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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

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Sub Rosa [100]

xvi. the last war

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: violence, fighting, death, blood, angst, language, anxiety.

Summary: the last war is here, can you stop it before it’s too late?

a/n: 100!!!! I WROTE 100 CHAPTERS!!! YOU READ 100 CHAPTERS!!!! WE DID IT!!!! HOW ARE WE FEELING!!!! PLEASE CHECK THE END FOR MORE NOTES!!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

The tension in the elevator is heavy as you and Clarke slip into Wanheda and Wanlida mode.

It’s hard to believe that you’ve always been so eager to distance yourself from Wanlida, but in the last few years, you’ve found yourself welcoming her with open arms. And it’s a far cry from doing better for Monty, and trying to create lasting peace, but with your niece lying limply in a chair, left alone, you don't care about any of that. You’re willing to kill anyone that gets in your way, do better be damned, because no one messes with your family.

Bellamy, Levitt, and Octavia hang back a little, noting the anger in yours and Clarke’s expressions, none of them wanting to get in your way and risk your wrath. As the elevator lifts to level 2, Octavia leans forward to pass you her gun, giving you two weapons to work with. Levitt watches the exchange and then says, “The Shepherd’s unit will be with him guarding the door.”

“Too bad for them.”

Clarke lifts her jacket and pulls two grenades from her pockets, taken from the fallen victims of Sheidheda, and as soon as Levitt sees them, he looks at her with disappointment. “Grenades? So more killing, that’s the answer?”

Clarke doesn't turn to face him, just squares up and readies for the door to open. You spare him a quick glance over your shoulder, expression hard when you counter, “It’s what we do.”

You lock eyes with Bellamy before turning back to the front, and he offers you a nod of approval, agreeing with what you and Clarke are about to do. You nod back, wishing there was time for the two of you to have more of a proper reunion, to talk about everything that’s happened in the last few days, but there isn’t time right now. Earlier today you had too much time on your hands, leaving you anxious and waiting, and now you don’t have enough of it, causing you to leave so much with Bellamy unresolved. You shake your head to clear your thoughts, pushing them aside for later. Right now, as the elevator stops on the second level, you have more important things on your mind.

Justice.

Clarke steps out of the elevator first, turning to make sure you’re following, and when she sees that you are, she continues towards the Stone Room. You lift your two pistols, hearing the others step out of the elevator behind you, all of you watching as Clarke throws both grenades down the hall, right outside the Stone Room. As the two of you round the corner, side by side, you step through the smoke from the explosions, shooting anyone that moves or turns towards you.

You take out disciple after disciple with ease, the two of you killing them before most of them can even lift their weapons. When you round the last corner, you both pause in front of the door, turning to look at the others. Octavia is leaning down to grab a sword, Levitt is looking around with distress, and Bellamy is holding a gun in his hand, his back to you, already covering your backs. Clarke glances at Octavia and Levitt and says, “Cover us.”

They both nod, moving into position as Clarke turns to look at you. You lift your hand, hovering it over the button to the door, looking at her closely. “You ready?”

She nods, “Stronger together.”

And then you hit the button, quickly getting back into position as the door slides open, revealing the Stone Room, drowning in the light. Your weapons lower as your eyes land on the Anomaly Stone, now a large, glowing ball of white light, no one else in the room around you. As you stare at the stone, you can feel the crushing weight of disappointment, and you whisper, “We’re too late.”

Clarke turns towards you, distress crossing her features for half a second before it settles into determination. “Maybe not.”

You give her a look, already aware of what she’s thinking, but Levitt shakes his head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“She wants to go in after him.”

Bellamy steps towards the two of you, his tone skeptical. “Clarke, you have no idea what you could face when you step in there.”

You already know there’s no way you’re going to change her mind, which is why you add, “At least let us go with you.”

“No. I have to do this.” She gives you a serious look, adding, “Alone.”

You sigh, looking at her, thinking of the grief she’s going to carry if she can't avenge Madi, and you understand it. It's the same grief you carried when you thought Bellamy was dead or when you thought you lost Clarke to Josephine. Which is why you nod at her, relenting, allowing her to do what she needs to do. “Fine. But we’re waiting just outside the door. We’ll keep the halls clear for you.”

