing the crown, that means no more parties, no more lovers being brought into his bed.

But to distract the golden goose from seeing its cage, Stane gives the king a pretty new toy, a new manservant named Peter to satisfy all his needs while the search for a suitable partner begins. But Peter, despite being low born, is the catalyst, the change that wakes Tony from the beautiful dream that Stane created.

💗💗💗

The weight of the crown was settled on Anthony Edward Stark’s head at an early age. It was much too heavy and so, the late King’s advisor and trusted friend took some of the burden from the young prince’s shoulders.

In time, King Anthony Stark’s worries became less and less. He was free to pursue his passions, following the footsteps of his father. As an inventor, Anthony Stark brought to life all these marvelous and terrible creations on paper. Weapons the world had never seen.

And his hands, the hands of a blacksmith even with a crown upon his brow, forged into creation these great and terrible monstrosities.

The Kingdom of Stark flourished from its King’s dreams, bringing in fortune and security to the country. King Stark sat on his throne and by his side, his ever faithful advisor whispering into his ears of all the adorations paid upon him by his people.

The people of Stark who cherished the beloved son of late King Howard, the Iron Prince, and now they loved and adored him as their king.

It seemed to the king that his life would continue in this fashion, days filled with busy hands… Nights full of drinks and beautiful men and women while his dreams shaped the outlines of things yet to come.

It was a good life and as Tony laughed and drank on the commemoration of his birth some thirty or so years later. Tony didn't think he needed more in life. His kingdom was flourishing and his passion for creation was being exercised daily.

Yes, life was a good thing. So it came as a surprise when Obadiah spoke to him after the celebrations.

At the prime age of 35, Tony had yet to marry or sire a child. The years had passed quickly after his parents death and now, years later… this.

“We’ve held this off long enough,” Obadiah said sternly. He was stiff with wariness, expecting a fight with the Iron King for his next advisement. “The people are getting restless. With no prince or princess to succeed you, they grow more concerned every year.”

Tony sighed but his shoulders slumped in defeat. Truly, being able to avoid marriage for so long was simply a miracle. Many princes and princesses were betrothed by birth or if not that, at least an early age.

Stane had told Tony that his mother, the late Queen Maria, had wanted to wait until his majority to speak to him about marriage. And they had died a few short months before Tony turned 21.

That was the loophole that had given Tony years of borrowed time. But now that time was up, the last grains of sand trickling down the hourglass.

“I’m guessing you have a list of names for me then…?” Tony’s eyes were fixed on his hands, noting every single scar and callous that decorated them. His hands were not a nobleman’s hands, not smooth and unblemished, no. His hands were scarred and marked from his love of creating.

“I do,” Stane confirmed. “We’ll need to go over it soon. But for now… I'm sorry to say it, but I can't stress enough how important it is that your… proclivities must cease.”

Tony raised a brow in question.

“No more… dallying with others,” Stane said bluntly. “It's a miracle that we don't have any bastards running around. But it is what it is, so if the King of Stark is going to be looking for another king or queen to match, we can’t have any scandals reaching the ears of your potential partners.”

Tony’s lips quirked up. “You're asking me to abstain?”

Stane’s eyes narrowed at the smiling prince. “Yes, to put it bluntly, my King.”

“God, Obbie,” Tony laughed, a bit bitter. His days would be bereft of lovers, of soft skin and hungry kisses all because of his duty. Marriage and then children.

A heavy hand clasped his shoulder. The older man led Tony back to his room, mindful of how much drink the King had for his birthday.

Tony was only a little buzzed, but he didn't mind his old friend’s help.

“Now, Tony, please. I never ask you for anything. You know I don't, but I need this from you,” Obadiah insisted.

That was a lie. Obadiah often asked him for approvals, for his designs. Year after year, the demands would grow with more specifications but Tony would do better. No matter the requirements, Tony’s brilliant mind would come up with even better proposals. But that was the business of keeping his kingdom prosperous, his people secured against threats. It was the only thing Tony could do when his parents were murdered on route to a peaceful envoy.

So instead of bringing all that up, Tony just leaned heavily on Obadiah, giving a weary sigh. “I know, Obie.”

Besides. Despite never wanting to settle down, marriage was still sacred to Tony. His parents had had a strong marriage and despite all the flaws his father had, Queen Maria had loved him, flaws and all. Tony would be lucky if he could find someone even willing to put up with his eccentricity.

They reached his doors. There were guards positioned outside, giving Tony a bow before opening the doors.

“Now, I know I'm asking a lot of you,” Obadiah began once they were inside.

Tony had thought the matter concluded. He paused in undoing his outfit, throwing Obadiah a inquisitive look.

“That's why I got you a little present,” Obadiah smiled, a dark, almost indecent grin. It looked so out of place on his not-Uncle’s face that Tony thought that surely, the alcohol was playing tricks on him.

Even so, Tony replied with a huff of laughter. Obadiah giving Tony “little” gifts weren't unusual, the man always acted like a second father to him.

“You didn't have to,” Tony always had to say in response to such comments but of course, Obadiah waved it away.

“Come, come,” Obadiah urged, grasping him by the shoulder. Tony moved with him, his gait a little compromised but he didn't falter in his steps.

“You're taking me to my bedroom,” Tony observed then gave a wry laugh. “You better not have gotten me a courtesan, Obie.”

The older man didn't reply, didn't need to. As soon as they entered, Tony found out for himself what the present was.

Tony’s mouth went dry, head filling with confusion and indecent things. On his bed, there was a boy. No, the boy was a young man, though just barely. Lithe and slender, with skin that was the pale color of milk. Beautiful really, with such soft brown waves in his hair. His lips were soft looking and plush, such a lovely color of pink that Tony wondered for a moment if someone had painted them. But the thought was quickly dismissed as white teeth pressed down in a show of nerves. The young man was beautiful… Breathtaking But his eyes… Tony’s heart plummeted. That wasn't desire or anticipation. The young man in his bed was terrified. Large brown eyes with the longest dark lashes Tony had ever seen. And he was trembling, the blankets wrapped around his shivering form like the most inadequate shield ever made. But when stripped of his clothes and forced into a bed not of his own choosing, what else could the young man do? All hazy, lust filled thoughts disintegrated in a second. It was the most effective cure to his tipsy state. It felt like Tony had been dunked into a freezing cold lake. “What is this?” Tony demanded softly. Another friendly clap on his shoulder, Obadiah’s gruff voice sounding pleased to Tony’s ears. “This is my gift to you,” Obadiah announced proudly, “Your new manservant. Peter.”

Tony’s eyes remained fixed on the boy. He saw the way Peter flinched when he heard the title, the dirty suggestion in the title manservant.

“You can do anything you want with him, Tony,” Obadiah confided in him. “You've been needing one.”

“I don't need one,” Tony said dejectedly. Tony was more the inventor than King and the period of wakefulness were off and erratic. He wasn't going to wait for a manservant to dress him, not when his clothing would be stripped off in his lab anyway.

Obadiah’s grip tightened down, just a touch harder. “I know it won't be enough compared to having a new companion every night, but I'm giving you an out here, Tony. Use the boy, don't get caught fucking or getting fucked by others.”

The tone was firm, a no questions asked kind of tone that left Tony speechless.

“This is my gift, Tony,” Obadiah said a bit more gently. “I wouldn't ask you to abstain, I'm not out to hurt you, boy. But Stark needs this marriage and if the only way I can keep you from offending your potential prospects, then I'll do it.”

With no response from Tony, Obadiah took it as acceptance. With another friendly clap, Obadiah called out to Tony as he left, “Have a good night, Tony!’

The door shut behind him and then it was just the two alone. The King of Stark and a young man, his future bedmate.

#starker #madstarker writes #royalty au

99 notes · View notes

nekoannie-chan · 4 years

Text

Charm-ed

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Mutant! Reader

Word count: 3596 words.

Summary: You managed to prevent Thanos from snapping, but not other events that led to victory.

Warnings: Angst, sad, actually very sad, death of a character, mentions of smut but nothing explicit, mentions of blood.

A/N: So I was watching Skins season 6 when this idea came to me, this fic is a little bit based on that season.

Flashbacks are in italics.

The note is in italics and underline.

Phone calls are in italics and bold.

The prompts are in black, italics, and underline.

In this fic the Snap never happened, this means that Thanos was defeated and Pietro is alive.

The UFO catcher is the claw machine where you can catch stuffed animals or other prizes.

This is my entry to the @joannie95 ‘s 500 Follower Writing Challenge with prompt #19:

“Please don’t forget me and all the things we did”

Also is one of my entries to @im-a-writer-right ‘s Writing Challenge ~2K Follower Celebration~ with the angst prompt #37:

“I haven’t been the same since you left me”.

And my entry to @jtargaryen18 ‘s 30 days of Chris.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don’t steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other’s people. The only exception is the ones I gifted ‘cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Marvel’s characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve heavily turned off the alarm clock, it had been late, he flipped to your bedside, and he sighed disappointed when he noticed that it was empty.

He dialed your cell phone in the hope that you'd answer him, but you didn't, the mailbox came in instead of hearing your voice, his stomach protested.

He went down to breakfast like every morning, even though they had prevented Thanos from making the snap, and you had beaten him, nothing was the same again.

After finishing breakfast, Steve decided to go for a run in the park, it was the fifth lap he gave when his cell phone rang.

“Y/N!” He answered immediately excitedly.

"Steve, you keep calling me a lot," you answered.

"I know, it's just that all I want is for you to come back," he confessed embarrassed.

"Maybe you should have come to visit me more often after those days," you complained.

"You know I tried, but I wasn't allowed in.”

"You didn't try hard enough, but now no one will stop you from visiting me.”

“Y/N…”

The call was cut off, Steve blinked, after the battle, the calls were strange, sometimes he didn't understand what you wanted to say.

"Steve?" Sam called him while he approaching carefully.

"Hey, Sam.”

“Are you okay?" Sam questioned.

"Yes, only... I was thinking about Y/N...”

"Steve we've talked about this... she's gone," Sam said.

"I know... I know," Steve replied sadly.

Sam looked up at a tree on the other side of where they were, blinked several times, you were half-hidden behind the tree, waving you a hand.

Wanda Marya y Pietro Django Maximoff

Wanda and Pietro were training, Wanda moved obstacles with her powers while her twin dodged them.

"You're doing great," you congratulated them.

"Y/N...”

They approached skeptically, they weren't sure what they were seeing, and they didn't even care if it was a hallucination.

"But...”

"Aren't you happy to see me?" you asked.

You stirred their hair, they were dumbfounded, and they didn't know what to say or do.

"You should stop feeling like you did something wrong when you joined HYDRA.

"How do you know?" Pietro questioned.

"Pietro... I know everything.”

The twins saw each other, they had never told him anything about what they thought about what they had done.

"They told you a lie, but when you found out what was going on you decided to do the right thing, didn't you?" you went on.

The twins nodded.

“Y/N...”

Wanda couldn't take it anymore and fell up to you to hug you, Pietro imitated her.

"I've missed you so much," Wanda confessed.

"Me too, but you know I can't stay.”

You separated from them.

"Please, stay with us,” Wanda begged.

"We need you," Pietro supported.

You were already gone.

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve was taking a shower when he heard the bathroom door open, he didn't pay attention, and he still felt angry with himself.

You went into the bathroom, took off your clothes, you walked in with him, you hugged him in the back, he turned around.

"Y/N..."

You put a finger on his lips.

"Shh, I don't want to talk, you know what I want."

Steve kissed you fiercely as he touched you while the water was falling.

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff

Natasha peeked out the window, blinking several times, you shouldn't be there, and she immediately ran out to where you were.

You kept swinging without being undeterred by the presence of your friend.

“Hi, Nat” you greeting.

“How is…?”

“You should talk with Banner,” you said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You still love him."

"Y/N, but you..."

"Nat, I just want you to be happy, I can assure you that you've paid for everything you've done in the past, it's time to start over," you said.

"Y/N... But... is just..."

"Nothing Nat, I promise you everything will be fine."

"Steve..."

"I know.”

Nat heard footsteps close and turned to see who was approaching.

“Are you okay?” Clint asked her.

Nat turned to where you were... but there was no one on the swing anymore, it just moved slightly as if someone had just come down.

“Yeah…is just…”

Steven Grant Rogers

You handed the documents over to Cameron, you joked a little bit and then he left, Steve saw everything, got discouraged, but he had to get the doubt out of his head.

"Agent Y/L/N,” he called you.

"Captain.”

"Your boyfriend?" Steve asked referring to Klein.

"Hmm? Oh... Cameron... no, no, no, we're just friends," you answered.

"Friends?" repeated Steve unconcern convinced.

"If we've known each other since the Academy and we're friends.”

Steve exhaled more calmly, maybe he should be encouraged to ask you out.

"Do you have anything to do on Saturday?" he questioned.

"No, I don't think so.”

He impulsively kissed you.

"You already have plans then... with me, " he sentenced before he left.

You just stood there smiling like a fool.

Natasha had told him he had to be bolder if he wanted you to go out with him, so that's what he did.

Samuel “Sam” Thomas Wilson

You knocked on the back door of Sam's house kitchen, he was preparing his breakfast, he went to see who he was, suddenly he felt the air was missing, it was not possible what he saw.

"Y/N, but you..."

"I'm here Sam."

"Y/N, I need explanations because..."

"There's no time for that, Wilson, I need you to do me a favor, I need your help," you interrupted him.

"What is it about? If you're in danger...”

"Take care of Steve for me, I know he doesn't want to accept what happened, but I don't want him to do anything stupid," you asked.

"What do you mean Y/N?" he asked across his arms.

"Just promise me, Steve needs the support of all of you."

"Sure, just explain to me what happened..."

He looked up, there was no one in front of him.

“Y/N?”

Steven Grant Rogers

"You took a long time to get back" complained when you saw him walk into the room you shared.

Steve was startled, he was supposed to be alone, but there you were in front of him, lying and naked in the bed you used to share.

"Are you going to stand there watching me all night?" you asked.

He came slowly, put a hand on your face, wondered if you were real, and kissed you.

Anthony “Tony” Edward Stark

Tony was designing armor for Pepper, they had decided to postpone the wedding one year after what happened, it was so unforeseen, and no one was over it yet.

"I'd ask FRIDAY to announce me, but I'm sure you'd think it's a joke," you said.

Tony turned around, what was going on was implausible.

“I forgive you for being a moron with all of us,” you said.

"Thank you?"

"I know you have thousands of questions, but I won't answer them even if you do them, so abstained yourself," you continued.

"Everything's been gone wrong since you left..."

"No Tony, everything went wrong since the Accords, forgive Bucky," you ordered.

"But he..."

"He killed your parents under HYDRA’s orders, not because he wanted to do it, all that he did was because he was under their control, all that things still cause him nightmares and a lot of regrets, anyway, shouldn't you be mad at your father and Peggy? They were the ones who hired Zola in S.H.I.E.L.D.; Zola was the one who created the Winter Soldier," you explained.

