#is dying that silver in his beard red that week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dulafer · 3 years

Text

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - [email protected]

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins.

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail.

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab. The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California. San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I.

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me. It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me.

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.”

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak. You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will. When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy.

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity. ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight.

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good.

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now. I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans. I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts. The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least. He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC.

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick.

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me.

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile.

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop.

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn. I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet. He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him.

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.” She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone.

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road. I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo. I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio. His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt.

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out.

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets.

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs. I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it.

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly.

I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us. I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet. Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not.

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling.

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life.

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully.

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

“Well, laugh all you want. I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?” I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.”

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?”

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him.

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated.

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits? I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so.

“Now I need details about my job. I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase.

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking.

I slip easily into Will’s routine. My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro. There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office.

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug.

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some. I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office. I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.”

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?”

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’.

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers. He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker. We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours.

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa. I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s. Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night.

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed. In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep. She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend.

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy.

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so. I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him. He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about.

“You fucking bastard!! Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy. Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike.

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy! When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

“Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous. After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long. There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up. What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet. I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today. Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat.

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.”

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer. By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze. I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world.

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.” I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?”

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.”

“Let’s grab lunch son.”

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag.

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant.

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.” I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling.

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder.

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.”

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out. A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales.

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust.

I head down to his safe and open it up. Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?” I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up. It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry. Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself.

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?”

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black’ look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose. He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door.

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.” he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight.

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer.

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?”

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.” I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there? How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really. There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others. It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice! Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them? Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use. I’ll phase that nonsense out.

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks.

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants. After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt. To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”.

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?”

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.” He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.”

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day.

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more. The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy.

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day. Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles.

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image.

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming. They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly.

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?”

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it. I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life. I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens. I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily.

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts.

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him.

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro. I think she’s really falling for me. She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is.

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor. I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content. This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back. He’s not.

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic.

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet. With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin.

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me.

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake. I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully.

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me. Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy. You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it. I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit. He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that.

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father.

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard.

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go. He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars. I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times. Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit.

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.

#twin #imposter #transformation #revenge #straight sex #stolen identity #evil twin #twin swap

22 notes · View notes

essaysbyciara · 3 years

Text

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Nine: Stuck In My Ways

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, mention of marijuana use

The penultimate chapter of Old Habits Die Hard! Whew, this has been a long one but we’re down to the final two parts of a story that kicked my ass lol. Taglist is STILL OPEN for the finale if you want to get in while it’s hot! Love you all, you beautiful people.

STUCK IN MY WAYS

“Aye, yo shor- how long you in the city?”

Maleek’s -- or Leek -- introduction last summer was a scary one. Standing outside of papi’s, draped under Dave’s arm, Dave and his crew stopped their conversations as a midnight blue Caprice classic creeped up to the edge of the corner. Everyone, including Dave, grew on guard, their demeanors ceasing to exist at the drop of a hat because a never-before-seen whip with barely-legal tinted windows came to a complete stop. As the passenger’s side window dropped, Dave whispered to you to go inside of the store to grab him something to eat, his favorite: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You could hear the growl in his undertone as if it was an order. You obliged out of a fright only to hear laughter mere seconds later once Leek’s solid body came bouncing out of the sunroof to one of his latest tracks.

Leek was the neighborhood rapper. He spent thirty minutes or so showing his videos on YouTube the one night you were in the studio with him and his crew. He was dope, you couldn’t lie. Built like a linebacker, Leek’s full ahki beard and super tatted-up upper body was a bad one. You caught yourself fantasizing about how bad Leek could really be but quickly remember that Dave got to you first. Thank God.

“Only for today, Leek. I’m heading back down tonight.”

“Damn. Dope of you to come up for your mans.”

You’d small talk Leek except he’s cutting into your homework of trying to figure out your getaway from this party to wherever Dave wanted to take you. Dave still lingered upstairs as you bobbed and weaved through the party to find Yahya. You were hoping that in the time it would take for you to get through Dave’s extended-extended family, you could come up with an excuse to get away for a few hours.

You could fake a run to the beauty supply store for some braiding hair but the stores back home were good and hood enough to find the yaki you needed. You promised to take Yahya to papi’s for that hoagie, so no store run could be in order. Your entire family is at Pardi’s house so no “run up to my cousins house right quick” would work. You keep thinking of what to say as Dave rips another message through your DMs. It’s an address and an agreement to meet in thirty minutes.

“Oh, Dave? Yeah. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Who else you think I was talking about? Y’all still down, right?”

Leek’s inquiry throws you off guard. You knew he had a lightweight crush on you -- Dave once joked that he could see Leek’s mouth hit the floor when you walked into the studio that night -- but now the boldness to ask your status in this moment is taking you back to a DM from Leek that you deleted but never told Dave about.

“Dave and I? We’re cool. We ain’t down like we were but we’re cool. My fiance’ helped Dave with his case. That’s why I’m here.”

Leek notices the blinding engagement ring you ignored up until this moment and suddenly, so do you. It’s the first time in hours that you remembered your man at home and like Chante’ Moore said, “he’s been good…” to you. Your conscience hurries you to dead your quest to find quiet time with Dave. You wouldn’t be on your best behavior; there would be no guarantees that Dave would stand on the right side of history. Upstairs, for that brief moment, your lips touched Dave’s neck and almost caught a bite. Dave used to love that move, digging deeper into you as you almost broke skin so he could commence to breaking your back. You fell into his body by mistake but his hands knew what they were doing. Tracing your stripes down to the seam of your panties was intentional. You pooled at the idea of him taking them off.

You aren’t naive. You wanted Dave and he wanted you. The moment was beyond brief yet beyond impactful. Leek’s unforeseen act as an impromptu guardian angel stops you from making the worst mistake of your life.

“Ahh, congrats ma!” Leek reluctantly goes in for a brotherly-esque hug. You give him a church hug in return, that side hug catching Yahya’s attention as he exits the backyard area to look for you. He grabs your wrist as you release Leek from your innocent clutches.

“Excuse me, brotha ... [Y/N], you ready to go?” You quickly nod your head up and down in the direction of your forever. Leek didn’t like the way your man cut into his moment but he hastily concedes after you tap your hand on his chest and send your well wishes.

“We still heading over to that hoagie spot, right?” Yahya tapping his stomach as he grabs the car keys from his left pocket. “I’m dying. And Ms. Gwen’s food looked smackin’. Took me a lot to not go in, baby girl…”

“You could’ve ate. We’ll be up here again.”

“Nah, nah. The way you were talking about this damn sandwich. I want a hit.”

Dave’s message feels like an afterthought as you jump into the passenger seat. Your meetup was only twenty minutes away but you broke the spell of Dave and tried to forget. A light tap on the passenger side window wakes you up.

“Y’all leaving already?! Damn.” Uncle Trace daps Yahya through the car window, a mix of weed and Polo Red wafting past your nose.

“Yeah, Unc…” Yahya’s salutation makes your heart smile. “...we gotta get back to homebase.”

“Aight, king. Get my niece home safe. Love you, [Y/N].”

As you direct Yahya to the cornerstone named papi’s, you couldn’t help but stare at the way he commanded the streets. The potholes that got the best of him the last time he came here are no match for him today. He’s even driving with one hand, something he never did before -- or that you never peeped. His level of comfort on the side of town that you also call home is reminding you right before your eyes that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. All from calling your Uncle Trace by a pet name.

You find a spot close to papi’s and walk in with enough time. Yahya commands for you to order for him and you obey: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You order a chicken cheesesteak, wrapping your arms around Yahya’s waist as you both small talk about the week ahead. You weren’t letting go for anything in this world. Yahya briefly lets go to grab two Tahitian Treats out of the cooler. His big hands grab the drinks, hoagies and you up to the counter.

“Let me get two vanilla dutches, please.”

“Yah- what you doing? You don’t smoke.”

“I usually don’t. Don’t mean I haven’t. I’m tryna finish this weekend out right. We still celebrating.”

“That’s fine but who the hell you get the weed from?”

“Unc.”

Unbeknownst to you, that dap between included an eighth of silver haze.

“Oh, this is it. You ain’t coming around my family anymore. Nope.”

“I’m Jerri’s favorite. You can’t do that…”

Dave doesn’t know what to do. It’s been some time since your message and you haven’t sent an “OK” or any signal of your arrival. He paces down the steps and out the door, running into Trace talking on the steps to Dave’s uncle, Clifford. He tries ignoring them both but Trace isn’t having it.

“Yo, you leaving your own party, man?”

“My bad, Trace. I gotta make a run up Olney real quick for something. I’ll be back though…” Dave’s last words trail in the air as he walks down the street toward papi’s. Somehow Trace’s old self catches up to him.

“Bruh, slow down. You just got home…” Somehow Trace’s reminder does indeed slow Dave down. He’s been moving too fast since you agreed to meet up with him. He can’t keep up with his mind.

Dave didn’t know what to do when you sent that message. He felt a semblance of guilt for touching your spot, for letting your body fall into his, for staring at you as if he wasn’t going to see you again. For all the thoughts he had as you both sat in the same room where he’d coax the devil out of your body night after night. He was willing to risk it all only if you wanted it. Your message answered his prayer.

“Yeah, Trace. I know. I just gotta get out the house for a second too…”

“Oh, no doubt. They think that once you out, you wanna see the world. You just want the world to know you good, that’s it.” Trace’s wisdom plummets Dave.

It’s been his truth since he got home from jail. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the people who didn’t check on him or his mother; the people who ignored Pardi’s angered Facebook posts about Dave’s situation. People who donated to the bail fund out of guilt, not out of care. The only people who cared to know his fate were his mother, Pardi, Trace, Yahya and you, even if you never reached out. He knew you to be the catalyst to his freedom even if you at one time secretly fought it.

You walked up those steps to his old room to see if he was okay. You knew that large crowds made him skittish. Something within you broke the rules to see if he needed a safe space to be. That summer, you were that. Dave unleashed his heart out to you in ways that even his mother would never see. Despite what seemed different about you, you weren’t afraid of his story. He felt close to you, letting you into a world that you didn’t know but could feel.

Dave wanted one more chance to feel you. Yahya be damned.

Watching Yahya yell salutations to him and Trace from his car window as he drives by gut checks Dave. And makes him wonder if you’re with him. That would deviate from the plan that you created and Dave was on his way to fulfill.

“This is the best shit I’ve ever had, [Y/N]. You weren’t lyin’. Bruh…” Yahya delightfully wipes the last of the mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.

“Told you!”

“They should cater the wedding. I’m not playing.”

The unseasonably warm evening meets you and Yahya as you stare across at Camden’s waterfront. The pier is popping with families enjoying the last bits of early winter before the clocks strike back and school gets into a full swing. It’s a bit of calm before you two hit I-95 back to what sadly isn’t Chocolate City anymore. Yahya caresses your right knee as you stare over the Delaware. You were beyond ready to get home. Your future husband breaks your gaze. “I meant to ask you. Who was bruh all hugged up on you in the house?”

“Heh. Why?”

“You were church huggin’ him to death but he wasn’t getting a clue at all.”

“Oh that was Maleek, a friend of Dave. No big deal.” You play off Yahya’s somewhat jealous disposition even as it humors you. You rather him ask about Leek than Dave. “Let me find out you jealous? Look at you.”

“Nah. I just know mad dudes are on you. I trust you though.” Up until an hour ago, he didn’t have a reason to do that.

“Dave was too, to be real.” You decide to break down all of the walls. The case was over. You think you’re over Dave. Yahya is minutes into a food coma.

“Well yeah, Jerri told me. Some teenager stuff. I saw those pictures. I’d be chasing you down the hallway too.”

“Boy, please. But no -- remember I told you about that lobbyist dude I dated who damn near ghosted me before we went to the Bahamas? I ended up coming up here for those weeks and Dave and I messed. Nothing serious.”

“You sure? Dude was eyefucking you real crazy at Jerri’s house last Summer.”

“Hold up? You saw that?!” What you thought you hid from Yahya, he saw in plain sight.

“Everybody could, damn. Heh. It’s all good though. So was I.”

You joust your fingers into Yahya’s side causing him to fall into laughter. Four words suddenly send you into an orgasmic-level of relaxation. Yahya didn’t seem to care. Once you ride off the orgasmic high, you feel insanely stupid. One conversation lessened the guilt of a relationship that lasted two weeks but imprinted onto you for what felt like forever. A moment of repentance overdue coaxes witty banter out of Yahya, not the dissolution of a relationship. It shouldn’t have been this easy.

That’s how u feel?

Your walk back to the car is broken up by a message from Dave. Your lack of a response to his earlier texts told him that you were in the car that Yahya yelled his love from. Your broken promise to break up a happy home slowly breaks Dave’s heart even though he knew better than to break the rules.

You don’t know what to say in response, turning your phone on silent not to alert Yahya’s attention. There’s nothing for you to say. Dave does all the talking for you.

Yo. I’m not some snake ass nigga. I wasnt doin anything with you that you didnt want

You came lookin for me.

I can’t be friends with you?

You wake up to see Dave’s last message sent hours ago. Before you walk into your front door and out of Dave’s life forever, you send your final goodbye.

I don’t think it’s best. I’m sorry.

Taglist: @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse @blackburnbook

#dave east x reader #yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #yahya abdul mateen ii #dave east fic #dave east #Old habits die hard #2017 Dave East was a STUNNER

56 notes · View notes

flowercrown-bucky · 4 years

Text

The Secrets We Hide

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Loki has a secret. A big secret. When Thor needs his help finding Odin, his secret may be exposed.

Authors’ Note: My very favourite reader of my Loki series, Lavender Blue, asked for some more Thor, and whilst thinking about it I got a little carried away

Also Y/N has a last name in this that might make sense if you get to the end oop

If you’re waiting for the next part of Lavender Blue I fucking SUCK at writing smut someone help me-

"Where are we going, brother?" Thor looked curiously at Loki.

He'd been to Britain a handful of times in his life.

The very first had been sometime during what would later become colloquially know as the dark ages, in the early sixth century, he was inclined to believe. Earth, he had found, was wholly unremarkable, if England was anything to go by.

It was on this occasion that he had learned of his brother's magical talents, travelling on horseback through the countryside. He'd stumbled onto a (Remarkably small, he noticed) kingdom, ruled over by a gentleman by the name of Arthur. The real shock, however, had come to him upon entering the banquet hall in his host's castle, only to find his younger brother - who was, needless to say, not pleased to see him - sat next to his host. The lengths he'd gone to disguise himself were commendable, and the beard he'd magicked up was impressive, but there was no mistaking the mischievous twinkle in the eyes of Loki of Asgard.

However, the England Thor found himself in now was a far cry from the country of his memory. Winchester, he had been informed, was where the bifrost had brought them, but the cobbled streets he was walking on were about as unfamiliar to him as unicorn land.

Loki, however, definitely knew where he was. He had clearly been here many times before.

He'd replied to his brother's questioning with a disparaging look, continuing to walk on. All Thor knew about where they were going is that it had something to do with where Loki had placed their father three years ago. As for his personal theories? His mind was drawing a blank.

Eventually, Loki came to a stop in front of a single house within a terrace. A tall, unremarkable house, by all means, built with honey-coloured sandstone, the paint on the windows flaking with age, several panes baring the circular marks of a pontil. Three tall steps led to the front door, and the view of the living room through large window next to it allowing some insight as to the nature of its inhabitant.

Through the hazy glass, Thor could see a remarkably cluttered, disorganised room. A large leather armchair sat in the corner of the room, worn from use and decorated by a patchwork quilt. A similar rug lay on the wooden floor, a tapestry of fabric scraps. Opposite the TV was a grey cord sofa, upon which a number of odd and brightly coloured socks were strewn.

It was fairly safe to assume, Thor reckoned, that the inhabitant of this house - who was currently upstairs, based on the light coming through the window - was not his father.

So what the hell were they doing here?

Loki's three short raps of the knocker elicited a response from the house's inhabitant. They could hear them scurrying down the stairs and towards the door, and fumbling with the lock before opening it.

The woman on the other side was not what he was expecting.

The arrival of your visitors had come as somewhat of a shock to you, that much was apparent from your face. The second thing Thor noticed, was that you clearly knew Loki.

Your hair, slightly damp from the shower, was pulled up on top of your head, secured by a scrunchie, the deep green shade of which complimented your eyes. You were dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a red woollen jumper, your feet bare save for a silver ring around the second toe on your left foot and chipped nail polish on your toenails.

The third thing Thor noticed about you, was that you were very pretty.

"Father?" His voice came out as a squeak.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother laughing.

"Your father I most certainly am not." Your right eyebrow quirked bemusedly, crossing your arms. "But this is a surprise."

"Sorry, I must've forgotten to mention it." Loki grinned at you. "Can we come in?"

You stepped aside, beckoning the brothers through the door and into your home. You shot Loki a pointed look as he entered, prompting him to roll his eyes and, begrudgingly, remove his shoes and place them neatly by the door. In the interest of remaining polite, Thor followed suit.

"I take it this is not a social visit?" You asked, leading them into your kitchen.

The kitchen, Thor noticed, was nice. Homely. Small, but still, homely. The stone floor was cool under his socked feet, although his left being slightly warmer than the right led him to suspect your floor was central-heated, and the aga opposite him would probably heat the entire house. The beams supporting the ceiling were low enough that he'd hit his head twice, although he had noticed Loki had ducked, his posture automatically slouched so as to avoid collision.

Loki had clearly spent a lot of time in this house, in this kitchen.

You hopped up onto the counter, crossing your legs at the knee.

"Perceptive as ever, I see." Loki chuckled. "Although, my manners seem to have momentarily lost me. Y/N, this is my brother, Thor. Thor, this is Y/N Hudson. She's.... She's a friend of mine."

Thor did not miss the curious glance you shot at his brother.

"As delighted as I am to see you, Loki," You rolled your eyes. "What do you want?"

"It would seem that my dear brother has managed to lose our father." Thor glared at the dark haired man.

"I would dearly love to know how exactly one goes about losing one's father." Your lips quirked into an amused smile.

"And you're the only living being on this dull little planet who's capable of finding him." Loki ignored your attempt at riling him, catching your gaze.

"I don't understand." Thor furrowed his brow. "What are you, a witch? Do you have some sort of tracking abilities?"

"No, she's just very intelligent." Loki corrected. "Would you give Y/N and I a moment alone, brother mine?"

Thor nodded gruffly, watching you hop off the counter and walk out of the kitchen, into the room he'd first seen through the window.

He did not miss how his brother bit his lip as he looked you up and down.

Your front room was Loki's favourite place on Midgard.

It might even be his favourite place in the nine realms.

It had quickly become his bolt-hole, his safe place. It was the first place he'd ever been shown true kindness, where you'd brought him after you found him in a back alley, dying and alone. It was where you'd laid him on the sofa, where he'd been tucked under a blanket for the first time, where he'd drunk his first ever cup of midgardian tea. It was where you'd allowed him, a complete stranger, to rest and heal.

It was where he'd returned to pester this annoying, intriguing little human being, a process within which he discovered you were possibly less annoying and entirely more intriguing than he'd initially assumed.

He trailed his fingers across the back of your sofa absent mindedly, staring at the rings on your coffee table. You had a habit of leaving half-drunk, cold cups of coffee on this table - hence, the rings - something that irked him to no end.

The long hairs on the cushion caught his eye, and he wondered where the furry little beast might be hiding. Your cat, Kenneth, did not like Loki, a sentiment he wholeheartedly reciprocated. If you weren't so fond of it, he would more than happily fling the little monster into some unreachable pocket of a distant dimension.

His eyes reached where you'd perched on the arm of your armchair, one leg stretched out in front of you. He allowed his gaze to lazily climb the length of your body, taking all of you in.

Gods, did he love your legs.

"I've missed you, darling." He grinned up at you.

"I've not seen you for two weeks, Loki." Your voice was slow, deliberate. "And you come to me now, because you need me?"

He bit his lip, you had him there. He never was quite sure how to gauge your emotions, never sure how you’d react. Everything you did was carefully considered.

Even after all this time with you, you were still something of an enigma to him. It was one of the things that had initially drawn him to you, one of the things that he loved about you.

"On the contrary, my sweet." His voice had dropped, so much so that he was almost purring. "I always need you."

"Don't you try to charm me, silvertongue." You raised one finger in front of you, pointing it at him; a warning.

"Is it working?" He raised one eyebrow at you as he spoke.

"I'll let you know." You grumbled.

A soft chuckle left his lips, crossing the distance between you in two strides, dropping to his knees before your outstretched legs. He glanced up at you inquisitively, a massive grin stretching across his face at your nod of confirmation.

Gently, he lifted his hands up so his fingertips pressed at your stomach, at the little gap of skin between the bottom of your jumper and the waistband of your jeans. His fingers slid gently under your jumper, taking the woolen garment with it until his palms were flat against your stomach.

"Hey, little one." He cooed. "I can't believe how tiny you are. I can barely see you."

You laughed quietly, bringing your hand down to rest on top of his much larger one. He kissed the soft skin of your slightly swollen belly, and the intimacy of the small gesture made your heart swell with love and affection for both him and the child growing inside you.

"I wonder if they'll be blue." You mused, running your fingers through the ends of his hair.

"Why, in the name of all things unholy," He looked up from his ministrations. "Would it be blue?"

"Because, you're, well, you know..." You waved your hands expressively. "Nevermind. I had a scan a few days ago, do you want to see?"

You fished in your back pocket, pulling out a small folded piece of paper.

Desperation was not something Thor was used to.

However, in that moment, it was exactly what he as feeling.

He'd crossed his legs, he'd shifted his weight from leg to leg uncomfortably. But however hard he tried, he just could not shift the feeling. He needed to go to the toilet, and he needed to go to the toilet badly.

As the age-old saying went, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

He'd uncomfortably wandered towards where he'd seen you and his brother wander off to.

What he was not expecting to see, was Loki knelt between your legs.

His hands flew up to his face, shielding his view. He'd seen this before, and it scarred him for life.

What even had he seen?

His brother, kneeling between the legs of a mortal woman. Your jeans, he noted, were entirely done up.

Loki was kissing your stomach, caressing it, a dark piece of paper clutched in his other hand.

"Your daddy loves you so, so much," His brother had whispered to your stomach. "But don't give your mummy too much grief, ok?"

Words escaped Thor.

This woman Loki had brought him to, was pregnant. With Loki's child.

He cleared his throat, startling both you and his brother. Loki scrambled to his feet, anxious about being caught in such an intimate moment with you.

"I needed the toilet." Thor's voice came out in a much higher pitch than his intention.

"On your left." Loki's voice was barely a croak, his voice hoarse.

"I'm okay," His voice came out in a more nervous way than he was expecting. "Congratulations are in order, I think?"

"Yes." Loki's voice was gruff, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Thank you, brother."

"Thank you, Thor." You smiled warmly at the god.

"Anyway," Loki was evidently in a hurry to change the subject. "Do you know where the Allfather is?"

"He's in Norway. That's all I know. He's hidden himself well." You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. "But I do know a man who might be able to tell you more."

Loki's lips curled into a satisfied grin.

Thor's state of confusion remained long after they left your house. He was, as the mortals would say, totally gobsmacked.

Unable to provide the location of Odin, you'd handed Loki a neatly folded piece of paper. As far as Thor knew, his brother had not yet opened it.

Loki had kissed you passionately before he left, an uncharacteristic display of affection and one that made Thor deeply uncomfortable. He'd cleared his throat in a pitiful attempt to stifle a laugh, met only by his brother's middle finger in his face.

Rude.

He glanced at his brother as they walked. He'd not said a word since they’d left, but his hair was mussed from your fingers and his cheeks flushed from your embrace.

“I’m shocked.” He mused. “A woman - an attractive woman - likes you.”

“Harsh.” Loki frowned. “And she didn’t, at first. Like me, that is.”

“Smart woman.” He chuckled, eliciting a punch from the taller of the two.

In his many, many years of existence, he would never have guessed that Loki would be the first of the two of them to become a dad. He never would’ve even imagined his brother as a father in his wildest dreams.

In all honesty, he had never imagined a woman taking Loki as her lover.

He shuddered at the mental image. Yeugh.

“Congratulations, I guess.” A sudden fondness overwhelmed him. “Dad.”

“They are everything to me.” Loki’s voice was clear, concise in a way he had never before heard from his mischievous brother - he was, after all, the God of Lies. “I would gladly give my life to save theirs. I’d give yours, for that matter.”

“Your sentiment is touching.” He grunted. “Anyway, where are we even going, brother?”

He turned to his suit-clad little brother, watching him withdraw the piece of folded paper from his pocket. He unfolded it carefully, revealing your delicate, printed writing.

S. Holmes

221B, Baker Street, London.

#loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson smut #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston x reader #loz writes loki

295 notes · View notes

thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 9

3rd Person POV

Hermione, who had come back with (Y/n) the day before term had started, takes a different view of things. She is torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row - "If Filch had caught you!" - and disappointment that he hadn't, at least found out how Nicholas Flamel was.