She reaches out and pulls you into a hug, whispering into the crook of your neck, “Thank you, la lune.”

You pull away and smile at her, any anger you had for her gone now that Bellamy is alive and well, and your focus instead on avenging Madi. “I love you, my shining star. Be careful.”

“I will.”

She starts to step towards the bright light, before pausing and turning to face Bellamy, her face pulled into one of regret. “I’m sorry for shooting you, Bellamy, and I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Bellamy nods, smiling at her a little, before motioning towards the light. “Go get that son of a bitch, and make him pay for what he did to our family.”

Clarke nods and gives you one last look before turning and walking towards the stone, reaching out to touch the bright light, which quickly consumes her. Once she’s gone, you turn to face the others. “We can’t let anyone get close.”

Everyone agrees and you all file into the hall again, looking around. They all turn to you, looking for your direction, and you motion towards the fallen disciples. “Levitt, Octavia, gather all the weapons.”

They start to move down the hall, grabbing anything that might be useful to the rest of you, and you turn to look at Bellamy, pointing to a long table at the other end of the hall. “Let’s use that to make a barrier.”

“Good idea.”

The two of you jog down the hall and grab the table, carrying it back to the other end and tipping it on its side, making a makeshift shield large enough for the four of you to duck behind. As soon as you get it set up, Octavia and Levitt come back with an armful of weapons each, discarding them behind your shield in case you need them. And then the four of you take up your positions behind it, getting comfortable as you wait. Octavia braces her back against the table legs, and Levitt settles in beside her. You and Bellamy move to lean against the wall, sitting in a position that’ll allow you to duck behind the shield if you need it.

The four of you sit in silence before Bellamy makes a small sound, reaching into his pockets as he moves. You turn towards him, curious, watching as he pulls a knife and a holster from his pocket. “Almost forgot to give this to you.”

“My knife!” You take it from him with a wide smile, immediately moving to put the holster on. “Where’d you get it?”

“When I was escaping from my hospital room, I went through the cabinets to find some clothes. That was tucked in the back, along with your old clothes.”

“I didn't think I'd ever get it back.” You pull the knife from the holster, eyeing the notches on the handle as you do. Thirteen in total, missing the two disciples you killed with it when you tried to escape. You run your fingers over the lines and mutter, “It’s missing two.”

Octavia digs around the pile of weapons before producing a knife, which she leans forward to hand you. You take it with a smile of thanks, already beginning to add the two additional tallymarks when Levitt gets an idea. He runs his fingers through the ash on the wall behind you and Bellamy, courtesy of one of the grenades, before he moves back towards Octavia. “Can’t go to war without your war paint.”

He starts to smudge the ash over her face, using it to draw the same warpaint she wore when she fought in the Final Conclave. You and Bellamy watch the pair, feeling a little awkward by the intimacy of the moment, but it reminds you so much of Orlando painting symbols on your face the night before you jumped to Bardo. Which makes you think of Gabriel, dead, his body still stuck in a partially collapsed bunker. You look at Levitt and ask, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, and you slide your knife back into its holster just as he finishes with Octavia’s make up, turning to face you fully. “If Clarke takes the test and we pass, will Gabriel transcend too? Even though he’s dead?”

“No. Shepherd's passage, ‘Book of Bardo’, Chapter 1, Verse 6. ‘Death is the end, my friend. Only the living shall transcend.’”

You sigh, and Bellamy looks at you in confusion, reaching out to touch your arm. “Wait, Gabriel’s dead?”

You turn to face him, completely forgetting that he has no idea what all of you have gone through since leaving him on Sanctum. “Sheidheda showed up to kill Madi, and he stabbed Gabriel. He probably would have lived, but Sheidheda was about to kill me when Gabriel jumped in and saved my life. Sheidheda killed him after that.”

You leave out the potential love confession, not even sure that’s what it was, and Bellamy gives you a look of sympathy as he reaches up to touch your cheek. “I was wondering whose blood that was.”