Tony saw you quietly for a few minutes processing your words.

"If you want to have a quiet life you could do it, but first, you must forgive and apologize, Tony."

"I should have done something else, we should all have..."

"It was my decision."

"Could you come back? You are the heart of the team..."

You smiled and left the lab without saying a word.

Steven Grant Rogers

You saw your little dog approaching you while he wagged his tail.

"What are you wearing on your dog collar?" you asked when you saw something weird.

Your dog sat in front of you and when you checked it, you saw the engagement ring.

Behind Steve, he was watching everything, realizing that you already had the ring in your hand, he peeked out.

"And what is your answer?" questioned nervously.

"Of course I accept to marry my little boy," you replied jokingly as you took the dog in your arms.

Steve's face was a mixture of emotions, it couldn't be said if he was bewildered, wanting to laugh or something else.

"Would you marry me, doll?" he asked.

You approached him and you were going to kiss him when the dog got between the two of us, laughed.

"Of course I want to marry you, Steve," you answered.

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

Bucky dared not leave the room, he feared he would meet Tony and that He would start a fight; however, his cell phone rang.

"Hello, Buck."

"Y/N..."

"Can I see you?"

You gave him the directions, a few minutes later he arrived at the agreed place.

"It's not a trap, is it?" he questioned.

"No Bucky, HYDRA is gone, I promise you.”

"Sorry, I..."

"Stop blaming yourself for what you were forced to do, you've done the right thing to redeem yourself," you said.

"I'm not sure..."

"Believe me, I just need you to take care of Steve for me, okay, like before the war, I know it's hard..."

"We can't without you..."

"You must continue without me, there is no other way,” you sentenced.

"Y/N" he called you.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking care of Steve, while... You know... I wasn't there," Bucky thanked.

You smiled.

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve was training, it was the fifth punching bag he broke.

"You should stop this habit of breaking punching bags, Stevie," you said.

"Doll..."

"I've always liked to see you train, it's so... Hmm, I have no words to describe it.”

He didn't say anything, he just took your hand.

"Don't go, please,” he pleaded.

"I love you, Stevie."

Thor Odinson

Thor had in his hands the little teddy bear you had taken from one of the UFO catcher machines, he looked up when he felt a presence in the place.

"Lady Y/N.”

“Hi, Beach-boy" you welcome.

“What...?”

“I think on this planet, somewhere you could create New Asgard with the survivors, do you like the idea?" you proposed.

Before Thor could answer, you were already gone

Steven Grant Rogers

The nerves invaded Steve and increased every minute, what if a last-minute mission came up and ruined everything if everything was ruined, would you still want to marry him?

His doubts vanished when he saw you walking down the aisle, fortunately, there was no inconvenience.

"You're the most beautiful bride in the world,” he whispered to you as you danced the waltz

Scott Edward Harris Lang y Hope van Dyne

"Giant-man"

"Y/N," Scott said surprised.

"Who are you?" Hope asked.

"Do you remember Cap?" Scott asked.

Hope nodded.

"Well, she's his girlfriend."

"I’m his wife actually, you must be Hope, Scott told us about you," you corrected.

"Well, this doesn't make sense..."

They knew what had happened.

"Nothing has it, maybe you should talk to Steve, and I think there's room in The Avengers."

Both of them were confused, when Scott was going to ask you what you meant, there was no one else was with them.

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve woke up when he heard a noise in the kitchen, he had fallen asleep in the lounge sofa, and he went to see what was going on.

"Y/N?"

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I can't find my chocolates," you apologized.

Steve turned to see the clock on the kitchen wall.

"It's two in the morning..."

"It's never too late for one," you joked.

He smiled, always his little jokes were funny, and he loved to see you smile and heard your laughter; he approached the cupboard and pulled the box out of the highest shelf.

"Do you want to see a movie?" he proposed.

Clinton “Clint” Francis Barton

"I keep insisting that it's not safe to have arrows in a house with children," you said.

Clint dropped the bow to the floor, it supposed he was alone, Laura was taking care of their children.

"Maybe you should go visit the guys, Steve will probably need paternity advice; Nat and the twins miss you so much," you continue.

"Y/N...”

"Several times I envied that you had such a beautiful family, sometimes things don't go as you expect," you said.

Clint looked down at the bow without understanding, when he looked up to ask you something, there was no one.

Steven Grant Rogers

He was nervous, it was still supposed to be two weeks before your baby was born, but you'd woke up with contractions.

"Steve, calm down now, you're not helping me at all," you asked with a grimace of pain.

"But it was two weeks away...”

"WELL, THE BABY WANTS TO GET OUT, I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO!”

"Don't yell doll, we're in a hospital... Auch...”

You squeezed his hand very tightly when you felt another contraction.

You had no idea how many hours or minutes had passed, but eventually, the little girl was born.

"It's so small," Steve said as he carried her.

"Steve give it to me, I have to feed her," you asked

Robert Bruce Banner

"You've never been afraid that one of your experiments will go wrong?" you asked.

“Y/N…”

Bruce watched you for a few seconds.

"There must be some logical explanation," he said.

"That doesn't matter, get out of this damn lab and talk to Nat, one of you has to take the first step," you ordered him.

"She hates me," he said.

"She doesn't hate you, I had to put up with her talking about you, I don't know how many years, most of the time she described how she wanted to kill you."

"But the other..."

"She doesn't care, she loves you the way you are, then do it or I'll hit you so hard that it's going to scare the other guy," you threatened.

"Okay, I just have to turn this off," he said.

Bruce turned to the team he was working with and then flipped to where you were.

“Y/N?”

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve heard Sarah crying, in last weeks he had not felt able to be close to her daughter, Natasha had cared for her at the time, but right now she did not know where the spy was.

He approached the girl's crib and loaded her to try to reassure her.

"Shh, calm down little girl, I know you miss Mom, so do I."

Suddenly the girl calmed down unexpectedly and stretched out her little hand.

"Mommy" she babbled.

Steve turned strange, there you were, you approached them and you took your daughter.

"You put her plushies wrong, she likes to have her stuffed animal on the left, but you put Cap's stuffed one in that place that goes to the right" you explained.

Maria Hill, Nicholas “Nick” Joseph Fury, and Phillip “Phil” J. Coulson

"Haven't they decide what they're going to do yet?" Fury asked Maria.

Maria left the phone on the table before answering.

"No, no one has dared to talk about the situation," Hill confirmed.

"Maybe if we tell them there's an option..."

Whatever they want to try isn't going to work," you said.

"Y/N?!" the three exclaimed surprised in unison.

"Guide them, they feel completely lost, they don't want to continue with the proposal," you asked.

Steven Grant Rogers

Steve took all the pictures of you and the drawings of you he did, there were too many, he’d give anything for you to come back.

"I wish you'd never left..."

Someone knocked on the door, he was hoping it would be you, he needed you, he opened the door and his face showed complete disappointment.

"Stark wants to talk to everyone, he needs us in the boardroom," Nat told him.

"Okay," he said, trying to hide things.

"Are you okay, Steve?"

"Yes, in a moment I go, I only put in order a few things,” he answered.

"You're a bad liar."

"In a moment I will go,” he said again.

Peter Benjamin Parker

"Queens Spider-Boy" he greeted.

"Miss Rogers.”

"Y/N, just call me Y/N.”

Peter carved his eyes, maybe he was hallucinating, and there was no way that was possible.

"I would never think that Tony did it right when he involved you in something that was only to adults, but you should go visit him, he feels a little or maybe very lost," you said.

"With who are you talking to Peter?" May asked.

"With...”

He turned to ask you with his eyes if I should reveal your presence, but you were gone.

"... Nobody.”

Steven Grant Rogers

Thanos had finally arrived in Wakanda, Wanda was trying to destroy Vision's gem, just as Thanos came up to her feeling it.

You assumed what he was going to do, with your powers you immobilized him.

"Don't you dare,” you warned.

He was too strong, but you weren't going to give up so easily, you managed to take away two of the stones -the time and reality stones- as soon as you had them in your possession, you opened a portal to go somewhere else and destroy them.

You concentrated as much as you could, it was difficult, but if Wanda had been able, you could too, all you needed was that Thanos didn't find you, you hadn't left Wakanda, but if in the next few minutes you couldn't destroy them, you'd open another portal to go somewhere else to buy more time.

"Y/N, status,” Steve required.

"I've got two, I'll try to destroy them," you reported.

"Where are you?" he questioned.

"Just deal with him," you asked.

You had finally succeeded, those two stones had been destroyed, without all three, you were sure That Thanos could not fulfill his goal, you rose with difficulty, you were exhausted, to destroy them you had needed more powers and energy than you thought.

As soon as you turned around you felt a bump, Thanos had found you.

"They no longer exist... I destroyed them," you mocked.

"How you dare?"

Suddenly you felt a sharp pain in your entrails, the metallic taste in your mouth appeared.

"No!" Steve yelled.

He pounded on the enemy to get you off your back, at that moment Thor appeared where you were.

"Go with her," he told Steve.

Steve came up to you, the blood kept flowing, he didn't know how to stop the blood, but he had to do something.

"S-Steve..."

"Shh, its okay, doll, don't try hard," he asked.

"I think... take care of Sarah, okay, I love you..."

Your eyes were heavy, slowly closed.

"No... Y/N... no, wake up doll, please..."

James Rupert “Rhodey” Rhodes

“Rhodes” you called him.

He stood still, did not know what to do, perhaps he had heard wrong, but no, your voice had been very clear, slowly turned.

"I made a mistake in signing the Accords..."

"It’s okay, you thought you were doing the right thing..."

"I thought the government would know what to do, like acting the right way. But when Thanos..."

"Okay, now just try to reunite everyone," you asked.

Steven Grant Rogers

His mobile phone rang, desperately Steve caught up with him to answer him as quickly as possible.

“Doll, we need you.”

“Stevie, you know I can’t go back.”

“I haven’t been the same since you left me.”

“Sarah need you.”

"She needs you, she wants her mom back..."

"You're a good father Stevie, you'll do well, I didn't mean for that to go wrong either, but you know I did it for her."

"Please come back."

“Stevie.”

“Doll.”

“Please don’t forget me and all the things we did”

"Stevie, you know, this is a very beautiful place" you commented.

"I want to be with you."

"No, you must be with our daughter, you know, I met your mom, she's a lovely woman."

"What?"

He wasn't sure what he'd heard, those words only saw one of his greatest fears, now he had no choice but to accept what had happened in the battle.

“I have to go.”

"No, don't go, please, " he pleaded.

"Tell Sarah about me."

"I love you too much, never forget it."

You hung up, you knew time was up, you smiled, at least you'd been given a chance to say goodbye.

Steve dropped to his knees crying, give anything for you to come back, though he would tell Sarah about you.

Everyone

On the board all the tension went away, they had already decided what to do, all the roughness had been filed, and from now on they would be a team.

They decided to go visit Y/N's tomb, they put the flowers on it.

"She wanted us to continue," Nat said.

"I found this," Steve commented, showing a note.

"Me too," Wanda replied.

They all got the same note, none had no idea who had written it or exactly what it meant.

Thank you for what you did, I hope you liked the gift.

"Are you sure it was the best?" asked Ulana.

"They deserved a gift for saving the universe and she had not been able to say goodbye to everyone she loves," Uatu replied.

"You're right."

Now they could get on with their lives.

78 notes · View notes

askthewitchlady · 4 years

Text

A little Light of...

It was a cool calm morning…

Well as much as any morning could be cool or calm in hell. Had he waited all night? Watching the light beginning to drift in through the stained glass of the door Alastor realized that, yes, he had in fact sat there watching the door all night… waiting.

Waiting for what?

What else, or rather who. Because in fact it was a who. The same vexing who that dominated his thoughts with his laughter, his dreams with his lithe body, his blood with a raw carnal hunger and need to posses.

He damned the spider demon even as he wanted him. Alastor was not a man of strong attachments. In life the only two people he had loved had been stolen away to early, his sweet gentle mother, and Mimzy his first and only real friend when he had moved to New Orleans.

Coming to hell, manifesting power beyond his wildest imaginings? It gave him all the more reason to not create connections… then there was Niffty, then there was Husker, and as time passed he saw on a picture show, the cheerful princess who would soon be yet another dear friend. None of it had been expected, but Angel Dust? Well he had been actively avoided! How could he have be so stupid?

Developing a fondness for that demon was silly, and all the worse a whore and a porn star…

Alastor rubbed his temple trying to stave off a building headache. One ear flicked the puff of hair and fur turning towards the door, he could hear the tell tale click of heels on cobble stones. He was already standing, He would reprimand Angel for being out all night and then- He never got to finish the thought as the door open and Angel Dust fell forward into the hotel. Alastor moved quickly catching the slim figure almost staggering, not because the other was heavy but the awkward and sudden dead weight of him. "What in the nine…" he muttered shifting his hold on the spider demon one arm around his top most shoulders the other under his knees he lifted angel dust, shadows crept up enveloping them both, then just as quickly fell away leaving them in his personal rooms. Alastor carried Angel Dust to the thick couch, setting him down carefully. Alastors smile almost faltered staring at the blood smeared on his hands, it was hardly the first time and wouldn't be the last but this blood bothered him… he didn't like it. Angel Dust groaned drawling Alastors attention as he shifted on the couch on hand going to his head, the other tugging away the black ribbon he always had around his neck, the bruising beneath Sent a cold anger through the deer. "Angel Dust?" he asked simply, the spider moved eyes opening slowly as he looked up to Alastor blushing faintly

"A-al? Fuck…" his voice was a strained wheeze of pain as he touched his throat brows knitting, it hurt him to talk, that much was obvious but what had happened. Letting out a sigh Alastor snapped his fingers a chair manifesting beside the couch. He settled and reached out before angel could speak again covering his mouth "Don't, it'll just hurt you and I need to focus." He said firmly His eyes locking on the spider who after a brief moment of fear nodded slightly and closed his eyes relaxing as much as he could. Satisfied Alastor removed his hand from the spiders mouth and began his work.

He had studied all aspect of his chosen magic's but healing wasn't really one he had used often, not for himself and certainly not for others. So he worked quietly his focus entirely on healing the wounded demon. The damage was far worse than he had initially seen and it required a lot of delicate work, from sealing internal wounds caused by magic, or setting the snapped elbow on his fourth arm, Alastor worked meticulously repairing all the damage.

He had no sense of time as he worked focusing on the detailed healing Angel Dust needed until finally the last of the cuts across the white skin sealed and he sagged back against the chair head back eyes closed his smile faint simply due to exhaustion.

