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simplyholl · 18 days

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Truly Desperate

Summary: When you can’t get off, you go to your enemy on the team for help.

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI.

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Why did you have the worst luck out of everyone in the world? You had such a great start to your day. Your date had went so well, you invited him back to your room at the Avengers’ Compound. You hadn’t slept with anyone in months. He was so handsome, just your type. Dark, curly hair with light eyes, you were instantly drawn to him when you met him.

Things took a wrong turn as soon as you shut the door behind you. He made himself comfortable on your bed while you went to freshen up. You picked out your favorite black, lacy lingerie set covering it with a silky robe. Then someone pounded on your door loud enough to wake the dead.

“Lady Y/N! Come quickly, I need assistance.” Thor’s voice boomed from the hallway. You apologized to your date, and answered the door. “This better be life threatening.” You whisper, shutting the door behind you. He looks at you sheepishly, hiding something behind his back. “Never mind, I will find someone else...”

You reach behind him, revealing a jar of peanut butter. “What’s this?” You ask, getting madder by the second. “I need help opening this most delicious of treats, and everyone else is gone or asleep.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you do something drastic like choke him.

“You can’t open this?” You point to the small jar in his hands. He shakes his head no. You grab it, twisting the lid. It pops off so easily, you’re sure he didn’t even try. Without a word, you turn around, entering your room again. “I’m so sorry.” You apologize to your date, as he interrupts you. “Was that Thor? He’s my favorite! This is so cool!”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll show you why I should be your favorite Avenger.” You quip, pushing him on his back. Loud banging on your door interrupts you once more. You jump up, flinging the door open. “Thor I will shove that jar down your throat if you interrupt me again!” You shout, expecting to see him. Instead you’re met with Loki, smirking as leans against your doorframe. “Always so violent.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an urgent mission. Stark says you and I are to go immediately.” He looks down at your barely dressed body. “Like what you see, perv?” You smack his arm. Loki is your least favorite on the team. He’s always arguing with you over the smallest stuff. He ruined your birthday this year by hiring geriatric strippers. He ate the last cookie from your favorite bakery without asking. He always insulted your choice on movie night. Tony liked to pair you together so he could laugh about it later. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that he was the one standing here.

You want to scream. Of course, some bad guy is hell bent on destroying the world when you are in desperate need of some dick. “Alright, just let me change before we go.” You turn back towards your room, Loki grabs your wrist. “There’s no time. We must hurry.” You look apologetically at your date who is awe struck from seeing Loki. “It’s okay, I understand.” He says as he walks around the two of you to leave.

You follow Loki to the Helicarrier, cursing under your breath. When you arrive, no one is there to brief you. Usually Tony or Steve will meet you there before your mission to tell you what to expect. You look at Loki confused. “Where’s Tony?” You ask, placing your hand on your silk covered hips. “About that…” Loki starts. “Are you serious? You ruined my date for nothing?” You push passed him, to the doorway to type in the code to leave.

His obscenely large, veiny hand blocks the keypad. You’ve never noticed how long his fingers were until now. What would they feel like inside you? They could probably reach spots that the men you’ve slept with couldn’t reach with their dicks. Where did that come from?! You need to stop thinking about Loki’s hands right now. The guy is an asshole who always torments you. Not to mention, he just cockblocked you.

“I saved you.” Loki tells you, smiling as if you should thank him. “Saved me? Loki, if that guy tried anything, I could’ve kicked his ass faster than I could have called for help.” Loki shakes his head, “He went out with Natasha last week. You saw how excited he looked to be near me, and I am America’s least favorite Avenger. You weren’t special. He was using you.”

You look at him incredulously. “Loki, I don’t need some random man to make me feel special. I just wanted to have meaningless sex with a hot guy.” He finally lets you type in the code, following you out as the doors open. “I could help you with that.” His blue eyes hungrily trace every curve your little robe accentuates.

You laugh, “No offense, but we don’t even like each other.” “Exactly my point, darling. It would be the very definition of meaningless.” You consider his offer. It has been a long time since a man got you off. But, he just sent the one date you had that seemed normal away to protect you. It was so unlike him. “No thanks, I’ll just stick with my vibrator.” You turn around to stick your tongue out at him, before sprinting ahead of him back to your room.

You open your bedside drawer, holding your vibrator in your hand. You were so worked up, you could probably get off from just looking at it. But, you go through the motions anyway. You close your eyes as you dip your hand under your bra to play with one of your nipples. You let your imagination run wild. It’s not you rolling your nipples, but your date. His dark hair fans across your chest as he takes one between his lips.

You pull your panties down, putting the vibrator in place. It whirls to life, as you imagine him kissing down your stomach to between your legs. He gently bites the inside of your thigh. “Loki!” You moan as the man looks up at you. Instead of your date, it’s Loki smirking at you knowingly. You jump, throwing your vibrator across the room. It hits the wall with a loud thud. What’s the matter with you? Your date was so hot and you were imagining Loki?

You went to retrieve your toy, turning it back on. It buzzed for a brief second before twirling one last time. Come on! You press all the buttons, hoping for a miracle. It’s no use, you broke it when you threw it. You lay back on your bed, having to resort back to medieval times when women had to use their hands to get off.

You close your eyes again, trying to picture your date. Instead Loki’s hands on the keypad, forever ingrained in your memory, appear. You groan, frustrated beyond belief. If thinking about a coworker was going to help you get off, there were plenty to choose from. You imagine Bucky choking you with his metal arm as you work your fingers, but you feel nothing. Steve on his knees for you - nothing. Bruce fucking you on top of all his paperwork? Nope. Boning Tony midair in the Iron Man suit? Nothing. Sam taking you against the wall - not even a stir. Thor and his hammer - dry as the desert.

You stop, your hand will get a cramp and it will all be for nothing. “I could help you with that.” You imitate Loki in a mocking voice. You pull your panties up, and slip your robe back on. Your feet seem to have a mind of their own as they carry you out of your room, down the long hallway to Loki’s room.

You knock quickly, hoping he will open the door before someone sees you out here. He opens it, leaving no room between himself and the door. You try to push past him, but he stops you. “What’s this about?” You want to smack the smirk right off his face. You look around the deserted hallway praying Thor was right about everyone being out or asleep.

“Let me in before someone sees us.” You plead, walking into his solid body once more. “My sweet girl, you must be truly desperate to come to me. I thought you were going to be satisfied with your silicone cock. Isn’t that what you said when you left me behind earlier?” You roll your eyes. He really was insufferable.

“It broke.” You motion to his doorway, but he doesn’t budge. “I knew you would give in. You couldn’t stop thinking about me could you? I saw you drooling over my hands back there.” You place a hand on your forehead, letting out the biggest sigh. “Loki, can we please talk inside?” You look around again just to make sure no one was watching. “What’s the rush, little one? We have all night.” You hear one of the doors creak open down the hall, Sam walks towards you with his head down.

He makes eye contact as he gets closer. “Just borrowing a phone charger.” You lie, pulling your revealing robe closed. Sam looks between you and Loki, smiling as the realization hits. “I didn’t see shit and I don’t know shit.” He says, laughing as he walks to the elevator. “Loki, let me in. Sam saw us, isn’t that enough?”

“I need you to do one thing for me before I let you come in.” You think about leaving right now, but you’re too horny. You have to get off, and Loki is hot, even though you would never admit that to him. “Beg for it.” “Right here?” You shake your head, he’s unbelievable. You really should leave, but you had heard stories from the people that stayed the night with him. They would come into the kitchen with just fucked hair to make coffee before leaving. You were an early riser, so unfortunately you ran into most of them.

They all gushed about how good he was in bed. You really needed this. So you clasped your hands together, looking him in the eyes as you beg him. “Please Loki, give me that godly Asgardian dick?” You fight the laughter bubbling in the back of your throat as you say the silly words. Satisfied, he finally moves out of the way. You rush inside, sitting on his bed.

“I think we should have rules.” You tell him as he saunters toward you. “Like what? You Midgardians complicate everything, even sex.” “Well I don’t think we should kiss for starters.” You start to pace in front of his bed, suddenly feeling nervous. “We should undress ourselves. And you can’t cum inside me.”

Loki smiles, “Afraid you’ll fall in love with me?” You laugh at his audacity. “No I’m afraid you’ll fall in love with me. Guys get obsessed once they’ve had a taste.” He rolls his eyes at that. “I don’t even like you. Besides, I’ve never been in love in 1,054 years. It won’t happen now.” He starts shedding his clothes as you loosen the tie on your robe. You both pile your clothes together in the floor until there’s nothing left.

“This means nothing.” You stick your pinky out for him to seal the deal with a pinky promise. “Couldn’t agree more.” His finger locks with yours briefly. He picks you up, pinning you against the wall. His head dips as his sharp teeth nip along your neck. Your hands travel the length of his muscular back. All that nonsense in the hall was worth it, even if this was all you got.

Loki continues biting a trail from your collarbone to your jaw, earning a whimper from you. Your legs feel like jelly and he hadn’t really done anything. His skilled hands find your breasts, cupping them as his thumbs roll against your nipples. You gently kiss his chest, feeling his toned stomach against your soft skin. You lick his nipple, causing him to moan against your neck.

He stops to carry you back to his bed, placing you at the top. He follows, crawling between your legs. He shoots you a wicked smile that makes you feel like you’re about to be eaten alive. Loki drags his tongue up your soaked center. The heat of his mouth as his firm, velvet tongue swirls around you sends your head spinning. Silver tongue? More like magic tongue.

Every movement is designed to drive you crazy. Every flick makes your legs shake. His head rocks between your thighs, messy curls shaking as he traces your clit with the tip of his tongue. He strokes you with his talented muscle, working you into a frenzy. Needy moans of his name mix with the wet sound of him drinking you down. His lips suction around your clit, you pull his curls, needing him closer. He whimpers, the vibration from his voice along with the perfect pressure of his lips send you spiraling. He lets you ride out your orgasm, before lining himself up between your legs.

Loki sinks into you and you curse yourself for not doing this sooner. It’s like he was made for you. You’re entranced with every thrust. He really does have a godly dick and he was showing you he knows exactly how to use it. One hand caresses your cheek, “Did you think about how my cock would feel inside you while you used your pathetic toy?” You whine as he snaps his hips, hitting deeper.

Your nipples brush against his hard chest, you wrap your legs tighter around him. You love how strong he is, how big he feels compared to you. He could crush you with one hand if he wanted to. His forehead connects with yours, and he looks down at you trembling with pleasure underneath him. His lips curl in cocky satisfaction. His eyes lock onto yours, watching intensely as he fucks into you. You’re suddenly afraid he’s going to kiss you, so you turn your head.

His mouth latches onto your exposed neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, claiming you. You buck your hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. Suddenly he stops, flipping you over so that you’re on top. His hands dig into your hips as he lifts you up and down on him. The new angle hits spots you didn’t even know you had. You move your hips faster, as he fucks you, matching his rhythm.

“I’m close.” He warns you, giving you time to get off of him. You lay on the bed, mouth opened wide as he strokes himself over you. His hot cum lands on your tongue, chin, and breasts. You swallow what lands in your mouth. Loki watches in awe, running a long finger over your chest, gathering a good portion before bringing it to your lips. You swirl your tongue around him, loving the salty, sweet taste of him. He continues the process until you’re mostly clean.

“Would you like to watch a film?” He asks as you use one of his towels to clean what he couldn’t off you. “No, Loki. I don’t even like you.” You state matter of factly, wrapping your silk robe around you before leaving. You run into Thor in the hall, walking fast so he wouldn’t notice you leaving Loki’s room. Loki walks out, greeting Thor. “Do you have what you promised?” Thor asks, watching to make sure you went inside your room. Loki hands him a bag of chocolates, “Thank you, brother for interrupting her date earlier.” Thor rips the bag open, putting six chocolates in his mouth at once. “I hope your interference was worth it.” Thor says between bites. “Indeed, it was.”

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @multifandom-worlds @lokisgoodgirl @wolfsmom1 @loz-3 @kats72 @crimson25 @litaloni @zombiesnips-blog @gruftiela @mochie85 @cakesandtom @eleniblue @violethaze @lokidokieokie @buttercupcookies-blog @mjsthrillernp @chantsdemarins @lulubelle814 @anukulee @theallknown213 @alexakeyloveloki @tmilover1993 @fandxmslxt69 @artemis-13 @fictive-sl0th @nomajdetective @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @kathren1sky-blog @javagirl328 @kcd15 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @soggylampshade0 @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mischief2sarawr @ozymdias @freegardenbanananeck @lamentis-10 @jainaeatsstars @aoirohi @mushycore

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lorcandidlucienwill · 24 days

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Rhys's death scene but if Rhys lost his powers. Rhys was dead. There was only silence in my head as I began to scream. The emptiness in my chest and soul at the lack of the mating bond echoed throughout my body as I shook the lifeless one before me, screaming at him to wake up, wake up- He remained cold and lifeless, and Mor was there, Azriel too, who was being supported by Cassian. He had used all his power to remake the Cauldron. He had saved the world-all of Prythian- at the cost of his life. Thunder boomed from the sky, as if the world itself was mourning the loss of a great power, a High Lord. This was so much worse than the world ending; the prospect of having to live without him. Unthinkable. Insupportable. My chest constricted so much that I could not even breathe. Someone's hands were on my throat, but I didn't even feel them. I turned to the gathered High Lords and snarled, "Bring him back." They stared at me blankly. I screamed, "BRING HIM BACK!" Still nothing. My breaths returned, heavy and ragged. I got out, "You did it for me. Now do it for him." Helion said carefully, "You were a human. It is not the same." "I don't care. Do it." I prepared my daemati powers, unsure whether I would be able to invade all seven High Lords' minds at once, but prepared to try. Tarquin stepped forward, orb in his hand. "For what he gave," he said quietly. Tears began to fall in earnest down my face as the orb glowed against Rhysand's pale skin. Helion stepped forward next. Kallias. Thesan. Beron simply stood there until Mor abruptly lay her sword against his throat. "I do not mind making one more kill today, she said." He threw her a withering glare, but shoved off the sword and stepped forward. He chucked his orb at Rhys like he was throwing something into a trash can. I tried to will an orb into my hand, but nothing appeared. "Tell me how," I croaked, looking to the other High Lords. Thesan launched into a long boring speech about the core of power that I painstakingly listened to, until finally, an orb of life appeared in my hand. I placed it against Rhys, watching it disappear against his skin. Then, I realized what was missing just as he appeared. Tamlin.

He stood there, summoned by either the death of a fellow High Lord or one of the others around me. He was splattered in mud and gore, his new bandolier of knives mostly empty. He studied Rhys, lifeless before me. Studied all of us—the palms still out. There was no kindness on his face. No mercy. “Please,” was all I said to him. Then Tamlin glanced between us—me and my mate. His face did not change. “Please,” I wept. “I will—I will give you anything—” Something shifted in his eyes at that. But not kindness. No emotion at all. I laid my head on Rhysand’s chest, listening for any kind of heartbeat through that armor. “Anything,” I breathed to no one in particular. “Anything.” Steps scuffed on the rocky ground. I braced myself for another set of hands trying to pull me away, and dug my fingers in harder. The steps remained behind me for long enough that I looked. Tamlin stood there. Staring down at me. Those green eyes swimming with some emotion I couldn’t place. “Be happy, Feyre,” he said quietly. And dropped that final kernel of light onto Rhysand.

I didn't let go of his body, praying that the light worked, waiting and waiting and waiting, recalling every moment we had spent together. I dare not hope, dare not believe that the magic had worked- Then, I felt it: his heartbeat. Then his body began to stir. Then there was a groan, and his violet eyes opened. "Is...this...hell?" he grunted. "Or perhaps heaven, since I'm with all of you." I laughed giddily, pressing my lips to his. "You're alive. You're alive," I breathed against his skin. Cassian let out a broken laugh. "My powers..." Rhys murmured, his fingers flexing against my back. "Shh, don't worry about that right now," I replied, rocking him back and forth. "Feyre...my powers are gone." Oh, magic works in mysterious ways. In the time that Rhysand was dead, his magic had been returned to the earth, and given to someone else. Which meant...he was no longer High Lord. And I was no longer High Lady. The only question was... "Who?" I voiced the question no one else dared to ask. "Who rules Night now?" "Feyre! Feyre! Are you alright?" Elain's voice rung in my head as she rushed forward, my eldest sister in tow.

My jaw dropped. "Why are you staring at me like that?" Nesta demanded, hands on her hips. "What the hell happened here? Why are you all fawning over Rhysand? "Oh my god," Cassian whispered, and he dropped to his knees. Then Tarquin. Tamlin. Helion, with a cocky grin as he did so. Thesan. Kallias. Viviane. Awe was stark on Tamlin's face. Even Beron had a cruel smirk on his face as he willingly, willingly bowed, to the next ruler of the Night Court. "Why is everyone kneeling? What is going on?" Nesta snapped, as Elain herself knelt before her. "Yes, please explain what the fuck is going on," Rhysand groaned, still on the ground. "Sit up, and maybe you'll find out," Beron crooned. The bastard was actually enjoying this. He'd rather anyone but Rhysand rule Night, clearly. With a grunt, Rhysand slowly sat up, and his jaw also slackened. "Oh, no fucking way," he muttered. "By the Cauldron-"

I couldn't speak. I could barely even think. Some strange, ancient magic compelled me to turn away from my newly revived mate, towards the simmering woman in front of me. Kneel. Kneel. Kneel. "I do not accept this," Rhysand said loudly, fury apparent in his voice. "Anyone but that bitch-" "Shut the fuck up," Cassian snarled at him. Rhysand snarled back. I knelt before her. Nesta Archeron stood there, an aura of silver around her, her hair floating above her head in a corona, and there was no noise in the clearing besides Rhysand's constant cussing. She had always been a queen, a Fae incarnate, even back in that cottage. Was this truly a shock to anyone but my mate? Beron, that cruel smirk still on his face, announced, "Cauldron-gifted, Cauldron-Made, Kingslayer. All hail Nesta Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court." Nesta still looked confused. She looked down at herself and seemed to realize her body was glowing. High Lady, she mouthed the words to herself. Then, she looked straight at Rhysand, who still looked outraged. And she smiled like a viper.

@sonics-atelier

#rhysand #nesta archeron #fanfic #pro nesta archeron #nesta queen of queens #high lady nesta #rhysand gets wrecked by nesta

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sapphic-woes · 11 months

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Fables

A/N: A part of the 1k commissions! @penguin-wizard-party suggested a scary Eivor stumbling upon you during a raid...and I was like "wow bestie your brain is so big, imma get on that." lolol I hope you enjoy it and thx sm for commissioning me! <3

____________

You had heard the stories. Even spun some up yourself. Yet who knew the life of a storyteller would end up being cut down by the very people you lied about?

"...and the Danes fell upon them, hungry for war, violence, and blood!"

How foolish had it been? To make fables out of such tragedies. To think they would never happen to you.

"There was terror in the air, their homes ablaze. Alas! Would anyone save them?"