(Y/n) had opened her mouth to say something, but Fred and George had darted across the Common Room and dragged her away and towards Oliver Wood, her three friends staring after her, and catching her apologetic gaze before Oliver snaps at her to pay attention.

Oliver seems to be working the Quidditch team harder than ever. Even the endless rain that had replaced the snow couldn't dampen his spirits. The Weasleys complained that Wood is becoming a fanatic, but Harry and (Y/n) are on Wood's side. If they win their next match, against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the House Championship for the first time in seven years. Quite apart from wanting to win, they find that they has fewer nightmares when they're tired after training.

Then, during one particularly wet and muddy practice session, Oliver Wood gives the team a bit of bad news. He'd just gotten very angry with the Weasleys, who kept dive-bombing each other and pretending to fall of their brooms.

"Will you stop messing around!" Wood orders. "That's exactly what'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at the words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he splutters through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going go be fair if me might overtake Slytherin."

The rest of team - besides (Y/n) - land next to George to complain, too.

"It's not my fault," says Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

Which is all well, thinks (Y/n), but I don't need a repeat of what happened last time, whoever did it.

The rest of the team hangs back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry and (Y/n) sprint straight back up to the Gryffindor common room, where they find Hermione and Ron playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron though was good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," says Ron when Harry sits down beside him and Hermione shifts to make room for (Y/n).

Then Hermione catches sight of (Y/n)'s face. "What's wrong?" she asks, a worried look on her face and Ron looks over at (Y/n).

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry tells the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," says Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," Ron offers.

"Pretend to break you leg," Hermione says.

"Really break your leg," at Ron's words, everyone turns to him.

"I can't," says (Y/n), then she signs. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

At that moment Neville topples into the Common Room. How he had managed to climb through was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone but (Y/n) and Hermione laugh, and (Y/n) leaps up an performs the countercurse. Neville's legs spring apart and he gets to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" (Y/n) asks him, leading him over to sit with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Malfoy," says Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urges Neville.

"Report him!" (Y/n) agrees with the brunette.

Neville shakes his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbles.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Harry says.

"He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier," Ron says.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville chokes out.

(Y/n) feels around in the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulls out a chocolate frog. She gives it to Neville, who looks as though he is about to cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," (Y/n) says.

"The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin?" Harry finishes.

"Thanks, (Y/n), Harry ... I think I'll go to bed ... D'you want the card (Y/n), you collect them don't you?"

As Neville walks away, (Y/n) looks at the Famous Wizard card.

(Y/n), reading the card, smacks herself in the face and everyone turns to her. "I found him!" (Y/n) hands the card to Hermione and she sprints upstairs and grabs a alchemy book from her nightstand.

"I never thought to look in here," (Y/n) says, sprinting back downstairs and over to her friends. "Snape gave me this a few weeks ago to read."

(Y/n) opens the book and flips through the pages. "Nicholas Flamel is the only know maker of the Sorcerer's Stone."

This doesn't have the effect she had expected.

"The what?" ask Harry and Ron.

"Honestly, don't you read?" Hermione asks.

"The Sorcerer's Stone," (Y/n) begins pacing back and forth, her friends watching, "it was a legend, but I guess now it's true." (Y/n) runs a hand through her (H/C) hair. "It can transform any metal into pure gold and can produce the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal. If I remember correctly, Flamel just turned six hundred and sixty-five."

"The dog must be guarding the Sorcerer's Stone!" Harry begins.

"I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone removed out of Gringotts!" Hermione finishes.

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" exclaims Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it!"

At Harry's mention of Snape, (Y/n)'s mouth spreads into a frown.

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," says Ron. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

. . .

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Harry and Ron are still discussing what they'd do with a Sorcerer's Stone if they had one. It wasn't until Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team that (Y/n) remembers about Snape and the coming match.

"I'm going to play," she tells the other five. "If I don't we'll be behind in the cup. If we win, I'll show them ... it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," Ron comments and (Y/n) shoots him a incredulous look.

As the match grows closer, however, (Y/n) becomes more and more nervous, whatever she told her friends and sister. The rest of the team isn't very calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the House Championship was wonderful, no one had done it in seven years, but would they be allowed to, with such a biased referee?

Harry doesn't know whether he is imagining it or not, but he seems to keep running into Snape wherever he goes. At times, he wonders if Snape is following him, trying to catch him on his own. Potions lessons are turning into a sort of weekly torture for Harry, Snape seemingly getting worse in each class. Harry didn't see how he could - yet sometimes he had to horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

(Y/n) knew, when they had wished her and Harry good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Ron and Hermione were wondering whether they'd ever see her alive again. (Y/n) hardly hears a word of Oliver's pep talk as she pulls on her Quidditch robes and picks up her Nimbus Two Thousand.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, had found a place in the stands next to Neville, who couldn't understand why they looked so grim and worried, or why they had both brought their wands to the match. Little did (Y/n) know that her friends had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. They had gotten the idea from Malfoy using it on Neville, and were ready to use it on Snape if he showed any signs of wanting to hurt (Y/n).

Back in the locker room, Oliver Wood had taken (Y/n) aside.

"Don't want to pressure you, (Y/n), but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much."

(Y/n) nods, a determined look on the Seeker's face.

"The whole school's out there!" says Fred, peering out of the door. "Even - blimey - Dumbledore's come to watch!"

Harry and (Y/n) exchange looks. "Dumbledore?" Harry asks, dashing to the door to make sure. Fred is right, there's no mistaking that silver beard.

Harry could have laughed out loud with relief. (Y/n) was safe. There was simply no way that Snape would dare hurt (Y/n) if Dumbledore was watching, Harry thinks. Maybe that's why Snape is looking so angry as the teams march onto the field, Harry thinks, which Ron notices as well.

"I've never seen Snape look so mean," the ginger tells the other girls. "Look - they're off. Ouch!" Malfoy had poked Ron in the back of the head.

"Oh, sorry Weasley, didn't see you there," Malfoy grins at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wonder how long (L/n)'s going to stay on her broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"

Ron doesn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, is squinting fixedly up at (Y/n), who is circling the came like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

"You know how I think they chose people for the Gryffindor team?" says Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awards Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. "It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter and (L/n), who've got no family, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains."

Neville goes bright red but turns in his seat to face Malfoy. "I'm worth twelve of you Malfoy," he stammers.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howl with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes from the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's nerves are already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about (Y/n), "I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word -"

"Ron!" says Hermione suddenly, "(Y/n) - !"

"What?! Where?!"

(Y/n) had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which draws gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stands up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as (Y/n) streaks towards the ground like a bullet.

"You're in luck, Weasley, (L/N)'s obviously spotted some money on the ground!" says Malfoy.

Ron snaps. Before Malfoy knows what's happening, Ron is on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitates, then clambers over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, (Y/n)!" Hermione screams, leaping onto her seat to watch as (Y/n) speeds straight at Snape - she didn't even notice Malfoy and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione watches to see Snape turning on his broomstick to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches - the next second, (Y/n) had pulled out of the dive, her arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in her hand.

The stands erupt; it had to be a record, no one could remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

"Ron! Ron! Where are you? The game's over! (Y/n)'s won! We've won! Gryffindor's in the lead," shrieks Hermione, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging a beaming Pavarti Patil in front of her.

(Y/n) jumps off her broom, a foot from the ground. She couldn't believe it. She had done it - the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors come spilling onto the field, Harry sees Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped. Harry lands beside (Y/n) and they feel a hand on their shoulder and they look up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," says Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry and (Y/n) could hear.

The Gryffindors run to lift (Y/n) onto their shoulder; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.

Harry leaves the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He leans against the wooden door and looks up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Gryffindor in the lead. (Y/n) had done it, she'd shown Snape. . . .

And speaking of Snape . . .

A hooded figure comes swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walks as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry recognizes the figure's prowling walk. Snape, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner — what was going on?

Harry jumps back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he sees Snape enter the forest at a run; he follows.

The trees are so thick he couldn't see where Snape had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he hears voices. He glides toward them and lands noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbs carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stands Snape, but he isn't alone. Quirrell is there, too. Harry can't make out the look on his face, but he is stuttering worse than ever. Harry strains to catch what they are saying.

". . . d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus . . ."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," replies Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry leans forward. Quirrell is mumbling something, but Snape interrupts him.

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I —"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," says Snape, taking a step towards him.

"I-I don't know what you —"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hoots loudly, and Harry nearly falls out of the tree. He steadies himself in time to hear Snape say, "— your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't —"

"Very well," Snape cuts in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."He throws his cloak over his head and strides out of the clearing. It is almost dark now, but Harry can see Quirrell, standing quite still, as though he was petrified.

. . .

"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione squeaks.

"We won! (Y/n) won! We won!" shouted Ron, thumping (Y/n) on the back."And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right — talk about showing Slytherin!"

"Everyone's waiting for you and (Y/n) in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens," Ron continues.

"Never mind that now," says Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this. . . ."

He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

"So we were right, it is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy — and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus-pocus'— I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through -"

"So you man the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" asks Hermione in alarm, (Y/n) shifting thoughtfully on the desk she was sitting onto of.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," says Ron.

Hermione glances over at (Y/n), who is sitting silently, a thoughtful expression on her face. "What is it?" (Y/n) asks.

"The thing about the loyalty confuses me," (Y/n) says, jumping off the desk. "Who would Quirrell need to prove his loyalties lie to? Dumbledore right, what if Quirrell is trying to get the stone? What if that whole stuttering thing is an act? I've never been a hundred percent about him myself."

Ron shrugs her off, "It must be Snape."

"Not necessarily, not to be rude or anything, but I'm his favorite student," the others nod in agreement. Then (Y/n) turns to Hermione. "Who was sitting behind Snape at the first Quidditch match?"

"Quirrell," Hermione says.

"My point exactly," (Y/n) says but Ron and Harry shrug her off again.

"It's definitely Snape," Harry says and (Y/n) shakes her head and walks back to the Gryffindor Common Room alone.

Despite herself, she grins when she portrait whole swings open and the Common Room erupts into cheers as she steps through. Oliver and Fred come over and lift (Y/n) up onto their shoulder and everyone begins to cheer:

"(Y/n)!"

Word Count: 2963 words

#hermione granger x sister reader

12 notes · View notes

gendercraft · 3 years

Text

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Four: Waylon]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Waylon hopped out of the vent into a tiny, mostly bare room. A Variant sat in the corner, hugging his legs with his face buried in his knees. A metal storage crate barricaded the door.

“You mind if I move this?” Waylon asked quietly.

The man shook his head.

Waylon swallowed and braced himself against the crate. His weak muscles trembled and strained as he pushed. Holding back a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut. When it was finally out of the way he shook his hands out and sighed.

Poking his head into the hall, he bit his lip. It was empty, the walls covered in plastic, emergency lights still blasting. The rest of the lights had gone out. There were several dead bodies littering the hall, blood smeared on the plastic. One body was completely ripped in half, torso from legs, guts spilling into the floor.

He snuck into a security room and shut the door behind him. Through the window to a decontamination chamber, a man in scrubs pressed his hands to the glass.

“Help me, please!” He cried. “I’m a doctor! I need to get home to my…” His eyes widened. He spluttered for a second, then said, “You’re not security. I was… I’m a patient,” he said carefully.

Waylon stepped closer, brows furrowed.

“I stole these clothes from a… dead body I found. You gotta let me out of here. Please. Just push the button, open the door. We can get out of here together!”

Waylon hesitated. He wished he’d recognized the man—if it were really a doctor, he’d leave him to rot, but he couldn’t risk hurting a patient, could he? Fuck. He slammed his hand on the button.

The doors slid open, and a Variant with a grimace and a red face stepped inside. The doctor/patient gasped and stepped back.

“No, no!”

“All of you,” the Variant snarled, grabbing the back of the doctor/patient’s head and slamming it into the glass. Waylon stepped backwards with wide eyes, “doctors and liars.”

He slammed the man’s head into the glass, over and over and over and over again, thunk, thunk, crack, thunk, blood spurted everywhere. Slipping out of its socket, the eye was crushed against the glass. Blood dripped from his mouth and nose and eyes. Crack! Thin lines stained the glass like a halo.

Waylon felt sick. Gagging, he backed up until he was pressed against the door. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The Variant thanked him, then left.

He’d never seen a man die before today. Never seen a dead body outside of a coffin. Dozens in the last few hours, murdered and worse. The look in the Variant’s eyes, the raw anger, as he crushed the man’s skull… There was no real difference between the doctors and patients now. They were all crazy, all sick.

And what was Waylon? He watched a man die and only thought, it’s not me, thank God.

He knew he’d die someday. He didn’t want to be murdered.

Waylon stumbled out of the room and made his way to the airlock. It sprayed him with that awful-smelling green gas, then let him through. The corpse watched him as he left. He crept through to the closest exit he knew of, but it was jammed and blocked. Dead Variants littered the ground.

A file caught his eye. He picked it up with shaking hands.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Resignation for Mental Health, CC 8208

Ms. Grant,

You may receive requests for information from a Mrs. Lisa Park, of Leadville, CO, in the coming weeks concerning the resignation and hospitalization of her husband, Waylon. If so, please forward them to my personal attention.

Waylon’s stomach lurched. Lisa? Oh, God…

Waylon Park (former consulting contract 8208) resigned due to previously undiagnosed mental illness. I personally visited Mrs. Lisa Park and her sons and broke the news to them, with the “silver lining” that Murkoff Psychiatric would be graciously providing treatment.

Mrs. Park had some less than charitable things to say about myself and the Murkoff corporation. I assured her that with her power of attorney she could try to fight the doctors’ diagnoses of her husband’s illness.

However, if it were discovered that he resigned under false pretenses, his insurance would be cancelled and the family would be saddled with not insignificant healthcare debts.

The paper crunched in Waylon’s fist.

Hopefully she understood.

But if she insists on making a nuisance of herself, or tries to get around me, please let me know. This is one I want to take care of personally.

Yours,

Jeremy Blaire

Waylon shoved the paper in his pocket. Please say she let it go. Please let her be okay.

Blaire’s voice echoed in his head.

“Somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle.” The laptop cracked on the ground as Blaire dropped it. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier of biometric security.” He tapped his forehead. “Stupid, Mr. Park. More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy!” A sick grin spread across his face. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to have you committed. Mr. Park, will you willfully submit to forced confinement?” He glanced over his shoulder at the three armed security guards that followed him. “Did you hear that, agent?”

Waylon’s heart slammed against his chest, his fingertips. The fear burned hot in his abdomen, sweat gathering on his brow.

“He said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire.”

“Great!” Blaire waved his finger. “Oh, and… did I just hear Mr. Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?”

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire.”

“That was brave, indeed, Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery… and sacrifice. Maybe you should administer Mr. Park here a light anesthetic?”

“Gladly.” The front guard stepped forward and wound his arm back.

Waylon raised his hands. Blinding pain rippled across his face, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Waylon ground his teeth together so hard something cracked. He would get back to Lisa and the boys if he had to tear through the entire asylum.

The next airlock was broken, so he climbed atop a stack of crates covered in a blue tarp and dragged himself on top. Army crawling across, he jumped to the ground. It was pitch black in the hall. He raised his camcorder and flicked on the nightvision.

He found himself in the cafeteria. Body parts were strewn across like decorations. Someone hummed and mumbled nearby. Bodies hung from the freezer’s ceiling like cured pigs. Flesh teared in the cafeteria, munching. Hands shaking, he crept into the kitchen.

Waylon gagged. Blood boiled on the stove like someone was making fucking spaghetti, an arm and a hand poking out of the bubbling warmth. He entered the dining area, and behind the glass of the bar, blood splattered across the copious amount already caked on. Around the corner, then he zoomed in to look through the glass at the naked, bearded man sawing into a corpse.

Keeping his camera up, Waylon’s eyes watered. He stepped forward.

POP!

The microwave beeped and the head inside exploded.

“Oh, God,” Waylon choked out.

“Don’t you look at us,” the man snapped. “I love him.” He pulled out an organ and dropped it into his mouth.

He chewed with his lips open, blood spurting, tissue tearing. Waylon stumbled back and hurried out of the room. He doubled over and gagged, choked, trying to vomit but nothing coming up.

Sitting on the ground, he set the camera down facing him. “Don’t ask to see my body, Lisa,” he choked out. “When I die, when you finish the lawsuits that let you pry this footage from Murkoff’s army of lawyers and corporate hitmen, don’t make them show you my body. Just bury it. Or burn it. Let my sons remember me whole.” He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. “That man is eating human flesh,” he whispered. “He looks at me and I see anger. A little desire. But more than anything, hunger. Please don’t make them show you my body.”

He grabbed the camera. He didn’t plan on dying, but he would not risk not warning Lisa.

He passed through a locker room and into a hallway, towards a grated door. A corpse hung by the wrist to set of handcuffs, looped through the grate, holding it closed. He had to get through there to get to the prison, get to the radio.

“Fuck,” he whispered, yanking at the handcuffs. He’d have to find the key. There had to be a security guard around here somewhere.

Across from the grate was a boarded up door. The glass above it was broken. He climbed atop the desk resting there and pulled himself through the broken window, hissing as glass cut across his thighs.

Keeping an eye out for the key, he crept down the hall. Bzzzz!

Waylon dropped to the floor as the cook came into the hall. His eyes glowed in the infrared, slowly surveying every inch of the blackness. There was that desire in his eyes, that hunger. Waylon kept the camcorder up and swallowed, his skin crawling. Out of all the people in Mount Massive, he did not want to be in the hands of the cook.

He thought about turning around and finding an alternate way to the prison, but it would take too much time. He’d just have to be careful, quiet. He crept forward. The hall went forward and then to the left, with a room to the right. As the cook disappeared into the room to the right, Waylon hurried forward, still low to the ground. His eyes were on the corner. If he could just get around the corner, maybe he wouldn’t be seen.

His foot crinkled on a sheet of plastic hanging off the wall. He froze.

“I can smell you!”

Shuddering, Waylon crept further into the darkness.

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!”

The saw buzzed, bzzz!

Just keep moving, Waylon.

He crawled forward in the hall and turned the corner. The man was still busy in the room to the right. In the turn of the hall, the walls were lined with wooden doors. He crept into the first one just long enough to catch his breath. It was bare with just a stack of mattresses on a metal bedframe, no key in sight. He stood up halfway and peeked open the door.

The hall was empty. He swung the door open and snuck out.

“MINE! You are mine!”

The voice was right behind him. He broke into a sprint, just in time for the buzzsaw to catch the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Fuck!” He gasped, skidding to a stop at the blocked end of the hall and slamming his fist into the door as he barged inside.

He ran straight across the hall to the next door, barging through that one as well, leading him into a room full of storage shelves and crosses on the wall. A dead end. He looked around wildly, a place to hide, a place to escape.

“Feed me! Feed me! FEED ME!”

Waylon whipped around. The cook grinned, blood glinting on his teeth, white in the night vision. He swung the buzzsaw and Waylon leapt backwards. Tripping over his own feet, his back smacked against the ground. The saw came over the cook’s head, and Waylon rolled out of the way, only for burning pain to rip through his leg.

“FUCK!” He staggered to his feet and felt frantically at the blood dripping down his calf.

Another swing, Waylon brought his hand up, a slash down his palm. He whimpered and stumbled backwards.

Then he saw it—an open vent sat above a desk. He ducked another blow and dashed for the vent. His collar caught and he choked, his eyes watering. The cook dragged him backwards and threw him into a shelf. His chest and knee and elbow slammed into the corners. Wheezing, he made another break for the vent. He shoved past the cook and leapt onto the desk as all the lights flicked on.

The buzzsaw caught the bottom of his foot as he dragged himself into the vent. He curled into a ball and hissed through his teeth. His blood smelled of iron, it was all he could smell, all he could think. He sat up as best as he could, cramped in the little square space, and looked for a seam to rip with his teeth. The cook grunted and cursed as he tried to get into the vent, only to turn and leave the room.

“I’ll find another way…”

Waylon found a seam in his pants and ripped off what fabric he could. It wasn’t even or clean, but it was long enough for him to wrap around his calf and tie tight enough to hurt. He ripped off another piece for his foot, and another for his hand.

He was shaking when he dropped to the ground. His foot burning, he bit back a whimper.

A Variant stood in the corner. He was dressed, thank God, but bandages wrapped around his eyes.

Waylon held his hands up as the Variant stalked towards him. “Hey, hey… What’s going on, man?”

“I have an itch.”

He cringed. “I can’t help with that. Want me to get those bandages off?”

The Variant shook his head. What could be behind the fabric?

Waylon swallowed. “Your clothes… you come from upstairs?” He wasn’t wearing the standard jumpsuit the Morphogenic volunteers wore. His clothes came from the Male Ward.

“Yes.”

“So you can get around safely, you know how to not get caught?”

The Variant hesitated, then continued forward. Waylon stepped back. “I can move around.”

“I need you to find someone for me. Can you do that? I can switch out your bandage for something cleaner.”

“...okay.”

“There should be an investigative journalist running around here somewhere—”

“Miles Upshur.”

Waylon blinked. “Y… yeah. How’d you- how’d you know?”

“He’s been… talking to everyone. Trying to. In the abandoned sections. Headed to the basement, last I saw. Why do you need him?”

“Find him,” Waylon begged, “tell him Waylon Park, the whistleblower, is headed to the prison. I’m going to get help.”

He stopped walking. “You’re the whistleblower?”

“Yes,” Waylon said uncertainly.

“I’ll find him for you.”

Waylon found a seam in his shirt sleeve and ripped it free. He carefully pulled the bandages away from the Variant’s face. In the sockets, the eyes were completely eviscerated, nothing but bloody pulp. Waylon felt like gouging his own eyes out with a spoon. He bit back a gag and pulled the new bandage around his eyes.

“Get those clean,” he mumbled, then patted his shoulder. “I need to go.”

Waylon was back towards the labs, plastic lining the glass walls and laptop carts clogging up the halls. He wasn’t sure if the handcuff key would be around here, but he was just grateful to be away from the cook.

He looked around for a tense couple of minutes, stepping quietly and keeping an ear out for any buzzing, before he finally found a bathroom with a dead security guard. He snatched the key from the man’s belt and sighed in relief.

All he had to do now was get back.

He found his way back to the main hall and stuck his head out the door. The cook grumbled to himself, peeking inside a room, saw buzzing beside him. Waylon swallowed and crouched. He crept into the hall and around the corner.

If he comes this way, I’m fucked. But the barred door he originally jumped over was in sight. The cook was not agile, couldn’t follow him. It was Waylon’s only strength here.

He cursed himself, then broke into a sprint.

“MINE!”

His feet slapped the floor as the cook raced behind him. Vaulting over a turned over bed and leaping onto a desk, he scrambled up through the window again, the broken glass making more cuts across his thighs.

Waylon stumbled to the ground. His vision blurred, his head hot. Panic? Blood loss? Both? Whatever. He got the key.

Unlocking the handcuffs, the corpse’s arm slipped out and thunked to the ground. With shaking hands, Waylon pulled the handcuffs out of the lock and swung the grate open.

It led into the crematorium. He headed down a short staircase and crept into the room. His heart was still racing, his legs still equipped to run. Something banged on the nearby door as he passed the ovens. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

Backing up, he watched the door shake again, then stop. He hesitated.

I have to go this way.

He watched his steps, stepping over broken glass and litter. The second he passed the door slammed open. The cook grabbed him by the neck and threw him onto his back. Waylon wheezed and kicked, the wind knocked out of him. The cook hauled him onto a wooden slab and raised the buzzsaw.

“This meat is mine,” he cackled.

He brought the buzzsaw to his chest, slowly inching forward until red splattered. Waylon threw his head back and screamed. Then the cook pulled the saw away.

Grabbing Waylon by the legs, he shoved him backwards. The heat of the oven burned the back of Waylon’s head.

“You stay there,” he grinned, “and cook!”

Then he threw Waylon into the oven, and slammed the door.

@wasnt-hiding-in-cuba-for-7-years asked for waylon torture porn so here’s me delivering the best i can this early in the story. more whump later, hope you enjoyed lol

#outlast #outlast whistleblower #waylon park #camerashipping #outlast revisited

8 notes · View notes

loureadsandreviews · 4 years

Photo

This is for the lovely Hayley for her 30th Birthday. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: FinanXFemReader You are new to Coccham, and you seemed to have caught Finan’s eye.

Warnings: Fluff, Sex, Smut, parental death

Word count: 4230

“Ya new here now, ain’t you.”

You look up from where you knelt on the bank, your knees resting on the cold wet earth as you’re bent over washing a dress in the river. You had been lucky to be taken in by Lord Uhtred’s household after your hamlet was burned by Danes. Only you and your Sister survived, but she had decided she wanted to fight the Danes, and had asked to join the Dane Slayer himself. She was an inspiration, but you had seen enough killing now to last a lifetime.