He could hear angel shifting on the couch, probably sitting up, probably getting ready to leave, "Al?" the voice was soft and careful "Can you not be quiet for one moment and let me rest?" the radio demon asked with a half chuckle as he peeked and eye open to glance at Angel Dust who was sitting up and watching him with… worry? Well that was new. He sat forward and studied the spider silently a moment before gesturing

"Well, are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked calmly as Angel Dust squirmed under his gaze before finally sighing "Y-yeah… Look I… You know I've been tryna go clean right? Followin Charlie's rules, I stopped the drugs, hell even made it through the shitty withdrawals, My heads clearer then it's been in years!" he exclaimed Alastor nodded more than a little surprised "I knew you had been cutting back, I hadn't realized you'd quit completely." He said quietly impressed with Angel Dusts resolve. "Heh yeah I know right, whoda thought it… but, well Charlie, and Vaggie, heck even Niffty they all think… they think I'm worth more than just bein a hooker for some cheap blow you know? They… they make me wanna be me again." He admitted scratching the back of his head nervously Alastor nodded "That’s fair but what does any of this have to do with your condition?" he asked calmly Angel Dust blushed "I-I'm getting there… a-anyway havin a clear head means I was really thinkin… ya know about… my life and… well death and this… Everything Charlie keeps saying and, things Molls had told me all my life." He murmured running a hand down his face before mumbling something Alastor didn't hear. "Angel I'm adept at many things but I can't read your mind." He pointed out with a chuckle.

"I quit my job… I… I'm not gonna… do anymore porn… o-or take any 'clients'." Angel Dust said looking away it took a moment for Alastor to process that, Angel had quit… angel had…. Quit. As in he had approached Valentino, the dirty little louse and told him 'no' Well his injuries certainly made sense now.

"I take it it didn't go well?" he said calmly though inside he was boiling, no more raging a hot volcano of rage that demanded blood! Angel Dust managed a laugh

"Not, really, I thought it did at first he seemed surprisingly amenable, he was going on about how the last two shoots hadn't been my best work and how Porn just wasn't good if the players weren't into it." He said rubbing his arm "He suggested we have a last drink at least even made coffee he said I probably didn't feel comfortable getting drunk with him, and I didn't… But… Fuck… I should have known better I really should have… but a… I wanted… Maybe one last good time? Not sex, not money just a quiet moment like we used to have." He said Alastor tilted his head curiously and nodded quietly urging Angel Dust to continue. "Look it's not secret I'm not the strongest demon out there, I've got my skills and I had what I learned in life but when you first die, you wake up here you see what you are, well a cotton candy Pussy like me was done from the get go. Valentino found me, took me in, he taught me about hell Al, and for a while it was great, It was almost like bein alive again, He said he was cool with an open relationship if I wanted it, hey it's hell Baby who gives a shit… but I was his I'd always come home to him." He explained frowning as he rubbed his arm a bit more Alastor was surprised to find himself reaching out, he stopped half way and drew back sharply, angel dust wasn't looking at him and didn't see the motion thankfully.

"So with those stupid ideas I had coffee with him…. Bastard drugged me, I don't know when I watched him the whole fucking time I swear I did!, next think I knew everything was going fuzzy and he's saying shit like Charlie and everyone here's just using me as an experiment, to see if the hotel idea would even work. How I was an easy mark. Well known enough that if I turned everyone would know, but dumb enough not to know they were just using me… shit like that, I'm trying to tell him he's wrong as he just pushin my clothes off and tellin me he cares, Lying through his stupid ugly teeth." He said shuddering harder he hugged himself head bowed and this time Alastor didn't stop himself from reaching out, Clawed hand gently resting on Angels head stroking through his soft white hair, any other time he might have marveled at just How soft it was.

"Angel Dust, Did he-" he was cut off as the spiders hands came up and held his hand in place he was shaking, pale body quivering under his touch. "I don't want to hear it… I know… you're probably thinking what he did. I'm a whore what's the difference it's all just sex, b-but… but I have the… I… I deserve…" the demon choked. He was crying and Alastor almost floundered he didn't do well with tears, the vulnerability they showed! He hadn't cried once since his death and in fact had not cried much in life. "I don't… I don't think that." He said finally thinking of something to say. Angel tensed under his hand before slowly looking up eye red rimmed as he stared at Alastors face looking for… something, The radio demon wasn't sure what. "I don't think that at all Angel Dust… I may not be fond of the act myself, but I understand it is a very personal thing. Even for you, just because you do it more frequently doesn't make it less so, your still allowing someone inside you…" Was he blushing? He felt like he might be… shit… "T-the point is, it's… you… There are rules… even here in hell." He coughed out finally glancing away, fuck. He was not an awkward man but discussing the emotional intimacy and vulnerability of Sex was hardly easy even for him… maybe especially for him. "You may be a … or where a prostitute but that doesn't mean you don't get to say 'no'." he said finally looking back at Angel who was giving him a small smile. Alastor quickly pulled his hand back and stood striding across the room and opened a cabinet pulling out a decanter and a heavy crystal glass. "I trust abstaining from drugs doesn't mean you adverse to a brandy to steel your nerves." He said quickly as he fought to regain his mental balance turning, glass in hand he walked over and passed it to angel who took it with a murmured thank you before tossing it back like a champ… Alastor tried not to be annoyed by the waste of a good brandy, such things really should be savored but, he'd stay close lipped about it for now.

"Thanks Al, For everything, I'm sorry I took up so much of your time I know you got… whoa." Angel Dust wavered when he tried to stand instantly flopping right back down onto the couch. Alastor sighed pushing the demon back to a laying position

"Just rest for now, you lost a lot of blood, I have work to do but I don't mind you staying here. Would you be more comfortable on the bed?" he asked simply Angel Dust blushed at that shaking his head quickly and instantly regretting it,

"N-nah this is fine… a-are you sure?" he asked making the other demon chuckle

"Now now do I ever come across as someone who makes an offer he's not sure about?" he asked calmly the other demon inclined his head, Alastor had a good point. The radio demon moved back and in a smooth motion whipped a blanket from his bed and draped it over angel dust and moved to carefully slip off his boots. "Y-ya don't have to do that!" Angel dust squawked embarrassed, Alastor only chuckled. "What are you saying I don't want muddy boots on my furniture." He said simply setting them beside the end of the couch and waving a hand the light dimming as long legged strides carried him to the door he opened it before pausing glancing back over his shoulder and grinning for a moment angel Dust would swear his eyes where glowing. "Now as I said, you rest, I have work to attend to. I'll have Niffty come check on you in a couple hours. If you're not still on that couch I'll be cross." He said simply before shutting the door. Leaning against it he rubbed his temple with two fingers, he had no doubt angel would listen to his order, he was just tired from the healing, He needed to eat… And wasn't it so wonderful of Valentino to offer himself up as a much needed meal… Humming lightly to himself Alastor walked along the hall imagining what different lovely dishes he could make.

#Radiodust #Alastor #angel dust #hazbin hotel #TW rape mention #TW Violence #Hazbin alastor #Hazbin Angel dust

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lancetuckershairgel · 4 years

Text

Carter Squared Drabble

I got inspired, ok?

Characters: Hal Carter x Carter Squared

Warnings: pure smut, slut!carter, dom!hal, mentions of puppy play, bondage, slight humiliation, edging, cock cage, other yummy fun

A/N: I can’t do a read more on mobile, and since this was written on a phone with a cracked screen please forgive any typos.

Tag list: @stuck-y-together @buckmesideways22 @eurynome827 @book-dragon-13 @southernbell91 @marvelous-meggi @marvelgirl7 @cametobuyplums @collinsstanharbour @loricameback @spacemansam @louisianaspell @jobean12-blog

Carter was a brat. Spoiled rotten by his prestigious upbringing long before he met Hal, he wanted his way all the time. Hal has humbled him, taught him many things about the real world and how to get by on his own since their relationship began, but no matter what Hal did he couldn’t take the brat out of Carter. Sure the boy worked for a living now, he worked hard. He paid his own bills, got his hands dirty, most people would say he was a different person and in some aspects he was. However, when it came to sex, Carter was still a spoiled brat. He was constantly horny and couldn’t keep his hands off his man or his cock. Hal had introduced him to so many new kinks which only fueled Carter’s horniness. The second Carter had a chance he was humping something, he didn’t care what. Hal had caught him humping things so much he began to call the boy “Puppy”.

“You’re as horny as a dog in heat aren’t you, Carter? Is that what you are, a little sex crazed puppy?”

Carter couldn’t help it. Hal has a way about him, did things to Carter, that had him in a frenzy all the time. Hal put a stop to Carter’s humping by locking him in a chastity cage, which Carter hated.

“It’s for your own good, Carter. Can’t have you getting behind on your chores when all you want to do is roll around in the hay with your hand in your pants. This will help you focus.”

The cage did its job, not only did it prevent Carter from having an erection and from cumming without really having to try hard, he had to behave himself to get out of it. Carter didn’t know what was worse: being in the cage, or having to be good to get out.

Now here they were, a month before the wedding. Carter was in the living room, planning out the menu to present to their caterer when Hal walked in, a devilish glint in his eye.

“Hey Carter”

“Hey Ha-“ Carter stopped short when he saw the cage in Hal’s hand. He gulped and looked up at his fiancé. “Why do you have that? I’ve behaved since the last time!”

“Don’t whine, Puppy.”

Hal sat beside Carter and placed a hand between the boys thighs, rubbing over his jean clad legs and up to his cock.

“In a month you’re going to be my husband.” Hal murmured in Carter’s ear, chuckling as his fiancé shuddered beneath his touch “After the wedding comes the honeymoon, and knowing the two of us we’re gonna be having sex the whole time.”

“Uh huh” Carter nodded,having a feeling about where Hal was going with this “that’s my plan”

“So I had an idea.” Hal sucked on Carter’s neck, squeezing his growing bulge “That we should abstain from each other until that night.”

“But..!” Carter protested with a whine

“No but’s, Puppy. It’ll be worth it that first night, I promise.”

“Are you going to wear a cage too?”

Hal chuckled and shook his head

“Why not?!” Carter turned to look at him with pouting lips

“Because I have self control. Now take your pants off, let’s get you locked up.”

Carter groaned but did as Hal said. He had so much to do before the wedding that he didn’t have time to be punished. Hal secured his cock inside the cage, the metal biting painfully into the flesh, then gave Carter a kiss before going out to feed the animals their dinner. Carter sulked and pouted the rest of the night, trying to distract himself from the fact that for a whole month he wasn’t going to get to cum.

The next morning Carter found Hal downstairs in the living room, sitting in his recliner and drinking coffee, acting as if it was perfectly normal to have an array of sex toys splayed across the coffee table. Well, for them it was normal.

“Good morning, Puppy.”

Carter whimpered and his cock tried to twitch inside the cage at the sound of his nickname. Hal beckoned for Carter to approach him and ordered him to remove his clothes. Once the pajamas were neatly folded, Carter knelt in front of Hal, hands behind his head as he knew he was supposed to.

“Good boy.” Hal reaches out and gave Carter’s head a loving pet “Now, lets get you ready.”

“Ready for what?” Carter asked, watching as Hal stood from his chair and walk over to the table

“For your new morning routine.”

Hal’s laugh was dark and Carter felt a chill down his spine. A gag was placed in front of his mouth and Carter knew better than to protest. Hal buckled the straps behind Carter’s head, making sure they were tight so that the only sounds were muffled moans. Hal then picked up a pair of nipple clamps before kneeling in front of Carter and applying them. Carter whimpered and looked sat Hal with begging eyes. Hal merely smirked and kissed Carter’s baggage before standing again. Carter was handed the hits hitachi wand and Hal took his seat.

“Turn on the vibrator and hold it against your balls.” Hal ordered, taking another long sip of his coffee

Carter did as he was told, pressing the switch and holding the buzzing head against his balls. He groaned, the sound blocked by the gag. He held the vibrator there, rocking back and forth on it, until Hal gave another order.

“Turn around and bend over, show me your ass. Good boy!” Hal praised when Carter obeyed

Hal licked his lips at the sight of Carter’s splayed our ass, the large plug nestled snug in Carter’s hole. Hal had walked into the bedroom the night before and found Carter laying on the bed, legs spread wide, with his fingers shoved in his ass in attempt to reach a prostate orgasm. Hal’s eyes trailed over the red stripes that still lined Carter’s sss cheeks, leftover reminders from the caning Hal gave him for trying to cum when he was told not to.

“Place the vibrator against the plug”

Carter grunted loudly but fulfilled his order anyway. He jerked as he felt the plug shake in his ass as the wand vibrated against the base. The sensation of the vibrating plug was just enough to arouse his prostate, not make him cum.

Hal watched, amused, as he continued to drink his coffee. Carter moaned and writhed on the floor, alternating the wand from his full balls, to the cage on his cock, to the plug in his ass. It felt so painfully good and it wasn’t long before his neglected cock was leaking precum.

“You make a mess on the floor and you’re going to lick it up, Puppy.” Hal commented

Thirty minutes. Thirty long, torturous minutes Hal made Carter edge himself. Carter was relieved when Hal told him he could stop and he turned off the vibrator before returning it to the table.

“Now the dildo.”

Carter blinked and made a noise into his gag as he looked bewildered at Hal.

“Go on, Puppy. Lube it up and stick it in your ass.”

Carter let out a pleading whimper, shaking his head.

“Fuck yourself with that cock or I’ll tie you down and do it myself.” Hal threatened, leaning forward

With another whimper, Carter grabbed the dildo and lubed it up so that it was nice and slick for his hole. He laid on his back and spread his legs wide, displayed for Hal. A loud groan as the cock slid into Carter’s ass and the boy began to thrust it in and out.

“How’s that feel? Good?” Hal sat back, relaxed

“Uh huh” Carter grunted

“Good. Make sure you fuck it nice and slow, savor that feeling because it’s the last time anything’s going in your ass until our wedding night.”

“Not even a plug?” Carter thought, lifting his head to look at Hal

Hal just smirked behind his mug. By the end of the month, Carter was going to be right where Hal wanted him. Aching, tight, and oh so needy.

#carter squared #definitely role play #carter baizen #hal carter #hal carter x carter baizen #fanfiction #i write stuff #sometimes its good

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

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You mentioned piracy in a recent post and I'm curious. How do you feel about pirating things you simply don't have access to? For a very long time the anime Evangelion was not available anywhere new. Your options as a American were to either buy expensive used DVD's or pirate it. Even Crunchyroll didn't have it. Eventually a Japanese (no subtitles) blu0ray release was made, but it was costly. Finally Netflix got the rights to host it. Before that though could you fault anyone for pirating it?

Overall I’m solidly pro-pirating media because every interaction with a text comes down to the same question: Can I buy it or not? If you can buy it then you give money to the artists who rightfully deserve it and that’s fantastic. However, if you can’t buy it and abstain from engaging with the media at all you’re potentially losing more than just your own enjoyment. What does that mean? It means that:

Maybe I wasn’t able to pay to see the first film, but pirating the first got me interested in the series so now, two years later, I’m paying to see the second when I have more funds.

Maybe I wasn’t able to pay for the monthly streaming service hosting this TV show, but now that I’ve pirated it I’m buying related merch.

Maybe I wasn’t able to buy this book, but I downloaded it, told all my friends about it, wrote a positive review, and potentially set the stage for other copies to be sold.