You shut your eyes and cover your ears, anything to stop the screaming. How many lay dead in the streets? How many were captured? You curl up in the little wooden box you once kept your most expensive dresses. You'd hung them up in the closet, hoping that would satisfy the Danes enough to not search for who owned them. More horrible cries fill your ears, and you try not to cry. Would you end up like them soon?

Was the help you spoke about in your stories…never going to come?

You freeze as the door handle shakes. You'd locked it, but it wouldn't hold out for long. With bated breath, you stare into the darkness, waiting.

It isn't long before your heart drops, and the hope that you'll make it out of this alive dwindles.

You hear voices. Gruff and in a language you don't know. The one closest to the door sounds like a woman. That doesn't make you feel any better. Surely, a woman would simply kill you rather than take you captive, right?

Suddenly the door is hit with a loud and sharp boom, followed by the terrible sound of it crashing to the ground. Had she done that? In one blow?

That’s it, I'm going to die.

Boots creak across the wooden floor. Never had the sound been so dreadful. Woman or not, she was a Dane. If you were discovered, she could cut your head off and take it as a souvenir. To live, you had to stay quiet. You had to be still…

…and pray. God, did you fervently pray.

Father, do not forsake me, for I am your faithful servant.

The voice is clearer now. It's rough and awfully hoarse. It carries throughout the entire room, as if searching for you.

All my life, I’ve served you. spreading your word through the stories I weave.

The steps grow near. Her voice is loud. It mimics the beat of your frantic heart. How ironically intune you both were. Perhaps that was why despite your efforts, she found you.

Save me Lord. Do not let her kill me! Please, anything but that–

"...it seems I've caught a mouse." Light shines as the lid lifts, and your eyes squint by reflex. Her English catches you off guard. Although it's thick with an accent, it's understandable. Fearfully, you look up.

Oh. It's a wolf.

How could eyes be so daunting? How could a face seem carved from stone? There's a pang in your heart. A chill striking through your body. How much of this was excitement? How much more fear? The woman is dirty, clothes stained with mud and blood. She seems to relish in it, much like how she relishes in you, eyes scanning over your shivering form.

You feel cornered by that gaze. As if you’re a butterfly pinned to a wall.

You're unsure whether you like it or not.

"A beautiful mouse hiding away in a little box? How adorable." The viking smiles, but her eyes narrow. Her blue irises are calculating, studying your wide eyes and parted lips. You’re too scared to speak, but the woman has no qualms with coaxing your voice out of you.

"Tell me Lady," you suck in a breath as she leans over the side of your box, blonde locks falling to tickle your skin. She smells of the burning fire outside and the blood of your people. It makes you shudder, and in turn the woman smiles. It's a soft smile, yet somehow it makes your blood run cold. "What are you called?"

What? You don't understand, but you answer regardless, scared of what would happen if you didn't.

"I-I, um, I am called Y/N…" Your miserable voice warily croaks out the sentence. The Dane repeats your name under her breath, testing it on her tongue. She seems pleased with it, lips spreading into a wider smile.

"It suits you. As does the last name Varinsdottir." You blink in confusion, then gasp as the viking grabs your wrist and pulls you out of your hiding place. You stumble with a yelp, falling into her arms as she chuckles.

"I admit, I'd rather not take a woman from a town I raided as my wife…but fate has not let us meet in the kindest conditions…nor am I kind enough to let you go." The woman's eyes shine as she looks down at you, grinning.

"You are beautiful, lady. It's no wonder you tried to hide, any of my wolves would have wanted you for themselves the moment they saw you…" You gasp as the woman cups your cheek in her calloused hand, leaning down to whisper.

"So I am thankful to the gods I found you first. I'll make you mine, y/n." You open your mouth to speak, but the woman has other plans–silencing you with a passionate kiss.

"Mmh! W-wait, why–?" You whimper as the Dane doesn't relent, kissing you as if she hoped to devour you whole. Again and again, with hands grasping you close and body grinding against yours–you're falling weak to her advances, her burning desire, and gentle lips. It was useless to try and escape, nor were you sure you wanted to.

What's gotten into me? A single kiss, and your lust becomes as strong as your fear. Did you forget how dangerous she is? No, you hadn’t. Yet she was…bewitching. The greed in her eyes when she pulls away and looks at you is addicting. The way her scarred, untamed body holds you tenderly. Protectively. Possessively.

There's something wrong with me. You know it because instead of running, struggling, screaming, anything–you merely nod, cheeks warm as you accept her proposal.

"Then…please take care of me…?"

#female eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #eivor x reader #eivor varinsdóttir #ac valhalla #bibis comms #this was so fun and so happymaking UGHHHH

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trickstarbrave · 4 months

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azura's shrine scene....

i am half awake so. apologies for any weird typos or if it doesn't sound good. i just really wanted to write this out before i went to bed.

vivi au again... this one where steren and vivi are in love. vivienneis from @mulberrycafe!!

Steren had a bad feeling.

He jolted awake to the sound of the heavy inn door shutting, body screaming at him to move. The bed beside him was empty, a chill settling in and not just from the lack of body heat of his lover keeping him warm.

Vivienne had a strange look on his face when he heard about the shrine of Azura. Had he really gone there?

He shoved his clothes on, burying himself in the warm furs and enchanted cloak. From the room beside him, Kaidan came out with a yawn, giving him an odd look.

“What are you doing dressed like that…?” It was late, after all. Under normal circumstances he would in fact be dead asleep, but his anxiety only continued to grow.

“Vivienne is missing.” He said simply, putting Trueflame on his belt. He rarely used it, but if there was ever a time for it, it would be now. “I’m going to go bring him back.”

Kaidan had paused for a moment, before turning. “I’ll get Taliesan up and get dressed.”

“I’m heading to the shrine of Azura.” Steren replied, already heading to the door. “I’ll meet you there.”

How long had it been since he confronted Azura…? For him it had been months. In truth it was closer to two centuries in this world, if daedric princes even perceived time the same way mortals did. If things were fine when he arrived, maybe he would demand an answer as to why she dropped him here. But he couldn’t shake that something very, very wrong was going to happen instead.

Steren hated the cold too--especially with how dark it was. The only light was from the moons, stars twinkling overhead. Why had his people built the damn thing so far north? Ridiculous. It would have been better near the hotsprings further south… At least then he could keep warm.

But as he approached, he quickly heard the loud, angry yelling of Azura booming in his head.

“You dare come to my shrine after all you have done?!” Steren moved his feet faster, trying to force himself through the heavy snow despite his exhaustion. “You defile my shrine with the blood of my priestess and you still believe you have a right to speak to me?!”

“Sh-she was trying to kill me you crazy bitch!” Vivienne shouted in reply over the howling wind. “I’ve never once set foot in any shrine to you! I’ve never once said anything against your name! I came here with questions to know why I was forbidden near you and now I can see why!! You’re a fucking sham! You can pretend to be good all you want but no god who attacks those seeking them is worthy of any kind of worship at all!!”

Then there was the sound of Azura laughing, as Steren forced himself to move faster, his breath coming quick, lungs burning from what felt like shards of ice pricking it. “A sham, am I?” More laughter followed as Steren could see Vivienne at the shrine now, his hood blown off. “A sham says the false god!” Winged twilights appeared as well, claws eager and ready to spill more blood on the steps.

Steren had finally made it in time to pull out Trueflame, the warmth of the fire at least keeping his face warm, as he cleanly sliced one of the daedra’s arms off. The winged twilight screamed in agony, hissing and spitting and cursed at him. He then looked up at the shrine, overlaid with the image of Azura.

She locked eyes on his, her expression from rage faltering.

“You…” She began. “You are not supposed to be here.”

“And here I am.” Steren glared.

“The interference must have been Vivec…” Azura scowled again,the winged twilights ready to rip him apart but being held back by Azura’s hesitance. “You were supposed to be--”

“I did everything you asked of me.” Steren began. “Set me up to get the divine disease,” He took another step forward, still glaring. “And I did.” It was agonizing, painful, and horrifying. To be plagued with nightmares and fever. To feel like his body was not his own. To wonder if he was doomed, just like the other twisted monsters he had seen. “Then you had me complete the trials, and I did as you asked.” How fucking insufferable some of it was--he had to be complacent in slavery, he had to bend over backwards to appease some nobles. He had to kill and lie and blackmail and even use sex to accomplish it. “I even killed my father as you asked, and said goodbye to my other one!”

Steren had to. He knew if Dagoth Ur wasn’t stopped, it would be the end of everything else. More ruined families. More ruined lives.His ata was long gone in terms of sanity, merely a twisted shell in a reanimated body. And he said goodbye to his dad because he knew it wouldn’t be long until he too joined Nerevar and Voryn in the afterlife. They couldn’t change the past, but they could spend countless years in Moonshadow together, without the fear of death or politics getting in the way.

“And all I fucking asked after every fucking hell you put me through was to be with my parents again!” That was all he had wanted at the time. He wasn’t asking for much; just kill him quick and painless and send him on his way. He didn’t care if he had to wait a bit either in Moonshadow for his parents’ souls to be ready to greet him. He just wanted to be in their arms at last, and finally rest. “All I asked was to see them again… And you sent me to another world so I can never meet them again!”

“I did as was promised--” Azura began, her brow furrowed, but Steren wasn’t finished, all the rage inside him bubbling up.

“And then when I finally make something for myself here, finally decided to build a life here and be happy,” He grit his teeth, “Mephala ordered my lover to kill me!” What had he done that was so objectionable to the Good Three? He followed his orders and played his part. He was clever. He killed when he had to. He overthrew authority as promised. He slayed the sharmat and became hortator. He completed every trial even when he wanted nothing more than to fucking give up--and they still wanted him dead and alone from everything he had ever known! “And now here you are, trying to kill my lover yourself!”

“Vivec has tricked you!” Azura hissed. “I gave you everything as promised, and yet you listen to the lies and manipulations of a false god!” The ground trembled from her rage now. “He is the one who separated you from your parents! He is the one who wants you dead!”

“Don’t you dare lie to my fucking face.” Steren hissed. “Vivienne is not Vivec, and he loves me. He saved me.”

Steren knew that at least. He knew Vivienne was not Vivec. He knew Vivienne was kind--too kind, in fact. He would give nearly anything to save someone else, nearly died saving this gods forsaken world to kill the World Eater himself. And at the end of the day he continued to lay awake feeling guilty and horrible for things he had no control over. He continued to feel like he was dirty, unworthy of love, and unworthy of praise. He feared one day everyone would leave him, and justifiably so--even Steren who had nowhere else to go home to.

Vivienne saved his life nearly countless times, but more than that, he gave Steren a reason to live. Before he got his memories of his first lifetime, he was going through the motions, terrified and confused. Then when he got them back, he was on a mission to save both of his parents from the tragedy they were trapped in. With that done, after lifetimes of being left alone and confused, wondering what his place was in the world, he had… Nothing. No reason to go on. No one to love him. No where he wanted to be. Nothing he wanted to do.

But Vivienne gave him a reason to live. Not just survive, but truly live. They sang. They danced. They played music together and broke bread together. They complained together and stargazed together. Vivienne kept him warm for no other reason than to try and make Steren comfortable. He found himself wanting to be there--to be by Vivienne’s side just a bit longer. To watch him fail to lie and covering for him with the moon-and-star ring’s enchantment. To listen to his sweet laughter. To hold him in his arms every night.

For once, Steren felt like a full, complete person. He stopped missing his parents and bemoaning his lot in life. He would forever miss and grieve them, but here, like this, he could build a life even knowing he would never see them again. He was healing. He was loved.

And he wasn’t going to let anyone take that from him, daedric prince or not.

“Kill the false god,” Azura hissed as the winged twilights readied themselves, “And bring this disobedient, misguided child to Mournhold to be punished accordingly.” He didn’t care what threats she made; Steren wasn’t going anywhere--

“No!” Vivienne suddenly shouted, storm clouds rolling in suddenly. There was something off about his voice… Not like the dragon tongue, but something deeper, rawer trembling in it.

A massive bolt of lightning struck the statue and the daedra. Steren had to close his eyes from the light, groaning as he was near blinded by the intensity, being blasted back into the snow.

When his eyes finally readjusted he quickly pulled himself out of the snow he was knocked into, sprinting and tripping his way back up the shrine. “Vivienne!?” He shouted, terrified.

He couldn’t lose Vivi--he had already lost everything else. He couldn’t lose another person he loved.

Back up at the shrine, Steren could hear Kaidan and Taliesan shouting, not far behind. The statue was reduced to nothing but rubble, the daedra laying dead--mostly bloodied gore, if he was being honest.

And floating above it was Vivienne, gently floating down as though he were nothing more than a weightless snowflake, before his body went limp the moment it touched the ground.

“Vivienne?!” Steren grabbed him quickly, ripping off his own glove to check for a pulse. Vivienne was alive--but he was freezing, cold as ice. “Vivienne, it’s alright--wake up--”

“Steren,” Kaidan came in quickly, also checking his pulse with a furrowed brow, before taking Vivienne from his arms. Steren growled, teeth bared, only to be pulled back by Taliesan.

“Kaidan brought his horse.” Taliesan explained. “And it’s fucking frigid out here--the both of you will freeze to death if we let you carry him back.” Steren hated that he had a point, watching Kaidan climb up on the horse with Vivienne in his arms. Steren couldn’t handle the cold and was already trembling this far up north, even with Trueflame and his enchanted cloak. He couldn’t keep Vivienne warm, and instead he would quickly become dead weight. “Let’s get you back as well so you can both warm up--”

Steren allowed it, letting Taliesan help him up on his own horse, before riding back to the inn. But the whole ride he watched Vivienne’s silvery hair sway in the wind outside the hooded cloak Kaidan pulled over him, feeling nothing more than helpless.

He couldn’t save his parents. He couldn’t protect Vivienne. What could he do? Was he destined to lose everything he loved? Was that the cruel fate decided for him since birth…?

No. No, even if that was what the god’s decided, Steren refused to be a plaything to fate of all things.

Let the gods curse him. Let the daedra brand him for death or order him to be dragged back to their temples to be tortured for his disobedience. Let them try to take one more fucking thing away from him.

Steren had killed gods before, and he would do it again if he had to.

#steren nerevarine #steren #vivienne dragonborn #vivi au #my writing #mannnnn i am so tired im so sorry

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checkoutmybookshelf · 23 days

Text

The last month and a half has been wild, so I don't have anything prompt-specific for Polin week, but I didn't want to do nothing, so...

I'm posting the prologue of the Polin shifter fic I'm working on. I hope y'all enjoy this sneak peek! It'll go on Ao3 eventually, when it's done.

Content Warnings: Battle wounds, minor blood, descriptions of battle wounds.

1806 – Germany

Artillery shells boomed alongside the long guns in the darkness, a rolling undertone punctuated by the sharp cracks of muskets, pistols, and rifles. The roar of men’s voices was a discordant counterpoint to the more mechanical sounds of war, and the screams of the wounded and dying...well. Harlow did his best not to hear those.

Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness, utterly ruining the night-sight of every soldier and officer in the vicinity and costing more than a few poor bastards limbs—or lives. Torchlight—and light from the fires inside the fort—reflected off the low-lying clouds, bathing the entire hellish scene in a yellow-brown ambient light that washed the color and definition out of the uniform jackets of the writhing mass of soldiers climbing over bodies—living and dead—to take some meaningless fort in whatever cursed corner of the continent Bonaparte thought he could attain mastery of through little more than self-declared imperialism.

Not, he reminded himself, that Boney or that fort are your problems tonight. No, Harlowe crouched at the base of a tree within spitting distance of the battle wearing a borrowed infantryman’s uniform—a soiled one, it must be said—for another reason entirely. He couldn’t trust his vision enough to see details, so if his quarry was still, waiting for the opportune moment to leave the fort, to escape with his sorry life, Harlow would never see him. That was why he had planned. All around him, in the bushes and trees and tall grass where the fighting was thinnest or nonexistent, traps were scattered. Some noose traps, some snare traps, anything that would be nonfatal. Tonight’s quarry deserved the trial and execution of a traitor; a swift death was more than Harlowe was prepared to grant him. All that was left to do now was wait, and watch for the tell-tale flash of motion in the wrong direction that would mean the hunt was on.

Harlow was a hunter. Early in his military career—the usual lot of a third son in somewhat-less-than-wealthy ton families—he had proven that his worth was not in taking orders and charging selflessly into the fray to kill or be killed. His first commanding officer had banished the young lieutenant from his regiment for masterminding what his dismissal letter had termed “deeply dishonorable conduct and trickery unbecoming of a gentleman.” That behavior had led to his squad single-handedly ensuring that nearly half a French light company and its supply train had blundered into a bog. Once they were well and truly foundered, the squad had used rifles—and one seven-barreled piquet gun—to deluge the trapped enemy soldiers in bullets. Harlow had ensured that his squad was well-hidden in the surrounding landscape, so when the French commanders—and later their NCOs, once the officers were dead—wished to surrender, they could find no one to direct their pleas to. Harlow had refused to give quarter until it was requested, even when the Frenchmen had ceased to fight back and merely cowered against the ground, behind corpses...anywhere they could.

That stunt had drawn Harlow to the attention of Colonel Cole, a hard man who was convinced that no amount of military might would be enough to defeat Bonaparte if there was not military intelligence behind it. And military intelligence required men who were perhaps less married to their honor than British officers were meant to be. Cole’s personal regiment comprised men who were involved in intelligence, unsavory warfare in general, and the hunting and removal of traitors. Harlow had excelled in this environment, moving quickly up the ranks and making friends all along the way. Ultimately, he was put in charge of his own detachment, and their first real mission had been intelligence gathering and the removal of a particularly problematic agent in Prussia, near Jena.

On a cold October day, Jena fell to Bonaparte, and Harlow very nearly fell to Jack Harker. Jack had been Harlowe’s first and closest friend in Cole’s regiment. They had planned missions together, survived training together, held each other up on campaigns, and watched each other’s backs in combat. Harlow considered Jack more of a brother than his father’s other sons had ever been. So when Jack had stepped between Harlow’s pistol and their mark in a little house in Jena, it had cut Harlow more deeply than any disproportionate cruelty his blood brothers had visited on him. The wound caused by Jack’s treason compounded when Jack and their mark had shifted, escaping and leaving Harlowe and the rest of the squad to deal with three squads of French soldiers Jack had tipped off to their presence to take them prisoner. Harlow had been the only man of them to survive that particular captivity long enough to escape.

The wounds from Jack’s treason and lies were why, just over a year later, Harlow was crouched motionless in a forest that reeked of blood, shit, and powder, simply waiting.

There.

A flicker of movement in the corner of Harlow’s eye. He made sure not to turn his head; if movement had betrayed Jack to him, it would as easily betray him to Jack. Instead, he closed his eyes and listened, waiting. He had the rhythms of the battlefield in his head, so the trick was to listen for what didn’t fit.

“Battles are like drums,” Colonel Cole was fond of saying. “They have a rhythm, they have a cadence, and you must learn to hear the syncopation. That will tell you more than any number of trumpeted signals or officer bellows. Your environment is more than simply the battle raging around you. Hearing what it will tell you will keep you alive.”