“Yes, Lord, I am.” You offer him a small smile, admiring the width of his shoulders and the way his armour always fit him so very well. Your Sister knew you liked his dark eyes and irish accent, and she liked to tease you about it. She kept telling you to make yourself known to him, but how were you to do that? He was Lord Uhtred’s second in command, his right hand man and seemed to be his closest friend. He was not the kind of man you just wandered up to and tried to flirt with. Or maybe he was, but that did not mean that she was the type to wander up and just flirt openly with someone. There were names for girls like that after all.

“You’re Naira’s Sister, right? She has a wicked temper.” He chuckled and rubbed a large hand over his beard. You had not moved, your hands still rubbing the material of the dress together. You still had a pile of washing to go, but you were trying not to just sit and stare up at him. Was he not already snapped up by someone? He was so handsome.

“Yes Lord, she can be a little on the fiery side. It’s our Da’s temper, or um was our Da’s temper.” You look down at your hands, already pruned in the water, and at the blue dress there. Your Da had been all you and your Sister had, after your Ma had passed away trying to give birth to your Brother, though he had then passed on two days later after. Your Da had raised you right though, and he tried to protect you and Naira when the Danes had come, but they had killed him as he stood with his log axe in hand in the doorway. You and Naira had managed to hide up in the rafters, he had given you the time to do that safely. And he had died for it.

“Ah, yeah, I am sorry to hear about that.” His accent had seemed to get a little thicker as he looked serious, and you could not help but actually pull your hands up out of the water and rub your cheeks, at least then if he noticed your face was wet, he would think river water and not tears. After all no man wanted a girl who would cry all the time.

“Thank you Lord.” Your voice was soft, hardly above a whisper as you managed to look away from him.

“Hey now Y/N, don’t be calling me Lord. I work for my silver.” She looked up and couldn't help but giggle to the smile (and the quip) he had aimed at you. He did not wear arm rings like the Danes who worked for Lord Uhtred, but you did notice his gold rings, as he tucked his fingers into the leather chest piece of his armour, at his neck.

“Sorry, um… what should I call you then?” You are looking up into his dark eyes, one damp hand brushing back your hair, the wispy bits that always escaped from the simple tie back. As you were unmarried you were not expected to braid it down your back like most of the women here. She had noticed that even most of the Saxon women were doing it now, though you had no idea if you would. Not that you had to worry about it anytime soon.

“Finan, just Finan.”

“Then I shall, Just Finan.” You can not help giving him a cheeky smile, the kind of smile that her Sister claimed either meant she had done something wrong, or was thinking about it.

You were rewarded with a bright smile and another one of those deep rumbling chuckles. The sound of it sent a pearl of pleasure down your back and into your core. It makes you shiver, and the way he laughed a little more makes you wonder if he noticed it. He was leaning a little to the side, before he ran his free hand over his beard once again.

“I’ll let you get back to your fun task.” He tells you, with another smile and a wink this time. This has to be the Finan charm you had heard about. Of course there were rumours that he had been with half the women in Coccham, but then he was a man, and that was what they did. And if he had, none of the women here spoke ill of him, so that had to mean something right?

“I’ll let you get back and hold Lord Uhtred’s hand.” You tell him, your voice a little high, a flirty tone, before you look back down at the dress that luckily was still there in the water. You would have caught hell if Stiorra’s dress had drifted off down stream.

You did not look up again until the sound of his footsteps had drifted off, along with the chuckle. When you did look in his direction again he was heading through the gate, both thumbs tucked into his leather armour at the sleeve holes. He looked back at you, caught you looking at him, and then paused to give you grin (or what you thought of as a grin, it is hard to tell from his distance) before he vanished inside the palisade gates, leaving you to wonder if you would catch him later some time, or if this had been your one and only chance and you had blown it.

========================

A week later, and you had bumped into Finan more often than you had thought you would. He would just seem to appear whenever you were doing some of the more mundane tasks around the estate, you would share in some witty banter, and then one of you would head off and usually with a backward glance. Naira had been teasing you about him, saying that he kept mentioning your name at the most strange times and asking her what sort of things you liked. And apparently even Sihtric and Osferth had even started to tease Finan, bringing up your name in the middle of practise to trip him up or beat him in sword moves. And that seemed to drive him crazy, and made you smile as it meant that he may well really like you.

But you had no idea how to take that next step and show him you liked him too. After all, you did not want to be hurt. You had lost the strongest and only male figure in your life not long before, and while you were not looking for Finan to fill that particular role for you, you did not want to be just another hump in the hay, cause if you were then he could continue to look around for someone else. Your Da always said that you and your Sister were worth more than that.

There was to be a celebration that night, as one of the girls in the village was marrying one of Lord Uhtred’s men. He was throwing the feast, to show how happy he was for the couple, and everyone was invited. You had been working on your dress all week in your spare time, which there wasn't much of as it was harvest time, and that meant all hands on deck, as it were. Your dress was a deep blue, you had dyed it yourself, again and again until you had gotten the colour just right. You had also dyed Niara a tunic to match, as you knew she would not wear a dress now. You then had embroidered small yellow and white daisies around the neckline and cuffs, and in amongst the flowers you had placed some celtic love knots. They were not obvious, the thread was a dark grey colour, but if someone were to look closely, then he would see. You wore a light blue under dress, and then your newly embroidered dress over the top. Niars claimed you looked beautiful with your hair all brushed out until it gleamed, and coming from your beautiful sister, that meant the world.

You attended the feast with your Sister, though it soon became clear that she wanted to go and be with her warrior friends. You tell her to go, that you have your own friends to go sit with but it's a lie. You haven't made any friends here yet, but you knew that if Niara knew that then she would not leave your side. And you want her to have a night of fun.

One of you had to, right.

You did notice that Finan kept looking your way during the feast, but he is seated on the main table with Lord Uhtred, and the happy couple. And the two newly weds do look so happy that you feel overcome with emotions and a sudden sting of loneliness. You excuse yourself from the table, not that anyone around you is paying attention to you, and you take your cup of wine out of the main hall and into the cool evening air.

As the sun is setting, it has painted the sky in purples, pinks, oranges and reds, colours that had no business being together all blended in like that. It was striking, and you find yourself absorbed by the sight, it being one of the most beautiful sunsets you had ever seen.

"Breathtaking," a voice behind you makes you jump, a hand going to your chest as if that would calm your racing heart as you turn to see Finan with a semi serious look on his face. "Sorry, did I make ya jump?”

“No, well yes actually Just Finan, you scared me. But it is fine, your apology is accepted." You look back over your shoulder at the sunset and smile wistfully. "Yes, it is breathtaking."

"Yeah, the sunsets alright though when you've seen one then you've seen them all." He gave you a smile that seemed to be mischievous in nature but also shy at the same time. "I was talking about the view I had." He was still smiling, but there was something in his dark eyes that seemed to be serious too.

He walked towards you, and joined you where you leaned against the handrail that led into the main hall. You were blushing after his compliment, and you did not miss the fact that he was standing close enough to you that you could feel the heat from his body against your arm. His large arms were folded over his chest, and for once he was not in his armour, but just a green tunic with a striped pattern on it. It suited him, browns and greens did seem to suit him, and she could hardly imagine him in blue. That would just look weird.

“What are you doing out here anyway, you are missing the festivities.” You ask him, trying to make small talk, but you know you are terrible at such things.

“Oh, I know, but I saw this vision of loveliness slip out the hall, and I thought I would come out and see if they were well. Have you seen her, the vision of loveliness I followed out? I'm sure she is around here somewhere."

His tease made you laugh out as you knocked your elbow into his ribs, which then made him let out a small yelp, a sound that was so unlike him that you stopped and just stared at him in that moment. He was chuckling to himself, shaking his head at you.

"What on earth was that? Did someone sit on a mouse? Or maybe spill ale down Osferths back again? Surely the great Finan, Dane-Slayer, did not just yelp like a small child?" You tried to sound serious as you spoke, but your words were interspersed by the giggles that were bubbling up from your chest. You also realised at some point that he had taken a step towards you, and you had taken a step back. And again and again.

"Come now, Y/N, I think you know it wasn't nae like that." He was still grinning, taking his slow large steps towards you, as he ran a hand back through his hair. Your eyes watched his hand, and you found you wanted to know if his hair was as soft as it looked.

"Oh, I think you'll find it was." You tell him, still grinning and only them feeling the wooden wall behind your back. And yet he still kept coming. "Maybe I should send word to the Danes, that the way to bring you down is by tickling your ribs, or maybe the King can use you as a distraction, make you squeal and while the Danes are laughing he can slaughter them all."

"Oh lass, I'm going to make you squeal." He was still an arms length away, though when he moved to you, you never saw him coming. You had never seen someone move as fast as him, Finan the Agile indeed. His hands went to your own ribs, teasing out where you were ticklish. Which was everywhere. You try to stop him, but alas he was too quick, and far too strong to be put off. You laugh, and beg, and threaten, and then went back to begging, as tears of laughter rolled down your cheeks.

And by the time you were breathless, leaning up against the wall, with Finan standing almost against you, his hands on your waist, his head angled down towards yours, it was then that you knew you were going to kiss him. You could see it coming, as clear as day follows night, and while you were trembling to feel his lips on yours, you wanted to prolong the moment, the build up, something to remember him by when he moved on to someone else.

"I wonder where else you are tickl--"

That was as far as he got before you grabbed the font of his tunic and pulled his mouth down to yours. If he was taken by surprise he didn't show it with how his hands moved from your hips around your back though neither moved lower than your lower back you realised, as his lips moved against your own. His beard tickled your cheek and upper lip, making you smile into the kiss. You had no idea how long it lasted but when he drew back from your mouth you were almost panting for breath. A reaction that he both shared and seemed to like.

"Ya just full o'surprises, ain't ya."

"Why don't you see if you're good enough to find out?" You just can't help the banter with him, and before you can wonder what else he is going to say, his mouth was on yours again, though this time you opened your lips to him, and he deepened the kiss enough to make your toes curl. His tongue began to dominate your mouth, tasting, exploring, licking, you find it hard to keep up, though he was very alert for when you moaned in pleasure at a certain touch, especially when his hands finally slid down your hips to cup your buttocks in his strong hands.

When his mouth finally tore itself from your own and began kissing down your cheek to your jaw, you moaned against him, a hand moving up into his hair. It was as soft as you thought it would be, and you run your nails over his scalp and smile as he moans, though then you feel his teeth at your throat, and in the midst of the stinging pleasure you know he has left a mark there for all to see.

"So tempted to take you back to me rooms, just to see if you taste this good all over." His voice had dropped lower, and you can't help but shiver in pleasure.

"Take me there."

Finan paused and looked up at you from where he had been trailing kisses and bites down your neck. "Y/N, ya Ben drinkin, and I don't need ya Sister coming for me balls cause I took advantage of her drunk sister."

"Firstly, she is not my keeper, I do what I want. Secondly, I had one ale, too bored to drink more. And lastly, I'm not a maid, so you wont be doing nothing to me that wasn't done before."

There had been a boy in your town, Alresford, and the two of you had decided in the spring that if the Danes attacked you would rather not die virgins. It had been quick, awkward and fumbly, but you know from other women it got better with practise. Your sister didn't know, she would have killed Alresford if she did, though the Danes had already done that deed when they had taken your village.

You could see the surprise and no little amount of delight on Finans face at the news. "As long as ya protect my balls from your Sister, Y/N, then it seems I am in for a night of exploring and tasting…" His words died off as his lips found yours again, and with his hands still on your bottom, he picked you up as if you weighed nothing at all. It made you cry out in surprise, which just made Finan laugh as he kissed your breasts through your dress, before moving to carrying you in his arms as he moved quickly around the hall and towards his house.

You remember little of the journey there, other than you made use of the time to kiss and nip at his throat and side of his neck. The little hitches of breath and the following moans told you he seemed to like what you were doing, and it also added to the pleasure that was making its way straight down to your core. You were feeling a need to have him buried deeply inside of you, and you hoped it would happen sooner rather than later.

Arriving at his house, you felt him kick the door open, then closed, and a hand moved from your side to flick a latch, before it was back on you, and he moved through to his bedchamber. The waiting bed was large, covered in fine cotton sheets, and rolled up furs you would assume would be for winter. He placed you on your feet, and then began to kiss you once more. You were kissing him back, your hands going the hem of his tunic as his hands went for your dress ties. And your hands just seemed to get in the way of one another. You both laughed, before he drew back and pulled his shirt off, while toeing his boots off before sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Undress for me.” It was a request and an order, and you smiled as you turned your back to him, and began to unlace your dress, so it fell to the ground, and your underdress soon after joining it. You took off your shoes, then looked over your shoulder, naked, and looked at him. The look of pure arousal you were greeted with was almost your undoing, turning to him you wondered if he could smell your own arousal building. “Sweet Mary, Jesus and Joseph, but you are a sight.” His hands moved to your hips, and pulled you to stand between his legs as his mouth went to one of your breasts, kissing, caressing with his mouth, and nibbling the sensitive underside. His hands kneaded your buttocks, before he spun you around to leave a teasing bite on one of them.

“Sit down and hook your legs over mine.” Again, not quite a request and not quite an order. But you do, and he moved his legs wider, opening you up. “Now I want to hear you moan.” He told you, as one arm hooked around you, his hand moving down to start teasing your damp folds with his fingers as they searched out your most sensitive of places. His other hand seemed content to tease your hard nipples, cupping your breasts as his mouth started at your ear and began to kiss and nipple its way down to where your neck and shoulder joined. His fingers began to play you like a harp, each twitch and movement bringing you closer to your pleasure, that heated pressure that was building inside of you. His thumb began to rub the sensitive nub hidden in your folds, as his first two fingers teased at your entrance, sliding in to you, but only slightly.

That was enough to send you over the first time, and you cried out to god, to the gods, to Finan, and really anyone else who was listening about how good that felt. He chuckled in your ear, though did not stop until he had his fingers all the way inside of you, and then wiggled them just slightly until they found the place they seemed to have been searching for, and that touch alone sent another shocking wave of pleasure through your body, as you trembled in his lap, head laid back on his shoulder, sweat slicking your body as you tried to fight for breath.

“Now that was a chorus for God.” He whispered in your ear as he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling horribly empty. You watched as he raised those fingers passed your head and heard him suck them clean with a hum and a groan that made your inner muscles clench all over again. “Sweet Jesus you taste like heaven. Or maybe the nectre of the gods.” He teased, before his hands were scooping you up and laying you on the bed. She smiled up to him, and watched as he pressed off his breeches, exposing his length, more impressive than you would have dreamed, and giggled as he began to crawl up your body, his hands tickling your sides as he did.

“Are you sure, Y/N? This is what ya wont?”

“Yes, this is what I have wanted since I first came here.” You told him in a whisper, and could not help but smile as he was fully above you now, and your legs were open for him.

“Then why, by all the holy saints, did you not say so before now?” There was humour in his voice, and as he leaned down to press his mouth to yours once again, you felt his tip at your entrance. And with his tongue sliding into your mouth, his length pressed into your depths.

Your hands gripped his biceps hard, your nails biting skin, as Finan began to move inside of you, still kissing one another as he did. Your moans mixed with his, the small noises that escaped your mouths as the kisses became something harder, all teeth and tongue, as his hips began to pick up a steady rhythm, one you both could work to. It had been nothing like this with Alresford, but then neither of you had known what to do then. All you knew was that with each hard thrust into you, you felt more full, more pleasure and it was becoming too much.

“Oh Y/N, you feel wondrous,” he whispered against you as you felt your climax building once again, almost painfully fast as his hips moved in a different way, faster, making you whimper out. “Come undone for me again, Y/N, please.” He whispered, and you could almost hear the strain in his voice now. It only took a couple more thrusts and you arched under him, your breath lost as you cried out once more as that red hot heat filled out, seemingly exploding from your core outwards through your body.

You were almost too far out of it to feel Finan pull out of you, but you caught him spending his seed into his hand as he lay on his side next to you. You met his eye once he was done, and once you could both breath normally again. “I did no ask ya if I could spend myself into ya.” He explained, and you knew it was a lordly thing to do, not to assume, and you watched as he wiped his hand with a rag from the side of the bed.

“You are a good man.”

Then he was pulling you into his arm, so your head was on his chest, his hand ran through your hair. You could hear his heartbeat, and you closed your eyes to listen to it’s strong beating under your head.

“I can see ya becoming an addiction.” He told you, before kissing the top of your head, his eyes closed and a contented look resting on his face. When he spoke next, he sounded half tired, and you were not even sure if he knew what he was saying.

“You said I am a good man,“ he said. "But I am not that good a man. And I am–I think I am falling catastrophically in love with you.”

I hope you enjoyed, and happy birthday!

@waiting4inspiration @tephi101 @fandomfic-galore @whenimaunicorn @laketaj24 @simsadventures @maggiescarborough @saldelys @youbloodymadgenius @inforapound @oddsnendsfanfics @ucancallmechlo @lauwrite1225 @pokeasleepingsmaug @cocchamscrew @hecohansen31

@flowers-in-your-hayr @gearhead66 @naaladareia @geekandbooknerd

#Hayley'sBirthday #prompt challenge #birthday challange #30 prompts for turning 30 #finan #finanfic #finan x reader #tlk finan #the last kingdom fic #the last kingdom finan fic #finan smut fic

88 notes · View notes

beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

Note

I’m really intrigued by Rayla’s moonshadow assassin peers. I especially am interested in Andromeda because I think she is the only other girl in the group? Do you have any headcanons in how these teen/young adult assassins interacted? Do you think Rayla isolated herself from them because she was always iffy about taking a life? Also TDP finally colored their map and I know you live maps, find any new cool stuff? I especially love how there’s a frozen sea north and a spinning sea south, imagine the powerful Magic’s that channeled to make them.

Okay, so I jumped straight to the map, did 80% of it, and wandered away for a few weeks. I apologize, anon. Let’s get this going again:

I’ve got a few headcanons on the Moonshadow assassins! It seems likely that they hang out mostly with each other, when they hang out, to reinforce their teambuilding and to give them some socialization, since assassins tend to keep others at arm’s length. So I kinda figure they tend to roam as a pack on their evenings out in the village, if they’re not married to a non-assassin like Runaan is.

I think that could be part of the reason that Rayla might not have hung out with the others as much, too: Runaan wanted to be either training or at home with Ethari, so Rayla probably spent a lot of time doing those things just because he did them. And when Runaan was doing more serious training or missions, that’s when Rayla had her free time to run around the forest and make adoraburr friends.

Runaan could’ve probably insisted that she do something more assassiny with her free time. Shadow an assassin, do more studying, practice certain prescribed skills on her own. But he didn’t. He let her play. Soft assassin is soft!

Listen, anon, I have a fun headcanon for you about Andromeda--and by fun, I mean it’s really angsty half a second after you start thinking about it. Ready?

What if: Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister. If they’re both Lujanne’s children by different assassin dads who kept dying in battle, but a Moon mage needs an assassin leader partner to defend Xadia with, and Lujanne knew her son Runaan wasn’t old enough to lead yet, so she burned through three or more husbands protecting him until Runaan was well trained enough to lead the assassins himself and had fallen in love with a mage who adored him and would be his partner in her place.

Andromeda looks a fair bit like Lujanne, too:

Along with Runaan, they all have long hair, side tails bound in silver cuffs, and some form of braids. Andromeda’s hair is sectioned in front similarly to Runaan’s. Her accent sounds more British than Scottish, though she only has the one line: My eyes for truth. And Lujanne and Andromeda are the only two Moonshadow elves we’ve met who have medium blue horns, while Runaan’s are dark blue. Almost everyone else’s horns have purple or pink as their base color.

But then, see, Andromeda went on Runaan’s mission, and she died. Her spirit was the most aggressive in TTM, usually closest to Rayla with her sword out, as if she hated Rayla the most. If she had a vested family interest in Runaan’s mission succeeding, and then it went pear-shaped because of Rayla, that would make sense.

No matter if she’s related to Runaan or not, she’s wearing horn cuffs, so she was in a dedicated relationship of some kind, and that’s so sad. Someone’s missing her the way Ethari’s missing Runaan. :’((((

Anyway, it’s just a headcanon, but since you asked, there ya go.

Okay, on to my thoughts on the map, of which I have a normal and healthy amount:

The Map Border:

Everyone doodles in the borders. I love to see what they put there.

Starting in the upper left and going counter-clockwise, the five human crowns are cool

Cornucopia swirls center left look like an homage to Cabbage Man from ATLA

Bait is staring at Evenere. his home? Or maybe he just wants to eat the dragonfly on its logo

Human defender has a beard. Hairagorn. He's very heavily armored but has no helmet. Long hair is braided to rest on front of shoulder, like the blond elf in the painting at the Moon Nexus. Old timey hairstyle?

He’s defending Katolis Castle specifically. I wonder if the little white building is kinda random or if it’s supposed to represent the Banther Lodge. Nah, I have a better guess: that’s where Viren grew up

The crack in the map looks meta. It's been repaired somewhat. Makes me wonder if it's an in-world map, whose, who ripped it, and who fixed it. Sir Phineas Kurst seems like the kind of guy to almost shred his really cool map

The star behind Zym's egg has seven points

The two ships on the southern waters are western and eastern respectively. Tidebound elves from Singapore? Jack Sparrow would be proud

There is land just south of the Dragontail, wonder what’s there?

The leaves around the human figure are small and numerous while the Moonshadow elf has fewer but bigger leaves

The elf is standing in the way of one of the six leaves growing out of the rune rose and that leaf's curly tip seems to have been replaced with a curl of the elf's very long hair

The human pose is more offense and the elf pose is more defense. But the elf has two swords, and one has some wicked hooks in it.

Elf has 4 fingers instead of 3 so whether it’s in-universe or meta, they were drawn by a human :DDD

The elf's braid winds around their horn and I think that's clever

High collar shirt under protective layer, bracers and elbow gloves, bare biceps, complex shoulder getup, ornate hair that's butt long and partly braided, two long slightly curving swords... horn cuffs too. This is a Moonshadow assassin in the same gear Runaan's got, poised to defend the Xadian half of the map as the human is poised to defend his side

The rune rose isn't a compass. It has a two sided pointer and six primal runes. Just decorative I guess. ;)

More lettuces on right center.

Maybe a portaling caterpillar on the center knot? Little bug pal, I see you

“The Five Human Kingdoms” lettered in red, “Xadia” in blue. Giving me Stratego flashbacks. Even the flowers on their banners are color coded

Banners in the corners are similar but Xadia has more fluttery tips

Thunder drawn all attacky top center, does he have anything to do with the Frozen Sea being frozen?

Compass rose under Thunder’s wing

Dick island near the compass. Well, Duren is the breadbasket of the human lands. A most excellent cartography joke! 10/10 would chortle wholesomely again

The Human Kingdoms:

Neolandia

Capital Eboreus seems to be a lake city below a mountain and I'm here for all the Lake Town refs.

It's also the eye of the elephant shape

Not a lot of trees, mostly grasses or desert. Only borders Duren across a couple rivers/estuaries/sea channels

Heart shaped island next to elephant trunk

Land generally broken into several sections by sea/rivers

If it’s rivers, they seem to generate from the capital’s lake and flow in several directions. And they say there’s no magic left in the western lands! ;)

But if there was exactly one source of freshwater in a desert land, it makes sense that you’d find a way, magical or mechanical, to spread that lifegiving water in as many directions as possible so your people can thrive so kudos to Neolandia’s ancestors/Tidebound elves/whoever managed that, it’s brilliant

I can and will make up explanations for anything on a map. I adore worldbuilding

Del Bar

Two named locations. Since Del Bar’s national symbol is a serpent, I guess Serpentongue is the capital.

Hinterpeak is a sweet name. Looks like Helm's Deep with that retaining wall. What’s it for? Are there dwarves in this land? Is it an Earthblood stronghold? Maybe it’s like the Mines of Moria, and the Earthbloods were chased out and/or killed inside and now it’s full of nasty orcses but someone left a MacGuffin down there so *nudges hero* Off you pop.

Nice forests around the southern mountain range but northern DB is more arid or grassy lands like Neolandia.

Considering that crops grow well in Duren, which is farther north, I assume there is a massive meteorological gyre over the human lands, with a southern wind blowing down over the western realms and keeping them icy until the mountains of Hinterpeak block and divert them, protecting Evenere. The winds don't blow eastward without warming right up-- and causing thunderstorms in Katolis how about that-- because there is a warmer side to the gyre over Katolis and Duren, blowing tropical warmth and moisture north and providing rain for trees and crops alike. Most years, anyway.

How does the weather fail in Duren for seven years in a row, anyway? That seems like a Thunder issue. Unless it’s a Sunforge issue, which I’ll get to below.

Ahem.

Borders Neolandia, Duren, and Katolis across rivers, but most border is coastline.

Serpentongue probably got its name from the two river heads around it

Cluster of dead little cracks spawns a single river. Looks like someone cracked the tub and it drained away. I wonder how much of this landscape has been affected by the Mage Wars. Big watery basins have flooded and other spots seem dead. The lands may or may not actually touch depending on how deep some of these waterways are

Evenere

Looks like someone punched holes in the land with a giant pencil to make it a separate island. Broken outline with scattered islands

That Pawprint Isles has only four toes

Moon-shaped island is very crescenty indeed

Are these isles home to refugees or outcasts from Xadia? Listen, I want pirates and that sea looks pretty Caribbean to me

No capital city, hmmm what's that about? Is it underground, does it move? Maybe Fareeda’s capital is on the back of a world turtle and she’s constantly on tour around the island?