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with unprocessed emotions. You got Bellamy back, despite the odds, but you still lost Gabriel and Madi. Before that, you lost Diyoza, and your mom, and Kane, and so many others. The loss hangs over you, heavy, weighing down on you, and Bellamy can sense your impending breakdown. He abruptly stands, holding out his hand to you, and you take it as he glances over at Levitt. “Are there medical supplies nearby? Her bandages need to be changed.”

Levitt nods, pointing down the hall. “Should be some down there, last door on the right.”

Bellamy nods in thanks and wraps his arm around you, turning you away from the pair as he starts to lead you down the hall. You feel tears falling down your face as you softly cry, unable to do much more than follow Bellamy to one of the medical rooms. He leads you inside and takes you over to the inspection chair, putting his hands beneath your arms to lift you and set you onto the cool leather. He leans down a little, getting eye level with you, before lifting his hands to your cheeks, wiping away your rapidly falling tears. “I’m so sorry about Gabriel, natshana.”

You nod, sure that he must be confused, unaware that the two of you became like family. “There’s so much I need to tell you, Bellamy. I spent five years trying to get you back, with Hope, Echo, and Gabriel at my side.”

He looks at you with complete shock. “Five years?”

You nod in confirmation and he shakes his head in confusion. “How? Where?”

“Skyring. The disciples call it Penance. The time dilation there is fast, a few days here is years on Skyring and minutes on Sanctum. We came after you as soon as the disciples knocked you out, but we got trapped there.”

Your lip starts to quiver as you remember the devastation you felt upon realizing you were stuck there. “I thought about you everyday, and when I finally made it to Bardo, they told me you died in an explosion. I never thought I'd see you again.”

Your voice cracks on the last sentence, bringing tears to Bellamy’s eyes, and he reaches out to pull you in for a hug, one of his hands going to the back of your head to hold you in place as you cry in his arms. All the while, he whispers in your ear, “It’s okay, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

After a moment, he pulls back, looking at you with sympathy. “I can't imagine what you’ve been through, but it’s over now, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Forever?”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and holding it out to you in his open palm. You look down at his hand, your eyes falling on your ring as he whispers, “Forever.”

You smile and take the ring, sliding it onto your left hand, where it belongs. And even though everyone you love is still in danger, possibly on the edge of extinction, for one, blissfully happy second, everything is okay. Bellamy leans forward and pulls you in for a kiss, stretching the moment from one happy second to five, electricity zipping across your skin as you kiss your fiance for the first time in five years. It’s the best kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you breathless and lightheaded. Bellamy pulls away, and the two of you sit looking at each other, the air in the room charged with tension. And something about the moment, your closeness to war, to extinction, the fact that you’ve been apart for so long, it gets to you both. You see Bellamy’s gaze drop to your lips before his eyes find yours again, and in a flash, you’re both pulling each other closer.

He crashes his lips onto yours, his hands lifting to your face to hold you in place. Your hands reach out for him, searching for skin to touch, frustrated when you find none because of his long sleeves. You slide your hand up his shirt as he slides his tongue into your mouth, and as your tongues move together, you hastily undo the small buttons on Bellamy’s shirt, pushing your hands against his skin as soon as you get his shirt open. You move your hands along his stomach, reveling in the feel of him, this sensation you haven’t experienced in five years, and you swear you feel like you’re going to explode. But as your hands move up to his chest, they graze across a bandage, and you pull your hand away, instantly knowing what it is.

You and Bellamy break apart before you look at him with sadness, your eyes dropping back down to his open shirt. There, taped across his chest, is a bandage, no larger than your palm. As you sit staring at it, aware of what’s beneath the cotton square, Bellamy whispers, “The bullet barely missed my heart. A few inches to the right, and I would have been dead as soon as it hit me. But you saved me.”

You look up at him in confusion, shaking your head. “Me? I didn’t do anything. I left you there when I shouldn’t have. I should have fought Clarke harder and gotten back to you. Maybe then I could have saved you and Madi.”

“Or maybe Cadogan would have killed you the second he saw you. Besides, you did save me. I saw you push Clarke’s hand away. That was just enough for the bullet to miss my heart.”

“Oh, Bellamy…” You trail off, feeling full of regret, wishing you did more than just push your twin’s arm away. You meet his eyes and whisper, “Does it hurt?”