The soft but unmistakable patter of paws on dead leaves and hard-packed dirt told Harlow that his quarry was making a beeline for the forest, but about fifteen feet to his left. Directly in the path of a noose trap that should be catching any moment now...

A nearly imperceptible yip followed the slither of a rope and the flap of a released springy branch. Something that wasn’t a smile and wasn’t a snarl twisted Harlow’s lips as he faded deeper into the cover of the woods and made his way toward the abnormally large fox that was deliberately backing up to give the long end of the noose around his leg enough slack that he could loosen it with his teeth and escape.

Simple snares and nooses didn’t hold shifters for long, Harlow knew. But this one had only needed to hold for long enough.

“Hello Jack,” he hissed, grabbing the fox firmly by the scruff.

The next moment his fingers were buried in human flesh as Jack shifted back to human. Harlow flinched violently, but didn’t relax his grip.

“Been practicing, Harlow? Last time I saw someone shift in your grasp, you dropped them.” For all his unusual size as a fox, Jack was a significantly smaller man than Harlow. He wasn’t bothering to struggle.

“That would have been the last time you saw anyone on that squad. They didn’t survive. Know how they got Greg?” Jack tried for impassive, but Harlow saw the feathering in his jaw muscle and pressed on.

“That boy never reached seventeen. The second Frog bastard into the room put a bayonet in his guts and left it there. It was there while they dragged us out of the house, all through that brutal wagon ride out of Jena. The blood and the bits of gut leaking out didn’t stop them from hog-tying him either, Jack. You hear the battle sounds over there? Those screams? They’ve got nothing on how Greg screamed. But that wasn’t the worst of it, no. The worst of it came hours later, when he was dehydrated and delirious. He was still trying to scream, but he couldn’t do it. Have you ever had to listen to a kid in that much pain force air through his mouth and nose in a scratchy, gasping scream through a sandpaper throat and parched lips? By God, Jack, when Greg finally let go, sometime the next day? When we all heard his death rattle? All I felt was relieved for the boy. He wasn’t suffering anymore. Wasn’t agonizing from a belly wound that was the fault of someone he looked up to like a brother—”

Jack’s fist connected with Harlow’s jaw. Harlow let the blow land, but didn’t loosen his grip. He only stopped talking long enough to spit the blood from his mouth.

“Hitting me doesn’t bring Greg back, or any of the other men from our squad. I’m bringing you in, Jack.”

“Letting them hang me for being a shifter won’t make you feel better,” snarled Jack.

“I’m letting them hang you for being a traitor. You being a shifter just proves that England’s shifter laws are a damn good idea. Only shifters and bastards betray their country.”

“I won’t speak for the bastards, but no shifter who jumps at the chance to live in a country that doesn’t make their very existence illegal unless they take on all the suicide and dirty-work missions the crown doesn’t want to send real soldiers on can be blamed for trying!”

“You got our entire squad murdered—”

A drawling upper-class accent interrupted Harlow with, “I know I taught you both better than this.” Colonel Cole shouldered through the woods and began tying Jack’s wrists. “The fort is all but taken, Harlow. Let’s get our man back to camp and secure him. The three of us are on a ship across the channel by tomorrow morning. Parliament wants this dealt with quickly.” Cole finished restraining Jack, then met his eyes. Something sad crossed them, and the older man sighed.

“Make this simple, son. Don’t shift on us. I won’t hesitate to nail you into a crate for the duration.”

Jack didn’t respond, but any fight he might have been willing to give Harlow had been knocked out of him by their mentor’s appearance.

As Harlow followed his mentor and former best friend through the woods and back to camp, he tried to tell himself that he was finally making up for how brutally Greg—a boy who was as much as younger brother to him as he had been to Jack—and the other men under his command had died. Greg’s parched, painful cries played in his head as Harlow and Cole secured Jack in camp and did the requisite paperwork. They haunted his dreams that night, and were his constant mental companion all throughout the trip back to England. They were silenced briefly as Harlow testified at Jack’s trial, affirmed repeatedly that Jack was a shifter who had eluded the law for his entire life and that being a shifter was part of his motivation for turning traitor.

The verdict came swiftly: Guilty.

The sentence was predictable: Death.

On the morning of Jack’s execution, there was a knock at the door of Harlow’s rented room in London. Cole had offered him a suite in his London townhouse, but Harlow had declined, instead taking the sort of room enlisted men did when they were required in London. It was cheap but clean, with more than a few options for men who wanted drinks or companionship. Harlow hadn’t left the room more than he was absolutely required to.

Opening the door, he found a young page, thirteen if he was a day, dressed in the livery of Cole’s regiment. He held an official set of beribboned paperwork, and a letter.

“Colonel Cole’s compliments,” said the boy in a high voice that didn’t crack even once. “He also said for me to tell you—in these exact words, mind—to get up off the mat and not to forget your hat.”

“The damn shako makes me look like a right pudding head,” Harlow protested.

“Colonel Cole says—and again, he specifically ordered me to say this—that you’re lucky he isn’t making you wear ostrich plumes. And he says congratulations, sir!” The boy attempted a pivot that would be impressive when he grew into his feet and marched himself off.

Harlow closed the door, sank down onto the bed, and opened the small letter first.

Harlow,

Stop blaming yourself about Jack. Even the best in our line of work can be bamboozled by men with something to hide, and friendship makes murky waters all the cloudier. We still require friends, and we still have work to do.

Make me proud, son.

Yours etc.,

Cole

Postscript: Wear your medals today, and the new bars. There will be people there who will be impressed by them, and people who will understand what it took to earn them. You need to know which is which and how you can use them for the next step of your career.

Next step? wondered Harlow, opening the official set of papers. Small gold bars fell into his lap from the parcel, and he picked them up, confused. Then he looked at the papers. Effective immediately, he was promoted to the rank of provost marshal.

Even Jack’s execution was to be a lesson in gathering information and leveraging people, it seemed.

1808 – England

“Miss Euphemia Worsley,” announced the herald as the doors swished smoothly open. “Presented by Her Grace the Duchess Worsley.” The young lady’s already-pale face turned whiter than the paint on the columns of the presentation hall, and she trembled visibly as her mama gently tapped her wrist and the pair stepped out toward the thrones where Queen Charlotte and Geroge, Prince of Wales, were seated.

Portia Featherington’s fingernails pinched the flesh of Penelope’s upper arm, still sharp through Penelope’s sleeve and Portia’s glove.

“Watch, young ladies,” hissed Portia. “Miss Euphemia is considered the least graceful of this year’s debutantes, so make sure you mark every error she makes so you will avoid them when you debut in a few years.”

“I could have debuted this year,” grumbled Prudence.

“Hush, child,” scolded Lord Featherington. “When you must pay to debut three girls, you may debut them one by one instead of together.”

“I shall be an old maid by the time I debut if I am to wait for Penelope to be a reasonable age!”

“Be silent,” snapped Portia, slapping her closed fan against Prudence’s arm.

Penelope, meanwhile, had been watching Miss Euphemia’s steps grow slower the closer she got to the front of the room. Her face had transitioned from deathly white to distinctly green, and her shoulders were inching up toward her ears. The ostrich plumes on the top of her head were slowly but undeniably slipping sideways. The poor girl looked absolutely miserable, and Penelope couldn’t help but feel sorry for the older girl.

“Do you think she’s going to faint?” asked Philippa, in a tone of interest that would have been more appropriate for commenting on a particularly exotic animal in the royal menagerie.

“Quiet,” ordered Portia.

Miss Euphemia had come to something that was nearly a complete stop about three quarters of the way down the room, and Duchess Worsley was quietly and rapidly muttering to her daughter. Penelope heard “take a deep breath, my love. You can do this”; words that were undoubtedly kinder than Portia’s word would have been in the same situation. Miss Euphemia placed both hands over her stomach, closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“The chit cannot even walk the length of a room without panicking. She’ll never survive running a household,” said Portia.

Penelope wouldn’t dream of directly contradicting her mother, but it seemed that Miss Euphemia could get herself under control, because when she opened her eyes, her color was better and she managed to drop her shoulders a few inches. Shaking her head, Miss Euphemia accidentally caught Penelope’s eye. Penelope offered the older girl a small smile, and received a half-wink in return as the visible tension finished draining from Euphemia’s shoulders.

Perhaps her presentation will end better than it began, thought Penelope.

Which was when a small side door exploded open with a crack that echoed through the room, followed instantly by the baying of hunting dogs and the rough shouts of ungentle men.

The room exploded into sound as courtiers drew back against the walls to avoid the hounds. Queen Charlotte was ordering dogs to sit—and they were listening—while Prince George bellowed for his huntsman and the fellow’s assistants to control their dogs. However, what captured the room’s attention was Duchess Worsley’s screamed “Effie!” Miss Euphemia seemed to have disappeared. Then the Duchess dived for the floor and the small hedgehog that absolutely had not been there a moment before.

Lord Featherington pulled Prudence and Philippa behind him, obscuring their view of the room and ensuring that they would not be trampled. Portia had pulled Penelope to her—one arm around Penelope’s chest and the other closed around her upper arm—and backed them both against a wall. Unlike her sisters, however, Penelope had a clear view of what happened next.

“Shifter!” Bellowed a tall, hawkish man standing in the shadows behind the dais. He leapt the dais, looking like nothing so much as a highwayman from a ballad or a pirate from a story. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, but his presence was that of a much older, powerful man. Between the unfashionably loose cuts of his waistcoat, coat, and breeches; the hair that was slightly too long and queued in a style decades out of date; and the sharp planes of a cruel face, the man exuded a threatening energy that was not dispelled by how quickly his eyes darted around the room to assess the situation. Once he had fixed his attention on the clearly panicked hedgehog that was doing erratic laps of the room between running feet, he snorted once, nodded sharply, and stalked slowly forward.

His pace was deliberate, footsteps rolling smoothly from heel to ball to toe in his un-tasseled Hessians. The boots were hideously informal for court presentations, but even Charlotte—typically famous for her particularity about courtiers adhering to court dress codes—failed to object. None of the gentlemen in their flat shoes would have been able to walk so smoothly in that style without losing a shoe posthaste. He also had a range of motion from the loose cut of his garments that men in court dress rarely did, so his loose, smooth, fluid motion was an eye-catching contrast to the other courtiers in the room.

The man moved in silence, seemingly ignoring the others in the room. However, his focus and purposefulness seemed to intimidate every courtier he passed. Ladies drew back as he passed them, as did some gentlemen. The gentlemen who did not draw back alone found excuses to pull ladies—often mothers or sisters—back, and took the opportunity to put space between them and the black-garbed man. Anthony, Benedict, and Colin Bridgerton held the line, although they tucked their mother and four younger sisters behind them. The Bridgerton daughters were pale-faced but calm, in contrast to many of the screeching, sobbing girls in the room.

Penelope seemed to be seeing everything in the room at once, from overhead. The courtiers parted like the Red Sea before the man, and hedgehog Euphemia was running in smaller and smaller circles as the slow footsteps bore down on her. Duchess Worsley was trying desperately to ignore the man bearing down on her daughter, but still clearly had half a terrified eye on him as she attempted to collect her daughter. She might have had more luck on her feet, but the train of her skirts had caught in her heels and tangled about her legs, preventing her from rising even as the man drew level with her and slid his coat from his shoulders.

“No, no, no, no!”

Penelope’s heart constricted as Duke Worsley intercepted his wife’s hands before they could close around the man’s Hessian boots and hold him back.

“Peter—” she begged. Lord Worsley went to his knees, blocking his wife’s view of hedgehog Euphemia. Miss Euphemia had backed herself into a corner and gone largely still, apparently frozen. The man was barely four steps from Miss Euphemia.

Penelope suddenly felt nauseous. Miss Euphemia could have still escaped to this point, but now…if the man closed those last few steps…

Move, she begged Euphemia, silently. Please, move. Run. Don’t let him get his hands on you, please. She must have twitched or moved or something, because Portia’s nails dug into her arm, hard, just as the man halted his slow stalk and moved like lightning to toss his jacket over Miss Euphemia, bundle her into it, and stride from the room. The slam of the door was punctuated by a sob from Lady Worsley and Lord Worsley’s brokenhearted “Amelia.” It somehow managed to sound like an apology and a prayer for absolution simultaneously.

“Do you see, Penelope?” For perhaps the first time in her life, Penelope couldn’t hear any airs or arrogance in Portia’s voice. There was nothing there but seriousness and perhaps a tinge of fear. “Do you see what happens to shifters in the ton?”

Lord Worsley had gathered his still-crying wife into his arms, and from their place on the floor, his head came up and turned toward the dais. “Your Majesty, Your Highness,” he began. “That is my daughter, I beg of you—”

“We shall not hear you,” snapped the Prince of Wales, turning his attention to the red-jacketed marines who entered the room and bore down on the Worsleys.

“Please, your Majesty!” Lady Worsley’s voice was all sharp-edged desperation. “From one mother to another, please. Let me take my daughter home. We shall leave London, leave England—”

“Enough,” snapped Charlotte. “Your plea bores us. You know that there are no shifters in ton families, and all shifters belong to the crown, which graciously allows them to atone for the heinous crime of overthrowing Charles I through service in our ongoing war with the Corsican upstart.”

The marines dragged the Worsleys to their feet, facing Charlotte, who continued speaking.

“That you did not see fit to inform the crown that your house sheltered a traitor is of concern. You shall be taken into royal custody and made to answer before the court and parliament.” With a flick of her fingers, Charlotte dismissed the Worsleys and the marines hustled them from the room.

Court was then summarily dismissed, and the ton returned home to await further news. Eloise and Penelope had been forbidden from discussing the events, but that did not stop them from playing in the square out of earshot of their chaperones and talking over the events.

Duke and Duchess Worsley returned home a day or two later, having been released with massive fines in penalty for not turning their daughter over to the crown. Less than a month later, Penelope and Eloise were nearly run down by the royal coach that abruptly pulled up to the Worsley’s house and disgorged the same threatening-looking man who had taken Miss Euphemia away and a judge in robes and wig.

Penelope and Eloise had been sharply summoned back to their respective houses and not allowed out the rest of the day. Both read the notice in the paper the following day:

The Duke and Duchess of Worsley are deeply saddened to announce the death of their only daughter, Miss Euphemia Worsley. Miss Worsley was lost in service to Crown and Country, and Their Majesties, King George III and Charlotte of Mecklenberg-Strelitz, recognize her service and her role in atoning for the crimes of shifters against England.

As was standard for such announcements, no funeral date was listed. There was not even a date for a memorial, as was standard for soldiers and officers killed overseas, leaving the families without so much as a body to bury. Shifters received no formal recognition; they simply disappeared and the ton quietly pretended that they had never existed.

Less than a week after the notice, the Worsleys left England. For nearly a week, Penelope barely ate anything, couldn’t sleep, and couldn’t talk to anyone about why, not even Eloise. Genuinely worried for his youngest daughter’s wellbeing, Lord Featherington took her to the market and offered her anything she wanted—a tactic that tended to pull Prudence and Philippa out of any adolescent mood they might be in. He was expecting Penelope to ask for a new dress or other article of clothing, or perhaps some sweets. She chose a beautifully crafted writing kit, with letter paper, several bottles of ink, quills, and the tools to make and maintain quills.

Lord Featherington never understood Penelope’s choice, but within twenty-four hours, his daughter was happier and more herself, so he patted himself on the back for resolving the issue—whatever that had been—and avoiding his creditors the entire day at the market.

1812 – Spain

There were bullet holes in the thin, wooden walls. The thatch had held up remarkably well in the few months of Spanish weather that the little two-room house had been abandoned. The place was empty, so either its denizens had had time to pack and leave or else it had been picked over by soldiers and refugees in the intervening time. As he lowered a green, sweating, bleeding, and barely not-screaming Daniel Smythe-Smith to the dusty, gritty floor of the house that somehow managed to be hotter than the open in Spain in July, Colin Bridgerton regretted agreeing to Jathan Postlethwaite’s Younger Sons’ Iberian Peninsula Grand Tour.

Just let us get out of this alive, and I will never cross the channel to avoid Mother and Anthony trying to marry me off again, he thought desperately.

His mother and Anthony had both tried to talk him out of walking into a literal war zone, but the appeal of spending time with a group of younger brothers—all feeling as directionless and put-upon by parents and/or older brothers has he had been of late—had been too strong a siren song for Colin to ignore. The eight younger sons had been lucky so far. Visiting the sites of previous battles and sieges—including Badajoz—had been uneventful, and they hadn’t run into either Spanish or British armed forces for the first few weeks of their trip. When Jathan got wind of a big battle that was supposed to occur at Salamanca and insisted they go to watch, Colin had argued. It was one thing to go sightseeing months or years after a battle, but there was something macabre about watching British men die for sport. They weren’t Romans, after all, to enjoy gladiatorial blood sports. Unfortunately, Jathan plied the rest of the group with drinks and they overrode Colin’s protests.

That morning they had set out for high ground above Salamanca on foot, given the rough terrain and several of the party’s truly terrible horsemanship. Generally, two of them would have had maps and compasses out to ensure that they didn’t stray into any of the areas they had been warned away from by various military officers—each of whom who had rolled their eyes in a shocking disregard for manners and propriety—they had encountered and explained their tour to. However, Jathan had insisted that he knew precisely where he was going. The only early riser in the group, none of the other gentlemen had had the energy to check his headlong chivvying out the door and leadership across unfamiliar terrain in the pre-dawn light.

By noon they had gotten well and truly turned about. The entire party was hot, sweaty, tired, and hungry, and rising tempers had led to Jathan’s headlong rush through a copse of trees that had been sheltering a French patrol. For a long moment, Jathan and the patrol had stared, dumbstruck, at each other, until the officer in charge—who Colin would later swear was fifteen if he was a day; his voice kept cracking as he shouted orders—galvanized himself, pulled a pistol from his bandolier, and took a shot at Colin, the next of the younger sons to emerge through the trees.

Surprise and the shadows among the trees saved Colin’s life. The bullet sliced along his jaw, but did no further damage.

“Run!” came a cry from behind Colin. He and Jathan both turned and did so, followed moments later by the patrol. Shots rang out as the group ran. Thankfully muskets on the move and at this range were of limited accuracy, so the first few shots flew wide and bought the group time to head for a cottage for cover. It also widened the distance between the French and the young Englishmen, since the Frenchmen had to stop to fire.

They were nearly to relatively safety when a lucky shot took Daniel Smythe-Smith’s leg out from under him. He tumbled to the ground hard, nearly tripping two of the other men. Jathan took a flying leap over his comrade, barreling into the one who has stopped, hesitant to leave their companion but equally as hesitant to move back toward the steadily advancing soldiers. Colin, who had somewhat instinctually taken up a position at the back of the pack—as he had so often done when Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth were playing chase games on the grounds at Aubrey Hall—bellowed at the others to keep running before stopping just long enough to haul Daniel upright and carried him, more by main force than anything else, through the cottage door.

Someone else slammed the door closed behind them, and for a long moment there was nothing but the sound of panting and the twirling of dust motes through the columns of sunlight streaming through the bullet holes in the walls.