You are, in short, functioning like a fandom: you created a thing, I love the thing, I’m going to ‘pay’ you for that thing in ways other than cash and credit.

Pirating isn’t quite the same thing as walking into a store and snatching a book off the shelf. In that scenario you’re harming the author’s potential (or expected) revenue as well as the very real costs that the store put into buying that book in the first place. When you pirate you’re only cutting into those potential profits--profits that still wouldn’t exist if you’d said, “Well I can’t pay for it so I won’t watch/read it at all.” Now, I want to emphasize that none of the above examples are a justifiable replacement for funds. There’s a reason artists on tumblr rightfully say, “No. You’re paying me for my commission. ‘Exposure’ isn’t a valid form of payment.” What I am saying is that there’s a massive difference among a) not being able to pay for a show created by a major corporation so you gain nothing and give nothing back, b) pirating that major show and giving back in the ways that you can, and c) trying to “pirate” art off of a 21yo college student who’s just looking to buy groceries. Yes, every artist deserves to be paid for their work regardless of whether they’ve sold two copies or two million, but---while a lovely and worthwhile sentiment--that doesn’t acknowledge that a lot of people just can’t. That money isn’t going to end up in the artist’s pocket regardless.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that a good chunk of us are Millennials/Gen Z and can’t pay for shit anyway, other reasons you might be inclined to pirate include:

You literally do not have access to this. At all. I’m a grad student out in Ohio. There is no way I can pay/take the time to go to NYC and see Hamilton play. I can, however, download a recording of the show and then buy the soundtrack.

Similarly, costs are not always just the cost of the media itself. My closest movie theater is a small, non-profit place that doesn’t always play the latest blockbusters. The closest AMC where I could see those blockbusters? That’s an Uber drive away. I can’t afford that on top of a $10+ ticket.

As we’re seeing now, most people can’t afford to pay a monthly fee for multiple different streaming services. The content isn’t all in one place? We’re only going to pay for a portion of the content then. Just buy cable? Distributors need to acknowledge that we’re moving away from that format too. Most people don’t want media laden with commercials anymore, or media that requires equally expensive, specialized tech to play it on. “Specialized” here meaning it only exists for entertainment. I need my laptop to do my job. Being able to watch stuff on it is a bonus, but I’d need to pay for a laptop whether it could play films and TV or not. Actual televisions though? They only exist as a form of recreation. They’re a pure luxury.

A common rebuttal here is, “Just buy the DVD.” Except, as said, I don’t own a TV. And Mac took out their DVD player in order to produce another expense by forcing people to buy it separately. Which I haven’t done yet. So not only are DVDs functionally useless to me at the moment, but it’s the same issue as above: the overall price is far more than the cost of the media alone.

Sometimes---as you point out, anon---the material is simply not available in your country. It might never be available. Maybe it will be, but that’s years from now...and telling someone to wait years to see the thing all their friends are currently invested in is not the most compelling argument.

Also yes, sometimes media stops being produced and the price skyrockets. I’ve had books I desperately wanted but they were well over $100 used for an otherwise cheap paperback. (Funds that, notably, also wouldn’t be going to that original author, editor, cover designer, etc.)

People have always had a complex and murky definition of what amount of profit is “enough” for an author. And we need to acknowledge that. Because if we all collectively believed that every individual really had to pay for their own access than we would never lend books to friends. We wouldn’t sell used. Or allow music on Youtube. Or have libraries. No one would ever share their Netflix login. We would be far more concerned with eliminating ALL forms of “free” access if we were truly that concerned with a 1:1 transaction. Whether people want to admit it or not, there’s a middle ground between “making sure an author is fairly compensated for their work” and “making sure that people have access to the media at all.”

It all comes down to how you’re defining that fair compensation and yes, I do think it makes a difference who the author is and what sort of compensation you’re offering. I buy all my books because pirating those tends to do more damage than pirating TV. Complicating that, I have a Netflix account and watch One Day At a Time there because they need ratings a whole lot more than Breaking Bad does. However, I pirate John Oliver because I can’t afford an HBO account on top of a Netflix account.

Which brings us to, “Then you shouldn’t watch John Oliver at all. That’s a privilege, not a right, and if you can’t pay for it then you don’t get it.” But here’s the thing: media is important. We do need it. We need stories, almost as much as we need food, water, and shelter. It’s easy to say, “You can’t pay for the Popular New Thing so you don’t get to engage with it” and a lot harder to convince people that they should accept that situation when they’ve found access to it another way.

You know all that research proving that when given a basic income most people still choose to work? Same principles apply. When people have access to money they will spend it on entertainment. Always. I buy books. I go out to the movies. I buy music on iTunes. I go see plays when I can. But the “when I can” portion is a complex and, for many people, rather rare scenario. I guarantee you, it’s not a dystopian future of, “If we accept piracy then no one will ever buy anything ever!” because most people want to pay artists. They want to support films like Captain Marvel. They want to buy a hardcopy book to put on their shelf. They want another copy of that film to gift to a friend. But there are times when they simply can’t do that... so what are we left with? The issue is much less a moral one than a practical one. It comes down to that original question: Can I pay for it? Most people don’t go, “I can pay for it but am choosing not to because I’m a horrible, greedy person.” They go, “I can’t pay for it so you’re not getting my money regardless. The only question now is whether I’ll lose the enjoyment of your art and you’ll lose anything that I might have given back---even if what I have to offer doesn’t mean as much to you as money.”

#mymetas #Anonymous

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fanders-fic-awards · 6 years

Text

Knowing What Happened (Summer Fic Comp 18)

Summary: Logan has spent his whole life on the sidelines, watching while others had their first kisses, their first relationships, all through highschool and his first year at college he had never met anyone who he was interested in romantically or who was romantically interested in him. Imagine his surprise (and frankly disdain) at being dragged to a house party by Roman only to fall head first into a ridiculous, over the top, dramatic crush on Roman’s childhood best friend Patton. Surely no good can come of this…

Trigger Warnings: alcohol, reference to past abusive relationship, slight angst, passionate making out, nose bleed, cursing

Word Count: 5026

Ballot

Logan was definitely a very smart person. Everyone said so and his grades throughout highschool and the first year of his college course definitely backed up this theory. Yes, he was smart. And cold, and stand-offish, and anti-social, and unapproachable, and uninterested in other people and all the other unkind things he had overheard people say in reference to him over the years. Not that it bothered him, or anything (anymore). He was quite used to living life on the side-lines, having watched all of his other classmates have their first kisses, their first boyfriends/girlfriends/datemates, and never finding anyone who sparked that interest in him. He was fine. He didn’t need any of that romantic nonsense in his life anyway. It was a distraction. A hindrance. And nobody had ever been interested in him anyway. He had made his peace with it. So why now was he unable to Stop. Staring. At. This. Gorgeous. Man?!

Logan had been dragged to this party by one of his good friends and roommate, Roman, who had insisted that he needed to “loosen up” and meet some new people. Begrudgingly, Logan had agreed to come as long as Roman promised not to abandon him half-way through the night, but here he was, stood with his back against the wall next to the drinks table, clutching a red solo cup gazing across the crowded living room staring at Roman talking to the most infuriatingly gorgeous person Logan had ever seen. He was a few inches shorter than Logan with a thin, delicate frame dressed in jeans and a pale blue t-shirt. His chocolate coloured curls framed his freckled face and fell into his eyes as he gestured and laughed, bright and expressive eyes peering through rounded glasses. He was endlessly lovely. So beautiful and small (and clumsy, Logan observed as the man gestured particularly enthusiastically and accidentally whacked Roman in the face). It was infuriating. Logan was pleased to note that Roman did not seem to be flirting with him, however. Their interactions seemed much more like those of old friends who had been very close once but had not seen one another in a while due to circumstance. Suddenly a memory popped into Logan’s head, Roman had told him an old friend would be at this party, hadn’t he? Someone from his home town starting at their college this year? Was that who this person was?

“’Sup, Logan?” a low, rumbling voice close to his ear made him jump, causing him to slosh punch over his shoes as his hand jerked violently.

“GEEZE! Virgil! I didn’t see you there!” Logan looked up at the tall man next to him, wide brown eyes blinked at him through purple bangs. As both of their heart rates returned to something more normal, a smirk spread across his new companion’s face.

“Sorry ‘bout that, man. Didn’t expect to see you here, don’t you hate these things?” Virgil spoke slowly, his eyes soft and his shoulders relaxed. Going by the faint smell of alcohol on his breath (which Logan could smell because for some reason Virgil was standing very close) it seemed that his friend may be somewhat intoxicated.

“Indeed, Virgil, a party is not usually ‘my scene’ but a friend of mine dragged me here and has since abandoned me. How are you?” Logan replied, leaning back slightly but smiling at Virgil none-the-less. He had met Virgil in his astronomy class the previous year and the two of them had bonded over their shared distaste for overly social situations and their shared love of space and the stars, among other things. They now often met up to study together and chat over coffee while complaining about their lives and geeking out over various books, tv shows and films. Logan had even gone as far as to call Virgil a friend when referring to him in conversation with Roman.

“’Am good, thanks. Hey do you want another drink? Sorry I made you spill most of that one…” Virgil glanced down at Logan’s shoes, then lent over to peak into his cup to confirm that not much liquid resided there any longer. Logan sighed and downed the remaining liquid, setting the now empty cup on the table beside him.

“I appreciate your offer, but no thank you. I would encourage you to abstain from further drinking too as you seem to be inebriated as is…” Logan glanced at his friend to see a lazy smile slide over his features

“You tryna’ tell me I’mm wasted? ‘Cause that’s news to no one but you, buddy!” Virgil replied, happily taking another swig from his own cup. Logan couldn’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips. He was just about to offer to walk Virgil home when they were abruptly (and loudly) interrupted.

“LOGAN!” Roman bellowed over the music, having just pushed his way through the crowd and stopped next to them, his hand clasped with the ridiculously gorgeous man Logan had been staring at earlier. The man beamed at them and Logan felt a blush creeping up his face. “THIS IS MY FRIEND, PATTON, WHO I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT? FROM HOME? REMEMBER?” Roman continued to yell, tugging the man – Patton – closer and then dropping his hand so that he could offer it to Logan to shake. Logan took it and smiled gingerly as that lovely, beaming smile was turned directly on him. He felt his throat go dry.

“Lovely to meet ya! Roman’s told me so much about you!” Patton said (at a normal, indoor human volume), still smiling so brightly

“Oh… that’s, eh, very nice to hear. It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” Logan replied, quickly withdrawing his hand and trying desperately not to fidget under this man’s intense gaze.

“I THINK YOU GUYS WILL REALLY HIT IT OFF, I’VE BEEN DYING TO INTRODUCE YOU FOR AGES!” Roman bellowed. Logan winced slightly and took a step back, bumping into Virgil as he did so and drawing Roman’s attention to him for the first time since he and Patton had approached them. Logan glanced at Virgil to see him looking at Roman suspiciously with narrowed eyes while Roman was staring back, frankly, as if he’d just seen an angel. Virgil quirked an eyebrow while tentatively extending his hand towards Roman.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, you must be the roommate?” he offered quietly. A dazzling smile immediately appeared on Roman’s face as he took his hand, shaking it and then bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back. Virgil immediately snatched his hand back and levelled Roman with what could only be described as a deeply hostile glare.

“HAD WE EVER MET BEFORE, MY DEAR, I WOULD HAVE SURLY REMEMBERED EVERY MOMENT. YOU ARE TRULY ENCHANTING, WOULD YOU PERMIT ME TO TAKE YOU OUT ON A DATE SOME TIME?!” Roman shouted over the music, attracting the attention of some nearby party members, and making his enquiry seem somewhat threatening. Logan raised his eyebrows as he observed a deep flush spread across Virgil’s checks while his eyes flashed with something akin to rage.

“Fuck off!” he spat at Roman, and with that he turned on his heel and stormed away, with a short goodbye thrown over his shoulder to Logan, and then he was gone.

“I have a feeling you just insulted my friend, Roman. Truly I had hoped the two of you would get along. Also, please desist from shouting, we can hear you over the music even when you speak at a normal volume,” Logan looked at Roman as he delivered this speech, but Roman was still gazing at the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

“Who was that?” Roman almost whispered, his eyes bright and his voice awed. Logan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by the smaller man next to him.

“Uuuuh, that was actually my roommate… The guy I was telling you about before?” Patton said, shyly looking up at Roman through his curls.

“Oh…” Roman at least had the good grace to look somewhat sheepish now as he turned back to Logan and Patton, offering them both a hasty smile and reaching up with his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Ehhh, you don’t think I’ve already ruined my chances, do you?” Patton laughed at that, and Logan felt something in his chest warm at the sound.

“Almost definitely! Sorry, friendo, I could have warned you not to do that if I’d known that’s what you were gonna do!” he laughed again and smiled at a now horrified looking Roman and turned swiftly to face Logan “How do you know Virgil?” he asked brightly, and once again Logan was taken aback by his sheer overwhelming beauty.

“We shared a class last year, and now we meet on a semi-regular basis to study and or converse with one another,” Logan replied, focusing all of his energy on remaining still and not giving away his nerves by fidgeting. If it were possible, Patton’s smile seemed to grow even wider.

“Aww yeah, he’s definitely mentioned you before! It’s so great to finally meet you, I can’t believe you’re my childhood best friend’s roommate AND a good friend of my roommate! Small world, huh?” Patton flicked his head back, an unconscious movement of those whose hair often falls into their face, and the dim light in the room seemed to sparkle in his soft blue eyes and Logan felt his stomach swoop. Great, some small part of Logan’s brain thought to himself, you’re developing feelings for him. That’s perfect. Good job, Sanders, have fun dealing with that. He marvelled for a moment at how much his own inner voice was dripping with sarcasm before he noticed that Patton and Roman were both looking at him expectantly. Oh. Patton had been attempting to converse with him and he had LITERALLY GOTTEN LOST IN HIS EYES THIS WAS RIDICULOUS!

“Forgive me, Patton, I was lost in thought. I had no idea that the roommate Virgil often speaks of would be the same friend to whom Roman so often refers, it is indeed an impressive coincidence,” Logan cringed at his own formality and robotic communication. This was exactly why nobody was ever interested in him, he was no good at speaking to people. He glanced at Patton and noticed that he seemed to be about to speak again but Logan was already feeling far too flustered and embarrassed, all he wanted to do was go home and forget this entire evening. “I’m sure we will become more acquainted in time, however, I fear Roman and I must leave now as we both have an early class in the morning,” he lied quickly, using the first excuse that came to mind. Patton’s eyebrows drew together in confusion

“An early class tomorrow morning?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. It was frustratingly endearing.

“That’s right,” Logan confirmed, looking away to hide his blush.