That arm of land ending in a peace sign, please can we get surfers

The hills emanating from that claw shaped headland look like something is sleeping under the island, hello yes I am here for giant immortal creatures please

Katolis

its capital is also called Katolis, the only human realm to use the same name twice

Weeping Bay could be a ref to the tears the humans shed after they reached the west. Or the Moonshadow elves as they left their forest for the east. Or both. Both, in this case, is bad but balanced

Boomerang island next to the Dragontail

The river the Dragaang rode on was going uphill

The watery slash in the land between Katolis and Del Bar is awfully straight. So is the one between Del Bar and Neolandia. I call magical warfare.

Katolis has a bunch of mountains in the east, part of an old natural border before the lava one appeared

Mt Kalik is probably volcanic. It's a standalone mountain and it's really tall. Rex Ignius maybe? Oh, probably not, I think I see him peeking on the other side of the map

The trees of Duren and Katolis are different then the western lands. Softer green, deciduous. And the land itself is yellower, warmer in tone

Forests centered on Mt Kalik

The Moon Nexus looks like an eye on a dragon head near the Dragontail, and Evenere looks like a severed wing (Yes I am still wondering where Luna Tenebris went, why do you ask)

Weeping Bay looks like the most natural body of water in the western lands

Three red little trees scattered around the Katolis map. Fruit trees? How very Moonshadow.

Duren

The only land border among all the human kingdoms is between Duren and Katolis. Maybe it used to be further south along the river?

Capital is Berylgarten, set on a lake. Beryl is a stone that’s usually green, blue, or yellow in color, very gardeny

Second smallest realm but the breadbasket of the human lands. Has several little forests and great tilled fields

Being a farmer in Duren is probably as awesome as being an assassin in the Moonshadow Forest; you do what you do for all your friendly kingdoms

Northernmost land is cold and craggy, named Skall's Hook along the sea

Third ship in the Frozen Sea is icebound and crushed. Looks western, indicating no possible passage

Lots of colored trees and shrubs as if fruitbearing, I keep comparing Duren to the Yakima Valley in Washington State

Where the lava reaches the Frozen Sea, it melts the ice next to Duren's mountains

Northern Xadia:

Lux Aurea

Most of the center lands of this map has warm tones for its ground. Maybe that’s because of the long reach of the warmth and light of Lux Aurea’s Sun Nexus, and only the lands that are just too far from it are truly cold and icy. It would explain why Duren is a breadbasket realm so far north--it’s just across the border from Lux Aurea.

If there’s anything to that, then I suddenly worry for the fate of all the human lands now that the Sunforge has gone dark. It’s early summer now in Xadia, and crops in Duren will be ripening soon... Unless the sun’s magic was helping them grow. This coming winter could be rough. Next winter, people will die. Unless they can purify the Sunforge again.

Also, I have to wonder if Duren’s seven years of famine had anything to do with Sunforge shenanigans. They’d have happened at Khessa’s command, and we know she despises humans. If she was responsible for all the struggles that humans had to go through without enough food for seven years, and then their desperate attempt to fix the problem by invading Xadia for a Magma Titan’s heart which extended and exacerbated the war, I can see why Aaravos might feel Queen Khessa deserved to die

The city’s shaped kinda like an Egyptian pectoral necklace on this map, and that’s super pretty and not at all ominous

Also that’s a lot of gold for a whole city and I wonder how they got it all

The Shiverglades and the Shards

These areas are north of Lux Aurea and seem cold but not very icy, even though the Frozen Sea is right there. More thoughtful glances at the Sunforge over this one. Is it warming the land, or not warming the sea? Both?

Shiverglades is a play on Everglades, so this is a cold swamp, which sounds super fun I’m sure. Permafrost, tundra maybe?

The Shards seem to be rock islands with ice mountains. Glaciers are cool.

I wonder if something broke those islands off on purpose. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy worldbuilding? Yeah, well, I like world-wrecking, too.

Storm Spire

Has a good view on everything that happens for miles, including Lux Aurea, the Midnight Desert, the Shiverglades, the Black Tundra, the Uncharted Forest, and Drakewood.

Defensible position, no other tall mountains nearby

Also able to alert others to danger, especially since Avizandum could teleport like lightning

The Midnight Desert

It’s pretty big! And it looks like it’s littered with ruins of columns and dead palm trees. Like something else used to be in that great space and then something Very Bad happened to it. Maybe there was one great city where all the elves could mix together, and then it got utterly obliterated and the elves all fled to their respective safe places around Xadia. A city of black stone, back when Aaravos wore a crown? Now pulverized to dust and surrounded by not one, not two, but three primal nexuses? Hmmm...

All the wisps could be heat from the sand, or spooky spirit hints, or just an ominous sign of danger from the snakes below, but the overall effect is that the land is unhealthy if not cursed

The oasis is marked, and it must contain a spring since it runs a river out to join the river that passes through the Moonshadow Forest

Also the actual oasis kinda resembles a blue lizard which is adorable and probably also terrifying

Moonshadow Forest

The Silvergrove is the only village marked in the forest, so in keeping with the other lands and general map legend rules, it’s likely the capital/central village for the Moonshadow elves

The village is marked by four round-roofed homes between two tall leafy trees that shelter and hide them. It’s a hybrid balance between the blocky manmade castles of the human lands and the actual forest around them, showing a blending with nature that even the Sunfire city of Lux Aurea did not embrace, with all its golden buildings

It’s a good-sized forest, and it kinda stretches thin to the east but there it tentatively connects to the Drakewood Forest

Moonstone Path to the west just chilling in the lava like a blank alignment chart. Moonstone Path is Chaotic Hot.

Southern Xadia:

Ruins of Elarion

Elarion is a city, and it’s been lost to the humans for a thousand years

The building outlines are squared-off towers like the more modern castles in the west, suggesting that humans in Xadia built for strength and defense as soon as they could. They felt vulnerable and created protections in their architecture. The three elven cities we see also play to their strengths, but those strengths include magic. Elarion’s humans had to find a different strength, and they went with craftsmanship and ingenuity

It seems to be the only human city from before the border was drawn

“Ruins” doesn’t necessarily mean no one lives there at all, but it’s been emptied of humans and no one else has maintained it since

It had a great position on a vast lake, with sheltering hills and easy sea access

Sea of the Castout

This inland sea has five inlets and outlets. It’s hard to be sure which is which with some of them, with the way the water is drawn on this map. But I’m kinda liking the idea that all the water swirlies are places where Tidebound magic has been placed over the millennia, so the water can do whatever it needs to do depending on circumstances. That goes for the human lands, too. Katolis backward river, you’re off the hook.

With a name like "Castout,” I wonder if it was some kind of universal toilet to flush away things you didn’t want--including humans--who might wash up near Elarion and start to build there. Yeesh.

The rivers that flow into this sea pass through or near the Moonshadow Forest, the Midnight Desert, the Storm Spire, Drakewood, and the Uncharted Forest. That’s a lot of drainage.

It’s pretty far from the Tidebound Archipelago, so maybe its name is referencing Tidebound elves who have left their home colony

Was this always a sea, or did something that Xadia wanted to forget get flooded and hidden in the depths?

The land around it seems open and hospitable. It could be a good place to build/rebuild in a time of peace.

The Far Reaches

Open grassland with low hills

Two of the hills look like giant boot prints

Several colorful trees which I hope are fruit trees

Bounded by two rivers from the Sea of the Castout

Looks homey tbh, great spot to retire to get away from everything if there were a war that really shook you up

Ocean Point

There’s a Star rune here, and it could mean many things

The closest other marked location is Elarion

If this was where Aaravos lived of his own free will, I can see why he’d take a shine to the humans. They were his neighbors.

If he is imprisoned here, it’s literally the furthest point in Xadia from the other elven realms, with the Moonshadow Forest being the closest one and Umber Tor not too much further but in a totally different direction. If they were trying to isolate him physically with a portable mirror to watch over him, that’s a good spot for it

Possible location that the cube is leading Callum toward? Portal to the Star Touch home plane? Aaravos’s seaside B&B? Trap street?

Eastern Xadia:

Drakewood

Umber Tor looks to be the tallest mountain in all of Xadia, save possibly for the Storm Spire. It’s more traditionally mountainy, with a nice snowcap. Since it’s labeled, I’m guessing it’s the Earth Nexus, under which an Earth Archdragon sleeps

Also there’s a giant yellowish-brown dragon chilling next to the Tor. Yeah, he seems nice. Rex Igneous, I presume?

Or maybe not, since the neighboring forest is called Drakewood. Maybe this woods is just where a bunch of Earth dragons hang out? Ezran and Pyrrah flew off and returned with a crew of Sun dragons from somewhere, so dragons must have communities too

The mountains that edge the sea are shaped roughly like a stone dragon in flight

Drakewood seems to be the forest closest to Umber Tor, with both deciduous and evergreen trees, though there’s a huge swath of wooded land here, to the north and to the southwest. I wonder what the locals consider the border where the Drakewood becomes the Uncharted Forest and why. The way the evergreens are drawn almost looks like a border, a sort of kingswood set aside for a specific use. Rex Igneous’s best toothpicks?

Uncharted Forest

Okay this is a properly magical name, very mysterious. But uncharted by whom? People with charts? This might be a Sir Phineas Kurst name, which is outsidery, and it makes me wonder if the locals/neighbors have their own name for it, which the human explorer never learned, a la “Thunder” for Avizandum

Maybe “Uncharted Forest” just means no one ever turned those trees into charts though, old growth ftw

If no one lives here, will someone move here? If someone lives here, who are they? Earthblood elves? Moonshadow elves? Humans? This mystery, it calls to me

the trees are mostly deciduous and fill basically all of this whole section of land, up against the mountains and the rivers, so it seems very fertile land indeed

Earthblood elves could live here, but there is no city marked. Maybe because we haven’t gotten that far in the show, or maybe that’s the wrong sort of descriptor for how the Earthbloods live and organize. Maybe the whole forest is their city, like Pando, the interconnected quaking aspen clone forest

The northernmost part of this forest lies right between the Storm Spire and the Tidebound Archipelago, so it might get a regular flyover route for migration or messages

Yes, this forest is the most interesting place in Xadia to me, I desperately want to learn more about it

Black Tundra

Yeah this place isn’t ominous

Similar to the Shiverglades, but where that has shrubbery, the Black Tundra has single dead trees and creepy curving spikes. Scorched? Poisoned? De-magicked?

The water north of this area isn’t frozen, and with a lake to the south and a river and a moderate mountain range, the whole area looks like it would otherwise be decently habitable, but instead it’s cold and black

Is climate change a thing here, or will we get a nice horrible disaster instead?

Tidebound Archipelago

These islands have dotted lines around them, like they’re submerged at high tide, or maybe made of shifting sand that literally moves around like sand dunes across a desert, or perhaps they’re exactly at sea level with half their civilization in the air and half underwater or in cool bubbles, or maybe the islands actually float

Maybe the Tidebound elves even sank them on purpose for defensive purposes

The archipelago is about even latitudinally with the Storm Spire Lux Aurea, Berylgarten, and Eboreus so they probably get pretty nice weather

There’s no ice in sight here in any direction along Xadia’s east coast, so presumably the prevailing current is a warm one

do they have bridges connecting the islands? Ferries, animals who give them a lift across?

the islands have quite a bit of space on them. I wonder if there’s a big population, maybe a shifting population? Do Tidebound elves migrate up and down the coast like gray whales and return to the islands for certain holidays or social events?

This is probably the hub of the Tidebound elves’ culture, but the sea surrounds the whole land and infiltrates it with many rivers and lakes. The Spinning Sea and the Frozen Sea are pretty firm Do Not Enter signposts, but a determined Tidebound could get around either one if they wanted to

What I’m not seeing here is a city. Either it’s not been marked yet, or that’s not a thing that Tidebound elves have in their culture. If they don’t have a city, they’re possibly migratory in family groups, or maybe they stick to small villages like the Moonshadows do, but with even less central leadership

#asks #map of xadia #i love maps okay #xadia #andromeda #rayla #runaan #lujanne #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp angst #angst #through the moon spoilers

26 notes · View notes

yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

You Were Never Truly Gone ch.8

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Soooo, you guys saw the leaks? Bruh.....

This was it, her triumph, everything Kiyomi was hoping for. The pair was together in front of the altar, flanked on both sides by the mass of Faceless guard, each member hidden behind the traditional mask. Standing in the first row Kiyomi admired how gorgeous Mikasa looked in her white wedding dress, head covered by a hood. The Shogun was right there with her, dressed in black as a counterpoint to his bride, the smile on his face genuine and Kiyomi felt a pang of pride in her chest.

See? I told you that she’s beautiful.

Everything falling into place, as she listened to the Shogun recite his wedding vows, Kiyomi’s mind was already plotting on what to do next. She was the hero now, the one who brought them the new symbol, and she had to make sure that the other nobles remembered that, first she would….

The man was finished, and now it was Mikasa’s turn to speak. The priest looked at her expectantly, nudging her to begin her vows but the girl didn’t say a word. Instead, her gaze scanned the crowd until she found Kiyomi’s, forcing their eyes to clash. Confused, Kiyomi mouthed for her to go on with the wedding. But to her horror, the Ackerman girl didn’t comply.

An exceptionally cruel smile parted the blood-red lips.

And then the Shogun was stumbling back, a dagger thrust in his chest. One of the Faceless moved drawing his blade, and before anyone could do anything he rammed it into the groom’s back.

Chaos ensued.

Screams from everywhere, sounds of running as people panicked while Kiyomi stood where she was, staring at the scene. The treacherous guard pulled down his mask, revealing that shitty beard and green eyes that Kiyomi despised. Eren Yeager, the bastard, reached out and took Mikasa’s hand, pulling her into an embrace. All around them, the rest of the Faceless guard followed his lead, drawing their swords and hacking into the gathered nobles, blood splattering all over the temple’s walls.

Kiyomi couldn’t move. She stood and stared as the two kissed in front of the altar, the place where she was supposed to have her greatest victory. Instead of that, she was looking at the greatest loss as people around her kept dying, cut down by the Shogun’s guard. To make everything worse the ground itself shook, and faint stomps could be heard.

Separating from Mikasa’s lips, Eren looked her straight in the eye, his triumphal grin disgusting to look at.

“You know how I told you that I can’t restart the rumbling?”

Cracks ran all over the roof, and his next words confirmed Kiyomi’s greatest fear.

“I lied.”

A colossal titan’s foot came through the ceiling, and Kiyomi didn’t even get the chance to scream before she was crushed to a pulp.

Waking up with a gasp Kiyomi clutched at her chest, staring wide-eyed over the darkened room. Cabin, it was the cabin, she was still at the ship. A dream, nightmare, nothing else. Breathing deep to dispel the terror, she squeezed her eyes shut while massaging her temples.

It would seem that Eren’s sudden re-appearance did a number on her mental state, and Kiyomi couldn’t even say that she was surprised by that. He was nothing short of a monster, and she was right to hate him, right to despise that man from the bottom of her heart.

No, pull yourself together.

It doesn’t matter that he’s back, the plan is still going, Mikasa agreed to it. There will be no assassination and titan army, that was in the past and wouldn’t happen again. The horrors of the past were nothing but a memory, a terrible one but gone forever. Calming herself with measured breathing, Kiyomi laid back on the bed, looking at the moonlight dancing on the cabin’s ceiling.

It will be fine. Everything will be fine. Just a few more days…

The week-long voyage was supposed to be a beautiful dream. Kiyomi imagined it sometimes, how it would feel when she is carrying the fabled Mikasa Ackerman back towards Hizuru, saving her nation and the world in a single stroke. It was the moment of her greatest triumph, years of plotting and sacrifice finally bearing that sweet, sweet fruit. She wanted to spend the time wisely, get to know the Ackerman girl – the future wife of the leader – better, maybe plant some seeds into her that she could collect on later. Yes, it should have been great, a dream come true.

It was a purgatory instead.

Any time Kiyomi saw Eren she couldn’t help but feel the anger in her rising. He wasn’t even doing anything, just talking to the sailors and soldiers, joking with them even, the bastard truly had no brakes. They all liked him, she heard, Aaron was a popular guy and it made her teeth grit. Nobody knew that they were laughing around with a monster, a man that started an apocalypse.

No, to them this was just Aaron, a friend of the Ackerman girl.

It was even worse to find the two lovebirds together. Kiyomi was never big on romance, always putting career in front of her personal needs, and it didn’t feel good being slapped in the face with it. It was everything, all the little gestures – watching them eat together, passing by as they strolled along the ship corridors hand-in-hand, catching them stargazing while they laid on the roof. She had no issues with Mikasa having fun, laughing, giggling, and being in love, she hated that Eren got to experience it too. It wasn’t fair, not to the millions that he trampled.

Her mood got even worse when she saw them kissing, hidden in corners of the ship, once in a cargo hold too, it made Kiyomi miserable. Didn’t help that after three night of relatively peaceful sleep, bar the nightmare, she was once again awoken by: “Ah, Ah Eren, right there! Don’t stop!”.

That night she didn’t lay in bed and waited for it to end. Fed up with the two, Kiyomi left her cabin and leaned on the railing outside, popping a cigarette between her lips. Smoking in silence she stared over the waves, contemplating her situation.

Hizuru was getting closer and closer. In just about two to three days they would arrive, and she would present Mikasa to the people as their new symbol. Her marriage to the Shogun would be quite an event requiring a lot of planning and plotting on Kiyomi’s part – there were nobles to talk to, bribe, charm and threaten. After the Rumbling Hizuru more or less fell apart, shattered into pieces as many small-time barons took advantage of the chaos. She was serious about needing Mikasa, because through her – and the child of course – they would gain a unifying symbol.

Kiyomi sighed, tapping the ash into the ocean.

So much work, and so far from over. Picking the correct baron and convincing him to have his son marry this imported girl was difficult. He didn’t know Mikasa, and even with Kiyomi’s assurance that she is a beautiful and very dignified young woman it wasn’t easy. She managed, in the end, but now she had to think about what will happen once the future Shogun finds out about Eren. Or Aaron, doesn’t matter.

Mikasa was from the ideal “princess” – she was no delicate flower to be protected and that required a strong man in her life. She wasn’t a shy virgin with a blush on her rosy cheeks that could be presented to her future husband on a silver platter. None of that.

If Kiyomi would describe Mikasa with one word it would be powerful – both physically and mentally she was admirably strong. Quiet but not to be underestimated, not easy to manipulate either as Kiyomi found out recently. She played on the old woman’s desperation perfectly, forcing her to accept terms that would normally be impossible. Her having a lover was scandalous on its own, but that the person was no one else but the genocidal maniac everyone believed to be dead, now that was the cherry on top.

Bah.

Nothing to do about that now. Kiyomi was played for a fool but that would end soon – Hizuru was her stomping ground, the Ackerman girl knew no one there and would be dependent on her. Maybe the marriage would be rocky but as long as it produced an heir then everyone could walk away happy. And if the sounds that woke her said anything, it was that Mikasa could do that activity necessary for having children very well.

“Sulking on your own?”

The voice. The voice she hated with her entire being. Gritting her teeth around the cigarette butt, Kiyomi turned to see Eren coming to join her at the railing. Everything about him pissed her off. The way his hair was messy, tousled by someone’s fingers. The dark bruises that bloomed all over his neck. The scratches she could see, disappearing beneath his shirt. The half-cocky grin he wore, knowing very well why she can’t sleep.

“Felt like having a smoke.”, she growled, letting the irritation show in her voice, “Want one?”

Maybe getting him to smoke would kill Eren sooner. To her dismay he shook his head, declining the generous offer. Eyes traveling towards the Ackerman’s door, Kiyomi saw that it remained closed, Mikasa not coming out to join them.

“Where’s your “friend”, Yeager?”

“Sleeping. Exhausted, for some reason.”

Sure, some reason.

“And you came out here why?”

“Needed a breath of fresh air. She is very… intense.”

Kiyomi’s lips curved into a frown.

“You are just rubbing it in at this point.”

He shrugged.

“You wanted to know.”

Letting the breath out of her lungs create a large puff of smoke, Kiyomi turned back towards the ocean and continued staring into the distance. Maybe ignoring him will make Eren go back. An assumption which proved to be wrong, as he spoke to her soon after.

“You never asked how I came back.”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”, more ash fell into the rolling waves, “Nothing but trouble for me.”

“That’s fair. I would say that I’m sorry for causing it to you, but… I’m not.”, she could hear the bliss in his voice, “Being alive is amazing.”

At least he wasn’t lying to her, Kiyomi could appreciate honesty.

“Figured as much.”

Eren’s resurrection didn’t interest Kiyomi in the slightest. She couldn’t care less how he managed to cheat death for the last time, it didn’t mean anything. The practical woman that she was, Kiyomi was only interested in how it impacted her own planning.

To be frank, it threw a giant wrench into it.

Yet there was something else she would like to ask, and there would probably not be a better time in the foreseeable future.

“Tell me, how can you be so calm when you know what Mikasa will do once we get to Hizuru?”

“What do you mean?”

“She is going to marry another man, have a child with him. That doesn’t bother you?”

“That’s the terms of the deal Mikasa made with you. This is her show now, I’m just tagging along on the ride.”

“Ha, that doesn’t sound like the Eren Yeager I know.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”, one of his eyebrows lifted, “My previous mindset got me killed, you can’t blame me for trying something new.”

“Still, going from full active to full passive is…”, she studied his face for a second, “Strange.”

“Maybe, but I need to stay hidden and Hizuru gives me that. A sanctuary.”

“Indeed, as much as it pains me, I have promised that to lady Mikasa.”

“You hate me, and you have every reason to.”, Eren’s voice remained passive as he spoke, not rising to answer Kiyomi’s obvious verbal attacks, “I’m not going to apologize for what I’ve done and I can’t take it back either.”

“Good, because your apology would mean nothing to me.”

This time he finally reacted, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

“I do wonder if we will ever get along.”

Kiyomi’s scowl was the only answer required.

“Don’t count on it.”

“As you say…”, pushing himself away from the railings, Eren did that half-mocking bow again, “Good night, lady Azumabito.”

When the door of Mikasa’s cabin closed behind him, Kiyomi threw the cigarette into the ocean, angrily staring after it. Damn him, damn him to hell.

The morning of their arrival’s day found Kiyomi lecturing Mikasa in her cabin, giving her a few last-minute tips. The girl was looking great, happy and elated even, making the old woman forget all about the pesky Yeager.

“We will be arriving in the port and from there we will have a parade through the city.”, Kiyomi began her instructions, “You requested it and I made sure that the public will be there to see you. May I ask why you wanted one in the first place?”

“I want to give the people something to look forward to, I feel like they deserve as much, especially after I made them wait this long.”

Thinking about the working class already – Mikasa had some good instincts in her.

“Very good. The parade will take you to the palace, where I will show you to your chambers and give you a chance to freshen up. Come evening, the ruling council will gather and we will meet them to discuss the wedding preparations. Also, you will meet your husband there. Sounds good?”

The Ackerman girl nodded, taking it all in.

“I believe that you will take good care of me. Of us.”

Of course, couldn’t forget that parasite. And the goat. Then again, Kiyomi had nothing against the goat, it was a rather well-behaved animal. Eren on the other hand….

“I’ll have “Aaron” put on a uniform and march with the soldiers. I doubt that anyone will notice him, and not like people will be looking at them – all eyes will be on you, lady Mikasa.”

“As long as we can reunite in the castle, I like your plan.”, a firm nod, very military-like, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They could hear the shouting of the crowd from afar, the water carrying the sound rather efficiently. Standing on the deck, Mikasa looked at the fast-approaching shore, seeing the masses that gathered there in her honor, stomach doing little flips.

“Hey.”, a hand closed around her fingers, “Relax, we will be okay.”

Eren was right there next to her, dressed in a Hizurian uniform, offering a smile in these trying times. She managed to mirror his smirk, despite the twisting of her guts.

“I know. We are together, so there is nothing that I can’t handle.”

The ship’s horn indicated that the shore was even closer now, and Eren left with a last fleeting kiss. Kiyomi took his place almost immediately, ready to accompany her on this perilous journey. As Mikasa studied the port, she noticed that it was very modern, even more than she thought it would be.

“The buildings,”, she said out loud, “look very recent. Did Hizuru rebuild the port?”

“We had to, this area was completely devastated during the rumbling.”

“Oh…”

“Most of the damage had been fixed, but there are still areas which are nothing but trampled ground.”, Kiyomi’s face was sour, “We don’t have the manpower to fix it completely, and lack of proper leadership does not help.”

“That’s why I’m here, no?”

That brought a smile to Kiyomi’s face.

“Yes indeed.”