“My God Dan, your leg…” began one of the men, before words turned to retching.

“In the corner,” barked Colin, wrenching his hand away from the still-bleeding graze along his jaw to focus on his friend. As one of eight rambunctious siblings, Colin was no stranger to patching up scrapes, bruises, and a myriad bumps and nicks when games turned overzealously rough. Not even the time Gregory had knocked his head against an iron railing prepared Colin for his first gunshot wound, however.

The entry wound was innocuous enough; it was a small hole that bled sluggishly but steadily. The scream when he turned Daniel’s leg over—as gently as he could—was deeply unnerving in its involuntariness. The exit wound violently turned Colin’s stomach. It was ragged, gushing blood, and looked positively gory. Colin knew enough from his prior travels to be grateful that there was an exit wound—too many men died not of the bullets themselves, but of physicians digging about inside them to extract the missiles. Daniel would not need to undergo that particular ordeal. Colin reached up and roughly yanked off his neckcloth.

“Brandy,” he ordered, hand held out but eyes still on his friend’s glassy eyes and sourly green face. A flask was placed into his hand.

“Hold him.”

One man braced Daniel’s shoulders, supporting and restraining him. Another man held his leg still.

Not wasting time they didn’t have trying to get Daniel to drink, Colin poured brandy generously over entry and exit wound. Daniel screamed again and bucked, but his friends held him still as Colin dropped the flask without bothering to cap it and firmly wrapped the cravat around Daniel’s leg. As the first knot was pulled tight, Daniel passed out, making the rest of Colin’s job easier.

“He needs a proper physician, but he shouldn’t bleed to death before we find one,” said Colin, hoping he was right.

Another man had an eye pressed to a bullet hole and spoke up. “They’re getting closer!”

That seemed to jog Jathan out of whatever stupor he had been in. “Those curs, don’t they realize we are Englishmen?” he blustered, furious.

“I would imagine that’s why they’re shooting at us,” retorted their lookout. “They’re all coming toward the front; is there a back door we can get out of?”

“Nothing,” called another man. “The front is the only way in or out. The windows in the back aren’t even large enough to crawl out of.”

“Perhaps someone ought to go out and try to speak to them,” said Jathan, paling visibly. “Not I, of course, my French is terrible…”

“Nobody is going out there to get shot,” declared Colin. “There has to be another way.”

“We can’t surrender,” said Jathan. “We are members of the ton, it is simply not done. We shall have to fight our way out.”

“With bare fists?” snapped Colin. “By all means, you first.”

“Well we cannot simply sit here!” Beads of sweat were running down Jathan’s face. He trembled, and his hands clenched and unclenched erratically. He looked as though he might take a swing at Colin.

“Stop before you come to blows!”

Colin and Jathan both swung about to face the speaker. Atherton Swift was the youngest of ten in a minor ton family that rarely left their country estate. He had been invited on the strength of his acquaintance with one of Lady Danbury’s sons more than any particular friendship with any of the other gentlemen, but he had been an excellent traveling companion and friendships had quickly formed between him and the other gentlemen.

“There is another way out of this, if you gentlemen will trust me,” said Atherton.

“I think any plan would be better than surrendering or fighting muskets with bare hands,” said Colin.

“I can go for help.”

“Pfeh,” snorted Jathan, derisively. “You must have heatstroke to think so. There is no way out of here except through the French.”

“Do not be an ass, Jathan,” snapped Colin. To Atherton, he said, “That’s a suicide mission, we cannot ask you to do that.”

“It is less dangerous for me. I just require your help being let out the back window,” insisted Atherton.

Daniel stirred and moaned, briefly silencing the conversation as all eyes flicked toward him. Colin sighed.

“Atherton, we haven’t time. It’s a noble suggestion but we must be realistic—” Colin’s mouth snapped shut as Atherton shifted, and suddenly a plump dormouse was looking expectantly at him.

“Right,” wheezed Colin, before picking up Atherton and striding over to set him on the windowsill. Atherton squeezed through a crack in the counterpane and scurried off.

“Why that no-good little rat,” hissed Jathan. “And well done Bridgerton, you’ve let the criminal escape while we are left to be shot to death by the French in Spain!” By the end of the sentence, Jathan’s voice had gone from vicious hiss to a hysterical shrill. “He’s not coming back and we are dead.”

“He has gone for help,” retorted Colin.

“He’s a shifter, he’s left us to save his own skin! They’re all vile criminals with no honor—”

“Say another word and I will hand you to the French myself,” said Colin.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jathan went almost instinctually to answer it, but Colin grabbed his wrist, holding him back.

“It’s their officer,” said the man looking out the bullet hole. “He isn’t armed, and he has a handkerchief tied to a stick.”

“He wants to talk, at a guess,” said another man.

“Ouvre la porte, sil vous plait,” came a boyish call from the other side of the door.

“Well I shall tell him what for,” declared Jathan, yanking from Colin’s grip and throwing open the door before anyone could stop him.

The sudden opening clearly startled the young officer, he drew back in alarm with a shout, and a musket retort cracked through the heat of the afternoon. Colin yanked Jathan back into the cottage and slammed the door, listening to the rapid footfalls of the spooked young officer as he retreated back to his men.

“Anyone hit?” asked Colin.

“I…” The rose of blood blossoming on the shoulder of Jathan’s coat answered the question, and he sagged into the arms of the other gentlemen, who set him down next to a still-unconscious Daniel. One of them held another neckcloth over the entry wound to staunch the bleeding.

“What are the French doing?” Colin asked of their self-appointed lookout.

“Milling about a bit; that officer is giving the man who fired the shot an earful. We’re in an awful position, Col. We can’t get out, and they know it. All they have to do is wait, we can’t stay in here forever.”

“We can give Atherton time to get back here,” said Colin.

“He’s not coming back, I told you—”

“Shut up, Jathan.”

As the sun moved through the sky and the afternoon wore on, the little cottage grew increasingly stifling. Within an hour, all the men were down to trousers and shirtsleeves. They were trying to ration the water in the few skins they had between them, but they continued to sweat more and more heavily, with one or two complaining of nausea and headaches. About thirty minutes after that, their lookout quietly called Colin over, and he nearly passed out on standing. Slowly and carefully he made his way over to the bullet hole in the wall.

“Problem?” he asked. The lookout drew back, gesturing for Colin to look.

The French patrol had advanced on the cottage, and arranged themselves in a semicircle around it. They were loading their muskets, and were kneeling to give themselves a more stable firing position.

Colin swore under his breath, feeling a small pang at using words that his mother would have roundly scolded him for. When was the last time she had scolded him? They had been from home for months.

“Is there any sign of Atherton?” he asked softly. The lookout shook his head. Neither man said a word as they watched the French take up their firing positions. There wasn’t anything to be said.

“Do you hear that?” Daniel’s voice was a pained rasp, but it was enough to turn Colin’s head.

“Hear what?”

“Hooves.”

“Ours or theirs?” asked Jathan, drowsily.

“Ours!” exclaimed another man, who had pulled himself up to look out the window. “I’ll be damned, it’s British cavalry!”

As willing as the young French officer had been to fire on unarmed gentlemen sheltering in an abandoned hut, he was ill-prepared to face a cavalry charge. The assault was swift and brief, and within a few moments of the thunderous cavalcade, there was silence, followed by a knock on the door and a gruff, “Are you lads alive in there?”

Colin opened the door to reveal a British cavalry officer in full uniform, horse’s reins in his hand. “Just barely, sir. We are grateful for your arrival and assistance.”

“A mouse told us you were in trouble,” the officer said. In short order Daniel and Jathan had been transferred to the custody of the company sawbones, and the rest of them had had a chance to cool off and drink their fill. Colin had yet to see Atherton, however.

The colonel himself was cagey on the subject, offering polite non-answers and generally brushing off any enquiries. Thoroughly rebuffed but refusing to let the matter lie, Colin collected some drinks and wended his way to the NCO’s fire. The sergeants were genially chatting, drinking, and cleaning their muskets, and Colin’s demeanor and gift of drinks meant he was quickly welcomed among them.

Before dark, Colin was being led across the back end of camp, to where prisoners were kept. Atherton was lying on a cot in his shirtsleeves in a tent that was too small for one person, and was positively claustrophobic when Colin slipped inside.

“Colin?” The disbelief and wariness in Atherton’s voice pinched Colin’s conscience. He should have pushed harder for information, gotten here sooner. But he was here now, and could put this right. Atherton had saved all their lives, and Colin would be damned if that good turn were not repaid in kind.

“I apologize for not finding you sooner, Atherton. Why on earth are you here?”

Atherton snorted. “You know the law, Colin. Shifters are illegal.”

“In England, yes. Not in Spain.”

“No court in England is going to argue that fine a legal point against the Lord Provost Marshal, Col. I knew what I was doing and what the risks were. Look, will you just take a letter back to my family?”

“You will take it to them yourself,” said Colin firmly. Sticking his head outside the tent, he used his best impression of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton to browbeat a guard into fetching the Lord Provost. Behind his back, the sergeant who had led him here jerked his chin at the guard, which was when the man actually went.

Retreating into the tent, Colin shot a smile at Atherton, who did not quite manage to smile back. “This is foolish, Colin. It’s not going to go anywhere, and you risk being labeled shifter-soft.”

“If you had given up this easily, we would all be dead in that hut right now. The very least I can do is try. It is the honorable thing to do, and it is the right thing to do for a friend.”

“Now what is all this rumpus?” The colonel’s voice was bombastic more than irritated, and Colin stood, pulling Atherton from the tent with him. Beside the colonel was a tall, blond, hawkish man with cool eyes that did not seem to miss anything about his surroundings.

Colin faced both uniformed men with his back straight and his tone even. “Colonel, I request the immediate release of my friend Mr. Atherton Swift.”

The colonel harrumphed uncomfortably. “On what grounds, lad? The man is an admitted shifter, and the law is very clear—”

“We are in Spain, Colonel. Spain has no such law against shifters, which I believe is part of why the army uses them here. Is this not therefore an inconsistent application of law, to arrest a shifter in a place where not only are they legal, but you yourself have taken advantage of this loophole to do the king’s work?”

Atherton’s jaw dropped as Colin—still impersonating Anthony when he was being the Viscount—spoke.

“You know he makes a fair point, Mowbray,” the colonel said to the blond uniformed man. “And we did secure a key victory today. Perhaps we can take that win and look the other way for a lad who went above and beyond to ensure his friends were safe? In the name of fair play?”

“In my experience, Colonel, releasing a shifter is a poor strategy. Every one of my acquaintance—and as you know, in my role as the Lord Provost Marshal, a significant part of my job is to oversee shifters conscripted for crown use—has ultimately proved themselves untrustworthy with treasonous impulses. Allowing this one to go free is, in my opinion, too great a risk. I would not recommend this course of action, sir.”

“Colonel,” said Colin with the charming smile of a cobra about to strike. “I imagine it will be difficult to find officers willing to take your orders and work with you if it should get about London society that this is how you reward loyalty and bravery above and beyond the call. As I am sure you know, my elder brother the Viscount Bridgerton and brother-in-law the Duke of Hastings are well-respected voices in the House of Lords and ton society, with Viscountess Bridgerton and Duchess Hastings hosting some of the most glittering events of the social season every year. I should hate for them to discourage men of good breeding from serving with you, sir.”

As Colin spoke, the colonel went red, then white, then red again, before turning to Mowbray. “I cannot have this affect my ability to staff my regiment, sir. Not to mention that Mrs. Hakesworthy would have my head if I got her cut out of society.”

“Colonel,” began Mowbray.

“No, Mowbray, enough. This, gentlemen, is what is going to happen.” The colonel surveyed the little crowd around him, making eye contact with Mowbray, Colin, and Atherton. “We shall release Mr. Swift here, and we shall not pursue him for being a shifter outside of England, as I believe is policy.”

“A policy I am working to change,” said Mowbray, through gritted teeth.

“Yes Mowbray, but we must not put intention before written law,” said the colonel. “Parliament would have a few things to say about that.”

“We appreciate your sense of honor, Colonel,” said Colin. “And I am sure that Mrs. Hakesworthy will enjoy many invitations in the seasons to come.” He made a mental note to write Anthony, Kate, Daphne, and his mother for help with said invitations.

“I have not finished, Mr. Bridgerton. We shall not detain Mr. Swift here, but the dispatch about his status as a shifter has already been sent to England. I cannot and will not undo that. I recommend that Mr. Swift not return to England. I promise you that Mowbray won’t be so willing to let this slide there. Now, if this unpleasantness is settled, there is a hot toddy in my tent I should like to return to. Gentlemen.” The colonel turned on his heel and strode off. Mowbray on the other hand stayed where he was, staring down Colin and Atherton until Colin clapped his friend on the shoulder and the pair retreated to Colin’s tent.

“I can’t stay here,” Atherton said, immediately.

“Where will you go?”

“I have family in Germany I can go to for a while, and then…who knows.” Colin didn’t press as he helped Atherton pack his saddlebags and then saddle his horse. He did slip a purse into one of the saddlebags without telling Atherton, though.

“I’m sorry, Atherton,” he said, once his friend was on his horse. “I didn’t intend to force you to run.”

“Colin…” Atherton raised his eyes to the sky. “So help me, if you walk around feeling guilty for ensuring that I didn’t die on a suicide mission for that madman Mowbray, I will strip down in the middle of Whitehall and shift in the midst of court. Nobody forced me to shift to run for help. And as much as I wouldn’t mind leaving Jathan to the French, Daniel didn’t deserve to die as a prisoner of war.” Atherton reached into a pocket and drew out a small packet of letters.

“It looks like I’m still going to need you to deliver some letters for me,” he said, softly.

“It’s the least I can do,” said Colin, taking the offered stack. “I’ll deliver the one for your family personally when we return.”

“There’s also one that has…special delivery instructions.” Atherton hesitated a moment, seeming reluctant to give Colin the direction for the unaddressed letter.

“Atherton, if your concern is secrecy, I swear on my family’s lives, I will not betray any confidence you give me.”

“The final letter needs to go to Lady Whistledown.”

“The gossip columnist?” asked Colin, perplexed.

Atherton’s laugh had an edge of hysteria to it. “She’s more than just a gossip columnist, Colin. She’s…I suppose you would call her a safety net. Not even shifters know who she is—if she’s even a she—but thanks to her, we can get messages out to the shifters in the ton quickly. I hadn’t heard a word about Mowbray trying to get parliament to make it legal to arrest British shifters outside Britain, but if that truly is the case, others need to know.”

“How do I find Lady Whistledown to deliver the letter? Not even the queen can find her, despite some of the more pointed things she’s published about the crown.”

“You don’t find Lady Whistledown. You take this letter to the church on Fleet Street in London and you leave it under the loose flagstone at the center of the sixth pew from the door. And then you forget everything you know about this, Colin. I’ve warned Lady Whistledown in the letter that I’ve told a non-shifter about this dead drop and to stop using it. She’ll tell everyone that as well as about Mowbray.”

“Will you write me when you’re settled with your family?”

Atherton smiled, a little sadly. “I will if you wish, but I won’t expect a response. You don’t want Mowbray sniffing around your family, Colin. He’s ruthless, and he’s forced more than one shifter to reveal themselves by staging accidents for their families.”

“Is there anyone in your family you want me to warn to run?”

“I’m not answering that question. I have to go, but Colin…thank you.”

The two men clasped hands. Then Atherton rode off into the night.

Colin stood at the edge of the army encampment long after Atherton had disappeared into the darkness. The packet of letters was heavy in his coat pocket, and the weight of a friendship that had effectively been killed it its cradle—partially through his own actions—sat heavier on his mind.

The Bridgertons had no shifters in the family. Not every member of the ton believed that, but the personal and public family history agreed with that. In the very early days of the title, one Viscount had married a shifter, but none of those children had been shifters, and the cadet lines of the families had also remained shifter-free, whether through marital choices or the trait failing to breed true. As a result, the plight of shifters and the laws making their very existence illegal had weighed little on the family. For generations, they had largely stayed out of any political issues that dealt with shifters, and as far as any of them knew, none of their family friends were shifters.

Colin had quite abruptly learned that “as far as any of them knew” was not very far at all, and he did not know what to do with the unexpectedly deep feelings of discomfort this knowledge left him with. Could he have done more? Could he have protected his friend if he had been deemed trustworthy enough to know Atherton was a shifter?

“Regretting letting the monster slip our grasp?” Mowbray’s voice was too close to Colin’s ear. His back stiffened, but he didn’t jump.

Mowbray snorted gently, not missing the sudden tension in Colin’s body, but respecting that he hadn’t yelled or flinched. “Befriending shifters is a mistake. Take it from someone who made the mistake once; they will not hesitate to stab you in the back the first chance they get, and take out as many people as they can while they do it.”

“Have you misapprehended the facts of the situation?” asked Colin. “I and my companions would be dead right now if not for Mr. Swift.”

“So would he. Saving his own skin meant saving yours this time, but it won’t always. Take my advice, Bridgerton. If the shifter gave you any information, give it to me. Mitigate some of the harm you’ve done here tonight. I can keep people safe with more information, and even I didn’t know about this sniveling bastard—”

“Say another word Mowbray, and I shall be forced to call you out.” Colin was as near to seeing red as he had ever been in his life. Had he been wearing gloves just then, he wouldn’t have bothered warning Mowbray, he would simply have removed a glove and slapped the man’s face as hard as he could.

Mowbray sighed and stepped out of Colin’s personal space. “I have no time for duels. How you live with your conscience is your own business, but I will be watching, Mr. Bridgerton. You shall not find thwarting the law so easy once we are all back on English soil.”

#polin week #polin #polin fanfiction #polin fanfic #polin fic #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #oc

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justaghostingon · 1 year

Text

The Random Guy in the Carbonite

Or, Jin Ling Meets a Man who is “Definitely not the Yiling Patriarch”

An Untamed star wars au.

Jin ling will admit in the privacy of his own mind, that he did not think this through. Running off to confront one of the most notorious crime bosses of the outer rim was one thing, but ditching the Jedi hired specifically to protect him was not his best move.

In his defense, they had been very annoying. His Uncle and the Jedi master had gotten into a long fight over what plan was best, forgetting entirely that they were Senator Jiang Cheng of Yumeng, famed force user and war hero, and Hanguang-jun, the single most respected of the Lan Jedi to walk the earth. But noooo. Put them together and they argue like children!

People were dying! The clock was ticking down, and Jin Ling had to do something dammit!

What was the point of being the future emperor himself if he couldn’t even save one measly planet from the Hutts?

So yeah, he’d snuck out on his own, confronted the Hutts, and gotten thrown in this dark empty cell, surrounded with solid metal and cut off from his father’s lightsaber.

Well, not completely alone. In the wall was a carbonite encasing of a man, frozen mid scream. At least, Jin Ling assumed it was a man. He looked human, and the cut of his robes were distinctly masculine, but there really was no knowing for sure until he was released.

A grating noise from above snapped his attention away from his frozen companion. Light filtered in as a mechanism removed the dark metal lid above. Jin Ling blinked his eyes, taking a few minutes to realize that this was not salvation or release, but another worse punishment, humiliation.