“Not really. Bardo tech got me to 90% within a few hours, and I woke up feeling fine. Then I heard one of the doctors mention Madi, and I snuck out pretty soon after that. I was only there for a few minutes before you guys showed up. I was still trying to figure out what to do, but I knew I couldn’t leave her there alone.”

“I don’t even know how you can look at me after what I did.”

Bellamy shakes his head, giving you a serious look. “I did worse than you did, la lune. I watched them torture Clarke and send Octavia away. I betrayed you and stopped fighting for you.” He shakes his head again, his thoughts overwhelming him. “I know that what I saw on Etherea was real, but Cadogan cannot be the one to take the test. You were right. Doing the right thing the wrong way is not the right thing. I should have never trusted him.”

“You didn't-”

You’re cut off by a yell of surprise from Octavia down the hall, and you and Bellamy exchange a worried look before you take off running from the room. Bellamy haphazardly buttons his shirt back up as you pull out your knife, and with his shirt in place again, Bellamy grabs his gun. As the two of you round the corner, you lift your weapons towards the disciples that stand near the new couple, and they each lift a gun towards you, the four of you standing frozen in shock as you take each other in.

“Bellamy?” Raven and Echo both lower their weapons, staring at Bellamy as if they’ve seen a ghost, and it takes you a second to remember that they are. Because the last anyone else heard, Bellamy was dead. You both lower your weapons seconds before they run over to him, pulling him into a hug at the same time, laughing in surprise. Bellamy hugs them back with a smile on his face, savoring the reunion between himself and part of his Spacekru family. When they all break apart they look at him in disbelief, Raven asking the question on both hers and Echo’s mind. “How are you here?”

“It’s a long story, but how are you here?”

Raven counters, “It’s a long story.”

Echo looks over at you, her expression dropping slightly as she says, “Octavia told us about Madi.”

And just like that, any joy you temporarily possessed is now gone, again reminded of the situation you're in and the danger all of you face. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to kill Cadogan.”

You nod back towards the Stone Room, “Clarke’s taking care of it.”

Levitt looks at them with worry. “You said you brought an army.”

Raven turns to look at him, nodding at him once. “Wonkru is here to distract the disciples so we could sneak inside.”

But the worry on Levitt’s face doesn't fade. “The disciples don't know that. If Clarke can't stop the test to determine whether or not the human race deserves to transcend, while what's left of the human race is fighting a war…”

He trails off, waiting for all of you to catch on to what he means, and as soon as you do, your anxiety levels rise, suddenly realizing you might be closer to extinction than you originally thought. “We have to stop the war.”

Everyone nods in agreement, turning to head back towards the oxygen farm, Octavia and Levitt in the lead. Raven and Echo follow right behind, and you and Bellamy move to follow them before you suddenly stop, remembering Clarke inside of the Stone Room. Clarke, who will be vulnerable and unprotected if you all leave. Bellamy turns to you when you stop, his expression scrunched with concern. “What? What is it?”

“I can’t leave Clarke.”

“Then we’ll both stay here.”

And as much as you don't want him to leave your side, you know they need him on the battlefield. Because if anyone can give a speech so inspiring that it stops a war, it’s Bellamy. You’ve seen him rally less than 100 exhausted delinquents and prepare them for a war, and you’ve seen him inspire a small group ready to fly into space to avoid a death wave. People will follow him, your fiance with the big heart, and you know he��s better suited out there than he is in here with you.

You shake your head, lifting your hand to his cheek. “No. If anyone can stop this war, it’s you Bellamy Blake.”

“I don't want to lose you. Not again.”

You smile at him, tears in your eyes. “You won't. Because no matter what, you’re stuck with me. No matter what, you can always find me in the stars.”

Bellamy pulls you in for a kiss, desperate and full of love, and you kiss him back just as urgently, praying that the moment never ends. But it does, and you both pull away, looking at each other with heartbreak, knowing that you’re needed in two different places. Bellamy runs his hands from your shoulders, down your arms, linking your hands together. He squeezes once before he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you more than the stars.”