With a last booming horn sound, the ship backed into the harbor and the gangplank was lowered. The soldiers fanned out first, Eren among them, joining the forces that were already hard at work, keeping the shouting crowd away. Horses were brought when Mikasa and Kiyomi touched the ground, but that was not all. A small group pushed its way towards the two of them, moving to the left and right in a protective formation. They were wearing masks, hiding their identity, but from the lack of alarm on Kiyomi’s part, Mikasa figured that they weren’t here to hurt them.

“Who are they?”, she whispered to the older woman.

“Oh, I should have told you. These are the Faceless.”, Kiyomi quickly supplied, “Personal guard of the Shogun and his family, elite soldiers that will die for you in a blink of an eye.”

“Do they ever take these masks off?”

“Only if it is requested by their charge, otherwise it is a great dishonor. Why?”

“Just curious…”

So a personal guard that was supposed to stay with her all the time and never take off a mask covering their face? Hmmm…

Mounting up in a swift and practiced movement, Mikasa waited until Kiyomi also managed to scramble up on her horse.

“You know, we could have used cars.”, she said, watching the older woman struggle.

“We could, but horses are more regal and also it reminds the people of where you came from.”

“I thought that my origin is a thing to be forgotten.”

“Not at all! Your past is what made you who you are, and it reminds us of the strength you possess. Managing to survive such a nightmare you were thrust into takes incredible skill and dedication.”

Unsure on how to reply to such praise, Mikasa directed her eyes towards the crowd instead. There were so many people here, cheering for her, and it made her heart race. Finally, Kiyomi managed to seat herself properly, clicking her tongue at the mount before addressing Mikasa.

“Shall we?”

The parade through the city was quite an experience. Mikasa had never waved so much in her life before, but here she was, doing her best to appear both dignified and cheerful as she returned the endless love of the people. It reminded her of the times when she and Eren watched Survey Corps return from their expeditions beyond the walls, albeit grander in scale.

The ruckus subsided when they left the port city behind, moving through the countryside towards the capital. There were next to no forests left, trampled beneath the titan’s feet, but the meadows and rice fields stretched to the left and right of the road, restored in the years following the rumbling. High and up, they rode for a few hours before the other city rose in front of them.

The capital was situated high, mostly in the mountains, and because of that a large part had escaped the destruction, Kiyomi said. There were people waiting for her, cheering as their group rode past, and Mikasa was once again forced to smile and wave like an idiot. Eren, hiding between the soldiers, had a time of his life watching her.

The palace was also much greater than anything that Mikasa saw in her life. It was more like a whole city, hidden behind additional walls, towering over the rest of the land. Untouched by the rumbling, it remained as grandiose as before, taking her breath away.

“I take it that you like your new house?”, Kiyomi purred from the right, “A step up from a cabin in the mountains, is it not?”

Mikasa wasn’t sure that she could agree with that statement but forced herself to nod either way.

Still in a bit of a haze from this all, Mikasa was led to luxurious chambers that felt out of this world, with Kiyomi saying that all this is hers now. It was crazy, considering that the most she ever owned was a tiny cabin. And the old woman was all smiles and nods until those dreaded words left Mikasa’s lips.

“Where’s Eren?”

“I… I’ll send for him.”

Both to give them a little privacy and because being in Yeager’s presence annoyed her, Kiyomi left soon after, saying that she will be back to escort Mikasa to the meeting with the ruling council. Finally reunited with her lover, the pair shared a hug before she pulled back.

“How’s Yams?”, she asked, curious about their animal companion.

“See?”, he grinned, “I told you that you’d miss him.”

Mikasa playfully slapped Eren’s chest.

“Answer the question.”

“In the royal stables, loving it so far.”, he looked around, “Same as you it seems, this is quite the place.”

“Mhmm, not the same without you though.”

“I doubt that I can stay in your chambers without people gossiping.”

“That depends…”, she took a hold of Eren’s chin, making him look at her.

“Have you ever considered joining a royal guard?”

It was almost evening when Kiyomi came back, knocking before opening the door, flanked by two Faceless, to the Ackerman’s chambers. Mikasa was sitting at the table when Kiyomi came in, Eren was staring out of the window, and neither paid too much attention until she cleared her throat.

“We should get going to the meeting, lady Mikasa.”

“In a minute. First, we need to talk.”

A small crease formed between the old woman’s eyebrows.

“What about?”, she asked cautiously.

“I think that it would be better if you sit.”

“I think that I can decide that for myself.”

Coming closer, she leaned on the table. Eren also changed his position, standing behind Mikasa and putting his arms on her shoulders in some sort of protective gesture. Kiyomi didn’t like this – the closeness of the two, the air of mystery suddenly shrouding Mikasa’s words.

She didn’t like it one bit.

“If you have something to say,”, she forced her voice to remain level, “then speak.”

Exchanging a quick look with Eren, Mikasa put her hand over his before meeting Kiyomi’s gaze. And then she dropped a bomb that shook her to the core.

“The thing is, I do not plan to marry the Shogun.”

Her eyes, her grey eyes were burning into Kiyomi, and she felt her knees go weak. Her butt met the chair as she folded, doing so at the same time as Mikasa’s next words finding their way into her ears.

“I never did.”

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot

4 notes · View notes

geethedentist · 4 years

Text

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up with Chapter 10 here! Read this chapter on Ao3!

Chapter 11: My Own Protector

A weight had been lifted, and I felt wonderful. I practically danced back through the doorway of the tavern, but the sight of Jamie stopped me dead in my tracks. I saw Dougal follow his line of sight directly to the gash on my head. Jamie’s nostrils flared ever so briefly.

“The … the horse kicked me.” I shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

“Aye, ye ken how that filly can be sometimes.” Dougal then made a horrible attempt at a casual throat clearing noise and swiftly made for the stairs.

“I thought ye kent not to stand directly behind her.” Jamie mumbled as he rose and headed for the stables. He did not meet my eyes.

It was getting increasingly difficult to lie. The fact that Dougal now knew about it did not make lying to Jamie any better. It actually made it worse since Dougal had aided me in said lie.

In any case, I would only have to do it for one more night and make it out with no obvious lacerations or contusions. Tonight was the last fight, and this time I was not plagued by my former ulterior motive. Perhaps someone in possession of more common sense than I had might have decided not to go.

What was the point? Dougal trusted me now. Gavin would close the ring for a while after tonight, so a huge portion of the town was likely to be there. The point was I wanted them to watch me prove I could win.

The sight of Jamie’s face drawn with desperation as he begged me not to do anything foolish swam around the back of my mind all day. I finally forced it out as I wrapped myself in my cloak, preparing to leave. I bypassed Angus’s and Dougal’s rooms; they knew tonight was the last one.

Rupert and Murtagh were now the only way in which my secret could get back to Jamie. I stopped outside Rupert’s door, from which issued loud, hog-like snoring. Next was Murtagh’s door, from which came more snoring, but less hog-like. Jamie’s door had no candlelight underneath. After straining my ear against it until I was satisfied that I had heard no noise from within, I painstakingly tip toed down the stairs.

The taproom was empty, except for a figure in the armchair by the fire. I couldn’t see their face, for their back was turned and they too wore a dark traveling cloak. The stranger absentmindedly prodded the dying embers with the poker; sparks flew out of the dull-glowing log as it broke in two. If they knew I was there, they didn’t turn around. They still didn’t turn as I walked out the door, closing it very slowly behind me.

__________________________________________________________________

Jamie had dared not breathe until he was positive that Claire was gone. He’d made a frantic grab for the poker and tried to appear to be nonchalantly moving the ashes around. He wished he’d had the sense to pour himself a cup of ale, maybe that would have made it more believable. But no, Claire had left as quickly as she could.

He knew she wasn’t very likely to try and talk to him. She had wanted to make as little noise as possible, although her attempt to descend the stairs sounded quite like a tip-toeing elephant. He waited a minute or two to give her a head start, and then rose to follow. If nobody was going to tell him the truth, then he would find out for himself.

Claire was a terrible liar; she looked at anything and everything except the person she was lying to, and she repeatedly scratched her nose. Dougal was a seasoned liar, but Jamie knew his game. He’d give an indifferent shrug to belittle one’s perfectly valid suspicions.

Stepping into the chilly night, he drew up the hood of his cloak and watched Claire’s back reach the end of the street and turn left. His stomach gave a lurch.

He knew beyond doubt where she was going, but he had hoped to God that he was wrong. He was even nursing some half baked wish that she really was an English spy. But no, that wasn’t true. As tough a demeanor as she liked to build for herself, Jamie witnessed its foundations crumble more than once. In the forest with the two soldiers on the day they met, and on the day she glimpsed the English marching toward Nairn.

She always fought to keep her hands steady, and Jamie knew her well enough by now to know this came with great effort. What really gave her away was how all of the color drained from her already pale face, leaving a strange tinge of gray. How the muscles of her cheeks and neck popped out from clenching her teeth together as hard as she possibly could. It was the same way she had appeared when the stables had caught fire. But that time he liked to think that they had been alone and therefore she let her fear show plainly, tired of the effort it normally took to conceal it. Her own countrymen terrified her.

He felt like a fool because she had been able to lie to him so easily, inept at it as she was. He should have known sooner. He should have known long before she’d slashed her head open. Christ, she had even asked him to help her improve her fighting skills, and he’d happily obliged just grateful to spend time with her.

She’d been withdrawn from him ever since the soldiers had occupied the tavern. They hadn’t spoken much; she had taken to sleeping for a large portion of the day. She was always covering up strange and unexplained bruises. As much as it pained him to see her willingly hurt herself, there was another deeper fear lurking in the back of his mind that he hadn’t yet been able to identify.

Claire suddenly whipped around in the middle of the darkened street, the moon outlined her in silver and the frayed ends of her scarf swayed gently in the breeze. She didn’t have her sword or bow on her, but he saw her hand dart to her belt where he knew there was a dagger. She always kept the scarf and dagger close; they had both come from Jamie. A bit of cloth ripped off the end of his tartan offered to her as a makeshift scarf a few days after the rent party set out. She had been shivering.

Jamie pressed himself against the nearest building until she decided that the coast was clear. His lips pressed into a thin line as he noticed a slight limp. He peered around the next corner as she had just finished having a laugh with the man at the front door and disappeared down the stairs. Two minutes later, he descended as well, and his eyes widened in surprise when he reached the bottom. There was more than twice the number of people here since they had first come. There was already a fight underway, but Claire was nowhere to be seen.

“Do ye reckon that lass is going win tonight?” A conversation at the table to his left had Jamie inching over to listen.

The other man grunted. “Weel she’d better win, or else I’ll kill Dougie for tellin’ me to put my money on her!”

“Excuse me,” Jamie addressed them. “Are ye talking about the Sassenach? D’ye ken where I can find her? I’m a … big fan.” He added hastily when he saw their matching suggestive grins.

“Oh aye?” The first man laughed. “What makes ye think she’ll fancy you? One look from her and ye feel as if she’s already kicked ye in the balls!”

Jamie knew the look well; she gave it to Dougal quite a lot. The other man elbowed his companion. “Ach we canna blame the lad. After all, ye’ve said yerself that ye’ve never seen a pair of breeks look that good!”

Jamie felt his face begin to heat with anger, and he wanted nothing more than to drag their drunk arses into the ring right now and beat them both. He grabbed the shirt of the man nearest to him. “Either tell me where she is, or else I will kick ye in the balls for her.” He snarled.

The man ducked and pointed to a door in the corner. “She’s probably in the back with Gavin!” Jamie threw him back in the chair and headed for the door. He imagined bursting in on her and declaring that he had known what she was up to the whole time. But that thought was followed almost immediately by a sour taste in his mouth. It didn’t seem like the right way for her to find out. He didn’t want to embarrass her; he didn’t want her to feel ashamed.

It was then that he decided that he would not let her see him, and that he had only come to watch over her, to make sure she didn’t get hurt. He would watch the fight and go right back to the tavern.

Inside the door, there was a hallway with multiple smaller rooms on either side. It smelled like sweat and the floor had blood stains of varying shades of red brown splattered across it.

“So, the soldiers will be here again by the end of the month?”

“Yes, that’s what they told the barman. Are you still going to close the ring?”

Jamie’s head snapped up at the sound of Claire’s voice, coming from a room at the end of the hall.

“Aye, for a couple weeks I think.” Gavin answered. “Do ye really have to go though? I’ll give ye a room in the inn to stay while the ring is closed. ”

“I can’t stay here forever just to fill your pockets. Besides, I have things to do.”

“Have I no’ been filling your pockets as well?”

“Well, I’ve been filling Dougal Mackenzie’s. For the Jacobites.”

Just then a very large bald man with a close cropped black beard exited the room on the opposite side. He had more hair on his chest than Claire had on her head, and thick veins lined his forearms.

“Oh Tom! In here if you please.” Jamie saw Gavin’s shadow beckon him over. “Claire, I thought I’d have ye fight Tom here to make yer last fight one we’ll never forget aye?”

Claire snorted.

Jamie felt his chest seize up and his throat go dry. Never forget?! Surely he must be referring to the head trauma that Claire was likely to incur from fighting this man. What could possibly have happened to her, to make her fear a red coat more than this?

“Easiest money I’ve ever made.” The man’s voice was much deeper than Jamie’s.

“Go ahead, underestimate me. That’ll be fun for you.” Claire said darkly. “You’re just a big blundering bear with no teeth or claws.”

Jamie clapped a palm to his forehead and went back through the door find an inconspicuous place to watch. The wee idiot! It would seem that her trash talking had made all of her opponents forget any reservations they may have had about fighting a woman.

The talking died down as Gavin stepped into the center of the ring to end the previous match. He looked around, enjoying the enthralled look on his patrons’ faces. “Now I understand that many of ye came tonight to see a certain wee Sassenach.”

The crowed erupted into cheers, and Jamie was feeling more sick by the second. He felt a strange pang of possessiveness at the word Sassenach. It would never mean the same thing coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Gavin held his arms up to silence them. “Now ye should ken that tonight is her last fight, but let me first introduce her opponent. For those of ye who dinna ken, Tom Campbell here has never lost a fight.” And out walked the bear. Some people cheered, some murmured excitedly, some doubtfully. Jamie wasn’t sure how this could possibly get any worse.

“Now, without further ado, I give ye the Sassenach!”

Claire hurdled over the side of the wooden barrier of the ring. Tucked into the breeks, she wore a simple white cloth shirt. Her hands had been wrapped in linen strips to the middle of her forearm, and she wore no shoes. The little piece of Jamie’s tartan was now tied in her hair. There was no obvious expression on her face. She had opted instead for quiet intensity.

“Opponents will now shake hands.” Gavin had to remind them.

Tom Campbell’s hand completely engulfed Claire’s. He saw the tendons pop out as he squeezed a little too hard. Claire snatched her hand back and her lip curled.

As the match began, it became apparent that not everyone was a Sassenach fan. It was hard enough for Jamie to ignore the scathing insults some people were yelling, but it was almost impossible to keep himself from running into the ring and knocking out Tom Campbell himself. If Claire knew he was here, she’d want him to trust her, and let her hold her own against this man.

Tom had already landed a punch or two right into her mouth. Her face was the at the perfect hight for his fists. The top of her head rose barely to the middle of his chest, bun included.

But she was still standing, and she didn’t seem to be in pain. She was light on her feet as she danced around him, dodging the majority of his blows. She drove her fist with all her might into Tom’s abdomen, and he threw back his head in laughter. Claire had backed away, shaking out her hand.

She had yet to get any solid hits on him. She seemed to be waiting for something. “Whatever is the matter?” She taunted. “Am I too fast for you? Am I making you dizzy?” The man roared and lunged at her.

“Claire!” Jamie screamed her name, but it was drowned out by the crowd.

When the dirt had settled, the crowd has gone silent. Claire was on her stomach, and the brute had her left arm bent and pinned painfully against her back. The littlest finger stuck out at an odd angle. Her face was drawn with pain but there was the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “Well you’re going to feel downright foolish Tommy.” She said. “You probably should have taken both of my arms.”

She turned as much as she could to the right, and threw the handful of dirt she had concealed in her right hand right into his eyes. He shrieked and fell to his knees, now right in her range. The rest of the fight lasted less than ten seconds but Jamie felt as if he was watching in slow motion.

She was on her feet again faster than lighting. After paying him back with interest for the punches she received, she grabbed his arm and drew him forward. Tom Campbell, eyes streaming, could barely see what was about to happen to him.

Jamie watched with a mixture of horror and a little bit of pride as he saw all of his own techniques executed perfectly and lethally. Claire’s elbow collided with the man’s mandible, and the ear splitting crack silenced everyone. But she wasn’t done yet. She had then jumped over a foot off the ground. On the way down, both of her feet had planted themselves firmly into Tom’s chest and knocked him back with such a force that the sound of his head colliding with the wooden barrier sounded almost like a gunshot. He lay crumpled and moaning on the dirt floor.

Claire stood there alone, hunched over with her hands on her knees and chest heaving. If she was surprised that she won, she was purposely not showing it. There was a new gash on her temple. Hair was stuck to her forehead, which was shining with sweat. A deep red splotch bloomed in white of her eye. Her mouth was slightly open as she took rhythmic, panting breaths. Blood had pooled inside her lip, and she spat it onto the ground. She looked terrifying and beautiful all at once, almost like she wasn’t even real.

Gavin announced her the winner. Some of the patrons were clapping and cheering. Others simply stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief. The fight was over, and Jamie had meant to leave but he was rooted to the spot. Claire slowly straightened up. She had been staring off into space and she extended her hand out to Gavin without looking at him. He dropped an enormous bag of coin into her palm.

And Jamie was finally able to identify his deepest fear. Although he cared for her safety more than anything, he cared for Claire herself even more. She was going to use that money to leave, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. It was what she wanted for months, and he had always pushed it back behind his brain, out of sight. He could never ask her to stay, it didn’t seem right. He had made the mistake of thinking he meant more to her than this.

It was as though someone has turned his hearing back on, and the screaming of the crowed came rushing back. Somehow, Jamie knew exactly what Claire was going to think if she saw him. But he didn’t have to wait much longer to have it confirmed. He was rooted to the spot unable to look away, and they had suddenly locked gazes from all the way across the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. The spell was broken and he hastily made for the exit and wondered miserably if she’d be gone come morning. Honest feelings and bad timing make the most painful combination.

_________________________________________________________________

Fuck fuck fuck. And everything had been going so horribly right too. The initial shock was draining away and quickly becoming replaced by anger. I had spent the entire evening being so happy with myself. It was almost over, and he had been there the whole fucking time.

I shouldered my way through the crowd with great difficulty. Hands came from all directions to pat me on the back. Someone tried to hand me a pint. I had finally broken through to the back where I roughly pulled on my outer clothing and my boots. I sensed somebody standing in the doorway behind me.

“Excellent fight, sassenach.” It was Peter.

“Do not call me that.” I said acidly.

“What’s the matter? You’ve just won!” There was something odd about the expression on his face, like he was keeping a fantastic secret and he wanted me to beg to know what it was.

“Doesn’t feel like it. Get out of my way.”

He pushed a greasy flap of hair back off of his forehead. “Where’s that red head?”

“Jamie? Hell if I know.” Technically not a lie, as I in fact did not know his exact location but I could hazard a guess. Why would Peter care anyway? It inexplicably bothered me and I pushed past him out the back door, bumping him with my shoulder a little harder than necessary.

Jamie was halfway back to the tavern when I caught up with him. He stopped in the middle of the alleyway as he heard my running feet stop suddenly behind him. He didn’t turn around, plainly wanting me to speak first.

“Who told you?” Was all I could think to begin with.

He whirled around and ran both of his hands roughly through his hair. “No one told me Claire. I could almost laugh out loud upon hearing such a question. You may as well have told me, instead of trying to keep track of all yer stories. That must have gotten so tiring for you.”

I chewed my lip, not having expected to get so mad so early in the argument. “Why are you even here? Did you want to catch me? Well congratulations. You’ve done it. What are you going to do now? Drag me back to Dougal? Or perhaps pour me a glass of whisky so you can have another excuse to put your face right up to mine?”

He’d been trying to cut me off during my rapid-fire questioning. But now his mouth had pressed into a thin line. He attempted to put on a mask of anger to match mine but I could still see the hurt in his face. I was trying to upset him, and telling him that whisky-filled night meant nothing to me did a pretty good job of it. The Claire Beauchamp in that moment did not care.

“I only wanted to make sure you were safe.” He said quietly.

“Well I don’t need you to okay?” I shot back at him. “I didn’t ask you to watch over me. I won didn’t I?”

“Aye ye won but at what cost? Ye’re purple from head to toe and I’ll be damned if that finger isna broken. What’s worse, ye’ve deliberately risked the English finding ye!”

I quickly put the finger in question behind my back. It was beginning to take the form of a small sausage. I then decided against my better judgement to escalate the fight into a full blown shouting match.

“Stop trying to discipline me like a child! I’m fine. The English aren’t coming back for weeks, and in case you didn’t hear me before, I won. And everyone saw it.”

Jamie threw his hands up in exasperation. “Christ Claire ye’ll do anything for spite d’ye ken that? Don’t ye care that ye’ve already proven yerself to the people that actually matter?” He said desperately.

“What if that’s not good enough for me?” I spat back.

He bowed his head. “Then I hope ye ken ye’ll never be satisfied.”

Then, when my coin pouch fell with a seemingly deafening clank onto the ground between us, I thought that night the universe wanted all of our unspoken issues to be laid out before us. We both stared silently at it for a few seconds before I swiped it back and tucked it into my belt.

“But ye care about yer so-called freedom even more than spite aye?” His voice held an odd note almost like he rehearsed this, or at least spent a very long time thinking about it.

“You hate being alone. Ye think ye’ve gotten used to it, that it’s the only way for you. And that's why ye’re ready to run away like a frightened little rabbit, even when ye’ve found a new family.”

I opened my mouth to speak but he stopped me. The dam had been broken.

“Dinna think I haven’t seen ye pass money on to Dougal every morning thinkin’ he’ll reward ye with your ring. And dinna think I don’t know that you’re going to l-leave with all haste the second ye get it back! All this nonsense about the Jacobites.”

Then very quietly, “somehow the fact that ye’re hiding it makes it worse. You hate that someone is able to make ye feel something.” He finished, breathing raggedly.

He had taken several steps forward during his speech, as if to impress upon me the magnitude of what he was saying. Of what he was feeling. He was now standing less than a foot from me. I thought to the onlooker that it must have looked like we were about to tear each other apart in the ring.

I had stopped shouting but where my voice lacked volume, it was now filled with venom. “Jacobite nonsense? The story of an innocent boy flogged half to death doesn’t mean nothing to me Jamie. Neither does the fact that families are being torn apart and culture is being destroyed. Perhaps you should think again before you claim to know me so well. Because guess what.”

I had been repeatedly jabbing my finger into his chest as I spoke. Now, I reached inside the neck of my shirt, drew out the ring, and held it up to his face. It spun gently to and fro in midair, glinting slightly in the moonlight.

“Dougal already gave it back you bastard. And I’m still here.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander fandom #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie x claire #jamie and claire #the sassenach warrior

30 notes · View notes

crypticalwitch · 4 years

Text

Violet Eyed Curse

I (still) blame the awesome hermitcraft Mag pirate Au for my ideas. So enjoy how Xerxes met the first member of his crew

Part 1:

Lost to Greed, Violet Eyed Curse, Dead Woman Walking

Warnings- Pirates, Main Character Death, Ghosts, Ambiguous death.

It was one of the first towns Xerxes ventured to. A town he had been told was successful and strong, yet when he entered the city with haunting fog that followed him, it was desolate, and empty. The few who wandered the streets were sallow and pale.

Xerxes was sure he lucky was already dead, else he might catch whatever plague fell the village. He quickly did the shopping, drinks, food, ropes, whatever his ship of one may need, asking his question, the one he had done even in life,

"Has anyone with the name Void been here recently?" A desperate search for his brother even on the other side of the veil. Typically ment with a no, or at worst, a "You just missed him."

All this he had done, before slipping into the silent tavern.

Xerxes was a sailor and a Pirate, he had been in many a tavern before his death, and even after. Taverns typically were full of happy chatter or drinking songs, often both. The tavern was eerily quiet, the little chatter there was of other sailors who wondered what had happened, and then an elderly man wandered in.

The man was silver haired with a long beard, twisted over a cane, with a sorrowful look. Xerxes could tell he had been either a sailor or minor in his younger days, but he had stayed here. He ordered a drink, took a swig and grabbed the attention of everyone around him with a loud, sharp whistle.

"The town was not always like this." the man's voice was deep and gravely. "Once it was thriving, a bustle of life and harmony, until the first man died. And then another, and another. when the bodys were eventually found, they were strung up in ritual curealty, tied to elm trees hands and legs bound tight." Xerxes took a drink, and rubbed his wrists, even after death he could feel the sharp hempen rope his old crew used. "They panicked, superstition and suspicion ran rampant in the town, then he came into town. A young man, a traveler with more than his share of scars and vibrant eyes as purple as morning glories came into town. He had hardly asked the tavern keep his questions before a mob came and took him away."