“……. On a Sunday?” Patton asked, a small smile playing about his lips as he looked mischievously at Logan. And oh. Oh dear. It was indeed a Saturday night, and Logan had just lied to Patton’s face and he’d been caught and now Patton would hate him and –

“Haha, yeah he means a gym class! Specs and I hit the gym early every Sunday morning for a yoga class and then we work out,” Roman quickly jumped in, grinning widely at Patton and slipping his arm around Logan’s shoulders. Immense relief surged through Logan’s entire body as the intense mortification he had just been experiencing subsided a little. He felt unbelievably grateful to Roman in that moment, looking up at his friend with nothing short of platonic love in his eyes, he was sure.

“Oh right, that makes sense!” Patton laughed, leaning back a little and almost losing his footing. He leaned closer to Logan with a somewhat sly smile on his face “You look like you work out, and I guess you’re pretty flexible too,” he winked and then leaned back, throwing another dazzling smile at them both while Logan felt his entire face burning with heat. “So nice to see you both! I’ll see you guys around!” he added, and with a little wave he turned around and drifted off back into the party.

“Do I want to know what just happened?” Roman’s voice was laced with sarcasm as Logan had just abruptly and unceremoniously thrown himself down into the empty chair across from Roman in the college cafeteria. His face was almost definitely beet red and he was clutching his phone in one hand as he buried his face in his arms and groaned.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Logan miserably demanded of the table beneath his arms. He heard Roman chuckle.

“You see Patton again?” he asked, sounding smug. Logan let out a distressed whine and fought the urge to flip Roman off. “I’ll take that as a yes. Did you pluck up the courage to ask him out yet?” Logan did flip him off this time and Roman laughed loud and uninhibited. Logan lifted his head slightly in order to glare at his friend but offered no response. “Dude it’s been like two months since you met him and you’ve been pining the whole time just cut the crap and do it already!” Roman demanded. Logan huffed and sat up again, still glaring angrily at Roman. Roman raised his eyebrows at him and Logan sighed and held up his phone to show him the text message that was causing his distress.

Hey Lo!! Thanks so much for your help the other night, I couldn’t have done that essay on time without you. Me and Virge are having a little party at our flat tomorrow night, can I get you a couple of drinks as a thank you? You should bring Roman too if he’s free! Hope you can make it xx

Logan watched as Roman seemed to scan the text a couple of times, then a huge grin spread across his face.

“This is your chance, Lo! You should make a move on him tomorrow night, he’s obviously into you,” Logan whined and snatched his phone back from Roman.

“You do not have access to that information! History and logic dictate that he is almost certainly not interested in me and is simply making an effort to befriend me due to our mutual friends in you and Virgil,” he snapped at Roman, slipping his phone back into his bag and glaring angrily at the table. He did not want to admit to the tiny ball of hope that had taken up residence in his chest upon receiving Patton’s text. No one was ever interested in him, and Patton was certainly way too good for him. To begin hoping now would only serve to make it all the more painful when Patton would eventually make it clear that he was not interested in Logan in a romantic sense, and never would be. Not only that, but it would ruin the makings of their friendship. He had spent time with Patton on several occasions since they met and each time they had enjoyed one another’s company finding that they had much more in common than Logan had expected upon first meeting Patton, and that they were able to tease one another quite easily allowing Logan to relax around Patton slightly. Even if every meeting was a painful reminder of how devastatingly gorgeous he was in every way.

“Listen, Lo. I know you think that it’s impossible, but I actually think Patton really likes you! He lights up whenever he sees you, and when you guys are hanging out he really flirts with you a lot I’ve never really seen him act like that around anyone else,” Roman said softly. Logan looked up at this quiet admission and saw that any and all teasing was gone from his friend’s face. He meant what he was saying. Logan sighed deeply.

“…. Okay, I’ll try but you must come too. And please try to get through one evening without pissing Virgil off too much, okay?” he watched as Roman’s expression went quickly from happy to indignant.

“Pffft, he’s always delighted to see me, we get on like a house on fire, we’re - “

“Just don’t ask him out this time, okay?” Logan cut off Roman’s angry spluttering and smiled to himself as his friend sighed, suddenly looking wistful.

“I’ll try, calculator watch, I’ll try,”

Logan found himself the following night staring hard at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror in Patton and Virgil’s apartment. Apparently Patton’s idea of a “little party” was to invite literally everyone he knew into his flat and hope for the best. Logan had felt completely overwhelmed when he and Roman had arrived an hour earlier and so he had taken the (rather poor) decision to indulge in slightly more alcohol than he ordinarily would on such occasions. And he was definitely feeling it. He sighed and padded out of the cramped bathroom, hoping to rejoin Patton and Roman where the three of them had been conversing on the couch. He navigated his way through the small apartment, avoiding drunken guests and couples making out (heedless of the public setting, apparently), and spotted Roman still in the same spot on the couch only now he was conversing not with Patton but with… Virgil?

“Wait really? You like Disney movies?” he heard Roman ask, incredulously, as he moved nearer and sat down next to his two friends. Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes

“Oh come on, have you seen Black Cauldron? Honestly I don’t even know why you would think I don’t like Disney,” he took another swig from his beer and nodded in Logan’s direction to acknowledge his arrival.

“Well it’s just that, you know… You’re kind of an emo nightmare! That doesn’t really go with Disney,” Roman replied, smirking at the mock offended expression now crossing Virgil’s face.

“If you think there’s not a dark side to Disney, you’ve got it all wrong, pal. Every one of those movies has some darker undertones,” Roman and Virgil’s conversation continued in much the same vein, discussing the different meanings and subtexts of several different Disney films while Logan watched amicably in silence, pleased to see the pair not yelling at each other for once. He wasn’t really listening though and went to take another sip of his drink when he noticed it was now in fact empty. Hmm. Did that mean he’d now had seven? Or was it eight? He shook his head to clear it and glanced around the room, trying to remember which direction the drinks table was in, when he spotted them. Patton was currently on the other side of the room being roughly crowded against the wall by a much taller man who was looking down at him, his expression creepy and leering, while Patton babbled about something, a huge false smile spread across his face, his eyes wide with nervousness. Logan felt rage and jealousy rise up within him like bile. He was suddenly too hot, his insides were on fire, his teeth gritting together. He wanted to smash something, or to march over there and spin that guy around and demand to know why the hell he was intimidating Patton this way.

“- but that’s exactly where you’re wrong because Tangled is a true example of Stockholm Syndrome between Rapunzel and Mother Gothal, whereas Beauty and the Beast is –“

“Who the fuck is that talking to Patton?!” Logan spat, interrupting Roman’s passionate rant, still glaring as the man lifted his hand and brushed Patton’s hair from his face, causing Patton to shrink further into himself and the wall behind him. He glanced back to see Roman and Virgil staring at him with wide eyes. Roman looked over and shook his head, indicating he did not know but Virgil started to shift uncomfortably. Logan latched on immediately. “Virgil, who is he?�� he demanded, his voice surprisingly calm for all the rage he felt within him. Virgil coughed and looked away, picking with a fraying strand of fabric on his black skinny jeans.

“Well, he’s, ehh…. He’s Patton’s ex,” Virgil sighed and then looked up at Logan again. Logan blinked but said nothing, forcing himself to keep his expression entirely neutral. “I told Pat not to invite him, he’s kind of an asshole, but you know what Patton’s like! Always trying to see the best in people and he said he wants to try and stay friends if they can…”

“Looks like that guy’s got a bit more than friendship on his mind,” Roman muttered, still looking over at the pair, a hint of irritation in his own voice now. Logan looked over again to see that the man was now pulling his fingers through Patton’s hair (none too lightly, it seemed) and leaning incredibly close to his face to speak to him. Patton was visibly very uncomfortable as he continued trying to lean away, only he had nowhere to go as he was already pushed up against the wall. Logan was unsure if it were possible for him to be more angry than he felt in this moment when he heard a low growl and was taken aback to find it had actually come from Virgil rather than himself.

“I’m not sitting here and watching this, Imma beat the shit outta him!” Virgil snapped, getting to his feet quickly. In a flash Roman and Logan were both standing too, Roman with his hands firmly on Virgil’s shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

“Virge! You can’t just go and attack him in the middle of a party in your flat!” Roman’s voice was slightly too high pitched, his eyes wide with panic. Virgil’s expression grew slightly manic as he struggled against Roman’s hold, trying to push past him to go to Patton.

“Get the fuck off me, Princey, I’m not just going to stand here and let him make Pat feel uncomfortable!” Virgil snapped at Roman. It was at this precise moment that they heard a yell from the other side of the room. Silence fell over the entire flat. Virgil, Roman and Logan all turned to stare with wide eyes at the scene before them. Patton was smiling, a real, happy and bright smile this time, while his ex stood next to him clutching his nose which appeared to be bleeding. Patton turned to a tall girl standing next to him looking on in shock as beamed up at her. He looked terrifying.

“Lucie, I could really do with another drink! Could you please show Michael out? He was just leaving,” Patton’s voice was pure sugar, his smile charming as he patted the girl’s shoulder and then walked through the still silent crowd and into the adjoining kitchen without so much as a glance back at his ex, who was now being bustled towards the door. The room exploded into noise again as suddenly everyone resumed talking at once, slightly too loudly and reeling from what had just transpired. Without so much as glancing at one another, Virgil, Roman and Logan quickly made their way to the kitchen where Patton was standing next to the counter apparently downing an entire can of beer in one go. They approached him slowly, each staring with wide eyes as he finished his drink and threw the empty can into the trash.

“Patton?” Logan started softly, “Do I…… Do I want to know what just happened?” he asked tentatively. Patton smiled and took Logan’s hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Oh it’s nothing, really! Michael was just getting a bit pushy and he didn’t seem to be taking the hint,” Patton smiled again.

“What hint?” Logan asked, acutely aware that his hand was still in Patton’s.

“Well to be honest he was being rather flirtatious and then he tried to kiss me. So I punched him in the face,” Patton replied matter-of-factly, shrugging one shoulder as he used his free hand to grab another can of beer. Logan felt his jaw fall open

“Wait! You punched him in the face?!” Virgil demanded, eyes a little wild

“Yes,”

“And now he has a nose bleed?”

“Yes,”

“Because he tried to kiss you?”

“Yes! He clearly wasn’t listening to me or reading my body language so that was my only option!” Patton sighed, clearly exasperated. Virgil grinned wide and suddenly pulled Patton into a tight hug, causing him to drop Logan’s hand (he pretended not to feel disappointed)

“I am so fucking proud of you, Pat!” Virgil mumbled, rubbing his friend’s back as he spoke.

“Language! But thanks, kiddo,” Patton smiled as Virgil released him, and then he grinned up at Roman who was grinning back delightedly.

The rest of the party passed by without incident and Logan found himself laughing and smiling more than he had in years. It was nearing 3am by the time everyone left, leaving Roman and Logan as the only guests in Patton and Virgil’s apartment. Roman and Virgil were talking quietly in the kitchen when Patton came to find Logan leaning against a wall in the living room, observing the aftermath of the party and lost in thought. He stood before him and smiled happily up at Logan. He found himself returning the smile fondly.

“Thank you so much for coming, Lo,” Patton said softly, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the alcohol he had consumed, making his smattering of freckles all the more noticeable. Logan blinked a couple of times, gazing into blue eyes, only now that he was really looking he realised they weren’t just blue. They were sapphire with flecks of golden yellow, and a hint of green and lines so pale they were almost white. And they were shining with joy.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Logan murmured, offering a small smile. He was vaguely aware of Patton taking a step closer as he continued to stare into his eyes.

“Virgil told me you had wanted to help when you saw what was happening earlier. That really means a lot to me, thank you so much Logan,” Patton was speaking so softly, and standing so close, Logan could practically feel the warmth radiating from his body. He was looking up at Logan shyly, smiling tentatively as he edged closer.

“You’re welcome, Patton,” Logan heard himself speak but he wasn’t paying attention. Patton was so close now he could count each individual freckle under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. He could see individual eyelashes and count the yellow flecks in his beautiful eyes.

“I don’t know if you realise this, Lo, but I really, really like you. I’m so glad we met,” Patton was speaking so quietly now, almost a whisper but Logan could hear every word so clearly. His eyes widened at this admission.

“I really like you too, Patton. I am most grateful for our friendship,” Patton smiled so brightly at that, and Logan couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at his own lips being so close to that open and happy expression. Logan saw Patton’s eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes as he reached out and placed his hands ever so gently on Logan’s waist. “Patton,” he breathed out, barely audible “May I kiss you?” the question was so soft, so tentative that Logan wasn’t entirely sure he had even asked it, but then Patton was leaning impossibly closer, smiling impossibly brighter and he knew the answer before it came.

“I thought you’d never ask,” and with that he was leaning down, tilting his head slightly to connect their lips for the first time. He felt Patton’s breath hitch as he captured his lower lip between his own in a smooth glide. Patton’s hands tightened on his hips as he found his own hands moving to cradle Patton’s face, one hand brushing through soft, sweet smelling hair, the other gently brushing his cheek and settling on the back of his neck to pull him even closer, pressing their chests together. He felt more than heard the tiny gasp that escaped Patton as he cautiously, teasingly swiped his tongue across the seam of Patton’s lips, silently asking for access, and suddenly their kiss went from sweet to searing hot in an instant. Suddenly it was Patton’s tongue in his mouth, gliding and tasting and teasing, it was Patton’s hands sliding around his back to pull him closer, it was their quickening breaths shared between their kisses, it was Logan’s fingers tightening in Patton’s hair, it was hearts pounding with exhilaration and the whole world zeroing down to nothing but the sensation of one another. Without meaning to, Logan released a small moan as Patton gently nipped his lower lip and then slowly pulled back to beam up at him, his breathing slightly laboured. Logan let out the tiniest laugh as he pressed their foreheads together unable to keep himself from smiling. This definitely requires further experimentation he thought to himself as he leaned down to connect their lips once more.

As the two stood lost to the world in their first kiss they were completely unaware of Virgil leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, watching the display with a small smile on his face. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Roman grinning at him.

“Do I want to know what just happened?” he asked wryly. Virgil smirked and shrugged his shoulder.

“I think their whole mutual pining thing just ended. Come on, sir sing a lot, let’s give them some privacy,” as Roman and Virgil retreated back into the kitchen, Patton pulled back once more and began giggling uncontrollably as Logan pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so content and he had a feeling this next year was going to be an extremely good one.

@iampureprincxietytrash

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saintheartwing · 4 years

Text

May the Force Be With You, Pt. 2

"How much is it going to take to get these people off of Nar Shaddaa and as right into Republic territory?" Kendall looked deep into the eyes of the freighter captain as the Krex handled a "moon ball", an orb that, if you concentrated on it with your mind, gave you verrrrry nice feelings indeed. It was almost erotic, really, and was one hundred percent an illegal drug. Well, except on Nar Shaddaa. The Krex captain, like all his kind, was a large, bulky reptilian alien with a big fat horn atop his head like a rhino, large jaws, five-fingered hands and his eyes happened to be a deep orange color with dark, large pupils as he wore a plain set of armor over his frame...and he had ludicrously large polearm strapped to his back.