For above him, separated only by a metal grate, was a growling, hooting crowd of the worst looking ruffians he’d ever seen.

“Welcome guests!” Jimbo the Hutt’s booming voice echoed in the circular arena Jin Ling now realized he was in side. “To witness the battle of a life time!”

“In the corner we have Jin Rulan!” A loud booing filled Jin Ling’s ears.

“You’re going to regret this when my Uncle gets here!” Jin Ling shouted back. “And its Jin Ling!”

“The feisty heir to the emperor himself! Quite the challenger!” Jimbo continued as if he’d not heard Jin Ling. “But lets see how he does against his family’s natural enemy...”

A pure red beam hit the carbonite. Heat danced across Jin Ling’s skin, forcing him to step back as far as he could. Little by little, the carbon melted off, freeing the man beneath.

“...The Yiling Patriarch!!” Jimbo’s voice boomed as the man inside stepped out.

Jin Ling’s blood beat fast in his ears. The Yiling Patriarch? The man who’d made him an orphan, who’d led the second great rebellion against the emperor himself, notorious sith and master of the dead. His knees began to knock. He wanted his Uncle, who’d defeated the man last, froze him in carbonite, and only lost him due to an unexpected attack of pirates. He wanted his dad, who he’d never known, but most of all he wanted Fairy, who Uncle had said would be a hinderance on this particular mission. She would have never let him get caught like this.

The Yiling Patriarch turned his head towards him, black eyes met large and grey, before grey rolled back, and the Yiling Patriarch, feared destroyer of worlds and killer of millions, proceeds to fall flat on his face in a dead fate.

Jin Ling blinked. What the heck was that?

Now he could see him clearer, he began to notice the discrepancies in the supposed enemy of all light force users. His robes were grey and black, but rough and patchy, clearly of poor make. Even the bright red ribbon in his hair was worn on the ends from what was likely years of use. The man himself was too thin, cheeks gaunt from hunger, and far to pale.

In short, this man was definitely not the Yiling Patriarch.

Jin Ling felt a bit foolish. He of all people should have known it wasn’t. After all, his Uncle had been getting sent carbon frozen bodies of “sith users” and the “Yiling Patriarch” since he was a little kid. His Uncle had diligently unfrozen every single one, confronting them on the accusations they’d been brought to him for. Some had been genuine wannabe sith, although nowhere near the level of the Yiling Patriarch. But most had just been ordinary folks who’d bought the cheeper carbon-freezing ticket for space travel on some shady ship, and gotten sold off as a novelty for looking a bit to similar to Wei Wuxian.

Lotus Pier had gotten a reputation for being a very good place to go to rescue stolen family members from these so called carbon thieves.

If Jin Ling had to guess, he’d say this guy was a farmer. He nudged the guy with his foot.

“Hey, wake up.”

The man groaned but didn’t move. Jin Ling shoved him harder. “Get up! This isn’t the place to take a nap!”

He reached his hand down and stuck a finger in the man’s ear. The man gave a shriek and flung himself up and away.

“Shidi what the Hell...” the man’s voice faded as he took in Jin Ling, and then the crowd above them. “...what is going on.”

“You got mistaken for the Yiling Patriarch and now they want us to fight.” Jin Ling shrugged. “Now stop being a baby and help me find a way out!”

“Mistaken?” the man blinked at him.

“Yeah, it happens,” Jin Ling scowled. “Don’t buy shady tickets next time.”

“Hehe, that’s very wise young master,” the man grinned. “You’re pretty smart for a Jin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jin Ling shook his fist.

“So snippy! No mother to teach you manners I see!” the man laughed.

Jin Ling saw red. He didn’t care that this guy was a civilian, no one talked about his mother like that. He charged forward, fist swinging.

The man stepped easily out of his way. “Good job,” he whispered to Jin Ling as he passed his ear. “Keep fighting like that.”

“Oh I’ll show you a fight!” Jin Ling aimed a kick at the man, but he sidestepped once again.

“Touchy, touchy,” the man shook his head. “I’m trying to get us out of here, you really think they’d let us go if they realized we weren't going to fight?”

Jin Ling lowered his fist. “So you’re doing this on purpose?”

“Of course,” the man struck forward with surprisingly good form. Jin Ling barely managed to parry, and that was only thanks to the unnatural quickness that all force users possessed. “We need a proper distraction if we’re to get out of here.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Jin ling struck out again.

“Oh I’m not going to do anything,” the man laughed and aimed a kick at Jin Ling’s face. “I’m a civilian remember? You’re going to get us out of here.”

“How?” Jin Ling dove forward, but missed, hitting the metal wall instead.

“Using the force of course!” the man laughed. “Find the seams of the metal and the bolts holding it down, somewhere here there has to be a trash shoot. They wouldn’t want to keep dead bodies in here long term.”

“That’s not how the force works!” Jin Ling shot back, then stopped. the man’s suggestion hadn’t been wrong exactly, just not worded very well. Jin Ling hardly had the skill to sense nonhuman things like metal, but all dead things were once living. If there was a trash shoot, he cold find it, he just had to follow the decay.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. The life of the mob above was loud and wild, but down here there were only two signatures, his own and the flickering of the man he was fighting, and just behind him...

“There!” Jin Ling dove forward, slamming directly into the carbon casing.

“Ouch,” the man tutted as he watched Jin Ling stumble back to his feet. “Let your senior help here okay? I’ve worked in the fields, I’m stronger than I look.”

Jin Ling stepped back as the man circled his old prison, thumb in his mouth. Above them the murmuring of the crowd quieted to a disgruntled hum, no doubt wondering what they were doing now they weren’t fighting.

The man darted forward, to the side of the carbon casing. Back to Jin Ling, he shoved his whole wait against the casing. For a second nothing happened, Then the force flickered, a sour taste filled Jin Ling’s mouth, and the casing moved, inch by inch, but faster every second, until the hole beneath it was visible.

Jin Ling frowned. But the taste on the edge of his senses was gone as soon as it came. Had that man used the force?

“What are you waiting for?” the man called. “Thinking later. Escape now!”So saying, he threw himself down the hole.

“Stop him!” Jimbo screamed.

Jin Ling cursed and dove after the man. Together they tumbled down the dark shaft, a disorienting fall of head over feet until it finally met its slimy end in a splat of water.

“Ugh,” Jin Ling pulled himself up. The stench was horrific, iron and rot and sick, sick sick. His clothes were soaked with who knows what and there was slime in his hair...

“Don’t look!” the man slammed a hand over Jin Ling’s eyes. His voice gentled. “This isn’t a sight for young ones.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jin Ling knocked the hand from his eyes. He blinked at his new surroundings, and promptly threw up.

Bodies lay all around them, some complete, some in pieces, some near skeletons and others almost fresh. Jin Ling ducked his head to stare at his own feet, standing next to the decomposing flesh of a human face...

A hand covered his eyes again.

“It’s okay,” the man whispered in his ears. “It’s a lot for anyone. Just don’t look. I can handle it from now on okay?”

Jin Ling nodded and took a deep breath trying to center himself in the force like his Uncle had taught him, but the decay and agony stirred the dark side of the force, making it a struggle.

He heard the man move away, rummaging around in the piss/blood/water.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Just some tools,” the man reassured him. “I know a thing or two about mechanics, and I can get us out.”

“Hurry,” Jin Ling choked out, the force was moving all wrong, resentment thick in the air. Even his companion’s presence seemed to flicker in and out against it, leaving him uncertain where exactly he was.

A click echoed through the sound. “Done,” the man said.

Jin Ling began to lower his hand, but the man’s own stopped him. “It’s alright,” the man’s hand lowered to Jin Ling’s elbow. “The way it clear. You don’t need to look again, I’ll lead you.”

Jin Ling wanted to protest, to point out he wasn’t a baby, he could handle it, but the dark side of the force was choking him, eating away at his bravado until all the remained was the scared boy who really, really wanted his Uncle.

“That’s it,” the man spoke as he guided Jin Ling forward. “Step up now, over the entrance, good, good. There we go.”

Jin Ling’s feet stepped onto solid ground, the faint clink of metal beneath his boots. Behind him the resentment rose up, a furious at being robbed of its prey. Then another, sharper, redder resentment clashed with it, sending it back into the trash pit. A loud clank sounded behind him, and both presences cut off.

“You can look now,” the man said.

Jin Ling blinked the spots from his eyes. They were in a corridor, just another black metal like all the others in this maze of a palace. Beside him, the man knelt before a control panel, having yanked it open to fiddle with the wiring.

“What are you doing?” Jin Ling scowled, trying to recollect himself. “We need to run!”

“Not without a map we aren’t!” The man said. The panel glowed green under his fingers and he laughed with delight. “Bingo!”

Jin Ling leaned over him, to look at the small screen built in above the wires, dictating two pathways in red and green. “Is that the way out?”

“Not bad for a radish farmer is it?” the man beamed. “Let’s go!”

“Wait.” Jin Ling shook his head. “I can’t go. I have to get my lightsaber.”

“Just build another one,” the man dismissed, reaching out to drag Jin Ling towards the path.

“I can’t!” Jin Ling bristled, shoving the man off. “It was my fathers! It’s all I have left of him!”

The man stopped. “Your father’s?”

“Yes!” Jin Ling crossed his arms. “And I’m not leaving it!”

The man hesitated.

“It also has a tracker in it,” Jin Ling went for the killing blow. “And a panic button. We hit it and the Jedi and the whole of Yumeng Jiang will come down on their heads!”

“Yumeng Jiang?” the man startled.

“My uncle,” Jin Ling sniffed. “So its our best bet.”

“Okay.” The man let out a breath. “Okay you can go to your lightsaber. I’ll calculate you a path. But as for me...I’m getting out of here.”

Jin Ling abruptly remembered that this man was a civilian. He didn’t ask to get mixed up in this. “Fine.”

The man gave him a small smile. He reached into the control panel and pressed a few more buttons before pulling the screen itself out and shoving it into Jin Ling’s hands.

“This map will lead you to your lightsaber,” he said.

“What about you?” Jin Ling asked.

“It’s all up here,” the man rapped his knuckles on his head. “Don’t worry about me.” The smile slid off his face. “Be safe Jin Rulan.”

“Jin Ling,” Jin Ling corrected automatically. “How did you...” the man raised an eyebrow. Right. Emperors nephew. Famous. Of course he knew his name.

Speaking of which...”What’s yours?” Jin Ling asked. The man had never said, and unlike Jin Ling, he didn’t have his plastered all across the galaxy. All he knew was it wasn’t Wei Wuxian.

“Yuandao,” the man smiled. “I’m Yuandao the radish farmer.”

“Yuandao,” Jin Ling repeated. “Come to Yumeng when you’re free. My Uncle will help you find your family. They’ll probably be worried since you got frozen.”

Yuandao’s smile twisted. “Goodbye Jin Ling.”

“Goodbye.” Jin Ling awkwardly agreed, before taking off down the hall towards his lightsaber. He had an Uncle to call.

-------

Behind him the man who was not Yuandao stood and watched until the boy was out of sight. Then he turned back to the trash door and opened it, to meet the standing force of the dead within.

He nodded to one of the fresher dead who still wore the uniform of the Hutt’s staff. “Follow him, make sure he gets there safely but don’t be seen. Lie still on the ground so that they think you’re a fresh kill. As for the rest of you,” His eyes flashed red.

“Make sure to teach that Hutt a lesson.

#the untamed #wei wuxian #jin ling #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs au #the untamed au #star wars au #untamed star wars au #wei wuxian is a little out of character but listen #no one messes with shijie's kid

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 3 months

Text

Serve & Protect

Summary: You moved to the small quiet town of Hawkins after transferring from the NYPD and reunite with your old partner, Jim Hopper. However, Hawkins isn't as quiet as it seems, and your past follows you there.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Language, violence, blood

Previous Chapter

Chapter 4- mistakes were made

"Stairs! Stairs!" Doctor Owens shouted, pointing down the corridor.

The growls of the monsters echoed through the lab as you and Hopper ran after Doctor Owens trusting he knew a way out of this deathtrap of a building.

Owens opened the door to the staircase, and you all ran up the stairs, but once you reached the exit for the ground floor, Owens kept going up and Hopper followed him.

"Wait! Wait! Shouldn't we be going out this door?" You shouted above the emergency alarm that was blasting through the speakers.

"Joyce and the others are still upstairs. We have to get them." Hopper answered, glancing over his shoulder at you. "I know you probably don't trust me after everything that's happened, but please, Y/N, I need you with me."

You stared at Hopper for a few seconds, your heart beating out of your chest in panic as gunshots boomed through the building.

Fuck this.

Taking two steps at a time, you followed Hopper and Owens up the staircase until you reached the third floor and Owens quietly opened the door, peaking his head out into the corridor.

"It's clear. C'mon."

The two of you continued to follow him jogging through the building. Red emergency lights flashed from the roof, the alarm still blaring as people in lab coats and suits ran in all kinds of directions, not knowing what to do.

It didn't take long before Hopper pushed opened the door to a small room where a woman and man were leaning over an unconscious boy in a hospital bed with another young boy standing off to the side looking absolutely terrified.

You stared at the four of them in confusion as the woman pulled out some kind of syringe from the unconscious boy's arm. What the fuck?

"Did you just drug a kid?" You asked, your fear and panic from earlier vanishing as anger took over.

"He's my son. We had to." The woman who you assumed was Joyce Byers said. "Wait, who are you?"

"Y/N. I work with Hopper. Why did you have to drug your son?"

"The Mind Flayer is in him. He's using Will as a spy. If Will knows where we are, so does he." The other boy suddenly said.

"The fuck is a Mind Flayer?" You questioned.

Nobody had a chance to answer before all too familiar growls filled the air.

You spun around, looking down the corridor to find the double doors at the end of the hall were getting ripped apart by the monsters. Shit. How did they get here so quickly?

"We gotta go. We gotta go." Hopper said, glancing over at you before he rushed over to the gurney and picked up Will.

Doctor Owens led the way out the room, going in the opposite direction of the monsters that were trying to get through the double doors. People were screaming, gunshots raining down throughout the building and you wished more than anything that you had your duty belt and gun right now.

Dead bodies were scattered over the floor, everyone stepping over and weaving around them whilst following the doctor towards the exit.

In your rush to follow the others, you tripped over one of the bodies, but managed to break your fall as you landed on your hands and knees.

"Shit, get up." The boy, Mike, you thought his name was, suddenly said, grabbing your arm trying to help you to your feet before your eyes landed on the body that you had tripped over.

It was a security guard. A security guard who had a gun.

You picked up the handgun from the ground and grabbed the spare magazine from the dead guard's belt before hastily getting to your feet and glancing over at Mike who was staring at you with wide eyes.

"Do you know how to use that?"

"Yeah. C'mon." You grabbed the boy's hand and led him back to the others.

Suddenly, a door further down the corridor slammed open, snapping your attention away from Mike to find a guy in a lab coat on the ground, their entire left side covered in blood as they screamed for help.

"Holy shit." You gasped, taking a step forward to try and help them, when suddenly one of the monsters jumped out from the room and its faceless head opened up like a flower, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth before it attacked the person.

You stood there, frozen to the spot as you watched the person get devoured by the monster before a hand suddenly grabbed yours and yanked you into a room to your left.

Doctor Owens slammed the door closed behind you and you looked around, realising that the group of you were inside a small surveillance room. Hopper laid Will down on one of the desks, but you were more focused on the security camera screens on the far wall.

There were over 20 different screens, each showing various camera angles in the building, and you watched in horror at the destruction that the monsters had caused. Dead bodies littered the corridors and rooms, blood painted over the walls and smothered a few cameras like some kind of horror movie while the monsters roamed the halls.

"Jesus Christ." You swore softly under your breath, eyes glued to the screens when suddenly, they all shut off and the lights in the room died.

The flashing red emergency lights and alarm shut off too, leaving the seven of you standing in the dark room in silence with nothing but the sound of the monsters screeching and growling from outside.

Doctor Owens drew a basic map layout of the building on a piece of paper, Hopper lighting up the small room with a flashlight while the doc pointed out the nearest exits on his map.

"But even if we somehow make it there, there's no way out." Owens explained.

"What do you mean?" Hopper asked, looking down at the map.

"The locks are fail secure. If there's a power outage, the building goes on full lockdown."

"Can it be unlocked remotely?"

You glanced over at the other man who was with Joyce. You briefly recall someone calling him Bob, but you had never met him before and now was not the time for introductions.

"With a computer, sure, but somebody's gotta reset the breakers."

"Okay. Where are the breakers?" You asked, tucking the handgun into the waistband of your pants.

"Breakers are in the basement, three floors down." Owens answered, pointing to the location on the map before Hopper grabbed the map and started walking towards the door.

"Whoa, where are you going?" You quickly questioned, grabbing his arm to stop him.

"To reset the breakers."

"Okay, then what?" Bob asked, appearing beside you.

Hopper glanced over at him, "then we get the hell out of here."

"No, then the power comes back on. If you wanna unlock the doors, you have to reboot the computer system, and then override the security codes with a manual input." Bob answered, like it was the most easiest thing in the world.

"Fine, how do I do that?" Hopper asked.

"You can't. Not unless you know BASIC."

"I don't know what that means."

"It's a computer programming language." Mike answered from across the room.

"Alright, teach it to me." Hopper said, turning back to Bob.

Bob scoffed, "shall I teach you French while I'm at it, Jim? How about a little German? How about you, Deputy?" He asked, turning towards you. "You speak BASIC?"

You shook your head, "no."

"Okay, I got this. I got this." Bob said, nodding like he was trying to encourage himself.

"No, Bob." Joyce whispered, walking over to him with teary eyes.

"It's okay." He reassured, pulling her into a hug. "It's going to be okay. Remember, Bob Newby, superhero."

You watched the two of them for a moment before glancing over at Mike who was looking down at Will's unconscious body.

"I'll go with him." You suddenly said, turning back to the others.

"No." Hopper instantly argued.

"He can't do it alone."

"Then I'll go." Hopper responded, but you shook your head.

"No. You need to stay here and keep these guys safe. I'm going."

Hopper grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the others before lowering his voice. "Y/N, I'm ordering you to stand down. You're not going."

"You're ordering me?" You asked, laughing in disbelief.

"Yes. Stand down. That is a direct order, Deputy." He instructed sternly, his voice raised as he took a step forward until his face was inches from yours. "Stand. Down."

Not once in all your years working with Hopper back in New York or in Hawkins, have you ever heard him use that voice on you. His Chief of Police, I'm the boss, do as I say, voice. Never. Did he seriously think he could tell you what to do? After everything he had kept from you about this whole thing?

You stood yourself up straighter, not backing down as you stared right back at him.

"This macho intimidation bullshit may work on girls in this town, but it doesn't work on me. So, get the hell out of my face!" You shouted, shoving his chest.

Hopper stumbled back a few steps, not expecting the push as he stared at you with an unreadable expression.