The man sighed. "Us elders and Sea men tried to warn them. "Thoughts give power" we said, "If you kill him with the idea that he has wronged the town, and he is innocent, he may not know mercy" we said "you have no PROOF," we said. They did not listen. The man was kept for a year and a day, before going to the gallows." he shook his head, "They hardly buried him in a grave. The elders and more superstitious of us held a ceremony to apologise, and yet its done nothing to help."

The man looked out the window to the setting sun. "We are cursed now. Illness spreads like fire, and none can leave. A fire broke out the other day at the courthouse, burnt everything to the ground 'cept the prisoners themselves, and the noose used to hang the traveler. Some seem to be immune to the illness and can leave the city, us elders, the seafolk, the few who did the ceremony, but the rest...the rest are dying."

The man smiled, his eyes dark and damp, before taking another swig. "You'd best not stay longer than needed, lest you be unable to leave, and if you see a man walking out around playing with cards, do not speak to him and most of all do not play his game. for now with this fog, the veil is thin, and you don't want to be on the other side."

A drunken man scoft, "Why should we be so worried about a bit of fog, no big deal."

"ugh," One of the man's fellows said, punching the drunkard in the arm, "Have you no memory of The Grand Sea? Fog when none should be is a sign of a ghost ship!"

Xerxes sipped his drink feeling very awkward at the mention of ghost ships. but then his mind slipped to the story. Perhaps he could find this mysterious spirit, he rose and payed for his drink, before slipping out into the night.

It took him too long of strolling the street to find the mysterious ghost. He strode through the streets, the thick fog that followed him swirling with a faint red glow. It wasn't til he sat down on the steps, that he saw the man.

He wore a thin leather coat, pulled tight over a ripped and torn shirt. His hair was long and unkempt, gold curls shining in the few lamps and candles whos light reached the foggy streets. He seemed to cast his own glow in the swirling cloud, a soft purple, that same hue his eyes glowed, that seemed to flickr as he shuffled the deck of cards. It wasn't any set of playing cards Xerxes had seen before, but the design was familiar, an old set a fortune cards he had seen in a novelty shop once.

He had always through Fortune cards were silly. Tarot cards, maybe, but fortune cards made no sense. Fortune cards were always blank, and they were said to fill in images when important things happened to you or people close to you. Xerxes had heard stories of sailors cards depicting their first ship or storm, others depicting deaths in families before they even knew. But they were always tales, and Xerxes never put much stock into tales of board sailors.

The man nearly passed Xerxes by as he inspected the cards. Xerxes had to leap up and float-run toward the strange spirit.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" The man said, his accent very different from the man's in the Tavern, much more similar to Xerxes accent. He was hardly looking at Xerxes.

"Any night it's not pouring hell is nice to me." Xerxes said, falling in step with the man, who was a decent way shorter than him.

"Your a Sailor then?" The man said, his voice peaking slightly, before calming down, "Must be nice to be on land again then, even if it's here."

"I'll admit," Xerxes laughed slightly, "Being off the sea for a time is nice,"

Silence passed as the pair walked soundlessly. Xerxes wonder if his strange companion realised they made no noise as they walked.

"There's a good one about that..." Xerxes said, hoping to fill the silence, "Though it's quite hard to sing alone i suppose."

"A good what?" the man said, looking at Xerxes for the first time since they began walking.

"A good sea shanty," Xerxes said, looking to the stars, "those are fairly difficult to sing alone."

"How does it go?" childlike Excitement flooding into the spirits voice, and Xerxes's memories of NP slipped into his mind.

Xerxes took a deep breath,

"Come me boys and heave with me, Let's get off this curs-ed sea, Let's be home to lovers and wives,And leave behind these four hour lives.." Xerxes sang, his spirit companion followed along, repeating where it felt right, but let Xerxes lead.

A comfortable silence hung between the two as they stalked down the pathways. and that how it went. For almost a week straight,Xerxes would muddle around town, let the sun go down, and meet with his mysterious friend. He would tell stories of far off places he traveled when his was alive, and Xerxes would teach him Songs. and when the sun came up, they would go their separate ways.

and that's how it went on, until the last day.

"Zedaph..." the spirit suddenly said as they walked past the ships, all covered in thick fog.

"what?"

"My name, its Zedaph," the man relaxed, his deck of cards placed away in a case. "no one here asked or cared about my name, so someone should know, even after im dead."

Xerxes placed a hand on Zedaphs shoulder. "Xerxes Void. It's nice to meet you, from one spirit, to another."

"...YOUR DEAD TOO?!"

Xerxes laughed, "yup!!"

"Oh my god I didn't notice!" Zedaph laughed, a wide grin on his face. "wow...so how are you here? aren't you stuck somewhere?"

"....you're not stuck here?" Xerxes said, "You know that right?"

"wat?"

"Yeah, we can just...go...places." Xerxes smiled.

"I thought I was stuck here and would never..."Zedaph trailed off.

"do you want to come with me, Zedaph?"

"huh?"

"The Void Seeker only has me on it, would you like to join me?"

"REALLY!" Zedaphs purple eyes shone brighter.

"I wouldnt ask if I wasn't serious."

#hermitcraft #Hermitcraft Pirate Au #Crypt’s Hermitcraft Pirate Au #evil xisuma #Xerxes Void #Zedaph #writing #my writing #do people want a tag list #should i add one?

14 notes · View notes

megasaurusssss · 4 years

Text

Dr Pershing

If people like this fic, I’ll continue it to the best of my abilities over the school holidays.

I started shipping these two about a week ago and they’re all I can think about. They’re so cute together and we need more content for them. This fic can also be a standalone one-shot if I can’t continue, so technically, even if I never pick it up, it’s still finished, right? Lol.

I do have big plans for this though.

Enjoy some Dr Pershing/Din Djarin

Title: Dr Pershing (subject to change)

Words: 4836

Summary: Din Djarin finds him in the sewers. Starving. Beaten. Bloody. On the brink of death. Pershing is trying to figure out why the Mandalorian bothered with him at all.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

"I'm so- so sorry, I didn't mean to alarm-..."

He cowered.

He seemed to be doing that a lot.

"I-I protected him! I protected him!"

He cowered from Imperials and he cowered from those who threatened them.

It seemed cowering was the only thing he was good at.

"If it wasn't for me he would already be dead!"

He trembled and stuttered and all he could think about was, oh god, I'm going to die.

Each and every time.

"Please."

But each and every time, he was spared. He was safe. He was okay.

Never had he been more afraid, though, never had he been more terrified, in the moment that he threw himself in front of the child. Even as he was shoved aside, he begged, please, don't kill him. He's just a baby. He's just a child. He can't even speak. He doesn't understand.

He was never more afraid than in that moment. But for once he found himself afraid for someone else.

But then it was over. The kid was gone. The Mandalorian left with him. Taken. Their work, gone.

And he would take the brunt of it.

There was no being spared. There were no empty threats. He would be killed. Blasted in the head.

Because why should he live when everyone else died at the hands of the Mandalorian if it were not because he betrayed them?

He ran.

He hid.

He cried.

He bled.

They were out to get him. There was a price on his head. No staying in one location. You have to keep moving. Don't get attached.

(You can't stay with this man. You will get him killed.)

(He died anyway.)

Nevarro was not an option. Not when the troopers took over the town. Not after the Mandalorian covert massacre. But he couldn't leave.

(He made money. Used the money he was paid to pay them not to say anything.)

(It didn't work. They didn't care about him. Only about getting what they wanted.)

(He vomited.)

He couldn't stay and watch the sunset. He couldn't stay in one town for the night. Had to keep moving. Get money from sketchy people. Use the remaining to get enough food to not starve.

Pass out in the woods. Wake up in a cold sweat and a searing pain in his spine.

Didn't stop moving.

He wondered if it would have been better had the Mandalorian had killed him after all.

(He never thought he'd reach such a low point, where he envied those living in poverty but held a roof over their heads.)

(His client smashed his glasses.)

It was his just desserts. It was his karma. He chose to work with the Imperials. He chose the life of a scientist.

Look where it landed him.

Dying. On the streets which he ran away from. Not by the hand of the troopers, but the ribs showing through his skin. The hollowness of his cheekbones. The hypothermia. The sleep deprivation.

(He was so unrecognisable that the troopers didn't pay attention to him.)

(Or perhaps they knew he was fucked either way.)

Despite it all, though. Even as he slipped away, even as his vision darkened and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl, even as he slumped against the wall of the sewers, he didn't regret it.

He didn't regret being afraid for someone other than himself, for once. Even if it cost him his life.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬*

When you die, it's a generally accepted fact that you don't wake up.

When he woke up, though, he was warm. Not hot. Just comfortable. Content. The best he'd felt in... well, he lost track of time.

He thought to himself, that if this was the afterlife, he rather liked it. But then his senses filtered in, and he realised with a start: he was not dead.

He was laying on a soft surface. His hair was no longer pooled around his shoulders, his beard no longer scratched at his neck. There was no longer a searing pain in his stomach or his spine. The wounds no longer stung.

His fingers twitched as he awoke. The darkness filtered away and he could see light through his eyelids. He breathed. The rattling in his chest was gone.

It was an easy conclusion. He was in a hospital.

He felt the presence of someone at his side. They did not talk or move, only breathe.

He didn't know how, but eventually, he pried his eyes open. They burned like they were on fire, but he didn't close them - he would not give up.

"Where-" such a weak voice. "Where am-" then again, that's always been the case.

He couldn't finish the sentence, though. A gloved hand suddenly grasped his arm. But it was gentle. It did not startle him.

"You're awake," came a low, modulated voice. It was him.

He didn't respond. He wasn't sure he could.

"I'm sorry."

You have nothing to apologise for.

"It's my fault you turned out this way."

He closed his eyes again. The pain was too much. He was so tired.

"If I had known..."

You couldn't have helped. It's okay.

"You protected him. You protected the kid. I can't thank you enough. He's okay because of you."

It was all he ever needed to hear. That the child was safe. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he opened them once more.

A silver helmet looked down upon him, blocking out the light situated above his head.

A tear ran down the side of his face.

"I'm... sorry," he rasped. And he was. He really was.

"You don't have to apologise for anything."

Except he did. He was a part of this. He was working with the Imperials.

He could have left at any time. But he didn't.

The Mandalorian's helmet was the last thing he saw before he fell back into unconsciousness.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

He didn't know what time it was. The lights were off, and the air was cold.

Pershing, with all the strength he could muster, hoisted himself up so that his back was against the bed rest. It made his head spin, for a moment, before his vision returned to him.

He allowed his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness.

The Mandalorian was still in the room, but he was unmoving and hunched in a chair. Asleep. Something was huddled close to his chest, something breathing and alive. The child.

If it weren't for the situation, he would have found it incredibly adorable. To think he was afraid for the child's life when all the Mandalorian wanted to do was protect it.

He looked down at himself. A needle was stuck in his arm, feeding nutrients and water. It seemed they hadn't given him a nasogastric tube just yet.

Even in the darkness of the room, now that all the dirt and grime had been washed away, he could see how pale he'd become. And how frighteningly skinny. He never had much body fat in the first place, he was surprised he hadn't died of starvation earlier.

The bundle in the Mandalorian's arms stirred. He watched with bated breath as the child turned his head, slowly, cautiously. Their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," Pershing rasped. "I'm so sorry."

The baby shifted out of the Mandalorian's grip, landing with surprising grace on the cold floor of the hospital room.

"You didn't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry."

He watched the child as it shuffled to his bedside, stopping at the edge of the bed to look up with curious eyes.

The tears welled up in Pershing's eyes. All the pain and trauma and overwhelming guilt hitting him like a tidal wave. The tears fell onto the floor below him. "I can see why he didn't want to harm you," he spoke in a broken voice. "You're so cute." A broken sob escaped him. "I'm so so sorry."

"I told you you didn't have anything to apologise for." The Mandalorian sat upright in the chair. His helmet tilted side to side as he stretched.

"I hurt him."

"You protected him."

"He was crying and he was afraid. I gave him a needle to force him to sleep. I hurt him."

The Mandalorian fell quiet. But it was not an angry silence. It was not judgemental. Pershing watched as he trudged over, leaning down to pick up the child. As he did so he did not break eye-contact.

(Or, at least, that's what Pershing imagined - since he couldn't actually see the Mandalorian's eyes. He'd still like to imagine he was looking into them.)

He decided to break the silence. "How long have I been unconscious for?"

"It's been a day since you last woke up."

"I don't remember waking up."

The Mandalorian gave him a look. It was incredible how one man could portray so much emotion with a helmet covering his face. "You apologised, and I told you you didn't have to apologise. And then you fell back asleep."

"I don't remember. I must've been out of it."

The Mandalorian didn't respond. The child cooed as he settled back into the chair. "Yeah."

"What about before then? The last thing I remember is... the, the sewers."

"You were unconscious for two days."

"I see."

He spared another glance down at the tubes feeding into him. He wanted nothing more than to eat real, solid foods, but he knew the consequences. He had a feeling he'd be having soup for a while.

"Why did you stay?" he asked. He turned his gaze back up to the Mandalorian.

"What?"

"I've been... I've been here for three days. And you've been here the entire time."

"That's correct."

"But why?"

For this, it seemed, the Mandalorian didn't have an answer. Even with the helmet, confusion was written across him in bold red pen. "I... don't understand."

"You could have left by now. With the child. You could be far away from here. You don't need to care about me of, of all people..." he trailed off, averting his gaze to his lap. He fiddled with a loose string on the hospital gown.

There was no answer, and if it weren't for the shadow, he would have thought they'd left.

It was then that the door swung open, and a nurse entered into the room. She cried, "Oh!" before leaving the room as quick as she'd come.

"Interesting." He sighed. He supposed it was a shock to her that he was awake, after nearly dying of starvation. Or...

"Did I die?"

The Mandalorian looked over in surprise. "Not that I know of. When we found you you were breathing. Which is why I took you to the hospital."

"You brought me here?... thank you."

"I couldn't just leave you."

"Still. You didn't have to do that, I... I work for the Empire. Nothing will change that."

"As far as I'm aware you were being hunted by those Imps. I don't think you work for them anymore."

Pershing shrugged. "Being hunted comes with the job description." It would have been funny had the circumstances been different.

"Same for us," the Mandalorian sighed.

Just as Pershing opened his mouth to reply, the nurse reentered with another nurse on toe. A male twi'lek.

The light flickered on.

"You're awake," the Twi'lek nurse said, rushing over to check the nutrients. "We weren't expecting that for another day or so."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises." He chuckled. The nurses did not.

"We're going to have a Doctor come check your vitals. Take your blood. Since you're, well... since you seem to be up and ready to go, you should be able to leave within the week."

Within a week? He was shocked, but he supposed it made sense. It's not like he was injured. Physically at least. Just mentally.

How funny.

The human nurse left, leaving the Twi'lek to fuss over the equipment. The nurse got increasingly closer, encroaching on Pershing's personal space. As he did so, there was a sweet aroma emanating from his neck like he'd had coffee beans poured down on top of him. The lekku grazed his shoulder and, despite himself, he felt his heart rate quicken and his face flush a violent scarlet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Mandalorian shift in his seat. He imagined him with a raised eyebrow.

Finally, the nurse moved away, and he could breathe again.

"The doctor will be here in just a moment." And he left.

The Mandalorian (thank god), didn't pry into what had just occurred. That or he was just not paying attention - to which he would have been incredibly grateful. But that would have been lucky and Pershing was not a lucky man. Luck all but abandoned him as soon as he took the job and title as Imperial Scientist.

The child made a cooing noise, and the Mandalorian seemed to know what it meant. "He's hungry. Do you mind if I-?"

"Not at all."

"Okay."

"Wait-"

The Mandalorian paused in the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder back at Pershing.

"What does he eat?"

The child cooed again. The Mandalorian shrugged. "He's a carnivore. One time he swallowed a full frog, in one go. It was..."

"Oh, no! Oh no oh no oh no. He swallowed an entire frog whole? Children don't have a concept of what's poisonous and what isn't, and- and goodness, an entire frog? Without even chewing? It could have catastrophic consequences on his digestive system, how long has it been since he-?"

"He's fine."

The low, modulated voice calmed him down immediately. A chill ran down his spine, and he shivered.

"It's been well over a month. I've done enough holding him over the vactube as he makes direct eye-contact to know that he's fine."

"Oh, but..."

"He's fine."

"If that frog was poisonous he would be dead!" he snapped. He knew immediately that he'd overstepped his boundaries when the Mandalorian shifted his stance. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I wasn't aiming to imply that you-"

The Mandalorian stared as Pershing trailed off. He glared down at his lap in shame. His entire life had been leading up to this moment. Every decision only brought him to this. This was his lowest of lows. He couldn't ever be forgiven.

"You're right."

"What?"

"You're right. I need to monitor what he eats. I haven't had much time to think about it. Being hunted will do that- stop trying to make yourself look small."

He hadn't realised he was doing it. "Sorry."

"No need."

The child cooed once more, and the Mandalorian sighed. "I'll go get him some food."

Pershing watched them leave, and suddenly found himself wishing they hadn't. It's not like he had anything else to do in his small little hospital room. But he wasn't in wretched silence for long, as only a couple minutes after the Mandalorian and the child left, an Arkanian doctor entered the room with a clipboard.

"It's good to see you awake," she said. "We weren't expecting it for another day or so, but you seem to have recovered quickly."

"I'm full of surprises," he repeated his joke from earlier, but this time, he didn't laugh. The Doctor ignored it.

"How long were you on the streets for?"

The question embarrassed and mocked him. But it was fair so he supposed he had to answer. "A bit over a month."

"How much did you eat during that time period?"

"Close to nothing." He stared down at his arms. A wave of emotion rushed over him, but he did his best to conceal it.

"What about water?"

He shrugged.

The Doctor sat down on the bed. He felt the weight shift. "What was your source of income?"

She stared at him with a knowing eye.

He didn't answer and he didn't need to.

She wrote something down on her clipboard with a sigh. "You should be able to leave within a week. Until then we're going to closely monitor you. Try not to move around too much, and you're not to eat solid foods until you're dismissed."

His heart ached. No phrase in the entire universe could have ever caused so much pain. You're not to eat solid foods. How he yearned for the crunch of an apple.

It truly felt like his world was crumbling around him.

"Don't look at me like that," the Doctor sighed again. "You're a scientist, right? You know what'll happen if you eat too much too quickly."

"Yes, I- I know."

"Then you won't have any issues with it." She abruptly stood from the bed, and there was another abrupt shift in weight.

Ah yes, the arrogance of the Arkanians rivals no other. She radiated superiority complex. "Sorry."

She gave him a condescending look - probably intentional, knowing their species - before leaving, the door slamming behind her with a bang.

He was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of fatigue. He knew it would be a while since the Mandalorian returned, so... he slipped back down so that he was on his back, resting his head against the pillow. He allowed himself to stare at the ceiling for a moment, before he slipped into another deep sleep.

♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♫ ♬

The next time he woke up, the lights were still on, but he guessed it had been a couple of hours. He was disappointed to find that the Mandalorian was not in the room, and neither was the child... but he shook the disappointment away immediately. The Mandalorian didn't have any obligation towards him.

He's probably left already. He knows you're fine now. Why would he waste time staying with you?

The door pushed open, and for a moment he had a smidgen of hope, but it was just the twi'lek nurse from before. And, well, while he didn't complain, necessarily, considering the alluring properties that this nurse possessed...

"You're awake again, good." He was holding a plastic tray, and situated on it was a small glass of water and a bowl of soup. "I was worried I'd have to wake you myself," he chuckled.

Pershing's heart skipped a beat. "Yeah."

"Don't want to deal with a grumpy patient."

"Yeah..."

The soup smelled nice, and he was sure it tasted wonderful, but he still yearned for something to actually chew. Alas. He knew the risks. Refeeding syndrome wasn't to be taken lightly. Soup it was, he supposed.

"I understand Dr Alva visited you earlier today. I'd like to apologise for her attitude." The twi'lek took an elongated gaze at Pershing's eyes. It's as though they were frozen in time.

The twi'lek was so young. He was round-faced and wide-eyed. So naive.

"The- the Arkanian? Yeah, she..."

"She's brash. You can say it, everyone knows it."

"Yeah."

The doe-eyes of the twi'lek lingered for another moment before the nurse turned away. At this point, Pershing felt his entire face was on fire.

He averted his gaze to the soup and picked up the spoon.

"My name's Jad'futi, by the way. I don't believe I caught yours."

Now the twi'lek was sitting in the chair that the Mandalorian had previously occupied. "Oh," Pershing tried to swallow the knot in his throat away. It did not go away. "Don't you have a record?"

There was a flash of disappointment on Jad'futi's face. "I thought I could ask you." He smiled widely.

Ah. Pershing thought. I see. Maybe if circumstances were different, he would have given into it. Maybe if he wasn't bedridden and out of his mind with anxiety. "I'm... I'm too old for you."

This time the twi'lek actually frowned. "You don't even know how old I am."

"Not old enough."

"I'm seventeen!"

Pershing blanched. "You- you- that's even worse!" he spluttered. "That's! You're not even-"

"I'm an adult! The twi'leks come of age at sixteen, so it's fine... right?"

He stared back down at the soup. He could see his flushed reflection on the wavy surface. "That's not it, I know that... it's just, I'm more than double your age..."

There was a long stretch of silence, then a surrendering sigh. "Alright. I respect that. Technically I'm not allowed to date you anyway," he chuckled.

Pershing glanced back up. Jad'futi was staring at the opposing wall with a furrowed brow. Or at least, as furrowed of a brow as you could get when you didn't have eyebrows. "How long have you been a nurse for?" Pershing asked.

"A little over a standard year, sir."

He winced at the sudden title. He wished (not for the first time) that twi'leks weren't so naturally beautiful. "But if your species reaches adulthood at sixteen, you... how long have you been studying for?"

It had taken Pershing years to gain his title, even with his increased intelligence - if you'd pardon the modesty.

"My whole family has been in the medical field," they met eyes again, "so they started me young."

"Didn't you want to do anything else...?"

Jad'futi seemed to think for a moment. His gaze averted to the floor. "I've been fascinated by the New Republic ever since it was established. But- but my parents would never have allowed me to join, too dangerous they said..."

"Your parents are right."

"I know..."

"But I think you should go for it."

Jad'futi stared. He blinked. "I couldn't possibly."

"I thought the same way about becoming a scientist," Pershing smiled wistfully. "Now twenty years down the road I-" work for the Imperials, "-have my dream job." Not anymore, you moron.

At least this kid isn't in danger of accidentally working for the Empire. But there were so many more dangers. X-Wing being blown up. Having a run-in with storm-troopers. Mission going wrong.

"I don't know... it took me so long to become a nurse. I'm not as strong-willed or smart as everyone else in my family. And my family says that, that I have to be a nurse. Because everyone else is. I can't just abandon that."

"If you're an adult, then you can do whatever the hell you want."

Jad'futi raised his brow-less eyebrows. Before he could refute, though, the door pushed open, and in came the Mandalorian, the child tucked safely in his arms.

"...am I interrupting?" came the low modulated voice.

"I-I was just leaving!" Jad'futi stood abruptly from the seat, causing the chair to screech against the stone flooring. "I'll go now. Um, thanks for the talk."

With that, the twi'lek, with incredible speed and absolutely no grace, flung himself out of the room. The door slammed behind him.

The Mandalorian gave him a Look. Pershing shrugged, then finally took a sip of the soup he'd been brought. It was nice - and he would have expressed this had his tongue not just been burnt on the spoon.

"Ow."

"Hot?"

"A bit."

The child made a gurgling noise, then giggled. "Ow!"

Both Pershing and the Mandalorian had been stunned into silence. They both stared down at the little green baby.

"That was... you, right?" said the Mandalorian.

"No... it wasn't you...?" They both continued to stare. The child bore a large grin like he knew the exact significance of what he'd just done. "Was that his-?"

"Yeah."

"His first word?"

"Yeah."

The child cooed and bounced in the Mandalorian's lap. He definitely knew the significance, and he was proud of it.

"You should get him a treat."

The Mandalorian looked up at him. "A treat?"

"Something nice. Like new clothes for starters," he sighed. "He's wearing the exact same thing as when I last saw him."

"I haven't put much thought into it."

"Yeah, I can tell." There was a prolonged silence. Pershing took another sip of the soup, but it was still too hot. He seethed. "You'd think hospitals wouldn't serve their soup piping hot to bedridden patients. Oh," a sudden thought popped into his head, "What planet is this? There aren't any hospitals like this one on Nevarro."

The Mandalorian shifted, like he was unsure of himself. "We're on Obroa-skai."

Pershing nearly choked on his own spit. "What?" he croaked. "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be here?"

"As far as I know they have no idea you worked for the Empire."

"But... my patch!"

"They didn't see it."

"But-?"

"They didn't see it."

They stared at each other. He couldn't see it, but he felt the Mandalorian's eyes burning into his skull. There was something there, stirring between them; but he couldn't quite place it...

"Mandalorian... um, how should I address you?"