Kendall was not, by any means, going to let Dr. Morgan or his staff stay on Nar Shaddaa when crime lords were almost certainly going to come by and murder them all. No way, no how. He'd explained the situation to them and they'd all agreed to pool their resources and leave. At the very least, until the heat died down. So they'd stripped the clinic of everything it had, taken all their money out of their accounts and were now eager to get a captain to take them into safer, Republic space.

"Show me your offer." The Krex captain inquired as Dr. Morgan pulled out a small little datapad with some money from all of them added in. He slid it forward as the Krex captain clucked his tongue.

"Well, not much but...I can get you to...Naboo."

"Fine. Naboo is fine." Kendall said as he nodded eagerly, the others all nodding as well as Kendall and them accepted the captain's data pad to begin a transfer of money into his account as he led them out of the bar near the space port, and towards his ordinary-looking Corvette-class freighter. Kendall quietly looked into Dr. Morgan's eyes as he gently took his, then each of the other's hands...or Orville's case, a tentacle.

"I just can't go with you. All their focus is on me. I need to try and buy you some time." He insisted to them all. "However little it'll be, I have to try. And now that I know I have some power in the Force, maybe, just MAYBE I can do something to stop them."

"You need help." Dr. Morgan insisted. "Contact the Resistance. They've been speaking with the Republic in secret, they can get you help."

"If things get that bad, I promise I will." Kendall offered. "But I think I know how to handle the Dyad. After all, everyone knows where they live."

Indeed...they did. The Dyad lived in the center of Nar Shaddaa's capital city. You couldn't possibly miss it, it was the largest, most show-offy, biggest tower in the entire capital, as if it was a spike stabbing up into the head of God himself. Other skyscrapers wished they were as fancy and as enormous as the tower the Dyads called home, the 'Dynasty'. A marvel of engineering, the front entrance had guards patrolling at every minute of the day, every hour, loaded up with heavy weaponry. There were security checks at the front doors, more guards on the inside, loaded on every floor with high-powered pulsating plasma rifles. And there was of course the...Pit.

The Pit was outside, at the back entrance. It also had many guards, though not as much as the front entrance, but that was because they didn't need it. The entrance to the back lowered down into, well, a kind of large pit, and there were doorways on either side, save for a single way in and out for "normal" arrivals. Those doorways that were always sealed held wild, dangerous animals that were incredibly hungry at that, and they yearned to devour anyone that came around.

It was whispered that people whom the Dyad really fucking despised got fed to the creatures in said "Pit". Not that anyone was totally sure, because anyone who went inside wasn't talking. And anyone who tried to go inside never talked about it again.

Still...the back entrance seemed a better way to get in. Not a single building was close enough for someone to rapport from there to the Dynasty Tower. You couldn't just slide down a rope into a window, the windows were a type of transparent dura-steel. And you couldn't go in on the roof, the very tippy top of the tower had missile launchers.

Learning about this had been quite the sight. No one would forget it. A ship had actually tried to attack the Dynasty from above, but the minute it got close enough, well, missiles launched from the roof had ripped through it like tissue paper and it exploded in a blazing inferno as people ran for their lives to escape the falling debris. Darth Raize and Darth Furiosa then had a press release put out explaining that if "Any other motherfuckers try anything as stupid as that, we'll barbeque your families with lightning". So nobody tried to get near the roof again.

No, no, the back entrance would be how Kendall would get in, he decided for himself as he watched his friends leave him, the Corvette cruiser ascending high, high into the starry skies above before he turned away, and began making his way back to the clinic. It was such a sad, empty place now. He quietly rested his hand on his old uniform as he laid it down on the table in the lounge, letting the past wash over him.

Years and years of helping people here in the clinic, getting steadily better, faster, more accurate at the more complicated procedures. He'd felt more fulfilled and happy than anyone probably had the right to be, knowing he was making a difference in people's lives and nobody would ever judge him. Here in a place like Nar Shaddaa, it didn't matter what he looked like or whom he was attracted to, all people had wanted was someone to heal them, and if you did that, you could make a friend for life in some cases.

It was a good...good feeling...it had been a good life.

And now it was gone. Maybe...maybe he shouldn't have helped that Sith. Kendall chewed on his lip as he headed into the office of Dr. Morgan, folding his arms over his chest. He stared long and hard at the big, fancy poster on the wall, one of the few things that they'd all left in the now empty relic that was the clinic. "I swear to use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, and never with a view to injury and wrongdoing. I will keep pure in my life and my art. I will help the sick, I will abstain from harm, especially from abusing the bodies of man or woman, slave or free. I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure."

He'd taken that a similar vow too, as a nurse. The "Pledge". "I shall abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous, and shall not take or knowingly administer any harmful drug.

I shall do all in my power to maintain and elevate the standard of my profession and will hold in confidence all personal matters committed to my keeping and all family affairs coming to my knowledge in the practice of my calling. I shall be loyal to my work and devoted towards the welfare of those committed to my care."

He was a nurse. And when people were hurt and they came to him for help, then...he had to help, didn’t he?

Truth be told though, Kendall had, at first, rather disliked this pledge. It reminded him of an oath to God, and he was very much a non-believer. He'd been so ever since he was young, and his father had been unable to give him a good reason why he had no mother. His dad kept saying that Kendall had been a gift from God. "Just be content. When God gives you a gift, no need to ask why it was sent. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying goes." His father had insisted.

Unfortunately, every day he kept getting REMINDERS he had no mother. And people were beginning to say that Kendall's father Morgan Archimedes Cadence Kendall had done some sick, disgusting thing to have a child. First they'd said he'd experimented on himself, and that Kendall was a test tube baby, and somehow "inferior" as a result. Then they'd said no, it was probably worse! He'd sold his soul to the Devil for a child! And where was his birth certificate anyway?!

They'd been kept at bay when his dad was around because his father wasn't just the type who took no guff. He was a crack shot, and even better with a sword, something he'd taught Kendall about when he was younger. His father could separate the head of a bear or a wild cat or a dog from its shoulders with astounding swiftness, as if all others around him were moving in water, but Kendall hadn't been quite as good as him.

He'd certainly tried when his dad had finally died and people had worked up the...courage...to lynch him. He'd fought off quite a few of them, hands, arms, chunks of chest had gone flying but eventually, he'd been overpowered and...and he’d almost died. And the marks of the rope remained around his neck.

Their final straw had been when they’d found out he’d been seeing that nice, sweet kid. He’d only been a year younger than Kendall, but they were both looking forward to the next year of college.

“It’s crypto-facist mania, it’s silicone deliria.” Kendall had insisted to Lincoln Ichabod Nicholas Karson. Logosians always had nice, long names and ol “Link” was no exception as the long-haired kid with whitish/blond hair had chuckled as they sat down to eat lunch.

“Yeah. You’re right. But I like the cafeteria.” He had remarked. “And you know...I know you like me, and I like you, we’ve been kinda...why don’t we just do it?” “You mean...like, right here?” Kendall looked around. Other students and some teachers were now staring at them as the vibrant green eyes of Link gazed back at him. A deep sense of forbidden joy was rising in him as Kendall took Link’s hand. “You know what, you’re right. I don’t want to hide this stuff anymore, this is stupid. There’s nothing wrong with us being in love. Let alone a kiss.”

And with that, they’d kissed. They’d ignored the angry yelling and the boos, and had been lost in a beautiful, sweet moment that had lasted for what seemed like hours before they broke the kiss off, and Kendall had smiled deep into their eyes.

“Don’t ever change.” Link had insisted.

The next week...Kendall’d had a noose around his neck. And he had to leave the planet. It was simply too dangerous. He’d promised to keep in touch with Link, and they’d kept up a relationship for a good two years more, writing to each other, holo-visits, once or twice every few months meeting in secret on a planet close to Logos in disguise, and he’d been happy, but…

But...then one day, he remembered holding Link’s hand, and his hair was falling down over his eyes, and it looked like he was crying. He was saying something but…

But...

Ugh. Remembering the past was dangerous. It led you down a slippery slope, more often than not. Kendall shook his head as he exited the clinic for what was probably the last time, hands in his pockets, one hand thinking about the lightsaber that laid inside. If he had access to the Force, perhaps...he should try out several powers. What if meeting that Sith, finding the saber, had awakened something more in him than just a surprising affinity for lightsaber combat?

Unfortunately, his attempts to try and get the Force to work for him the way he'd heard of it in stories didn't work so well. About a block away from the Dynasty tower, Kendall gave it a shot at a small construction site infested with some irriating womp rats. The nasty little buggers hissed at him and he tried to reach out with the Force, to feel their minds, to make them leave. After all, a "Jedi Mind Trick" meant your mind could gain power over others. Surely he could make some stupid rats leave.

But no, it was a miserable, miserable failure. The rats just hissed at him, others glancing at each other. Kendall tried again and again, trying to focus on a pinpoint spot, to try and hear that faint humming he'd heard from the lightsaber, that almost musical sound, the moment he'd truly felt connected to the Force, but...nothing. He simply wasn't connecting. He tried, instead, to focus on just levitating a small rock or two nearby, biting his lip, staring at the rocks, unblinking.

Nothing. Not a single rock so much as shifted even a millimeter in place. He tried again, holding his hand out, sweat beads breaking out on his forehead. "Moooove...move, c'mon, MOVE!"

If the womp rats were sentient, they would have been laughing hysterically, because the stupid rocks would not move.

So he got out the lightsaber and he lifted it up, taking in long, deep breaths before he turned it on, swinging it about. Now, NOW he could hear it, that lovely sound, it all felt so natural, so normal. He tossed a few rocks up, and then began to cut! He twirled the blade about in crisscrosses, he spun it in swift circles, it was as if the entire world around him had slowed to a halt and only he moved. His fluidity was astounding, and when he'd finally finished, he deactivated the lightsaber, looking at the rocks.

Sure enough, they were in neat, astounding, tiny little cubes no bigger than sugar cubes.

"Clearly, the Force does not want me happy." Kendall sighed. "It does not want me happy, but it will give me this. Fine...fine. I'll...I'll take it." He mumbled. "Okay, Force, look, I will take any guidance, ANY gift you have for me. Really. Go ahead. Hit me with some wisdom. I will never, EVER ask any kind of metaphysical anything for help, but I'm making an exception for you. Anything for me?"

That was when Kendall felt an odd tingle rising up his spine and he turned to look down the block in the direction of the Dynasty tower, up at the very top. His eyes gazed up, blinking. Wait a minute, for a second, he thought he'd seen...something "off". It was as if the air around the tower had shifted and morphed. How strange. It seemed the Force WAS trying to tell him something, something big was happening inside that tower, something that disturbed it, and perhaps he was the closest help available.

"Well..." Kendall held the saber hidden in his large blue jacket sleeve, thinking of the little...items...he'd put in his belt pouch, and in the pack he'd taken, the same pack that Darth Raize had left behind. He'd filled it up with medical supplies and the weaponry left over that the clinic had to defend itself, mostly things like specialty grenades, and he'd have to make careful use of them as he made his way down the street and towards the tower's back entrance.

Guards of every type were patrolling the "Pit", talking to themselves, chatting it up excitedly. Evidently, Darth Raize had just returned in a fury with her beloved after a dinner had gone VERY bad, and they were talking about raining holy hell on someone, though they had no idea who. But they would soon enough because now Kendall walked right up to one of the guards, who stupidly stared at him, totally astounded that some rando would just walk right up to them.

"Hi, I'm going inside." Kendall said, waving one hand in the air, the other in his pocket as the guard stared at him.

"...are you trying to do a Jedi mind trick or something?" he asked as the other guards began to snigger, raising their weaponry.

"Nah. But it was worth a shot." Kendall confessed right before they realized his hand wasn't in his pocket, but in his pants, and something slid down from out the bottom as Kendall ducked, covering his face.

SHA-THWOOOSH! A flashbang grenade! The guards howled, cringing as Kendall raced forward, pile-driving the nearest ones as those near the back who hadn't been quite as blinded by the light whipped their rifles out. The loud BUDDA-BUDDA-POW of rifle fire rang through the air as Kendall twisted and turned as if dancing on the wind, the lightsaber a-slashing and slicing, deflecting the blows before he deactivated it quickly and slammed both his fists into pressure points on their knees.

The guards to either side of him howled and dropped down, Kendall ducking to avoid more shots as he launched another grenade through the air, a stun grenade that struck one guard right in the chest, sending him cascading back as a loud, powerful explosion ripped through the air, the nearby guards caught in the large stun field as Kendall barreled at them and he leapt up, up, landing on his hands, spinning around and kicking with his legs.

Kendall was not a good shot. But when it came to close-quarters combat, this was something he was proud of. He had rather long and well-toned legs too, something that people attracted to him couldn't help but notice. He'd been pretty proud of being on the track team at school, and he'd kept up keeping them in shape even after all these years. THWAK-THWAK-THWAK-THWAK! His feet slammed into their skulls, knocking them unconcious as the other guards at the front entrance now had recovered from the flashbang and were firing at Kendall in a near-blind fury!

Well, "almost" recovered. Their aim was piss poor, they were still seeing spots before their eyes, and Kendall ducked and weaved to avoid their rifle fire, giving them each good, solid boots to the head, a nice, coconut-sounding noise an-echoing through the air as his feet found their mark, and he dusted himself off, glancing around.

Well! That had been a bit of a challenge but...so far so good! Every guard was now out cold, and there just remained that pit. He couldn't leap far enough over the thing to just reach the door, no, he'd have to go down inside the pit, cross it and get to the back door. So Kendall decided to just bolt for the door...

As a large, enormous shutter closed over it, and the first door to the pit opened, a small announcement system built into the shutter speaking as he heard Raize's voice. "You do know we have cameras out here, right? We saw you attempting to break in. I would find your fighting skills impressive if not for the fact that someone with true force skill would have done far, far better. You left them alive. We shan't show you the same mercy."

"I know, it's why I'm a better person than you are." Kendall reasoned aloud. "You two are amoral, you threatened to go after my friends, and now you're gonna pay."

"I'm sorry, do you think this is any kind of real conversation? You actually think we're going to come down to watch you die or something? We're on the top floor, butt naked, and eating popcorn off each other's naked bodies as we watch you fail miserably and get fed to our favorite krayt dragon." Raize remarked nonchalantly.

"You didn't have to tell him we were NAKED." A voice that Kendall was sure was Furiosa whispered back. She had a strange accent he couldn't place. Odd.

"I don't care if you're naked, I'm into men." Kendall said as he heard a loud, growling hiss, and something big, fanged and reptilian began to emerge from one of the pit's doors.

"But you're a LOGOSIAN..." Furiosa said aloud, sounding very confused. "...ugh, I will never understand their type, honestly."

"I know, it's rare to see a Logosian atheist, let alone a gay one. But not QUITE as rare...as our loooovely albino krayt dragon." Darth Raize remarked with a chuckle as Kendall stared ahead in shock. My, oh, my, if it wasn't about to try and eat his insides, he might have found it a VERY nice specimen of animal indeed. It was a long, reptilian creature with a horned head, razor sharp fangs, clawed paws, a mixture of alligator and dragon all rolled in one, with scales like gleaming white pearls all across its body, and pinkish eyes that were vibrant and pulsating.