"Y/N-"

"Shut up." You snapped, glaring at him. "I have spent the last few years dealing with someone who tried to control me. Tried to intimidate me into doing whatever he wanted, and I am not going to just stand here and take that crap from you too, got it?"

Hoppers eyes widened a little at your words and you mentally slapped yourself for telling him that. You could see the questions whirling around Hoppers head at what you had just said, but you weren't going to give him a chance to ask.

"I am going with Bob. End of story." You stated sternly.

The others were all staring at you in shock, but you kept your eyes on Hopper who simply nodded, knowing a losing battle when he saw one.

"Good. Here, take this." You said, picking up a radio from the surveillance desk and handing it to him before grabbing the other two. "Doc, you're gonna have to instruct us on how to get to the basement."

Doctor Owens nodded before you handed Bob one of the radios while you clipped yours to your pants and tucked the earpiece into your left ear, Bob watching you and doing the same thing.

"Ready?" You asked and Bob nodded.

"Be careful." Joyce said, looking between the two of you.

"See you soon." Bob replied with a brave smile.

You reached for the door handle and glanced over at Hopper, your gaze meeting his. He gave you a small nod, but didn't say anything, so you nodded back before opening the door.

It was surprisingly easy to get down to the basement. The monsters were nowhere to be seen and you hoped that meant they were gone, but that was just wishful thinking.

You stood guard by the door of the computer room while Bob flicked the switches, turning the power back on before he got to work with rebooting the computers. The lights all slowly started to flicker back on. The flashing red emergency lights and alarm now blasting once again.

"Okay, Bob, Deputy, can you hear us?" Doctor Owens voice suddenly said through the radio earpiece.

Bob glanced over at you, and you nodded, grabbing your radio to answer, so Bob could continue doing his job.

"Loud and clear, Doc." You replied through the radio, your eyes continuously scanning the exit for any sign of the monsters, but so far, so good. "Bob's working on the computer."

A few minutes later, Bob stepped away from the computer with a grin, "easy-peasy."

"He's done it. We'll meet you guys outside." You quickly said through the radio before nodding at Bob to follow you out the door.

"Wait. You two have some company." Owens suddenly said.

Shit.

"Where?" You asked hand frozen on the doorknob.

"West stairwell."

"I got an idea." Bob said, rushing back to the computer and frantically typing away on the keyboard. "And splash."

"Okay. Okay, that worked." Owens informed. "Now get out of there."

"What did you do?" You asked, looking over at Bob in confusion.

"Turned the sprinklers on in the upper floor. Drew it's attention."

That was... well, that was actually really smart.

"Let's get the hell out of here." You responded and Bob nodded in agreement before you rushed out the room towards the stairwell.

Bob followed closely behind you as you raised your handgun and carefully opened the door to the stairs and to your relief, the monster was gone. His plan worked.

You kept your gun raised as you jogged up the stairs, until you reached the door to the first floor, but before you could open it, Doctor Owen's voice quickly stopped you.

"Deputy. Bob. I'm going to guide you."

Oh, that wasn't good.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bob, his eyes wide as he grabbed his radio and bought it to his lips. "Is there a problem?"

"No, it's just... it's, uh, getting a little crowded up here, so we're gonna have to take this slow. Just open the door now and start walking."

His words did little to calm your nerves, but you didn't have any other options, so you opened the door and started walking down the corridor despite every muscle in your body telling you to run.

"Okay good. Now, your next right."

Bob was breathing heavily from behind you as you rounded the corner and kept walking, your gun raised and finger hovering over the trigger, not taking any chances.

"Stop!"

You quickly came to a sudden halt, Bob crashing into your back unable to stop himself quick enough. You grabbed his arm with your free hand, saving him from falling over and making a loud noise.

"Deputy, there's a door on your left, do you see that?" Owens asked, his voice calm, but you could still hear the panic beneath his tone.

You nodded, knowing he could see you through the security camera.

"That's a closet. I need you guys to get in. Right now, get in the closet!"

"What?" Bob whispered through his radio, but you were already pulling him into the room before he could say anything else.

You pressed your back against the closed door and held your index finger to your lips as you stared at Bob who nodded, remaining silent as you listened to soft growling coming from outside the room.

Your heart thumped in your ears, the gun in your hand trembling as you stood there silently. Bob had squeezed his eyes closed, his hands over his mouth to muffle his heavy breaths as the monster's growls slowly got further and further away.

"Okay. How you holding up guys? You okay?" Owens asked through the radio.

Bob let out a shaky sigh of relief, "yeah. Yeah. We're okay."

"You got a pretty clear shot to the front door."

Pretty clear? Well, that was better than nothing.

"Okay." Bob whispered.

His fearful gaze met yours and you tried your best to give him a reassuring smile, despite how utterly terrified you were before you took in a deep breath and opened the closet door.

Looking left and right, the corridor was clear, and you let out a small sigh of relief before you silently stepped out with your gun raised.

You began walking, but barely got a few steps before something wooden clattered to the floor behind you and you spun around to find Bob halfway out the closet with his arm outstretched after failing to catch the broom he had just bumped.

Shit. Shit. That wasn't good.

"Run!" Owens voice shouted.

The two of you instantly started sprinting down the corridor and not a second later, the growls of the monster reached your ears.

"Bob, run faster!" You yelled, sparing a glance over your shoulder just as one of the monsters rounded the corner, snarling and growling as it chased after you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking, fuck.

You picked up the pace just as Bob pushed open a set of double doors that opened up into the front foyer where Joyce was standing by the front door, waiting anxiously.

You rushed through the door that Bob had opened before slamming it shut behind you and flicking the lock, securing it. The monster slammed against it a moment later causing you to jump and take a few steps back, but the door held. The monster couldn't get through.

You sighed with relief and walked away from the door just as Joyce rushed over to Bob and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Thank God." She whispered, hugging him tightly.

You opened your mouth about to tell them that their little reunion could wait until you were out of this building but didn't get the chance before the door suddenly busted open and the monster sprinted out, running straight at Bob and Joyce.

"Run!" You screamed, raising your gun and firing at the monster.

The bullets hit it centre mass but didn't kill it. All it did was anger it and you watched in numbed horror as it turned away from Bob and Joyce and ran towards you instead.

You fired shot after shot, but you might as well have been hitting it with rocks because it wasn't stopping and there was nothing you could do when it jumped, colliding into you and sending you to the floor, hard.

Its sharp claws dug into your skin, tearing the scrubs you were wearing. White hot pain flared through your body as you screamed before the sound of gunfire exploded from your left.

The rapid fire of a semiautomatic was enough to stun the monster and knock it off the top of you.

"Y/N!" Hopper's voice shouted.

Your entire body burned in pain, but you knew this was your only chance to escape, so you pushed yourself to your feet and sprinted to the front door. Hopper continued to shoot at the monster, stopping it from chasing you before Joyce and Bob grabbed your arms and pulled you out the building.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Bob frantically said as you stumbled outside.

"What happened?!" Mike's voice yelled.

You barely heard the kid above the ringing in your ears as you looked down to find the green nurse scrubs you were wearing now coated a deep crimson red.

Oh, that wasn't good.

"Y/N? Y/N, holy shit." Hopper gasped, appearing in front of you with wide panicked eyes. "Shit. Shit. How bad is it?"

Probably bad.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." You panted, trying to catch your breath from all the running.

A car horn honked in the distance, and you looked over Hopper's shoulder to find a station wagon speeding towards the group of you.

"Get in!" The girl in the passenger seat shouted.

"Go! I got Y/N, go!" Hopper yelled at the others. "I'll meet you at Joyces!"

Bob quickly picked up Will and put him in the backseat, the others all climbing in the car before Hopper grabbed your arm and led you towards his Chevy Blazer that you hadn't notice was parked beside the building.

He helped you into the backseat, his panicked eyes tracing over the blood that coated your clothes as you winced, sitting yourself up properly.

"I shouldn't have let you go. I shouldn't have let you help. I shouldn't have gotten you involved in any of this."

"Hopper-" You tried to say, but he kept talking.

"I knew it was a bad idea. Jesus Christ, I shouldn't have let you go with Bob."

"Hopper-"

"Now you're hurt and, shit, that's a lot of blood and-"

"Chief!" You shouted, snapping him out of his rambling as his panicked eyes met yours. "We need to get out of here before they break through the front doors."

Hopper glanced over his shoulder at the lab before he nodded, closing your car door and rushing around the vehicle and jumping behind the driver's seat.

There was a deep gash across the left side of your stomach, your shirt torn and covered in blood. Blood began to drip onto the seat of Hoppers car, staining the leather as you pressed your hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"What the hell?" Hopper suddenly said and you looked up just as he stopped the car by the gate of the lab to find a group of kids standing there. "Get in!"

Wait, did he know these kids? And why did that guy have a baseball bat with nails in it?

The kids all piled into the car, the boy with the hat and walkie talkie taking the front seat while the guy with the bat climbed into the back beside you. The redhaired girl and boy with a slingshot got into the very back of the car where there weren't any seats or seat belts, but Hopper didn't seem to care.

"Steve, I need you to keep pressure on Y/N's wound." Hopper instructed, glancing at the guy beside you through the revision mirror.

Steve frowned in confusion and looked over at you, his eyes widening when he saw the blood.

"Holy shit, what happened?" Steve questioned, frantically shrugging off his jacket before he leant over and pressed it against your stomach causing you to hiss at the flare of pain. "Shit. I'm sorry, sorry. I'm sorry."

"The lab is crawling with small Demogorgons. That's what happened. What the hell are you kids doing here?" Hopper asked, glancing over his shoulder at you worriedly before focusing back on the road.

"We were following Dart." The curly haired boy in the passenger seat answered.

Who the hell was Dart?

"Dart is a small Demogorgon-" He continued to explain, but you drained the kids ramblings out as you squeezed your eyes shut in pain.

Next Chapter

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noisydeergalaxy · 1 year

Text

The Amber eyed dreamwalker part 10

Warnings: nightmares, character death, peril, language.

*3 months after miles was welcomed into the clan*

All miles could see was fire, all miles could hear where the screams of the clan as his new home went up in flames, the familiar outline of the AMP suits crashed through the fire, killing everthing in sight, thantors attacked to no avail, each one being struck down by the large guns or knives the robotic suits weilded.

Looking around in desperation miles spotted jenna ahead, ducking as she dodged incoming bullets desperately firing arrows that simply bounced off the heavy metal suits. "JENNA, RUN!" Miles sprinted towards her and tackled her to the ground as a missile hit near where they stood, both being thrown backwards at the shockeaves, struggling to their feet Miles placed a protective hand over the small bump of her stomach and pushed her back slightly "you have to go, now!" Miles gritted his teeth, but jenna simply snarled back."I'm not leaving you!" As she pushed his hand away and picked up her bow. Before miles could argue another AMP robot cornered them it's foot landing heavy on miles pinning him to the ground as one of its large metal hands grabbed at jennas hair and lifted her off the ground, miles roared angrily as she screamed in pain. Miles continued to claw at the metal holding him down as a deep voice boomed from inside the robot "oh now I am disappointed in you soldier" miles stopped suddenly, that voice, why did he recognise that voice. "I expected more of you" the voice continued "You where created for a reason, to wipe the rest of these navi scum off this planet, to finish.....what I started" miles ears fell back againt his head as the large glass of front of the robot moved closer to him and the face that haunted his past sneered at him "quaritch" miles snarled at the human staring daggers at him "your dead, I crushed your skull and left the rest to rot away" miles strained as the metal grew heavier, the human sneered and laughed at him "that vessel is dead but I'm still very much alive in you, you have all my memories, all my hate and anger. The body may be different...but deep down your still me and no amount of running will change that" quaritch turned his attention back to the struggling female in his grip, jenna desperately tried to break free of the robots iron grip but to no avail. "Miles, don't listen to him!" Jenna whined as the robots swung a blade in It's free hand ,and who are you, huh? Some native tail he knocked up, " quaritch slowly dragged the blade across jennas belly, cutting the skin slightly, making her writh in pain. Miles roared and thought harder "don't you fucking touch her!" Quearich ignored miles as he brought jenna closer to the robots window "you think he cares about you? Your nothing to him, your just a distraction. you see, he's lost his way and the only way to get his mind focused on what he was made for again is......to get rid of all distractions" quearich drew out the last word as his blade plunged into jennas stomach. Her body convulsed as blood poured from the wound. Blood spluttered out of her mouth as she gasped for breath, quearich threw her to the ground and ripped the knife from her body. "NOO!" Miles screamed and cried as he desperately thought to get free.

Gunfire and shouting in the distance distracted the man in the robotic suit long enough for miles to get his strength back and push the heavy metal off his body enough to slip from under the weight, Miles made a run towards his mate falling to his knees nect to her, he gently lifted her lifless body into his arms. seeing no light in her once sparling eyes miles broke and sobbed uncontrollably into her chest screaming in anguish, his hand laying on the small bump of her stomach. His mate, his baby, ripped away from him like they were nothing.

"How does it feel....to betray your own kind miles?" Quaritchs voice boomed behind him. Miles turned and snarled. "I'll kill you, you bastard!" Miles screamed at him as he jumped at the robot, which easily swipped him to the ground again. "You don't get it, do you boy!? You can't kill me, I'll always be that voice in the back of your head, taunting you...haunting you and no matter what you do, no matter where you go I'll always be their. Quearich grabbed the large knife again bringing it to miles throat as he chuckled darkly "or maybe.....I'll just finish this myself" quarich sliced the blade across the navi's throat as he cackled wickedly, miles felt his lungs filling with hot blood as he gasped for breath and clawed at his cut throat, his surroundings darkened as he felt his heartbeat slow, the last thing he heard was his predacesors evil laughter echo around him.

-------‐-----------------------------------------------

Miles shot up from his sleep and desperately gasped for breath clawing at his throat, but he felt no cut to his skin, no blood anywhere, he could breathe, he was alive. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he tried to calm himself down. Feeling his stomach turn, he quickly stood and ran outside. after being sick for the third time, miles felt himself settle as the adrenaline subsided. Taking a few deep lugfulls of the fresh pandora air miles made his way back inside, jenna lay safe and snuggled in their bed, miles wanted to cry, not fully over his nightmare he lay beside her and enveloped her in a tight hug. "Mmph, are you OK?" Jenna looked up at miles who stared off into the distance, jenna rubbed his cheek firmly in an attempt to break him out of his daze "miles, hey! Talk to me." jenna raised her voice and tapped his cheek. His teary eyes met her bright ones, he shook his head and held her tighter, trying to get his words out but unable to manage, he lay a large hand on her flat belly and sighed in relief that even that was a dream for now, taking a shuddering breath he lay his forehead against hers "your ok, it was just a nightmare, everything is ok" jenna whispered soothing words to her mate as she pushed him to lie down again. She snuggled into his body and lay a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm his shaking body. Miles was too scared to let her go even for a second, terrified if he closed his eyes again, he'd find her lifeless body in front of him. "He killed us, i....killed us" miles sobbed as Jenna repositioned herself so miles head lay carefully on her lap, she started to hum a quiet song and gently stroked his hair as miles drifted into a fitful sleep.

Could the ghosts of his past life really find a way to come back, to haunt him and rip his new life apart?.

#miles quaritch #avatar #avatar x reader #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x oc #quaritch x oc #human quaritch

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cloudninetonine · 1 year

Note

Thank you all for the dabloons, here is your reward

—

The wind was howling, the ground slick with rain water as the thunderous cacophony screamed from above. You were running, Fi clutched shakily in your arms. You hadn’t had enough time to strap her on, not with them following you.

“Come back! Please don’t run!” That sounded like Twilight, it seemed he had given up on going after you as Wolfie, seeing as he was speaking.

You ignored the plea and continued your pace. The water drenching his thick fur was probably slowing him down more than if he just ran in hylian form- maybe Hylia does have favorites.

“(Name) why are you running? Can’t we just sort this out back at the castle?!” Hyrule pitifully screeched into the roaring winds, his words begging to be heard by you over the noise.

Stars did you want to listen to him, to stop dead in your tracks and just weep and weep in his arms, let that oh so subtle comforting tingle of fairy magic wash over you. But you knew, you knew he wasn’t him, he wasn’t your Rulie, no matter how much his distressed voice wrenched your heart out of your chest.

Something dived in front of you, splashing into a large mud puddle and spraying it all over you. You yelped and fell back, landing in front of a mossy tree trunk, wet and slimy.

You looked up at Epona, who nickered in distress as a flash of lightning crackled across the sky before booming in the air. The light lit up the figures of Twilight and Wild, who sat there wide-eyed at you, tears indistinguishable from their rain slicked faces.

“(Name)!” Wild began, dismounting the mare and approaching you slowly, cautiously, hands held out like he was dealing with a wild animal.

“(Name), please tell us what we did wrong! We didn’t mean to scare you, what did we do? Was it someone… someone else?” You felt your short breath and adrenaline pumping heart unwillingly soothe at the sound and sight of Wild, his unique soft spoken yet electric tone so familiar. However, the second his voice took that slightest dark lilt, your body caught up to itself, and suddenly ‘danger!’ was washing out all sense of false comfort in your veins.

“Leave. Me. ALONE!” You never thought you could find it in yourself to strike one of your boys, but… these weren’t your boys, just… something that wore their faces. You took Fi’s sheath and slapped Wild with the pommel end. The loud snap almost went unnoticed by you as another crackle of thunder rung out. In the flash of lightning you saw Twilight’s expression light up with horror as you cracked Fi across Wild’s face.

The champion fell to the ground, a scream at the tip of his tongue, you scrambled to your feet and broke out into another desperate run. Sorry sorry sorry rang in your mind as you continued through the thick greenery.

Your head spun, a crooked bell chiming began to sound off within the confines of your skull. It felt like nails were being hammered into your brain as your vision blurred, your steps less calculated.

You could still hear them, those dark versions of your heroes calling out to you through the echoing woods. Like they’d go easy on you now that you probably just broke Wild’s jaw!

The rain caused a filter of grey to swamp your vision, only when the trees bled away and the dark swallows of nothing caught you did you realize you had to stop.

A scream tore out of your throat, boots skidded across wet grass as you came face to face with a cliff edge. The dense forest continued below, no doubt in your mind that somewhere down there had a hiding place, but… there was no way you’d survive such a fall.

Galloping hooves had your face whipping around, Twilight and Wild pulled up again, Hyrule and Warriors, the leaders of the running pack you supposed, coming out soon after.

Both Wild and Twilight slid off the horse, looking out you with worry of all things. Wild’s lips looked more red, healthier, with no skin cracks. No doubt he had red potion, seeing as his jaw looked perfectly fine.

“Please just come back with us (Name), we can make this all right again! We won’t mess up this time, we won’t lose you!” Warriors’ words sent shivers down your spine, ones that weren’t from the spiteful cold. The dark, night sky swarmed in navy clouds lit up like a flashlight as you stared at them, unblinkingly.

The rest of the group slivered out of the shrubbery like snakes, shadows melting off them as they stepped out of the canopies shade.

But the shadows were still there, weren’t they?

“(Name) we don’t know what we did, but please come back, come back to us. We promise we’ll fix whatever wrong we’ve committed, just as long as you come back.” Time stepped closer, his eye soft, adoration lacing his irises.