"Mando is fine."

"Mando, then. If... if the people on this planet find out who I am, I'm... excuse my language, but I'm fucked."

"This medical facility houses all variations of alien life." He gave Pershing a pointed look as if to say, please don't swear in front of the child. "Even if they knew, they wouldn't turn up their nose."

"This planet is the stronghold of the New Republic. If I were anyone else..."

"Well, you're not anyone else." There was a certain bite to Mando's words, but they were still low and soft-spoken. Like he hadn't intended to snap.

Pershing hesitated. "You... you have no reason to trust me."

It baffled him. He worked with the Empire, willingly. He gave his life to them. Dedicated every day to be the best he could be, fought against the Rebellion, made gadgets for the troopers. Improved their tie-fighters. Spent twelve years slaving his life away for the Imperials.

And yet, this Mandalorian took one look at him, even knowing what he was, what he'd done, he took one look and decided he was trustworthy.

Why?

If he had anything other than good intentions, that child would be dead. Or the Imperials would have been hailed.

"You're right." Mando stared at the far wall. "I have no reason to trust you. You hurt the child - my child. You wore that symbol with pride on your shoulder, you stood tall next to the client."

"Yes. I-..." I'm sorry. Is that what he wanted to say? There was no use in it now.

"The Empire has caused nothing but pain. They've brought genocide upon my people. They took happiness and they tore it to shreds. They killed Kuiil, they tried to kill the child." The helmet turned. Pershing refused to look up at it. He refused to look the Mandalorian in the eyes. "I have no idea why I decided to trust you. I have no idea why I wanted to stay and make sure you were alright."

Drowning himself in the soup suddenly sounded appealing. "I'm sorry," he sniffed.

"I just knew I didn't want anyone else to die."

"Well, I'm fine now. So... I won't hold it against you if - not that I ever would, of course - I won't hold it against you if you want to leave now."

There was a long stretch of silence.

And then more silence.

Then even more.

It was deafening. It was suffocating. Pershing's heartrate quickened and his throat tightened and his fists clenched. The soup lay forgotten on the tray, and the tray quivered as his knee involuntarily shook.

He'd always hated silence. Always hated the fear that came along with it. The pure anxiety that washed over him, as his mind raced, thinking about everything and anything that could go wrong.

What's he thinking? Why isn't he saying anything? Should I never have spoken?

He's thinking he should have just left me for dead. Maybe it would have been better off.

Am I annoying? Am I too shy? Does he think I'm weak?

Maybe I am weak.

I'm a coward.

There never was an answer. When the Mandalorian left the room, the child with him, Pershing expected that the tension in his shoulders and the quickening of breath would fade. But they didn't.

He wished in those moments that please, somebody, just help me. Save me from this. I can't control it. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to suffer anymore. I don't want to be a coward. I don't want to be weak. I don't want to live like this. I don't want to live.

Even, though, as these thoughts raced through his mind, and even though he willed it, he couldn't cry. His shoulders shook and his breathing hollowed out, the heart rate monitor beeped wildly and five nurses came in with defibrillators, only to discover him in the midst of a mental breakdown, and not cardiac arrest - but even so, he couldn't cry.

And, an hour later, when he heard the sound of the Mandalorian's ship taking off, he didn't feel a thing.

51 notes · View notes

boat-dock · 4 years

Text

“Knowing you is for the Better” chapter 7

this is a chapter I’ve been very excited to write for a long time!! Hope you guys enjoy!!

New Orleans was exactly like Hope remembered it, the perfect mixture of vibrant colorful life and a wild dangerous power that always seemed to follow the Mikaelson family wherever they went. However much she loved the Salvator school, the quarter will always be her home, even though half of its inhabitants have tried to kill her.

Hope’s aunt Freya and her family met them at the door of their family home in a flurry of hugs and laughs before they all settled in for dinner. Nik attached himself to Hope’s side and had no plans of letting go anytime soon. He was particularly shy for a three-year-old, but he and Hope had a connection, they might not have been siblings but Hope could only imagine this was the kind of love that her father and his brothers and sisters all shared.

It was strange, all of them in the same house again, she thought it would get better as time passed but weeks later and Hope could tell that everyone was trying to be on their best behavior, for her. They saw how vulnerable she was now after everything she’s gone through the past year and they wanted to give her a stable environment. Which somehow made it all so much worse. She missed the chaos that came with her family, she was tired of being handled with kid gloves.

What did get better with time was the blood lust. Hope learned to safely feed on human blood, to control her urges and to restrain herself. Josie was right, it was a lot like dealing with her magic, keeping it under control every hour of every day for the rest of her life.

Of all the things that Hope missed about home, one of them wasn’t Mardi Gras. It’s not that she hated the crowds or the party, she hated the responsibility that fell on her shoulders because of it. For the past four years, the quarter chose four girls to be princesses in a parade, one witch, one wolf, one vampire, and Hope. Every year she got dressed up in gowns and crowns, parading through the streets and attending balls; she hated every second of it. But she did it anyway because it represented the quarter as a unified people despite their differences. She could handle one day of torture if it benefited her people.

She’d expected Mardi Gras this year to be just like every other year, long and loud and boring, at least until she got the phone call.

This wasn’t the first time Josie had snuck away to New Orleans, last time however she had a cover story and she didn’t have her twin with her. They were royally screwed when they got home from their impromptu vacation but Josie decided not to focus on that right now. She chose to be excited instead. She was excited to experience the city at its best and most importantly she was excited to see Hope again.

Josie felt Hope’s absence like a missing piece of herself over the few weeks she’d been gone, but she’d tried her best to focus on herself and heal, the same way Hope was. It was harder than she’d anticipated but nothing worthwhile was ever easy.

She followed Lizzie off the bus and onto the street, swarming with people, who were already very drunk despite it barely being breakfast time. “So we made it,” Lizzie said, taking in the city,” but how exactly are we supposed to find Hope? They're thousands of people here and we don’t know where she lives?” Josie’s signature pout deepened as her sister pointed out the flaw in their plan.

She yelled over the noise” we’ll figure that out later, right now I’m starving. Let’s find something to eat.” they linked arms so as not to get separated and pushed through the crowd until they found a small corner cafe. The smell coming from inside was intoxicating and they found themselves going inside without even discussing it. They seated themselves in the back corner at a table for two with a small bouquet of daisies in the middle and waited patiently to have their order taken. They were the only customers there so Lizzie started getting impatient fast when they weren’t waited on right away, but Josie used the time to take in the city.

A minute or two later an older man with a white beard appeared at their table and placed a large plate of beignets in front of them,” We didn’t order these, sir,” Josie said sweetly, proud of herself for remembering to add sir at the end.

“Read the card little lady,” he said with a kind smile and a soft southern accent, motioning to the brown envelope sitting on the plate that Josie didn’t even notice.

Lizzie grabbed the card and ripped it open before Josie could. She scrunched her eyebrows together as she read aloud,” Welcome to the Crescent City, enjoy your meal. Love H.M” Lizzie laughed and handed the note to her sister so she could read it too,” How on earth does she know we are here? We just got here.” Josie didn’t have that answer but she could guess who did.

“Excuse me,” she said, getting the attention of the man who brought the note,” Do you know the girl who wrote this note? Do you know Hope?”

He returned this time with two cups of coffee, but it wasn’t him who answered, a lady with dyed red hair in a messy bun stuck her head out of a window in the wall that led to the kitchen,” everyone in the quarter knows who Hope Mikaelson is,” neither of the twins was surprised by this,” she’s the best thing to come out of that damned house in two hundred years.”

“Do you know where we could find her?” Lizzie asked

“If you’re looking for her you should watch the parade later today,” the man said. Josie leaned closer to get a look at his name tag, it read Benny.

Before Josie could respond the lady from the kitchen spoke up again,” but that’s not for hours and you girls look hungry, so what can I make for you,”

After they placed their orders the twins dug into the beignets. There was no doubt that it was the best food around. They ate their breakfast in silence, more focused on the food than anything else. After they finished Josie decided to try and get more answers,” So what time is this Parade we should be going to?”

“It starts at 10:30 but if you want a good spot you’ll need to be out there much earlier,” Benny said, clearing their plates.

Lizzie checked the time on her phone and made a face,” we better get going then,” she said and they stood going to the register.

“Your check’s been taken care of. You girls go enjoy the parade.” Benny said, waving them off. Josie was shocked, and she and Lizzie met eyes for a moment trying to decide whether they should push this or not.” I’m serious now,” He said noticing their uneasiness,” go enjoy the city,”

They knew they couldn’t fight good old southern hospitality so they said goodbye and once again faced the chaos of Mardi Gras. They found a spot near the road and waited, Josie got distracted for a moment and when she found Lizzie again her sister had a drink in each hand. Josie wasn’t much of a drinker but she sipped while they waited for the parade to start. Soon music flowed through the air and the crowd started to scream as the floats started to arrive. Beads, candy, and small toys flew as Josie scanned every face looking for Hope. Just as Josie was starting to lose hope in finding her friend, the parade morphed into something new. The floats were grander and each only held one person.

On the first float was a girl with tan skin and a smattering of freckles, in a long tule green dress with flowers in her dark hair and a crown of roses on her head. She was smiling and waving at the crowd around her like a princess as the crowd surged forward lifting their hands to her.

On the second float, was a girl considerably younger than the others, with wild black curls and silver circlet around her forehead. Her dress was brown and ragged if Josie had to guess she would say it was made out of burlap, but it was a fashion choice that she pulled off well. Despite her age, she held herself with a large amount of pride, Josie could tell by the way she raised her chin as she watched the crowd.

The third float had a girl in a velvet red dress, with pin-straight blonde hair and a tiara dripping with black jewels. She had intense makeup that few people could pull off and a glint in her eyes that suggested trouble. She didn’t wave at the people around her and for some reason, they screamed even louder because of it.

When the fourth float appeared Josie nearly choked on her drink. Atop it stood Hope, in a stunning satin blue dress and her auburn hair was in a dramatic updo with a crown so big that it looked more like a sheet of diamonds. Hope looked regal without even trying, you could never tell that she hated every minute she was on that float. For a moment Josie could swear Hope found her in the crowd, and she might have waved it off if Hope hadn’t winked, her smile turning slightly more genuine.

The floats moved past them, but not far before they stopped in the road and the girls climbed down one by one. Josie was too distracted watching Hope to notice where they were going until Hope disappeared from view behind a curtain that leads to a stage. Lizzie snapped her out of it by bumping her shoulder and motioning to the stage, as Marcel Gerard walked out to the center.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed grinning from ear to ear, obviously very comfortable in front of a crowd,” It is my pleasure to once again announce this year’s princesses of the quarter.” the crowd roared around them and Josie lifted slightly onto her toes in anticipation.

The girls filed onto the stage, one after the other then turned to face the crowd. They linked hands and lifted them into the air, as if on queue the wind picked up in a way that could only be explained by magic. She didn’t know what the mass of drunk people thought was happening, but however they explained it to themselves they loved it. Everyone gasped and laughed, enthralled by the magic of the city, that was linked to these four princesses.

The spectacle was over quicker than Josie expected and each of the girls walked off one by one disappearing off the stage and back behind the curtains, effectively ending the parade and leaving the people to go back to drinking and partying, at least until the next parade. Lizzie grabbed Josie’s hand and started pulling her toward the stage.

Come Jo,” she said as they ducked behind the curtains following,” We found Hope we can’t lose her now,” they stopped just far enough away that they could see the group of girls huddled by the door to a bar with some men standing farther away in dark clothes, like security guards. Marcel appeared out of nowhere, the same grin on his face as he ushered everyone inside. But Hope stayed behind, her back was to the twins so they couldn’t hear what excuse she gave. Josie took this as their queue to come out of the shadows, so she nudged Lizzie and they moved forward.

“I was wondering how long you two were going to wait there,” Hope said, turning to face them, wearing a smirk that was so much more beautiful than any crown. Then Josie was running and throwing her arms around her, she’d missed Hope so much. She was even more sure of that now that they were together again. Hope met her halfway and wrapped her arms around Josie’s waist pulling her close.

“Did you forget about me?” Lizzie’s voice broke through.

“As if I could,” Hope laughed, releasing Josie and moving to hug Lizzie. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked

“We decided to take a long weekend, come see the city, celebrate all that and running into you was just a happy accident,” Lizzie teased with an eye roll.

Before they could say anything else one of the girls stepped back outside, the smile she was wearing earlier had turned into a scowl. “Come on Hope, some of us actually want to look nice at the ball tonight” She was the picture of grace and kindness during the parade, all covered in flowers but now she was completely different.

“And you have to work so hard for that Phoebe,” Hope shot back like she was very used to dealing with this girl. Hope’s comment must have been enough because Phoebe’s face turned red, whether it was from anger or embarrassment Josie wasn’t sure, but she turned on her heel and marched back inside.

However she was quickly replaced by another, the blonde this time.” I know she’s a bitch Hope but she’s right if we don’t get back soon your aunt will have all our heads,”

“Yeah I know,” Hope replied then glancing at the twins she asked,” do you guys want to come?”

It didn’t take twin telepathy for them to come up with their answer. Soon they were following Hope into the bar. Josie recognized it immediately, it was the same bar she met Freya at when she came to reverse engineer the spell to bring everyone's memory back and it hadn’t changed one bit.

None of them talked as they followed Marcel into the back room where he moved a refrigerator revealing a hole in the wall. Josie’s eyes widened but she didn’t open her mouth. She watched in silence as all of the girls and the body guards disappeared inside without hesitation until it was just the three of them again.

Hope must have sensed her unease because she spoke,” It’s an old bootlegger tunnel, they run all over the city, you can get anywhere with them.” she climbed inside with ease and held out her hands to help the twins in, with her new strength she basically did all the hard work for them.

The tunnel was dark and damp and Josie remembered just how much she hated being underground, she took a deep breath to settle herself and pushed forward, following Hope through the twisting catacombs. Josie grabbed Lizzie’s hand, she didn’t know if her sister could tell how much she hated this but she squeezed her hand and Josie felt better. After what felt like an eternity, they made it to an exit and when they resurfaced Josie found herself in a grand house that somehow looked ancient and modern (modern for New Orleans at least) all at once. The group made their way to a room in the center of the house, that was where the princesses had gotten ready for their grand debut. The walls were lined with four vanities, covered in makeup and jewelry and surrounded by people whose job it was to prepare the girls for the ball they had to attend that evening.

The girls scattered to their respective areas and started to get ready, and the twins followed Hope to her’s. But unlike everyone else Hope didn’t get to work,” welcome to my home,” she stated motioning at everything around them.

“You live here?” Lizzie gasped shocked. Josie shouldn’t have been surprised given everything she knew about Hope’s family, but the magnitude of the house still weighed on her. It was giant. Speaking of families, it was around that moment that they started to pour in from the outside. A young girl around 12 bolted across the room and nearly tackled one of the girls, the one sitting at the vanity next to Hope’s.

“You look like the queen of the wolves,” she squeaked.

The girl huffed and rolled her eyes messing with her little sisters hair,” thanks but that’s Hope’s job not mine,”

“Very funny Ava,” Hope shot back with a grin, as the little girl came to give Hope a hug too.

“You look really pretty too,”

“Why thank you Charlie,” Hope replied, giving the girl a squeeze then turning back to the twins,” guys this is Charlie, that’s her sister Ava and the one being all broody behind them is their brother Logan. They’re crescent wolves from my pack.,” Josie hadn’t even noticed Logan, but Lizzie had, he was tall, dark and Handsome exactly her type, Josie could tell by the way her eyes were bulging out of her head. “ and as for the other girls, you already met Phoebe she’s a witch and that’s Cecily a vamp,”

“One of each faction,” Josie commented, raising an eyebrow,” and you're the tribrid it’s all very symbolic.”

Hope laughed, loud and clear,” No I’m the Mikaelson representative, but I like your reason better.”

The rest of the Mikaelsons entered with the families of the other girls, Kol and Davina came to them first because Marcel and Rebekah were busy politicing and Freya was chasing her small son around trying to stop him from throwing beads.

Kol held out a very ornate looking box lined with velvet and Hope removed her crown and earrings placing them in the box. “ You looked stunning out there Hope,” Davina cued.

“Anyone looks stunning when they are wearing priceless Russian jewels,” Hope said shrugging

“Oh just take the compliment, Hope,” Davina laughed.

Rebekah appeared behind them scarily silent, but her demeanor didn’t seem threatening,” Did you decide what dress you are going to wear tonight, darling?” she asked as she stood behind Hope at the vanity, running her fingers lightly through her hair.

“No not yet aunt Bex,” she replied.

“You don’t have a dress for tonight,” Lizzie shrieked clearly appalled. Josie bit back a laugh at the shocked look on the tribrid’s face.

“Don’t worry Lizzie I have plenty of options,” Hope said standing up,” come on you can help me pick,” they followed her back through the house and up the stairs till they came to a door off a side hallway that looked like it lead to a broom closet, and it was a closet but it was also so much more.

Inside was the biggest walk-in closet that Joise had ever seen, the walls lined with dresses of every kind, from different eras and styles, there was even an entire corner dedicated entirely to wedding dresses. Hope smirked as she saw her friends gaping, clearly amused.

“Wow,” Lizzie muttered, running her hands through the dresses and Josie joined her, sifting through hundreds of dresses from every point in history, and of modern ones too. As much as she wanted to play with all of the historical dresses, she decided to focus on the modern dresses.

Hope was silent as they searched, but Josie could hear Lizzie muttering to herself. After a moment Hope spoke up,” you can each pick one dress for me to try on, we are on a time limit,”

“There’s no need,” Josie gasped as she pulled a gorgeous, sleek black dress covered in swirling god beading off the wall,” this is your dress,” Lizzie sucked in a breath as she saw the dress and Josie knew that her twin agreed with her decision.

“You just want an excuse to see me in that dress,” Hope poked. Was that flirting? Josie couldn’t tell, but she played along.

“Guilty as charged, now go put it on,” Hope laughed, taking the dress in her arms and disappearing behind a screen to change.

Josie was so right about the dress, anyone who saw Hope would know that. For lack of a better word, she looked hot, insanely hot, Josie had to force herself not to stare. Before she could say anything Freya appeared in the doorway with her son on her hip,” You look so much like your mother sometimes,” she said her eyes filled with emotions. Her son, Nik Josie remembered, wiggled his way out her grasp and beelined for Hope. she scooped him up with ease, her smile growing.

It was strange, seeing Hope with her family something shifted, she wasn’t just hot she was beautiful. There was a light behind her that wasn’t normally there, it made the siphoner’s heart skip a beat.

They spent the rest of the afternoon getting Hope ready, the twins fell into a rhythm, easy and fun, they did her hair and makeup and laughed like they were normal teenage girls getting ready for a party. They talked to the other girls too, Ava and Hope were really close, they’d practically grown up together, and Cecily was nice enough. Phoebe kept her distance but nobody complained about that.

At some point Kol stopped by and left another box, this one considerably smaller, but probably equally expensive. All of the crowns were smaller now, Josie noticed wondering that was another strange tradition that Hope hadn’t mentioned.

Eventually everyone made their way downstairs to the front door, it seemed they were using a visible exit this time. Hope’s entire family was dressed to impress, minus Freya’s wife Keelin who was staying home to watch Nik for the evening, it seemed that a Mardi Gras ball wasn’t an appropriate place for a toddler. Everyone made their way outside but Hope stayed behind,” sorry for leaving like this guys,”

“Are you kidding,” Lizzie scoffed,” you’re going to to an actual ball Hope, I think we can handle ourselves for the night,”

“Besides we’ll probably just go explore the city some,” Josie added, trying to ease the older girls' guilt. It didn’t work because Hope’s guilt seemed to turn to worry.

Hope held out her hands and each of the twins took one without question,” stock up on some magic,” Josie started siphoning on instinct, Lizzie did too,” I’m not telling you not to go into the city but just be safe and if anything happens under no circumstances are you to tell anyone that you are siphoner witched ok?” Hope was tense, but she seemed to be willing to let the twins handle themselves for the night.

“That’s worrying but we accept,” Lizzie said.

It seemed that all of Hope’s family wasn’t outside yet because Davina was suddenly running down the stairs,” come on Hope if we don’t leave now we’re going to be late,”

“You’re the one who’s late, D not me,” Hope retorted, releasing Josie’s hand but not moving away from them.

“Go have fun,” Josie said, nudging her toward the door with a smile.

#hosie #hosie fanfic #ship: hosie #hope x josie #hope mikaelson #josie saltzman #Legacies #slowburn #the mikaelson family #the mikaelsons

16 notes · View notes

ofmenoetius · 4 years

Text

✖ ▒ OH, WHAT A COINCIDENCE! i was just thinking of [ PATROCLUS SON OF MENOETIUS ]. most swear their resemblance to [ SEAN TEALE ] is unmistakable, but he has / they have been around since the [ BRONZE AGE ]. it is rumoured that the [ DEMIBOY ] was born in [ OPUS ] in the year [ 1205 BC ], even though they don’t look a day over [ THIRTY ]. what a shame, though: they were once famed for being [ HONEST ] and [ PASSIONATE ] ; yet now, they seem more and more [ RESERVED ] and [ MERCURIAL ]. but while [ PATROCLUS ] spends their days working as a [ HARPIST FOR THE LONDINIUM SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA ], they are already notorious around town for [ UNSENT LOVE LETTERS ADDRESSED TO NO ONE ; BANDAGED FINGERS AND CALLOUSED HANDS ; A BEAT UP OLD FLIP PHONE ; THE FAINT SCENT OF COFFEE AND CARDAMOM ]. when you live forever, you might as well make the most of it.

hi, hello –– i’m bella + also the worst !! this is my baby patroclus who’s one part powerpuff girl, two parts physical embodiment of the eyeroll, and generally just has really bad frown lines from being in a Bad Mood for like thousands of years or whatever. ( will not get botox sadly, someone convince him ) anyway –– i am here for every single plot of every single kind !! just like this and / or hmu on discord @ halaldaddy#3725 !!

TASK ONE : THE RUNDOWN

▼ STATISTICS.

full name: patroclus, son of menoetius.

moniker / nickname: officially goes by patrick in 2020, and he has the fake ids to prove it. generally isn’t the biggest fan of nicknames.

titles: tbd.

gender && pronouns: demi-boy && he / him + they / them.

dob && age: april 24th, 1205 BC && really old –– about 3224 years old, give or take, but he’s been thirty for a really long time.

place of birth: opus, greece.

previous residences: opus, athens, larissa, cape town, cardiff, inverness, paris, milan, caracas, && londinium –– in that order.

zodiac sign: taurus.

ethnicity: white && venezuelan.

sexual orientation: demisexual.

romantic orientation: homoromantic.

occupational history: perpetual soldier, squire, orange farmer, lutist, revolutionary, boxer, harpist. among others.

▼ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: sean teale.

height: 185 cm && 6′2.

physical build: mesomorph && visibly muscular && painfully straight back from years of his father’s voice still stuck in his head. ( it’s 2020, maybe he really should go to therapy for his daddy issues, but how do you tell a therapist your dad died before the trojan war ?? asking for a friend. )

eye colour and shape: dark brown && hooded, really long lashes which he does oil at night && also lines his eyes with kohl. it’s habit.

hair colour and style: dark, cropped, usually trimmed neatly.

usual expression: bored, reluctant smile.

accent and speech style: heavily accented english, but it’s impossible to pin down where he might be from. speaks spanish and greek with more ease than he does english.

distinguishing marks / characteristics: both ear lobes pierced, gold studs in both. a shield tattooed on his left flank. plenty of scars –– one across his right eyebrow, scarred && calloused hands, a very large scar that refused to heal right on his left shoulder.

clothing style: anything he can find, really ; athletic for the most part, but smart button-downs ( always button-downs, never button ups ) for work.

jewellery and accessories: a thin, gold chain around his neck ; his an engraved ring hangs from it, tucked away. a deliberate collection of rings on his fingers: a curved edge, yellow gold signet ring from a third-generation foundry in greece ; a classic medusa ring picked up in florence during the renaissance ; a turquoise inlaid silver signet ring ; a silver plated band, worn on his left thumb.

▼ FAMILY.

father: menoetius, deceased ( thank fuck ).

mother: philomela, deceased.

siblings, if any: myrto, his sister.

extended relations: none that he knows.

significant other(s): achilles && only achilles. it could only ever be achilles.

children: none, except his ––

household pet(s): he has two tabby cats named menelaus and ajax ( just a little fun joke for himself, okay –– don’t @ him. )

▼ FAVOURITES.

colour: gold ; every shade.

weather: storms –– it reminds him of mornings spent inside, the air sticky and humid, sweat on his upper lip and a laugh on his tongue.

food item: he’s a vegetarian –– he always has been, especially since he didn’t always have food, especially during the 1100s. so yeah, patroclus isn’t exactly picky –– anything veg and vaguely edible’s fine –– but he does love a vegan burger ( normal cheese, please ). the perks of the 21st century. okay, and he loves green olives.

beverage: he’s a stereotype, he loves red wine. ( fine, he hates wine –– he likes tequila. )

time of day: late at night, late enough that the streets are quiet and the air feels thin and he can breathe deeply.

television genre: not that patroclus has time to watch tv –– plus he’s got one of those old picture tube tvs from the dinosaur era –– but he loves a good underwater documentary. and shark week. and the history channel –– he likes to catch what they got wrong.

favourite era lived: he’d do anything to go back to the day before he died –– anything. to say a proper goodbye, to say all the very many things he’d never said because he thought he had all the time in the world. but also, he really loved the ‘70s in londinium.