Kendall cringed, holding the lightsaber up. He took up a fighting position, taking in a long, deep breath as the creature raced at him, and he dove to the side, slashing at it. KRRZZTT! The thing's scales were astoundingly strong, it was resistant against the blade.

"Oh did I neglect to mention that albino krayt dragons happen to be nigh-immune to lightsabers?" Darth Raize inquired with a distinctly smug sound in her voice as Kendall ducked to avoid the thing's swiping, thick tail. "We were able to tame it with pure, raw Jedi mind power. Go ahead. Wow us."

Kendall was now sweating a little nervously as he fought the creature, ducking to avoid its swiping claws and snapping jaws, the thing's breath was hot and heavy and it reeked of decaying meat. He cringed deeply, the thing lifting its whole body up, slamming its paws down on him at once as he held the saber up.

"ERRGGGHHH!" he panted heavily, feeling his knees buckling beneath the weight! He couldn't cut into the thing's scaly skin at all, really! It was barely feeling this. It was like being hit with a hot stick for the dumb thing. It might have hurt a little but it was mostly just being irritated this stupid, red-haired little morsel wouldn't DIE.

"Oh my stars and garters, you can't actually use the Force to make it leave, can you?" Darth Furiosa realized aloud. "Oh WOW, you're like...one of the most pathetic Force Users I've ever seen. Any moron who's really, really good with swords can be skilled enough to use a lightsaber, to not even have the basics of Force powers...can you even lift things with the Force? Wow, this is hilarious!"

"You two sound like supervillains!" Kendall angrily yelled back. "You DO know that, right? You've got the evil lair, you feed people to big, dangerous pets, you wear all dark robes, you kill anyone who gets in your way, and you're in charge of a big criminal empire, I'm amazed ANYONE works for you when you're so obviously evil!"

Darth Furiosa let loose a very loud, foreign string of words that were definitely expletives as Raize surpressed a snort, and then managed to say "And I'm amazed you're still standing. I give you two more minutes."

This thing was so heavy! Kendall couldn't push it off...his knees couldn't handle much more of this. He had to do something. Fast. REAL fast. Cringing, he shook his belt around, the pouches popping open as he shook his left side. PLOP, another grenade flopped out, Kendall now being pushed down-down-down to his knees! He cringed hard, gasping, his arms felt like they were on fire as he tried to hold the lightsaber up. He only had room for ONE shot.

He quickly took one hand off the lightsaber and activated the last flashbang as he closed his eyes.

FWOOOSH! The krayt dragon was blinded, it feeled back, Furiosa and Raize yelling angrily as Kendall, meanwhile, took off like a bat out of hell, running as fast as he could, barreling down the street at top speed, his arms hanging limply, his legs feeling like jelly, yet even then he continued to run as he finally flopped down into an alleyway a few blocks down the way, resting against the wall, and reaching as best he could into his pack, to down a small medical potion.

The balm was soothing. He could feel his injuries beginning to heal, but without a doubt, he knew he'd been humbled. He had been put to the test and he had failed. He had failed MISERABLY. He simply couldn't get past that krayt dragon. And he simply could not, in any way, take on two much more skilled Sith who by now had realized he could only swing a lightsaber around.

They knew he would come back. He didn't really have the element of surprise anymore, and he couldn't overpower the Dyad.

What was he supposed to do?

...what COULD he do?

Well, there was one thing. One place he could go to.

He had to talk to the Resistance. He had to talk to the Republic.

He had to find a Jedi. He had to...had to…

“Damn, I can’t keep my eyes open…” He moaned, flopping onto his side, the stress and the damage from the battle finally overwhelming him.

And there he was. Link. Standing at the spaceport, his hands in Kendall’s. He was trying to say something, but Kendall couldn’t understand at first. But he could hear his own words.

“But you asked me to be this way. You told me to never change. And I did that for you. Because I love you. Can’t we try harder? I’ll be better at this. I’ll visit you more often.” Now...now he COULD hear what Link said.

“That me was a me from a million years ago. I’m not the same person. I can’t ask you to do that because I just can’t be the person you want. And you can’t be the person I want. Both of us are clinging to this...idea...of who we think the other should be, what we should be, but it’s a dream, a dream we need to wake up from. Because we’re not the same people anymore.” “But I love you.” “...and...I love you. You were my first everything, and that’s always...that’s always staying but...but I just can’t. I can’t anymore. I just...I just don’t, Kendall. I can’t help it. I just...don’t love you the way you want me to. The way I used to.”

Kendall awoke with a start, feeling a womp rat nibbling on his hand. He angrily snarled at it, the thing screeching, racing off as he buried his face in his hands, groaning...before he pulled the hands away, realizing his cheeks were wet.

“...maybe God is real. Cuz it feels sometimes like he really...fucking...hates me.” Kendall mumbled.

…

… “When someone desires information, they ALWAYS come to me.”

The woman’s face was hidden in shadow as she folded her arms over her chest, looking the droid over. “Don’t go wasting my time with games, 8t88. The Republic wants answers. So explain.” She insisted. The bar was faintly smoky, soft music played in the background from the band as people quietly chatted it up in corners and at tables. Unbeknownst to the black, steely droid who’s clawed hands drummed on the table, she’d set a tiny little tracker droid on him. It had scuttled out of her pocket and onto his leg. If he felt it, he didn’t seem to give it away. “We’ve been tracking a very unusual energy reading from Nar Shaddaa, readings that were sent to us by a very brave inside man that was concerned about the experiments being done by this “Dyad”.”

“Oh yes, I know about them. It’s a matter of temporal mechanics. They’re examining how the Force influences time and space itself.” 8t88 remarked. His skull wasn’t normal for his body, it was more like a lowly diplomatic droid, with a singular blue eye and an odd speaker-mouth of sorts, a bulbous skull-esque protrusion at the back of his head as he looked the woman over. Very odd, it appeared as though she had a high class disguise on he couldn’t get his sensors to see through.

He COULD, however, see his bounty hunter guards had appeared at last and they were close behind her, and had drawn their guns. He would have grinned if he could have, nonchalantly spreading his arms a bit. “Needless to say, I actually met your inside man. He’s now inside of a krayt dragon, the dyad didn’t much care for him revealing that to your Republic.”

The woman looked disgusted. She was about to say something when she felt a blaster sticking into her skull. “Ooh, that looks uncomfortable. I’ll be taking your blaster now, so nobody gets hurt.” 8t88 mocked her as he held out a hand and the woman deposited hers into his. “Now then...my clients, the Dyad, happened to pay me much more than your Republic did. She’d like to know if you have any OTHER inside men in their operations. We want their names. Tell me what they are and these men need not indulge in their...darker sides.” “The dark side? I’ve been there. Do your worst.” The woman said as 8t88 rose up.

“Well, I suppose that concludes our business.” He coldly said in his mechanical voice as he sauntered out the door and a Gran gunman sat down in the recently-vacated seat, his brother pushing the blaster barrel into the woman’s head more firmly.

“I remember your SCENT. It’s you. Do you remember me, you little bun-haired bitch? It took me three...months. THREE MONTHS for that blaster burn to heal.” “No, no, can’t say I do remember.” A voice rang out before a loud TSSEW rang through the air, and the first Gran’s gun went flying. The Gran across from the woman gasped as the woman held a hand up and THWIP! His gun sailed out of his hand and into hers. “But the streets are filled with trash. Hard to tell one piece from another.”

From out of the darkness he stepped as the woman clicked a button on her belt, and her disguise faded. Two brown-haired humans, one with hazel eyes, another with brown. One with slightly messy hair, the other with hair done up in a bun atop her head as they smiled at one another. Han Solo adjusted the vest he wore as Leia Amidala Skywalker dusted off the white, sleeveless shirt she had on, smirking a bit at the Gran.

“Now then...my husband and I will be taking our leave. We really should have lunch sometime, though. Do take care.” She said as she and Han made their way out of the bar, the two Gran brothers looking dejectedly at each other.

“Nobody told me she was a damn JEDI…” The Gran who’d sat across from her grunted.

#Star Wars #fanfic #LGBT #LGBT Rights #action #drama #Leia #Han

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jaspesangriento · 7 years

Text

BedHead

BedHead- My little shitty piece (but made with load of love) for Michelle’s AU & Things Challenge @luci-in-trenchcoats

I’m really sorry for how long it took, but sadly, I’m a procrastinator in full shape and form.

Most of the female hunters he had met before you were either tomboys or extremely powerful women. But not y/n. She, as many girls whose lives had been taken away from them, didn't care much about looks, but you still kept yourself attached to your simple style. You wouldn't dress up in the bunker or in hunts, but still fix your messy hair in the mornings onto a simple ponytail or braid. Gabriel and Dean couldn't help but look into your reflex in the mirror as your sleepy eyes tracked the hair seeping on your forehead. Both would wake up and while Dean prepared coffee, he would snap the best pancakes for you. Y/n had fallen into a simple routine. Wake up Sammy from the library in the middle of the night and drag him back to his room. Tidy the shooting range until your insomnia had been beaten down and go back to sleep. The soft smile you gave them as you sat on the kitchen table each morning was enough to forget whatever villain or curse they were against this time. Of course, neither of them were gonna ever tell you that. They'll rather keep pretending than try to take that smile from the other one.

When Gabriel first met the new addition to Team Free Will, he was scared. A soul like yours would be wrecked by the blood-thirst of the creatures that bump in the night. So shinny, interested in the knowledge of the past that the MoL bunker had to offer. It took him less than a day before he was interrogating the younger Winchester about her. "Her mother was an old contact of the Men of Letters for all kinds of Norse mythology. Like, translating The Poetic Edda from the start kinda level. So when she died, Y/n found a note explaining everything and she came to find some answers" "And when I got them and saw how little this giants knew about gods, decided to stay as a researcher" You interrupted as the side of your body supported itself on the door. Saying you were beautiful was underestimated. Your 1,60 mts made him taller than you (thing already weird to happen) and a concentrated ball of sass and smart-ass comments with a little bit of sweetness and mother hen instincts. You were wearing a too big for you t-shirt and stretch pants you were practically stepping on. " And who is this new guy? " her eyes stumble with yours as she asks. The archangels fights as stutter as he tries to get back his charm and charisma." I'm Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, but you may call me Loki, your new all hands helper" wink. Seeing her face as she realizes one of the gods she's been studying all her life is standing in front of her is enough to leave her breathless and open-eyed. He could sense her knees shivering and a scent of overwhelming, excitement, and fear filling the room. By know Sam had left the room living her murmuring to herself a thousand questions and worries. "Hey sugar, calm down. Is just old me. You don't have to bow or anything, but please keep your questions between one and two million, 'cause if you do more I may end keeping you" You chuckle. When you joined the Winchesters you never thought you would get to meet an actual god, especially since Dean had forced you to promise to abstain from actual hunting. On the other side of the room, Dean felt a stab of jealousy as you looked at the annoying archangel with adoration. Of course you were gonna chose the all powerful and flawless short, golden eyed guy. He had been to slow on his feelings, never actually dealing with them to notice that he didn't woke up early everyday just for kiks and sakes, but to watch you walk inside the kitchen and rub your eyes as your messy hair puffed up with freeze. His little brother bugged him for weeks until you almost heard him and stopped. The thing is, you were even more fascinating on the inside. You had never heard any classic rock apart from the ones that appeared in movies, but still would try to follow him bickering on and on about Metallica. You didn't know how to drive anything but your old bike, but he never failed to notice your company as he fixes cars. The way your eyes had lit up a few days ago when the bunkers entrance was filled with autumn leaves. If he ever went back to heaven, he was sure that, you, dragging Sam and him to jump on the leaves and laugh, was going to be there, right next to the fireworks, Mom cooking, drinking with Jo and Bobby, Cas trying to understand his references with a cocked head and many more. Of course, now that mr. Norse deity was here, all the nightmare filled dreams he avoided by staying up all night with you watching "completely inaccurate" Marvel movies would belong to another.

Gabriel was great. He explains Voluspa for you and shows you places that disappeared in time. You still read with Sammy and swapped recipes with Dean as he told stories of hunts and shared laughs with Castiel in enochian to mock the brothers. But as your feelings for Gabriel evolved into similar ones you had for Dean, you've became wary of yourself. It was too impossible for them to understand. Sam, maybe. But what good would it do but make him uncomfortable. So you started staying a little more time in your room, appearing to join conversations less and less everyday. "What the fuck did you do to her?" Dean exploded one morning you didn't appear in the kitchen. "What I did, Dean-o? It's not my fault Y/n doesn't want to pay a visit to Midgard with me anymore. Was it something you said? You don't want her to socialize with 'monsters' like me, right? Yes, I heard what you thought. Well, fuck you, big boy! I wouldn't want to be the friend of a Daddy issued mess like you if I were her anyway!" You stopped your tracks at the hall as you heard your best friends fight each other because of you. Although knowing they both care you so much is making your chest start to beat to the rhythm of a fast rap song, you can't help to suffer even more knowing you could never have their love. Your sobs start and as you run to your room the fighting stops. Dean and Gabriel look at each other before going to your room. They did this to you. Knock. Knock. Knock "Sugar...It's us. Can we talk?" Gabe didn't use a voice so calm without cause. "We've calmed down. Not shouting at all" "Dean I'm not a fucking scared dog!" Voice broken as could be. "Sorry. We just want to explain ourselves." Even though they talked cockily and with confidence you knew they both thought they weren't enough for you. You had a type, it seemed. Dean was that warm feeling when you arrived home to the smell of humidity and the sound of a guitar and Gabe was that sweetness when you left strawberries to soak on sugar, and that soft touch on old books. They were oh so perfect. The door opens to meed a flushed red Y/n who is cleaning her eyes on the sleeves of her morning shirt. She waves a 'come in' and they all sit on the bed. "Look, Gabe, Dean, I didn't mean for any of this to happen.-" You were interrupted by Gabe's hand on your knee. You don't think you've ever seen him so serious. He's wearing a little concerned guilty frown and a compassive smile. " You don't even stand each other an-and I now you're fighting and-" A double hug stopped you. Gabe just had his head on your shoulder and a squish informed you Dean had his arms around you. "It's not your fault sweetheart. I'm sorry. I just..got jealous, like, really jealous. You used to spend so much time with me and since Gabe joined us, I can only see the fact that I miss being with you" He still wouldn't spill his feelings, but he wanted to be as honest as he could without breaking his "Dean bottles feelings" rule. "Dean-o, it's not your fault either, I know the reason Y/n has been more absent lately is me. I know I can be a bit to much sometimes. I destroyed the rutine you guys had." "Stop it with the fault game! I backed away because I knew that I kept on going further it would break me when I left!" "Leave? Why?" Gabe actually looked scared for once. "Because the moment I confessed to you it would turn into a mess!!" You see their shocked faces as they slowly looked at each other. When did this situation turn into a soap opera? "I've been in love with you too dumbasses for a long time now and I know it's dumb but " In that moment you feel a pair of lips on yours. They're soft and they don't push. You're left there, shocked, as the face backs away and you can see better those deep green eyes. "You can't even begin to understand how long I've waited to hear that Y/n" Oh God! Oh! Did Dean just...he just did. You felt like hugging someone to death. " I'm sorry to burst your bubble here boy toy but you got competition. If Y/n will have me, believe me I'll try my hardest to get her to choose me over anyone." "Then bring it feather duster!" "Guys! I'm not a trophy! " " What about this, we give you...three dates with each and then you choose. Of course, you don't have to do anything, or you can just choose me, but..!" "What if I already know?" You see their eyebrows rise in worry and anxiety. There's a tension in the room so thin you can cut with little children's scissors. "Both?" you close yourself like waiting for a punch. Dean looks at you with confusion. " you know...poly?...non-monogamous..?" Minutes later and they are still looking at each other astonished. From the archangel's side the idea wasn't new, but a relationship with the guy he killed like on a Tom and Jerry's episode sounded like the worst shit ever. Not was he obnoxious but his stubbornness reached skies! For Dean it was more of weirded out by the concept of sharing a partner with someone else.He was already jealous as it is and Gabriel had been driving him nuts for all the time he'd known him. But of course they would be willing to try if it meant getting to kiss you again. When they both nodded, you got a bit closer and looked at each others eyes for a moment. "I need you to be sure. Because in this kind of stuff there needs to be talking, and we all know how you are the two most likely people to keep everything bottled up." They both threw a bitchface of denial, before looking at the other and letting it drop down. Y/n was right, they were both possessive and jealous guys, which made the whole deal even more difficult. "We want to try. But before we set some rules and shit, I want one thing" Gabe approached wearing that playful smirk that promised so much. " A kiss." So you jumped on top of him with laughter and gave him a deep kiss.