Oh he was good, too good. His words were almost enough. You wanted to pass out so badly, to fall to your bodily needs, to stop this endless chase, to collapse in their warm embraces and just accept it. But you knew, you knew the truth, and you knew you couldn’t.

The nine had surrounded you now, closing in slowly on your cliff edge, the point of which mimicked a shark’s nose. You took a step back, flinching forwards when the some of the old, craggy dirt crumbled and fell. The others seemed to realize your predicament and began to plead louder.

Four stepped forward. “(Name)! (Name) it’s okay, everything is fine!” A shot of lightning. “You’ve always spoken of warm, thick blankets, yeah?” The gargantuan boom in the distance. “Well guess what we’ve got back at the castle? Don’t you want to get out of this sickening cold?” Yes, yes but not like this.

“(Name) we miss you! We miss you so much! I miss you, does… does that not even matter to you?” Wind asked with fake weakness. Your heart jumped and sizzled, a thickening drop in it. His voice, his fucking face, it was the same and you hated it, you hated what it did to you.

“It’s alright (Name), we can help you, protect you better than anyone else in all of Hyrule- in any country!” Stars that sounded so wrong coming from Legend of all people. The Legend you knew would never promise anything for you in an attempt to comfort you.

You never thought you’d be in a situation where you’d miss the asshole, but here you are. You’d take your Legend over any of these guys any day.

“Please (Name)? Don’t you want to be safe with us?” Sky spoke softly, a small, almost sleepy smile on his face as he approached you carefully, much to close to you.

You were sufficiently cornered now, their shaking hands just an arm length or two from you…

What do you do…?

—

Okay here’s the fun part :) I have 2 different ideas for endings here that I just couldn’t pick between. So whichever you want to see first Cloud I’ll do before the other one, think of it like a ‘Choose your adventure’ kinda thing.

If you want to consider the chosen one the ‘canon’ ending for this little thing I’ve written then go ahead, you’ll know each outcome as I will eventually write both.

A: Player gives in

B: Player let’s themself fall over the cliff side

Choose wisely

HFJWJXJJSJDJDW MORE I NEED MORE BB

What's even better is this fits the story perfectly, God I love it sm, thank you for gracing me with this.

Now, I would really love to see both but I'm a sucker for a "spiteful till death" MC so I would like to see Player jump off the cliff

#cloud answers #bloodybloob #BB

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mlpwitchinghour · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 (PROLOGUE)

"Not another step!" Luna shouted, the power of her rage and jealousy boomed off the surrounding walls, "Did you really expect me to sit idly by while they all basked in your precious light?" she continued, her hair flowing around her wickedly.

She walked up to a wooden podium, one in which had two alicorns carved into it.

"There can only be one princess in Equestria, and that princess will be me!" suddenly her lifted hooves came crashing down onto the podium, shattering it immediately, leaving only one alicorn etched into its remains. Her eyes beamed a white glow, before it faded away to show her normal blue eyes again.

The wall behind her cracked, all the way up until it hit the window, making that whole area explode from where it stood, leaving a huge hole in the wall. From behind that hole, the moon began to rise, as the princess lifted into the air with it. Her mouth was agape, she looked intently at the sky above her and lifted her front hooves above her head, following the moon that covered the sun.

A thick black fog wrapped around her whole body, engulfing her completely as she transformed into a benevolent creature. Nightmare Moon.

She formed from a ball of fire, her hair was a mist that flowed all around her, her pupils thinned to slits and her teeth became insanely sharp. Her laugh was maniac, before her face contorted into that of pure anger and rage. She shot her magic towards Celestia, who was flying, but she managed to dodge the beam. Celestia landed all four hooves on the ground, as she began to shout.

"Luna! I will not fight you! You must lower the moon, it is your duty!" she yelled, her voice echoed like never before, the love and fear she had for her sister bubbled in her larynx.

Celestia couldn't believe this was happening, but in her heart she knew the only one who could stop her sister was her.

Nightmare Moon began, “Luna?” she questioned, “I am Nightmare Moon!” she roared.

Celestia was shocked. How could this mare truly believe she wasn’t her sister. Was this actually not Luna? Was this someone else entirely?

“I have but one duty now,” the dark mare lifted her head as she said this, “To destroy you!” she boomed as she used her magic beams towards what was once her sister, Celestia dodging once more. Celestia flapped her wings, flying into the air and through the hole made in the ceiling by Nightmare Moon a few minutes ago. “And where do you think you’re going?” Nightmare Moon asked crookedly, as she began to follow with wings of her own.

Nightmare Moon shot her magic at her miscellaneously, aiming for her but missed several times and destroying the kingdom around her. The night sky shrouded the land, an empty feeling being apparent in every living being who knew it should be daylight. Suddenly, the magic from the twisted mare hit Celestia directly in the chest. The sun princess screamed as her body collapsed and she fell hundreds of feet until she hit the ground beneath her. Nightmare Moon laughed evilly once more.

Celestia didn’t budge. No movements could be seen coming from her body, she was completely limp and her breathing could not be seen. In fact, there was no breathing at all. She was dead.

What was once Luna, landed on the ground next to her sister slowly. She giggled to herself, before it turned into an outburst of laughter yet again. “Say goodbye to your precious princess, your precious sunlight. Equestria has a new queen!”

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 1 year

Text

The Imposter is Dead

[WARNING: The following content may contain suicide or self-harm topics. Viewer discretion is advised.]

Ya da ya ra da da~♪

It is a GOOD DAY to be NOT dead!

POW! You are dead!

I AM DEAD!

*Teruteru shoots Ryuji with a Nerf Gun, causing him to collapse over.

Hehehehehehehe~

Rompompom-pompom-rompompom~

Aw shucks!

*Teruteru starts chuckling while Hajime does the conga towards the scene. He tosses his weapon to the side, clearly still in plain sight.

HOH!? The Imposter is dead!

Yes...I am DEAD!

WHY is the Imposter dead!?

I dunno...

I think it was-

Both: SHH! You are dead!

Ok!

*Ryuji faceplants into the ground while Ibuki pulls up in a van.

What's up, biatches?! Who’s up for a-!?

AH!? What the crap just happened!?

The Imposter is dead. That Imposter’s dead.

The Imposter is DEAD!?

Correct!

Wooo!

*Everyone cheers as Ibuki answers the gameshow correctly. Celebration music starts playing.

So! Did you see the murderer...?

Both: Nope. Sorry mate...

*Hajime stands up and slams the table.

I will find him...

I will capture him...

And no one will ever die again!

*Ibuki and Teruteru applause, their claps getting gradually faster.

That’s cool.

I am damn proud right now.

AtteeeeeeeeenTION!!

*Sonia whizzes onto the scene.

The IMPOSTER IS DEAD!?

We KNOW!

Who killed him!?

We don’t know!

I will find clues!

*Sonia searches through pile of stuff while sniffing. She eventually finds Teruteru’s weapon lying in plain sight.

What’s that...!? A weapon!?

*She grabs the gun and points it at Hajime, Ibuki and Teruteru.

That thing is why the Imposter is dead!

All: The Imposter is DEAD!?

Yes!

*She slams her attorney desk.

HE DIED!

*GAAASP!??*

???: INCOOMMIIING!?

BAAAGGH!

*An ambulance comes crashing in out of nowhere. It rams Sonia into a building wall, killing her.

OUT OUT! MOVE NOW!

*Mikan bursts out the back of the ambulance, pushing Hajime, Teruteru and Ibuki aside.

Chu~

*She leans down and gently kisses Ryuji on the forehead. Heavenly music sounds while the light focuses on Ryuji, as he starts rising in the air.

Hohoho, Hea-! OOOFF!

*His head explodes and he collapses to the floor again.

In my medical opinion that IMPOSTER IS DEAAAAD!!!

Doc!? What happened!?

My professional opinion?

*She slams her hands on desk then turns to the right.

The Imposter was KILLED!

Oh god...!?

*Ibuki and the others start panicking while Mikan skips off to the side.

Still, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about~

Well...now what?

???: Clippety-clop muthafuckah, WOO!

Oh no...

Boom!

*Kazuichi enters doing the conga.

Look at this! The freaking Imposter’s dead!

What do you think of that!?...Uh?

Yes, yes, Kazuichi.

What-

GO HOME!

!!?

...!

*Hiyoko appears in a car, telling Kazuichi to get in.

Aghh come on! Pffff! Freaking unbelievable, seriously! You all suck-!

*SCRREEEECCH!*

AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGHHH!

*BOOOOOOMMM!!*

*The car drives off and a loud crashing sound is heard, followed by screams of pain as Kazuichi and Hiyoko go up in smoke.

Ok...Let’s get back to the point!

*Hajime holds up a big sign that says, “the point” on it. Ryuji walks over to Ryuji and starts poking his body with a stick.

I think the Imposter is dead...

All: THE IMPOSTER IS DEAD!?

*GASP!* KAZUICHI! HIYOKO! HOLD ON, I WILL HEAL-

*BOOOOOOOMMM!!*

*Mikan suddenly turns round and notices Kazuichi and Hiyoko burning alive. As she runs over to help, the car explodes and blows her to pieces.

Oh, Seriously!? Who killed the Imposter!?

???: *WHEEZE!* HAHAHAHAHA!?

Huh!?

*Everyone looks over to the side.

It was ME!

*GAAASPS!*

Yes! I did it like THIS!

*BANG!*

BLEAAGH!!

*Nagito takes out a revolver and blasts Ibuki in the chest. She screams of pain and collapses to the floor, killed instantly. Hajime, Teruteru and Ryuji loom over her body, terrified.

Hehe...Only a joke~

*Laughing like crazy*

*Everyone stars laughing as Nagito steps forward and points at Teruteru.

It was...him!

Both: AAGH!? WHAT!?

H-How did you know!?

I didn’t! Haha! That was a joke too! Now...

“Something, something, five bullets, something, something, ultimate talent something-!”

*BANG!*

*Nagito shoots himself in the head with a very real bullet.

Hehehehehe...HAHAHAHAHAHA!

That’s right! It was ME!

You monster...!

But WHYYYYY!?

‘Cause you’re FAT BOY!

Teruteru: And another thing...you’re ugly.

Ryuji: You BASTARD!

*Intense arguing.*

*More intense arguing*

It’s tradition, trust me.

HANAMMURRRAA!

AUGH! Dammit Ryuji, SHAADUP! YA’LL ‘R DEAD!

No, u!

*POW!*

AVRILL LAVIIIIIIIGGNEE!

*Teruteru falls dead on the floor at the mercy of Ryuji’s finger guns.

You’re dead! Hardly a surprise.

Well...that was idiotic...

Off to hang myself! Watch and-

LEAAAUUGH!!

*Hajime does a flip off a noose and starts choking.

I am ALIVE! It’s nice!

*Ryuji sticks his head proudly to the sky while the bodies of Hajime, Ibuki, Teruteru, Sonia, Nagito, Mikan, Kazuichi and Hiyoko lie around him.

Aaaand Cut! Habby Aple Fools Day eveyone!

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #dr2 #ultimate imposter #teruteru hanamura #hajime hinata #ibuki mioda #sonia nevermind #mikan tsumiki #kazuichi soda #hiyoko saionji #nagito komaeda #natsumi kuzuryu #meme #rise and shine arc

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ask-them-bois · 2 years

Text

At The End of Everything, Part Three

<<<Prev . Next>>>

TW: blood, major character death, vomiting

TLDR: Musrio loses everything. The bane of worlds and the innocent constellation arrive.

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

The wind screamed as it ripped books off their shelves and into shreds, knocked over anything that wasn't nailed down and tore the curtains off their rods.

The fire roared as it erupted in violent columns from what were once sconces and unlit candles, creating plumes of smoke, thick and poisonous, that were immediately swept up by the wind to add to the storm.

The lighting shrieked as it stabbed through the windows like the grasping hands of demons, shattering glass and splinters and raining them on the fleeing trolls.

The magic shook the Arcaneum apart, chasms and cracks splitting open to belch hellfire like monstrous mouths, swallowing whole bookshelves and tables within their depths.

Yet the cacophony was nothing compared to the soul sheering bellow from Musrio's lungs.

"Drayco!"

He pushed himself up on a broken arm, struggling to rise from where he'd been thrown by the magical blast from the ritual. He was bleeding, both blood and magic, his hair blasted back by the wind as he stared at what he'd created.

Suspended in the vortex of magic and glowing bloods, barely discernable through the smoke, was Drayco, their arms and legs spread wide and eyes glowing black. Above them hung Musrio's black pearl and ivory necklace, drenched in the entire hemospectrum and glowing white hot.

This was wrong, Musrio's mind screamed, this wasn't supposed to happen! He'd done everything right!

"Drayco, come back!" There was no transition from laying to standing as Musrio lunged for his matesprit in a panic. His fingertips were scorched by the wild magic, before a pair of arms seized the rustblood around the waist and hauled him back.

"Musrio, we have to run!" Makeno shouted in his ear, but the necromancer wasn't even aware of his presence. He struggled against what held him, still straining to reach his mate as the rest of the trolls fled.

"I have to save them!" He cried, his blistered fingers shaking, "I did it once, I'll do it again! Ribbit!" He kicked and struggled, trying to tear free of the seadweller's grasp. He couldn't stop looking, watching, as his matesprit's body began to fall apart, their limbs crumbling into smoke. "No! Drayco! Drayco!"

"They're gone, Musrio! They're dead! Stop it! Vornik!" Makeno yelled, fighting to hold onto him.

A pair of massive, clawed hands seized Musrio's shoulders, and he gasped as his body was forced to go limp by the limeblood's powers. The fear and panic and pain and magic raging through his thinkpan flatlined, his vision went white, but he could still feel himself screaming as the shifterbeast carried him out of the collapsing bookhive.

Vornik hounded through the falling debris, leaping chasms and carnage with ease before they burst out the front doors. He carried Musrio several yards from the building, Makeno hot on their heels and coughing hard from the smoke.

The rest of the group was waiting and Corden ran forward to catch his morail, but Musrio ignored them, forcing his magic to override Vornik's power. He snapped from his stupor and ripped himself out of his arms, hitting the grass hard and pushing himself up just in time to watch the Arcaneum explode.

The ground shook, the sound so loud that Musrio was deafened, unable to hear his own scream as he watched the vortex become a pillar of blinding, bright, orange light; the same color as Drayco's blood. The beam shot straight into the stormy night sky with a crack-boom noise like the sound barrier breaking a thousand times at once.

Musrio gagged and struggled to rise, choking on the thick magic in the air. A hand appeared before his face and he grabbed it, distantly aware that it was Decaying who helped him up. He clung to his ancestor, trembling as he watched the pillar ripple and hum through the red haze of tears in his eyes.

With a sound like a giant sucking in breath, the pillar collapsed into a miniature sun above the ruins of the bookhive and exploded a second time, turning the night into a momentary, blinding day. The shockwave of air was hot and reeked of sulfur, forcing the rest of the group to cover their faces and take a step back.

Only Musrio didn't do that; he started running. Before the light had even vanished, even as his companions shouted for him to come back, Musrio threw himself into the wreckage, shouting Drayco's name.

His hearing snapped back into place, his powers fixing it for him as he scrambled through the rubble.

"Drayco! Drayco!" He was sob-screaming, his undead blood-pumper hammering too fast in his chest. He made it to where they'd all been standing when the ritual went off and came to a halt, panting hard.

A figure slowly stood from the scorched ground and looked at him through the smoke. Musrio's breath hitched as he met golden-bronze eyes, but the wind swept the smog, and his hope, away.

It was not Drayco that stood before him, but... something else.

"Where's Drayco?" Musrio asked it, his voice and jaw quivering.

"Huh?" It made a confused noise.

"Where are they?!" Musrio shouted, making the thing take a step back, putting an arm behind it to hide whatever it was guarding. Musrio immediately tried to look, and found a second creature, cowering behind the taller one. "Where are they?! They have to be here, I-"

"They're gone, Musrio."

The rustblood whipped around as Oliver appeared from the rubble, looking a little worse for wear himself after escaping the explosion. She still smiled, though. "And that there is the chosen child." She added, before striding right past him. "Welcome, welcome, my dearest friend!" She cried jovially.

The taller figure said something that sounded angry, but Musrio didn't understand its language. Oliver responded, but Musrio couldn't hear her, either.

Gone. Drayco was gone. After everything, after everything Musrio had done and gone through to get them back-

They were gone.

He couldn't breathe, gasps punching out of his mouth as sweeps of stress, of grief, of exhaustion, finally caught up, overwhelmed, drowned to him.

"Musrio?"

Someone said his name, and that was the last thing he heard, unable to hear his own heartbroken wail as he collapsed to his knees and fell forward. His whole body heaved with sobs, so violent that he gagged, and puked there on the ash-dusted remains of his bookhive. He only cried harder, the sharp pain in his throat and arm and all across his body grounding him in a reality he didn't want to be in anymore.

"What's- him?"

"- shock-"

"Drayco's-"

"Hey, that- seen them before- humans!"

"- Speak-?"

"Yes."

Something soft and heavy landed on Musrio's shoulders, making him gasp, then there were hands on him. Instinctively, he lashed out, a fearful warble in his throat.

"Easy, little Almawt, easy. It's alright." The Warhound's voice came through, her face swimming into focus as she helped him sit up. The stony woman's face was more emotional than Musrio had ever seen it, and he vaguely realized it was her cloak that she'd wrapped around him. "Come on, son. We need to get away from here."

"Nn- Drayc- co- ribbit-"

The look she gave him- a mix of grief and understanding- made his sobs start all over again, his good hand clawing for his necklace that was no longer around his neck. She didn't try to stop him, she just helped him to his feet and kept an arm around him to keep him upright.

The group had returned to the blown out bookhive and were standing around, talking. Why were they talking, Musrio thought distantly; why weren't they looking for Drayco?

His eyes slowly scanned familiar faces and saw Deadscar arguing with Oliver, until his gaze stopped on the strangers. Incoding and Decaying were speaking to them, their words garbled in Musrio's ears, and it took him too long to realize they were speaking another language- one that the newcomers seemed to understand.

His jaw quivering, without even thinking about it, Musrio reached up and touched his left ear, then the right, magic burning on his blistered hand.

"My name is Bane." He heard the taller creature- human? He thought someone had called it a human- say, "And this is my little sister, Oria. Where the hell are we?"

"This. Alternia." Incoding said, his face screwed up in concentration, before he pointed at Musrio himself, "Musrio brought... here." He pointed at the humans, then back to him, "He explain."

Bane looked at him, and Musrio's breath hitched in surprise. Oria peered around her brother's legs at him, too, before she began to approach him.

"'Ria, come back." Bane said, but the little girl either didn't hear or ignored him.

Musrio looked down at her, belatedly realizing he was shaking. She looked up at him, her eyebrows pinched in thought. She was so small, she had to be a wriggler, he thought hazily.

Oria moved, putting her hand in her hoodie pocket, before she pulled something out and offered it to him. Dangling from her small fingers was Musrio's black pearl and ivory skull necklace, clean of the bloods he had drenched it in.