▼ PERSONALITY.

hobbies: boxing && reading && falling asleep in the sun.

pet peeves: people talking in circles && liars.

phobias: patroclus doesn’t like drowning. he’s died of drowning once && come back from it, but he absolutely hated it. he’ll take anything over it.

allergies: coffee. which is fine, because patroclus likes green tea anyway. ( well, green tea with like three whole spoonfuls of honey. )

mbti type: isfj – t.

enneagram type:

35% the challenger.

48% the skeptic.

22% the peacemaker.

positive traits: passionate && honest && loyal && dependable.

negative traits: reserved && mercurial && blunt && pessimistic && headstrong && forlorn.

morning routine: goes for a run every morning before dawn, goes to a boxing class, has breakfast at the bookshop on the way home, and gets to work at least an hour early. it’s boring and it’s too familiar and patroclus wouldn’t change it –– he’d rather have predictable than the alternative. he’s tired of losing people and places and old routines, so he’s holding on to this one until he has to move again in another twenty years.

beauty routine: nothing really ; patroclus keeps his beard neat and his hair trimmed. he oils and curls his lashes, oils his beard. he misses baths –– big baths that you could sit in and just stay in until you pruned. but he only has a shower in his apartment now.

sleeping habits: patroclus hasn’t slept through the night since before his first death ; nowadays, it’s a few hours of sleep at a time, and plenty of nightmares to keep him company. the good thing is, he’s very used to waking up early –– rather than tossing and turning or watching his ceiling until dawn, he’s up and out of bed.

oldest belonging: he doesn’t have anything –– nothing. patroclus always leaves things behind, always. it’s easier that way. and sure, he regrets it sometimes. but there’s no use crying over the past, right? not when he has an endless future.

living space && home: it’s small –– it’s really small. but it has bay windows, a shitty little terrace with doors that the wind knocks open, and plants everywhere. there’s a kingsize mattress on the ground, one set of sheets total and they’re made of cotton-silk. orange, of course.

INTRODUCTION : tw death ; tw war .

his childhood wasn’t pretty. patroclus was born too skinny, too weak –– maybe not sickly, but he wasn’t wanted. he wasn’t loved. he was born into a war, and his war was his father. his war was his father’s shame. so when he killed another by accident –– in anger, in frustration, by mistake –– his father was more than happy to ship him off ; and somehow, that was the greatest gift his father could have ever given him. thanks, dad.

it’s been so long, everything feels like a dream. it feels too sunlit and too warm to the touch. it feels too easy. and sure, he can’t remember all that much about it. but he remembers achilles. he remembers being so happy that he felt sick to his stomach. but he doesn’t remember hector’s knife in his stomach or dying that very first time. but he remembers waking up to hades in the underworld, and he remembers the sickening realisation that he could never go back ever again –– he was here, and he was alive, and he still had to leave everything he once knew behind.

patroclus didn’t want money or fame ; he’d only ever wanted a love to call his own and a place to call his home. and since he’d lost both already, he was tired. so he went off to work on an orange farm, right at the edge of the world –– or well, the edge of his world. he was still in greece, news travelling to them every few months or years, and it was alright. he was away from the rest of the world, labouring under the cruel sun and sleeping into the cool night, and waking up to do it all over again. he smiled at the kids on his way into town and gave them an armful of oranges each. and then when people began to wonder whywhywhy he wasn’t aging, patroclus moved on to the next village –– and then the next, and then the next.

it was 1465 + he was in florence when he saw a lute again –– a laugh escaping him before he could start to remember when he last laughed out loud. it reminded him of home, of a long time ago. so he began to play for money and food and a place to stay. and it took him all over the world –– meeting people who’d die before he’d reach his next destination and learning things he’d never be able to forget.

going to war became a habit. the crusades, the gallic wars, the jacobite rising, the war of the roses, the french revolution, the seven weeks war, world war i, the russian revolution, world war ii, and so very many more –– patroclus wasn’t really fighting, but he was trying. he was trying to make sure some good came out of them, that there was some death that he could stop, some blows he could take if it meant another lived. but at some point, he just couldn’t keep doing it anymore. his heart hurt and his nightmares followed him in the daylight.

now, well –– he’s a harpist for the londinium symphony. patroclus has been her for all of about 12 years now ; he doesn’t want to move, not yet. but throughout his many, many lifetimes, he’s perfected and loved the harp –– it’s the only thing he recognises in this brave new world, and he’s going to hang onto it for as long as he can.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

survival of the stubborn: a mentor, someone patroclus met after a long, long time of being immortal, but someone who taught him to stop being completely miserable and enjoy the time they have. if it wasn’t for this person, patroclus probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long.

death becomes you: immortal friends ; the gang, the squad. the ride or dies –– so to speak. they can go decades without talking or meeting, but they get together again every fifty years and know they can rely on each other. plus, they can literally whatsapp each other now –– like, what.

orange you glad to see me: he worked on an orange farm in greece after their first death in about 1200 BC, and met this person there. maybe this person owned the farm, maybe this person was just a guest of the owners, maybe they also worked on the farm, or maybe they just met each other in the village nearby –– but they met again years and years and years later and it was a lowkey lightbulb moment of oh, so i’m not alone out here for patroclus !!

please turn the music off: musician friends + members of the orchestra ( mortal or immortal ) + anyone who’s into music and they might have met each other over the years !! perhaps a mentor or maybe they even totally hate each other, but just about any type of music relation !!

encore, encore: patroclus worked / played in a few different courts over the years –– always the lute or harp –– so this might be someone he might have played for !!

tequila’s my best friend: drinking buddies !! what it says on the tin. patroclus is a miserable drinker, usually ends up spilling all of his secrets, sometimes ends up breaking things.

the war followed me back home: patroclus served in plenty of wars until 1950 –– far too many, with new names and new titles and new ranks every time. to do some good in the world. or maybe they were just chasing their first death at hector’s hands. either way –– this is someone they might have served with !! could be a commanding officer ; a fellow soldier ; or even a doctor / nurse !!

old enemies, new friends: people he just doesn’t get along with. at all. ever. they’re always hated each other, maybe they even killed each other a few times, but just some sort of enemies !!

more to be added !!

#this is so long i hate myself #im so sorry #qismat.intro #qismat.task #qismat.taskone

4 notes · View notes

kylan-writes · 4 years

Text

Reunion

Post Trespasser Nan Lavellan/Iron Bull fic I posted for Dragon Age Day but forgot to share here! Enjoy <3

A little more than a year had passed since the Inquisition disbanded. Since then Nan had spent her time either running on rooftops with Sera or communicating with Leliana, Cassandra, and Harding. They’d kept their group close knit and tight. Only her closest companions from before and Leliana’s most trusted agents remained in contact, the lot of them scattered to the wind and throwing away any chance of Solas’ agents learning the details of their plans to find him. Nan felt fortunate to have such trustworthy folks around her, and even more fortunate that she still had her closest friends available.

Nan kept her hood drawn as she stepped through the crowd, her body shrouded by the wool cloak she wore while snow dusted the little city. Winters had never been so bad before. She’d handled them well in the Free Marches with Lavellan, but she was adjusting to living on her own in Orlais now. Sera had her own little apartment not far away, the two of them checking up on each other. Nan had mostly adapted to living with only one hand, though some things weren’t as easy as others. She'd mastered getting dressed on her own, which to her was a major victory.

She glanced past the material of her hood and smiled when she saw her little home. An apartment within an old tavern. There were several fireplaces in the pub to keep it warm and comfortable enough to lure in customers even in the worst of winter. The heat sank into the rest of the building, warming the stone and even managing to keep her home on the third level in a state of comfort. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd had it enchanted.

Nan shivered as she stepped inside, the warmth almost immediately stripping away the cold. She let her hood fall off her head, revealing her pointed ears and the deep purple tribute to Ghilan’nain on her forehead. Travelers stared at her strangely, a combination of confusion and prejudice, while the locals who knew her paid her no mind. Nan stood by the fireplace for a few moments, warming herself up and enjoying the heat on her face. She smiled to herself and winked at the staring humans so that they’d turn away as she strolled over to the bar. She sat at a stool and smiled at the burly Rivani human behind the counter, his scruffy beard carefully combed and his hair neatly trimmed. Nan had become close enough friends with him to learn that his elven wife was the one who took care of his hair for him. The two were an adorable couple and had taken a liking to Nan since she’d started living in their building.

“Good to see you again, Lady Tarshan,” he said in a thick Orlesian accent, the use of Nan’s family name making her smile. Lavellan was inaccurate, her clan’s name, and too well known now. Tarshan took her back to who she was before. It was a little thing that helped her to shake off the lingering title of Inquisitor. “Your usual?”

“You know me so well, Hodges,” Nan said with a smile, dropping some coin on the counter. He gathered it in his hand, knowing already that she’d given him more than enough for her evening’s drinks and dinner. Nan sighed contently as she settled into her environment, watching Hodges as he brought over a stein of ale and a bowl of bean and vegetable soup that had been made for the evening’s guests. And spiced to perfection, thanks to some favors for Red Jenny.

He set down her food with a kind smile. “Here you go, chérie.”

“Thank you, lethallin,” she said in turn, bringing her bowl to her lips and sipping at the hot broth. She let out a happy hum, her muscles relaxing. “Delicious as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Hodges said, a smirk playing with his mouth.

Nan laughed lightly. “Does that mean you’ve not heard any good gossip?”

Hodges sucked on his teeth. “Now, Nan. I never said that.”

She beamed up at him. “What have you got for me tonight?”

His dark eyes glanced about them to make sure no one else was paying mind to their conversation, then he leaned against the counter and lowered his gravely voice. “There’s not been much news since the frost stopped bringing travelers, but I’ll tell you what I’ve heard. For starters, the local nobles are getting worried with all the vanishing elves. Wondering where they’ll find such cheap labor now.”

Nan sneered at this. “Bastards,” she cursed as she took a long swig of her drink.

“That’s not all,” he said. Nan looked up at him with her copper eyes, staring and waiting for him to go on. “It’s getting worse in the North.”

Her brows furrowed. “How do you know?”

Hodges glanced around subtly again. “Nevarran nobles visiting associates in Val Royeaux talking their own rumors. Since Tevinter’s had to focus all of their energy on the Qunari, the Magisterium’s getting unstable.”

Nan frowned at this, her hand moving to fidget with the silver locket that dangled from the velvet choker she always wore. The little communication crystal she’d gotten to speak with Dorian resided inside, unused for nearly a week. She’d have to check up on him again when she got the chance. “Anything else?”

“Doubt anything else I mention will be of use to you, my lady,” he said. “You’re the one with connections across Thedas.”

“Unofficial connections,” she reminded him.

“Unofficial or not, you’ve got friends in high places,” Hodges said, acting as though he were cleaning up the counter.

“The friends in lower places count for more than you could ever know, lethallin,” she told him with a smile. “How is your family?”

The smile that stretched across her friend’s face warmed her heart. “My daughter, Juliana. She’s working for a tailor now, learning to make dresses for noble women. You should have seen her when she told Emilia and me the news, her smile so bright.”

Nan smiled at him. She’d met Juliana before, the girl an older teenager now, old enough for vallaslin if she was Dalish. Hodges had his wife and workers to help him tend his tavern, leaving their daughter mostly free to choose her own path. He’d been quite adamant in that she never feel forced to do anything, the stigma towards elf-blooded children unfortunately working against her. “That’s wonderful news! You’ll have to give her my congratulations when you see her next.”

He nodded at this. “I’ll be sure to do that, I’m sure that she’ll appreciate it.”

The two spoke for a while longer as Nan ate her soup and drank her ale, only stopping when new guests came through the door. Nan let Hodges tend to them while she sat and listened. Much could be learned of the city’s mood by paying attention to the little things. Orlais made it easier, with all the nobles wearing their extravagant masks that told you exactly who they were. In Ferelden she’d had to learn to notice the little things that distinguished nobles from the common folk. It made it more interesting, in her opinion, to be surrounded by people in practical clothing and to try and tell them apart. Sera had trained her in a smaller city on the coast, not far from Denerim.

Nan preferred places like her tavern that were filled with people just trying to get by. People like Hodges that were as Orlesian as the rest of them but lacking quite as many masks. It made her wonder what the next city would bring. They stayed long enough to make Friends, then moved on to the next town or city.

“Forgot to mention,” Hodges said, returning to her briefly. Her large copper eyes looked up at him curiously. “Heard word of a mercenary company doing work for a noble outside the city. An odd bunch, led by a qunari.”

Her eyes went wide at this, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of her dragon's tooth sitting on her chest. “You’re certain?”

“Of course not, everything I say is rumor,” he reminded her, turning to gather coin from another patron. He gave her a knowing smile, however. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if this one were true.”

She continued to frown at him, her brows pinched in the middle as someone sat down roughly to the right of her, a shield hitting the counter. Nan nearly jumped in her seat and stared at the sight of Krem waving Hodges over.

"Fenedhis!” she swore, still startled. “Krem, what are you doing here!?”

Her friend smiled at her as Hodges stepped over to them. “Trying to get warm,” he brushed off with a shiver, dusting some snow from his sleeve. “Snow’s getting worse out there, we might get stuck in the city until it melts.”

“I-I…” Nan could just stare, her mouth hanging open, as she started looking around for the rest of the Chargers. She spotted most of them sitting at a table, not saying much until they noticed Nan looking over. Rocky waved at her enthusiastically and Skinner gave her a rare smile. “I don’t understand.”

“Round of drinks for that table over there,” the young soldier said, gesturing to his friends across the room with one hand and holding out some coin in the other.

Hodges smiled at this, nodding to Nan before going to get the drinks. The still confused elf closed her eyes and pinched the flat bridge of her nose, breathing deeply to try and make sense of her situation. As blatantly conspicuous as the Chargers usually were, they were damned good at sneaking past her when they wanted to. This wasn’t the first time that they’d done this, the lot of them having surprised her while in Denerim months ago.

“You'll be the death of me,” she mumbled, rubbing at her temples as she slumped against the countertop.

“No one’s dying as long as I'm around,” the ever familiar voice of her mate said from her left. Nan's eyes grew wide and her head snapped up to see the Iron Bull sitting beside her with his axe leaning against the bar counter beside him.

Nan caught herself before she tried using the hand that wasn't there, twisting around in her seat so she could smack at his thigh properly. “You ass! Why didn't you let me know you were going to be in the city!?”

“Because it's more fun to surprise you,” he justified, grinning at her.

She huffed, her eyes narrowed a bit in a glare before she broke into a smile and grabbed the front of his own wool and leather coat, pulling him down so she could kiss him. He chuckled and kissed her back tenderly, both caring little about who might see them. Nan hugged him as tight as she could, the Bull wrapping his arms around her protectively in return. It had been a few months since they had last been reunited.

“I've missed you so much, ma vhenan,” she said into his chest, smiling at the sight of his matching dragon's tooth resting on top of his coat.

“I’ve missed you too, Kadan,” he said softly, his words sweet as he gave her a final squeeze before letting go, back to business. “Any word from Red?”

Nan shook her head as she sat back down, facing the open space. She brushed a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear and sighed. “Nothing yet. I'm not even sure where she is anymore, the last letter came in ages ago.”

“You worried?”

“About Leliana?” She raised an amused brow. “Are you joking? She's the last one people should be worried about.”

Bull chuckled. “Fair enough. How's it going with Sera and Dagna?”

“I miss real fighting,” Nan admitted somberly. “I've been working with this new contraption Dagna made up for me, a little crossbow that fits on my stump. I'm grateful for it, it helps me keep up with Sera fine, but it's not the same.”

“Carrying around a sword and shield might make you more conspicuous,” he reminded her, stealing some of her drink.

“The tattoos do it enough for me, I bet,” she said, brushing some of her matting hair away from her face. It had been neglected and needed to be combed.

“Tattoos, ears, the missing arm,” Bull listed, smirking as he watched Nan’s frustration grow. “If you were taller you’d stick out more than me.”

“And yet somehow you can sneak your boys into a crowded pub without my noticing.”

He grinned at her. “We’re professionals, remember?”

“Your professionals are going to drink my landlord out of ale,” she said, Hodges and Krem walking past with the steins. The Chargers all let out hearty cheers, their presence in the pub almost overpowering now.

“Krem’ll leave a good tip for him.”

Nan sighed heavily but looked on the table fondly. The Chargers were important to her in a way she'd not anticipated. They had changed her life, become almost like family. There had been many an evening when Nan wondered if she should try to run with the mercenaries. It might give her a chance to renew her skills as a warrior instead of this sneaky at-a-distance shit.

But she had work to do. Red Jenny's Friends were her only way of getting half-decent information while in the South as such a small and unofficial group. Especially while Cassandra had her own work to do with the Seekers. Leliana was invaluable, as she'd retained a number of trusted contacts and spies. A couple of her elves had been keeping an eye on whatever Dalish clans they came across for any leaving that might lead to Solas. There were more in Orlais than Fereldan, surprisingly. Though perhaps not as surprising given the still recent Blight.

Fereldan was a strange one. Leliana's close friendship with King Alistair and Queen Melody was a boon to their cause, even if nothing would ever be made public. Despite the complications that had ultimately contributed to the dissolution of the Inquisition, Melody had been supportive when their situation was elaborated on. The Queen had a quest of her own, but it seemed she had Alistair's trust enough that he promised to pass along useful information, should either come across any. So far, there had been nothing but that promise.

Bull noticed that Nan had fallen into a thought spiral and placed his hand at the small of her back, gently, to bring her attention back. She looked back and up, smiling at him, patting his knee.

"Do you ever wonder how we ended up where we are?" she asked softly, staring at the many patrons and the bard in the corner doing coin tricks while the crackling fire warmed the night. "Try to string together a series of events so that they might make sense."

He paused, and Nan fully expected him to say no. It would have made sense for him to say no to her thinking out loud. But instead he said, "Sometimes."

"Have you ever tried to pick out that one moment when your life changed irreversibly? That happenstance that marked that there was no turning back?"

He frowned at her, trying to meet her eyes. "What's brought this on, Nan?"

She took to chewing on her lower lip for a moment, worrying it between her teeth before deciding, "A bit of malcontent."

"Your arm?" he guessed cautiously.

"More general than a singular cause," she sighed and bowed her head, her left arm moving slightly before she switched to her right to push back her hair on her head. She was still getting used to it. "Dammit, sorry. Getting like this isn't helpful to anyone."

He rested his arm along the counter behind her. Nan leaned into it easily and relaxed somewhat as he looked at her fondly.

"It was when I met Krem," Bull said.

"What?"

"When everything changed," he elaborated. Nan nodded her understanding and shifted to face him properly, but still leaning into him. "Lost my eye protecting this scrappy kid I didn't know and gave him a job. A Tevinter kid, no less. He and the others didn’t make life easy."

"You wouldn't change that for anything," Nan said assuredly.

"I would have," he said, in that tone of voice that sounded so matter-of-fact certain. The tone that Nan envied for the confidence it exuded, even when saying such things. "If the Qun demanded it, but they don't. Not anymore."

Nan gave his knee a squeeze and smiled at him briefly before grabbing her drink and taking a few swallows. Across the room the Chargers were enjoying themselves, joyful noise filling the air.

“I had a conversation with my older brother, Mahanon, before I left to go to the Conclave with our envoy,” she said, still watching them as she held her stein in her hand. “I was still unhappy with the idea of leaving Lavellan to go south. I was convinced that the Keeper was trying to sabotage my role with the halla, as though because I wasn’t born to the clan it made me unworthy. I wanted so badly to be mad at her, but Mahanon pulled me aside and we took a walk. He told me, Deshanna wouldn’t have chosen me to go if she didn’t trust me. That, once I got home I would see how proud she was of me.”

“But you never went home,” Bull finished for her.

“Nope,” she said, her voice a bit strained around that one word. She palmed at her face and pinched the space between her eyes. “Dammit… Sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he said, moving his hand to her shoulder.

“No, I do. I…” Nan held her tongue for a moment and caught his eye, his expression confused and expectant. She breathed out a heavy sigh and pulled herself together, finding some of that old Inquisitor Confidence as her hand closed around her piece of the dragon tooth. “I’m considering going North. To the Marches.”

The Bull was taken slightly aback by this. “You…”

“The ruins of Arlathan are on the Northern side of the continent, between Antiva and Tevinter," she cut off, her mood shifting from melancholia to determination mixed with guilt. “I think we’ve exhausted our reach here in the South, but Varric’s in Kirkwall and my family is still in Wycome. And Sera has at least a few Jennies in Starkhaven. Once we’ve made a foothold in the Free Marches, Josie is in Antiva and Dorian’s going to try to help where he can in Tevinter...”

“You’ve already planned all of this out?”

Nan fidgeted with her locket but kept her posture rigid. “It’s not so much planned out, as it is conceptualized. But I'm feeling stagnant here. If we were going to catch a lead we'd have caught it by now."

"I get it," he nodded, listening carefully.

Her fingers moved from the locket to the tooth, holding it tight. "I'm getting restless. I can't stay here. There's too much at stake, and I'm not about to let this damn arm keep me from fixing my mistakes myself."

Bull reached out and brushed some of her hair from her face, pulling his fingers carefully through some of the knots. Nan leaned her cheek into his palm, placing her hand over his and turning to kiss his skin. "You're not alone in this," he assured her.

"I know," she said, smiling up at him and catching his eye. "I've many friends and I'm fortunate to have them. Even if going North means being further from you."

He smirked as he took her drink again. "Is that what you think?"

Nan frowned, looking between the table with his boys and him. "The Chargers work in Orlais, it's been that way since we met. I won’t ask you to follow me, I’m not even planning to ask Sera and Dagna to come.”

Bull’s expression shifted slightly as he swallowed, brow raising. “You’re actually planning to go North by yourself?”

“I am.”

The Iron Bull looked her over, determination on her face and in her posture. His gaze lingered a little long on her missing arm. There was no getting around the fact that she had been completely changed because of it. He knew that Nan hated asking for help with mundanities because it made her feel weak, even though she needed it. And he knew that she was seeking redemption for something beyond her control.

“I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t,” he began. Nan held her tongue long enough for him to speak. “But you need someone watching your back. And I’m not just saying this because of your arm, I’m saying this because you’re going after a god.”

“He’s still Solas,” she argued. “Whatever else he is doesn’t change that we were friends and that I know him.”

“He has an army and more agents than we could ever prepare for alone.” Nan sucked on her teeth and pursed her lips. “You disbanded the Inquisition so you would be able to trust the people working for you. If you’re going North, the Chargers will follow you."

"Bull, I don't have money to pay your men anymore," Nan sighed, frustration building. "I can't afford your fee."

"For fucks sake, Nan," he swore, his head bowing in exasperation but lacking irritation as he set the drink down. She stared at him, large elven eyes looking up with confusion. "The Marches have just as much work as Orlais, we're only South because I was assigned to be in the South. I can go wherever I want now, and Krem can take charge if I need him to." He put both his hands on her shoulders and held her gaze and spoke softly. "I will follow you for as long as you need me. Once you set up with a partner, I'll rejoin my boys again to do what I can for you out there."

Nan scanned his face, catching his meaning. "You mean spying for me? Bull, I…"

"I'm not asking permission," he cut off. "You're dead set on doing this, and you're my Kadan. That's my choice, and I'm choosing to support you."

She stammered a bit, still unused to loving and being loved and the implications of that even though they'd been declaring each other theirs for a few years. It had a weight that was altogether comforting but still managed to be somewhat alien. "You're sure about this?" she finally affirmed.

"I am," he assured her. "If you're taking on the end of the world, you're going to need someone on the front lines."

Nan got up to throw her arm around his neck, standing on her toes while he leaned down to hold her in turn. "Thank you so much, ma vhenan."

He smiled against her neck and kissed the space behind her ear. "Anything for you.”

She hugged him tighter and felt for a moment as though she might cry out of relief and gratitude. Nan pulled away enough to see his face before he started to pull through her hair again, releasing some tangles. “It’s a mess, I know.”

Bull smiled and shook his head before meeting her gaze. He lowered his voice for only her and leaned in to her ear, “Let me take care of you.”

Nan’s face warmed at the suggestion and a part of her ached to say no at the implication that she needed help. But he’d always been too good at his job. “Won’t you, please?” she said, just enough begging to be playful.

He chuckled and put a hand to the small of her back, gently guiding her towards the stairs. “Lead the way.”

#iron bull/lavellan #Iron Bull/Inquisitor #iron bull x lavellan #iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull #nan lavellan #lavellan

16 notes · View notes