A yawn made Sam aware of your entrance to the kitchen. Your hair as always in a mess that hanged on every direction possible. But, unlike other mornings, soon after you crossed the door, Gabriel and his brothers entered and gave you both a peck on your cheeks. Gabriel snapped a mirror for you and helped soothe your mess while Dean handed both of them cups of coffee and messed your hair up again. By the time you all sat down, Sam had a face of *can anyone fill me in?* . "Hey little brother, good morning. This is my girlfriend Y/n." "Yo, Sammikins! Remember that hot piece of ass that lives with you? She's my new gf." "So...okay. Good for all of you. Just... don't keep me up at night. I don't need to know what kind of shit you two can pull together"

#dean x reader #gabriel x reader #supernatural #i tried

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thestuckylibrary · 7 years

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Hi! As an avid fic reader, there is something that has always bothered me about a lot of fan-fiction I have read in the Stucky fandom or the marvel fandom in general. There is almost always a level of casual sexism against the female characters, for example, in many fics the female characters are referred to as "girls" despite being grown fucking women also is it necessary to talk about how beautiful Natasha or Peggy are in every single fic? Aren't we reducing them to their beauty?

This is actually an incredibly complicated issue. Yes, there definitely is a fair amount of casual sexism in stucky fanfic and in fanfic in general. But on the other hand, compared to general fiction and the world at large, there is significantly less sexism. I’d also point out that the majority of transformative fandom is female identifying, queer, or both, this makes fanfics relationship with sexism a lot more complicated. Internalized misogyny is incredibly hard to sort out and be aware of, because it’s your own internal monologue and in the case of many fanfic authors, your own internal monologue as a woman and (in most cases) a feminist.

The specific examples you pulled are tricky ones, cause on one hand, yeah theres certainly an element of sexism in there, but on the other hand there also isn’t necessarily a bad wicked thing. In most stucky fics, the narration is third person pov through either steve or bucky, and in the case of two men born in the 1910′s calling grown women girls would absolutely be a part of their vernacular. It’s absolutely sexist, but I’d argue that it’s a strongly internalized attitude and language pattern both of them would absolutely have problems recognizing and or getting rid of. So even if it’s not a carefully thought out choice from the author, it serves as interesting characterization. Also since the majority of fic authors are women, the relationship with using girls isn’t as simple, for one thing it is a part of common english to use women and girls interchangeably and it’s not something that’s closely examined by all women all the time. Also, I think theres as aspect of it’s usage that is reclaiming it in a way. I mean girls isn’t a slur by any means but it’s not free of negative meaning, and by referring to wonderful characters as girls it in some ways seeks to remove those negative connotations- by presenting to the reader a group of people who the reader admires and saying some of them are girls and thats great, it does something meaningful for a woman reading. Using the word girl/s isn’t always something bad, especially when women are using it.

As for calling them beautiful all the time, I’d argue that 9/10 times theres absolutely nothing inherently sexist about mentioning their beauty. I mean it is objectively true, mcu’s female characters are beautiful. Now the reason behind all of them being gorgeous is pretty sinister, hollywood has an insanely toxic and sexist beauty standard and the fact that female characters in movies have to be beautiful in the same way is a whole other barrel of fish and we’re talking about fanfic, we’re dealing with characters who have a appearance and personality not 100% set by the author of a fic. Honestly, I’ve read thousands of Stucky fics and I think I’ve read a handful where women were actively reduced to their beauty. I mean when was the last time you read a novel by a cishet man? It’s absolutely horrifying, the way they treat women is disgusting, and fic is so much better.

Most of the time in fic, beauty is just one aspect of their character, for example Peggy’s strength and steely determination usually follow any mention of her beauty and Natasha’s dry humour and keen intelligence usually follow any mention of hers. On the other hand yeah, you get a lot of Bucky dancing with a beautiful nameless woman who only appears as an object of desire and jealousy and yeah, thats a problem. But I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all to mention a woman’s beauty provided shes being not shown as important only because she’s beautiful.

I’d also argue that the vast majority of sexism in fanfic isn’t calling female characters girls or referring to their beauty, its demonizing or ignoring female characters who are “in the way” of a m/m ship. I see this happen a LOT with Sharon in particular, but also Peggy and Natasha. You don’t see the female character who is canonically with one half of a m/m ship is a controlling, violently jealous, homophobic monster plotline often anymore, but it does still come up. More common is the female character who is canonically with one half of a m/m ship is a endlessly pure, patient, supportive and unconditionally understanding prop who exists only to step graciously out of the way of the m/m pairing. I see that all the damn time and it bothers me.

Female characters tend to not be as developed in canon and because of that often also remain underdeveloped in fanfic and also tend in both canon and fic to be there only to support the male characters not existing outside that context. That or the fact that f/f ships are incredibly neglected. I mean theres like one f/f fic for every like seven m/m fics. Part of that is the fact that there are so many less women than men in fiction. Part of that is on us for just not writing wlw and favouring mlm or m/f ships. I have really complicated feelings about this as a queer woman, I mean I‘m running a ship blog about two men. I could be putting my time into natsharon, cartinelli or claire temple/misty knight, but I’m here instead. I worked through lots of internalized homophobia, biphobia, transphobia and aphobia while reading m/m fics, not f/f and I spend so much more time and energy on m/m ships. I mean here I am, a wlw and here I am investing almost all my leisure time on men. I mean I love it in this fandom and it’s absolutely my choice to be here but part of me wonders what it would be like if I had gone through that process with a f/f ship instead and what it would be like to invest this time on women. I wonder what it would be like to be in mcu fandom if our source material treated it’s female characters better and had more of them.

You also see barely any not white, disabled, unattractive or poor women in fic, but once again part of that is a distinct lack of diversity within the source material. But you know what, I do not see many fics with Helen Cho or Claire Temple in them at all, let alone as developed characters.

Anyways sexism in fandom is a lot more complicated than it initially appears. Nothing is ideologically pure, even fanfic, but due to the nature of fanfic being written by people who you can easily contact in the sometimes caustic forum of tumblr I think it’s incredibly important to be gentle with authors who violate what you individually see as correct. Much of tumblr’s atmosphere of callout culture has a very black and white view of what justice is and what is correct, when in reality theres a lot of layers to this, it’s not a simple black and white dichotomy. People are at different places in their journeys, theres a lot of reasons why authors write things the way they do that you might not be aware of, broad sweeping statements saying x is always bad are a real dicey area to step into (and yes, I see the irony in saying that)

So while fandom certainly needs to take a closer look at our own internalized misogyny (and racism and ableism and audism and so on), I think theres much more to be gained from larger conversations, self reflection and making an active effort to be kinder to women than there is from things like carefully abstaining from words like girls.

#karins queer rage #is also feminist rage #i just want people to be kinder to each other #be kinder to women #be kinder to queer folk #be kinder to yourself #qworduse #Anonymous

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jamisonstarr · 5 years

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Today I made a friend....and I want to keep it that way. I've been in a real funk these last few weeks since coming home from South Africa, but this weekend was one of the hardest in a long time. I cried until I couldn't breathe, until I feared my chest would collapse inward, begging them to let me come home. Pleading for them to release me from this Earth realm into their care without penalty. I asked my pendulum if they'd allow it. No reply. So instead I called my mother and asked her to sit with me and and just be present; being honest I've been here so many times, I know how to talk myself off the ledge, through my own shit, I just need someone there to witness me through this process when I'm that close. She's been calling me every day since then (even though it's only been two days). But I've been feeling better. Cleaned my room moderately, put in my storage cabinet, and have abstained from alcohol.

Today I went to a village event for brujxs, body workers, and healers as a safe space for trans, queer, and gender-queer folks of color. Vendors, Queer Advocacy, and Classes for managing mental health. I got some much needed bodywork done (thank the GOOOOODDDSS) and visited 2 different tarot readers. The first one was awesome! She definitely had a drier energy, but gave a very funny and candid reading of my life (she probably got virgo somewhere in her chart 😂). She explained that as a very intuitive and introvertedly introspective person, there is a deep part of me that wants to find balance, not only through delving into the deep parts of me that need healing, but also through avoiding some others. Double edged sword of a good and bad thing. INTUITION 🤦🏾‍♀️. And there's been something I've been stagnant, unmoving, and unyeilding about where I'm waiting for the situation to unfold for itself (Cyd) which is exasterbated by my trust issues. Her advice was to 1.) SET AND RESPECT my own BOUNDARIES, while still not being a shut-in who won't allow love and 2.) To learn from my patterns, especially with people who I'm associating with so that I'm not digging myself in a deeper hole. I needed these things, and they came at the right time for me, but this was only the slight read.

My second reading came from a person named Tsai. We had been connecting sight throughout the night (as did me and the body worker) but I kept averting my gaze to do other things. By the end of the night, I had gathered the courage to ask for a reading. Turns out I had already signed up for their table anyway. Before they get into the reading, they meditate over the deck and I can feel myself tuning into the energy of the table. They begin by asking me how my day was, and considering how my weekend was, shit today was marvelous! We chuckled because apparently both our weekends had been a wreck, overhauling all the bs in our lives. Astrologically, they explain that thisis recent season is pulling for a purging and rebirth, almost violently. Greaaaaaaaaattt!

They pull cards and say that this is the moment I'm beginning to gather the building blocks of my foundation, that this is a very integral moment for my growth. They can see I've been dealing with a particular challange, a back and forth with someone where we're going head to head (Javon), but in the end, I have the strength and internal support to be triumphant if I so chose, but there is soon to be resolution so smile. They see that the worst of my situation is over (thank the GOOOOODDDSS, because idk if I'd be here if it got much worst) but that in order for me to elevate, I have to enlist my INTUITION 🙄😂 which is actually very strong but that I haven't learned to trust. Part of what will help me through my journey though is a connection to my childlike joy. They see that I've recently been very depleted but my relationships (esp. Angel) through giving too much of myself and not settling BOUNDARIES for myself and gaining solitude. The word discipline pops up over and over again for them. By this time I can feel the ground vibrating through my feet and my heart heating up in my chest, which is a little startling... But I just tell myself to connect deeper to the moment and energy to make the reading as accurate as possible. They begin to ask my about the specifics of my life to have a better understanding and context for what the cards are saying (which at this point is about 22+ of them on the table already) and I just blerb it out in the most concise way I can. In this moment, I literally felt a fire ignite in my belly and the energy surge through my upper body down through my feet, into them. Like it was the most strange, connected, intense sensation I've ever had at a reading because I could literally feel them receiving my energy and information. As they're taking it in, I can tell it's like pouring onto them, almost to the point of overstimulation, and they just laugh this strange laugh of "same". At this point I'm beginning to recognize we have much more in common than I (or they) had initially expected. The rest of the reading pretty much closed in us having these spookily ironic connections that were almost unreal. All the way from the reading her dropped/my lost rose quartz as me needing more greenery, and less focus on my heart chakra (odd notion, I'm aware) to the depressions/elations we both had this weekends... both surrounding our names. My name is Swahili/Arabic means "Life" or "she who is life" (which I was painstakingly reminded of for 15 whole minutes the morning I though to OD). Tsai had just had a reality shaking reading of their name which showed that theirs means "She who brings the water".....I'm spooked at this point because in South Africa, my professor gave me a Zulu name Nomvula which means "She who comes after the rain"... We just sat there for a moment, in complete awe, confused, elated, shocked...

They gave me their business card and their personal number because there was just no way we couldn't connect after a reading like that... But just like, wheeettt?!? I sometimes forget it's possible for me to connect to other people on these deep, unexplainable, spiritual levels that bring power and intuitive connections out. But for this relationship, I want to be friends and nothing even remotely more. I'm working on building friendship with intimacy and connection that don't have to include any of the other fluff unless that's specifically what the relationship is calling for, not just some compulsory inclination.

#journaling #healing #love #spiritual journey #energy work #energy #friends

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elizastiltner6-blog · 6 years

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What Creates Me Delighted.

In this particular day and also grow older, you may believe that being happy constantly only isn't feasible, however essentially it is. And also, certainly not just is it possible for you, it's additionally achievable for everybody you know. Our team will certainly change your cars and truck along with a new one of the same make version and also spec if your cars and truck is wrecked beyond economical repair work or even taken as well as certainly not recovered and also you bought your auto from new within recent 12 months. If you cease making an effort to get him back and make him believe you don't desire him any longer, that will definitely hasten points up. If you are like me, your intellect recognizes that product traits don't produce you pleased.

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The only point that must perform your thoughts is actually the assurance that you are going to be devoting a number of the greatest moments of your lifestyle below, which will definitely make you come back for more. Certainly not getting what they desire, not acquiring all those points that they think will make all of them pleased, they become hateful, resentful, imply and they are looking for ways to forecast all those negative feelings on those around them. What Creates Me Satisfied was created by Annie Gibbs for The Ragdoll Groundwork coming from a suggestion by Anne Hardwood, Owner as well as Creative Supervisor of Ragdoll Productions Ltd and also Fiduciary of The Ragdoll Groundwork. Holiday playgrounds can vary significantly so this is actually regularly best to accomplish some study and make certain you chose a park that meets your loved ones's requirements. The end result is that you might not be capable to possess a satisfied life if you are not capable to have a construction. 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