Why did she have it? It had been with Drayco...

A whimper in his throat, Musrio took it with his good hand and a nod of thanks, but he didn't have the strength to put it back on. He held it at his side, but that seemed acceptable to her, as she turned and hurried back to the safety of her brother's side.

Musrio watched her go, watching the way the firelight glinted through her silver hair like stars.

Stars...

"The bane of worlds and the innocent constellation shall be the salvation of us all..."

She was the chosen child, Musrio realized first.

This was far from over, he realized second.

"I can't... do this anymore." He whispered.

#at the end of everything #bane lovell #oria lovell #musrio almawt #all trolls #story time #long post #conans art

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five-incorrect-nights · 2 years

Text

Bonnie: Ya-da-da-da-da-da- It is good day to be not dead!

Monty: POW! You are dead!

Bonnie: I am dead!

Monty: [Chuckling, while Foxy is doing the conga towards the scene] (The Monty says aw, shucks” as the Foxy gets close.)

Foxy: Oh! The Bonnie is dead!

Bonnie: Yes (Pizza). I am dead!

Foxy: Why is the Bonnie dead?!

Monty: I dunno.

Bonnie: I think it was-

Monty & Foxy: Shhh, you are dead!

Bonnie: Ok.

(Freddy enters scene exiting van)

Freddy: What's up, you wankers?! Who’s up for a- AH! What the- bloody hell just happened?!

Monty & Foxy: The Bonnie is dead!

(A, B, C, or D game starts)

Freddy: The Bonnie is dead!

Foxy: Correct!

(Option C lights up and celebration music starts playing)

Foxy: So, did you see the murderer?

Monty and Freddy: Nah, sorry mate.

Foxy: [Slams hand on desk] I will find him, I will capture him, and no one will ever die again!

(Monty and Freddy applause)

Freddy: Ah, well that's nice.

Monty: I am damn proud right now.

(Chica appears in scene)

Chica: Atteeeeeeeeention!

(Chica rushes to dead Bonnie)

Chica: That Bonnie is dead!

Foxy: We know!

Chica: Who killed him?!

Foxy: We don’t know!

Chica: I will find clues!

(Chica searches through pile of stuff while sniffing)

Chica: What's that? [Grabs gun] A weapon?! That thing is why the Bonnie is dead!

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: The Bonnie is dead?!

Chica: [Slams hands on desk] Yes, (Intense background appears) he died!

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: [All shocked]

(Intense background stops, showing the Monty, Freddy, and Foxy standing in front of a green screen)

Marionette: (From far away) Incoming!

(Ambulance crashes Chica into a building wall, killing her.)

Marionette: [Exits out of Ambulance] Raus, raus! [Pushes Monty, Freddy, and Foxy away from Bonnie] Move now! [Kisses Bonnie on head]

(Heavenly music sounds while the light focuses on Bonnie)

Bonnie: (Rising in air) Hohoho, Hea- [Explodes] Oof.

Marionette: In my medical opinion, that Bonnie is dead!

(Camera rotates to Freddy)

Freddy: Doc, what happened?

Marionette: My professional opinion? [Slams hands on desk then turns to the right (Intense background comes in)] The Bonnie was killed!

(Intense background stops)

Monty, Freddy, and Foxy: [Panicking]

Marionette: I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.

Foxy: Well, now what?

(Balloon Boy entering while doing the conga in the background)

Balloon Boy: Clipidy clop mother****er!

Foxy: Oh, come on.

Balloon Boy: Boom!

Balloon Boy: Look at this! The freaking Bonnie is dead! [Pause]

Balloon Boy: What do you think of that? [Pause] Ahm…

Foxy: Yes, yes, Balloon Boy.

Balloon Boy: Yea?

Foxy: Go home!

(Balloon Boy’s sister JJ appears in a car telling Balloon Boy to get in)

Balloon Boy: Ah come on! Pffff! Freaking unbelievable seriously, you all suck.

(Car drives off and crashing noise is heard)

Balloon Boy: [Screams of pain]

Foxy: Ok, let’s get back to the point.

Bonnie: [Poking at his dead body] I think Bonnie is dead.

Monty, Freddy, Foxy, and Marionette: The Bonnie is dead?!

Marionette: [Turns around and notices dead Balloon Boy in burning car] Balloon Boy! I will heal you- [Car explodes and camera goes back to Bonnie]

Bonnie: Oh, Seriously?! Who killed Bonnie?!

(Camera shows on Lolbit drinking Freddy Fazbrew)

Lolbit: [Slurp Slurp] It was me!

Monty, Freddy, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Shocked]

Lolbit: Yes! [Bottle of Freddy Fazbrew slides up Lolbit’s body and Lolbit eats the bottle] I did it like this: [Takes out a revolver and shoots Freddy in chest] Boom! [Lolbit flies off from force of revolver blast]

Freddy: [Screams of pain]

Lolbit: Woop dee doo!

Monty, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Are terrified seeing Freddy’s dead body]

Lolbit: [Burps] That’s a joke, lads.

Monty, Foxy, and Bonnie: [Starts laughing like crazy]

Lolbit: [Slurp Slurp Burp] It was… yo-... [Burp] [Points at Monty] Him!

Monty: [Shocked] How did you know?!

Lolbit: I didn’t. [Burps] That was a joke too.

(Camera moves to Monty, as the Lolbit keeps drinking faster)

Lolbit: [Falls on ground] Oh, I’m dead.

Monty: [Manic laughter] That’s right! It was me!

Foxy: You monster!

Bonnie: But whyyyyy?

Monty: Cause you’re fat, boy. And another thing, you’re ugly.

Bonnie: Monty, stop!

Monty and Bonnie: [Arguing]

Foxy: [Shrugs] (Text appears saying : IT’S TRADITION)

Monty: Ah dammit Bonnie **** off! You are dead.

Bonnie: No u, POW! Haha.

(Monty falls dead on floor)

Bonnie: You are dead! Not big surprise.

Foxy: Well that was idiotic. Off to hang myself! [Foxy doing flip on noose] Watch and lea- Choking noises

Bonnie: I am alive! Is nice. Yes, this is stupid.

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twstgabrielle · 2 years

Text

La La Lost You

While I'm on Sunset, are you on the subway?~ While I drive, are you gettin' on the L-train?~ I mean, Manhattan's nice, but so are Malibu nights~ You would know if you stayed, you would know if you put up a fight~

The night was humid and quiet save for crickets as you found yourself walking around the dead streets. Buildings with dull or neon lights shined around you as you walked, painting your frame in an array of colors and shadows. Yet you paid no mind to any of these things as you continued onwards, your mind a million miles away from your current world. It was how you spent most of your days, just wandering through the streets of your hometown in a somewhat haze. You felt your skin become covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the humanity, making your clothes stick to you uncomfortably. As you walked you caught sight of a nearby corner store, its window lit up in a bright neon sign among many.

The bright red words saying OPEN flashed on and off, making you turn your head towards it more. As you did you caught sight of the rack inside the store and the magazines and newspapers that were displayed upon it. Gazing at the sight you felt your heart stop.

WORLD RENOWNED THIEF, LUPIN THE THIRD STRIKES AGAIN.

A newspaper said, its bold black ink lettering screaming from the front page. A grainy picture of said thief decorated the paper underneath the headliner. While not the best picture taken of him, it was clear enough that you could make out the cocky smile that always stayed on his face. You felt your throat tighten slightly as you stared at it, a wave of memories hitting you.

A cocky grin.......

A bright red jacket......

Warm, clever gray eyes......

A musical laughter......

The scent of an expensive yet pleasant smelling body wash.......

You sucked in a sharp breath as they hit you. The memories fresh and sharp and all too very real, making seem like that he was right there beside you. You didn't hesitate to quicken your pace, suddenly feeling like you were going to drown in them. With a choked noise you forced yourself to continue on and away from the corner store with its hellish reminders of a man that no longer existed in your world. Your heart pounded in your chest, constricting slightly as those familiar emotions hit you with those memories. It was funny how a picture of someone who was once apart of your life could cause such destruction to you and make you fall apart at the seams.

'It's been nearly a year since I've seen him. I shouldn't be so weak about these things.'

Your mind ever logical in every sense scolded you, reminding you that you should have moved on. Reminding you of the horrible reality that you were in. Yet your heart seemed to rebel against this, as it tortured you with what once was. You could still recall it, those memories from a year ago crystal clear as if they'd happened only yesterday. The memories that gave you so much happiness as well as sorrow when they made themselves known.

~~~~~

Your hometown was a small one, not well known other than for its view of the vast ocean and its beautiful sunshiny atmosphere. Your hometown would have a few tourists visit during the summer months where business would boom more. It was during this season of sunshine and relaxation that you'd met him. You'd been walking around the familiar streets that you'd known since childhood, a basket full of fresh produce and other things on your arm, off in your own world when you'd ran into him. It was hard not to notice him when he was flirting with some of the local women who swooned or flirted back. A lanky frame covered in a bright red jacket, dark brown hair and light gray eyes full of mischief. And a smile that was charming to all who were in its presence. To put bluntly he was a handsome man with a charming personality that made all the girls as well as boys pay attention.

You'd been taken out of your daydreaming by the sound of his laughter. It was loud yet not to the point where it was irritating. It was musical in a way and it made you want to listen to it all the time. You turned your gaze towards the direction of that laughter and that's when you saw him in all of his glory. You'd caught glimpses of him from time to time but now you were close enough to get a full view of the handsome man that had captured the attention of your hometown's ladies. It was hard to look away from him if you were honest. And then.....

He turned his gaze onto you.

As soon as you made eye contact with him your face burst into flames of embarrassment at being caught. Without thinking you quickly turned your head and to put simply absconded away from him and the group of female admirers he had around him. Unaware of the curious gray eyed gaze watching your retreating form. When you'd put enough distance between you and him you'd finally relaxed and stopped, placing a hand to your chest to calm your racing heart.

'That was embarrassing.....'

You thought your already red face going even more so.

'At least you won't see him again, so you should be okay.'

Your mind thought making you relax more despite the burning cheeks. The thought made you at ease, a safety net of sorts. And you'd fully believed it, after all he was nearly always with a woman so he'd be busy with all the attention.

However you were wrong.

From the moment you and him made that eye contact you suddenly found yourself running into him more and more whenever you went out into town. And with each sighting of him, he seemed to grow more bolder until he'd finally spoken to you.

"Ya know, you can always say hi instead of staring at me so much. I wouldn't mind if a pretty woman such as yourself did so."

He'd said to you one day, smiling that charming smile. You'd frozen in surprise when he'd spoken to you, your heart skipping a beat.

"I.....I didn't mean to stare so much Sir. I'm sorry....I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable...."

You said softly, choosing to ignore the flirtation that he'd added at the end. The man gave you another smile his expression amused by your reply.

"Nah you're good my dear. And please call me Lupin, calling me Sir makes me feel old."

The man Lupin said his voice chipper and good natured. You blinked up at him, somewhat shy at his presence. You weren't used to people like Lupin speaking to you so freely. Added with his good looks it left you a little bit star struck.

".......It's a pleasure to meet you Lupin. My name is (Y/N)."

You finally managed to get out after a beat of silence from your end, your (S/C) cheeks heating up again. Lupin let out a small chuckle at your blushing cheeks.

"(Y/N), a lovely name for a lovely lady. Speaking of lovely, I would love to have such a woman join me for some lunch if she'd like?"

Lupin asked adding another attempt at flirting. You stared at him startled by how quick he was to hit on you and then ask you out to lunch. It honestly made you flustered and slightly jumpy.

"Ah I uh.....I would love to but I have some things I have to do."

You said softly, making an excuse so you could mentally recover from all the attention. The man gave you a small pout before perking up again.

"No worries there's always next time! I'll see ya around (Y/N)!"

Lupin chirped before finally leaving you be. At the time you'd thought that that would be the end of it. But once again you were wrong. Before you knew it Lupin would talk to you whenever he saw you, chatting away while you listened quietly. He didn't seem to mind that you weren't talking as much as he was, which helped ease you the more you got to know each other. Before too long you found yourself speaking to him more than you usually did, and whenever you did he'd always listen attentively hanging onto your every word. It was strange yet you slowly grew to enjoy those moments with him where you both would either talk or just comfortably sit together or do things together. It was about month of doing this before you'd finally agreed to do that lunch date with him and from there the relationship between the two of you grew.

You soon found yourself thinking about him and missing his presence whenever he wasn't around. You found yourself looking forward to your little lunch dates with him and at the time you didn't know the reason. Until it'd happened. Everything suddenly clicked into place.

Your toes turn blue in winter, I'm gettin' red, rum~ Does the trick for all of the things left unsaid, I'm~ Missin' our drunken 2 A.M. strolls in K-Town~ Now you're chasing fake highs in the Upper West Side~ And fuckin' on Brooklyns in Brooklyn~ Your Chelseas in Chelsea~ Hope that eases the pain, so you remember to miss me~ And you sold your car, now you walk for miles~ Bet your feet feel numb~ (Crosswalks in my mind are shaky, so please hold on tight)~

It was during the middle of summer when it all came together for you. Lupin had dragged you out for a nightly stroll in the town, asking you about the sights and talking about everything and anything. You gave him the tour of sorts and listened to his ramblings, your expression soft and sincere. The two of you of you were so lost in your conversation that you didn't realize that you'd both walked to the beach until your sandals gave away somewhat underneath the sand. Lupin stared out towards the ocean once he realized where the two of you were, his gaze lighting up at the sight. The view was gorgeous, the moon high in the sky as she shined down onto the sand and dark waves. The smell of salt and the feel of the ocean breeze hit you however you weren't paying attention to the sight before you.

No your eyes were only on Lupin.

The monkey like man looked stunning in the moonlight. His dark brown hair a bit messy from the breeze and his gray eyes bright with delight as he took in the view. His pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight and his face was full of a stunning smile. It was a breathtaking view in your opinion.

'He's beautiful......'

The thought whispered in the back of your head making you stop mentally at it. Suddenly at that moment everything became clear, suddenly everything that was confusing made sense.

You were in love with him.

The realization made your heart race and your stomach erupt into butterflies and your face turn red. Lupin who had taken notice of your sudden lack of response to his musings turned to look at you and found the air in his lungs catch. Much like him, you too where bathed in the silvery beams of the moon, your (S/C) skin seeming to shimmer in it. Your beautiful (E/C) hues were stunning, full of all the things that made the world an amazing place. Your (H/L) (H/C) swayed in the breeze, painting you in an even more stunning image. At that moment Lupin wanted nothing more than to steal you away. And like any good thief worth their salt, Lupin like many was known to take what he wanted. Without thinking about it the lanky man cupped your face into his hands and gently pulled you towards him......

It was like fireworks were set off as soon as his lips touched yours. Like a burning flame was ignited in your chest as he kissed you and you responded back kissing him with everything you had. That kiss was the start of something that at the time seemed not too serious. That kiss was the start of your downfall.

~~~~~

All my demons run wild~ All my demons have your smile~ In the city of angels, in the city of angels~ Hope New York holds you~ Hope it holds you like I do~ While my demons stay faithful~ In the city of angels~ Summer's endin' now and the nights are coolin' down~ Remember last winter when we would drive around?~ Silverlake, Hollywood, pretty little white lies got me good~ Thought this was love, I was misunderstood, mmm~

You bit back a bitter and heartbroken sob as you recalled the memories, desperately wiping at your eyes to stop the flow of tears.

"Why.....? Why can't you just let me be??"

You asked in a pained whimper as you walked blindly, your tears making it hard to see. In a hazy like way the bright lights and neon signs slowly began to blend together as you blinked through the tears before they began to disappear entirely. In your heartbroken daze you didn't realize that you had walked out of town until your shoes hit that familiar giving way of sand underneath it. Head snapping up you wiped out the tears and with a sharp pain took in the view of the very place you were just thinking about. The very beach where you fell in love with him, the very place where you were kissed and had your heart stolen before it was completely shattered a year ago. Leaving you behind with the pieces and being haunted by the phantoms of him.

You stared blankly forward as you remembered the day he shattered your heart and left you a broken woman.

~~~~~

Summer was coming to its close, and with it the tourists who would visit your hometown. Once again setting the town back into its quiet and somewhat forgotten ways.

It was during this ending season that you were left behind.

You were off to go and see Lupin wanting to tell him something important. Ever since he'd kissed you and you kissed him back you'd been thinking about things. You'd been thinking about him and what exactly you wanted to have with him. After thinking long and hard about it you'd finally came to a decision.

You were going to tell him that you loved him.

You had no idea how he'd react to such a confession, but you knew that if you didn't say anything to him you'd regret for the rest of your life. As you made your way towards one of the familiar spots where and Lupin would meet you finally caught sight of the familiar red jacket that he always wore. A small smile started to grow on your face and you went to call out to him when you froze as you caught sight of another person. A woman, whose beauty seemed otherworldly was with him. She was gorgeous, with thick curly auburn hair and light brown eyes. Her skin was smooth and her lips were a lovely shade of red, her body curvy and eye catching. But no that wasn't the reason why you stopped your calling out for Lupin.

It was Lupin himself.

He was staring at this woman with a soft, tender look in his eyes. His smile was softer as well, sincere and less cocky than the ones you received. He looked like a man who was in love.

And at that moment your heart was shattered.

You didn't bother to stick around, wanting nothing more than to leave and cry in the peace of your own home. You turned around on your heel and made your way back in the direction you'd just come from refusing to look back. If you'd looked back you would have seen those familiar gray eyes zone in on your retreating figure, would have seen the devastation that flickered in them, would have seen the heartbreak of letting you go.

But you didn't.

And you never would.

Feelin' low on the low, drivin' through NoHo~ If I'm honest, I'd call, but I'm trying to let go~ And I hope you're happy, livin' life in taxis~ But you'll always have me, you'll always have me~

~~~~~

You broke down then, the heart wrenching memories making you collapse in on yourself. Loud pained sobs broke through as you cried. Even after a year of not seeing him, a year of being haunted by the heartbreak you still longed for him. Even after later finding out that he was a thief you still longed for him.

You still longed for what could have been.

You still longed to be able to tell him that you loved him even though he loved another.

The pain and grief was unbearable, festering underneath the surface like an infection that was left untreated. You cried even more curling in on yourself as you let it all out. The moon and ocean being the only witnesses to you falling apart. The only witnesses to see the shell of a woman grieve. As you broke down you knew deep down that you'd never recover from this. Your heart would forever want him even though he didn't want you. And the knowledge of it tore you up inside. You would never have Lupin.

All you'd ever have was the phantoms of what once was.

And it was never going to change.

*.........I have absolutely no excuse for this I apologize in advance for the pain omfg. Okay so if any y'all recall I'd written a fic called Mr. Hollywood involving Reader x Jigen and I'd decided eh what the hell I'll try to do another one but with a different character could be fun! So I did obviously and uh it went sadder than I expected it too like dear God I'm so sorry y'all. Anyways the song is called La La Lost You by Niki it's really sad and it gives a vibe I swear. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!!*

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