He fights back a fresh wave of tears, backing away from you slowly, your hands breaking apart. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Go save our asses.” The two of you smile at each other before he turns and jogs down the hall, following the path the others took. He stops when he reaches the end, turning to look at you one last time before he disappears from sight, leaving you to stop a war and possibly save all of you from extinction. You turn and grab a pistol from the pile of weapons before you head to the Stone Room, pushing the button for the door so that you can wait inside.

The room is empty when you arrive, looking exactly the same as last time, and you push the button to close the door behind you, not wanting to get caught off guard by anyone. You stare at the glowing white light for a second before leaning back against the wall, sliding down it until you're sitting on the floor. You lean your head back and do the thing you dread the most: you wait.

Luckily for you, you don't have to wait long before there’s a flash of white near the Anomaly Stone. You stand and turn towards it, watching as Cadogan’s dead body appears at the base of the stone, multiple bullet wounds in his chest, blood seeping out onto the floor around him. You feel a rush of relief that he’s dead, that he has paid for what he did to Madi, Bellamy, you, and countless others, but that relief is short lived. Because a moment later the Anomaly flashes again and Clarke steps out of the light, turning to look down at Cadogan’s dead body with shock.

As she looks up again, her eyes meet yours, but her face is devoid of the happiness she should feel. Instead, she looks upset, her expression anguished. “What have I done?”

You step closer to her, reaching out to take her hand as she looks away from you. “Did you take the test? Tell me what happened.”

“I failed.” You swear you feel all the air leave your body in one quick rush, the reality of what her words mean hitting you hard. She squeezes your hand and looks up at you, tears in her eyes. “It should have been you, la lune, not me. Our whole lives, everyone always looked to me, chose me to be the twin that lived on the outside, but it should have been you. It should have always been you.”

You look at her in shock, your mind buzzing with all the information she’s just given you. But you force it all away and focus on the pressing situation, the one that matters the most right now. “So that's it? We're wiped out?”

She nods her head, and you ask, “Well, can we change their minds?”

“I don't know.” She squeezes your hand and then drops it, already turning towards the door. “I need to be with Madi, there's not much time.”

You turn to follow her, calling out to her quickly retreating figure, “Clarke, wait!”

As you reach the door, the Anomaly Stone behind you turns bright red, pulsing with an almost angry, vibrating sound. You pause and turn to look at it, watching it closely. Despite your better judgement, you walk closer to it, closing the space between you and the bright red ball. As you look at it, you start to wonder: can you stop this? Can you change their minds?

You take a deep breath, lifting your hand as you mutter to yourself, “I am war, rage singing beneath my skin, running into battle and wearing Death like a crown. I am the moon, loss tied to my ankles like chains, trying to pull me down, but still I rise. I am fire, wild and untameable, spitting flames when I walk, unapologetic as I burn down the world around me.”

And then you touch the stone.

Everything around you grows so bright that you can do nothing more than close your eyes against it, the low vibration growing louder as something happens around you. You keep your eyes closed until you hear the sound fade, and only then do you slowly pull open your eyes. Your gaze immediately lands on a wall of trees, surrounding you on all sides, and you turn around, trying to figure out where you are. When you do, your eyes land on a large hunk of metal, three levels tall, scorched and damaged from its descent.

“The dropship.” You let out a breathy laugh of surprise. “No way.”

You jump when a voice behind you calls out, “Took a beating on the way down, didn't she?”

“Dad.” You spin around, your eyes landing on your dad standing in the middle of the clearing, looking at you closely. You close the space between you, jumping into his arms and wrapping him up in a hug, squeezing him tight as you laugh. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

He doesn't answer, just hugs you back weakly before setting you back on the ground. You step back and look at him in confusion, taking in his blank expression, no sign of his usual affection for you. The pieces fall into place as you look at him, realizing that he’s not your father at all. “You’re not him.”

“No, I'm not. This is who you chose.”

You shake your head in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

“We often take the form of your greatest teacher, your greatest failure, or your greatest love.” You step back, putting more distance between you and the imposter dad. He tips his head to the side slightly, studying you. “Why are you here? The test is over. As you know, your twin failed.”

You glare at the man, your anger rising as you think of everything Clarke has sacrificed. Not just for you, but for your people too. “How could she have failed? Clarke sacrificed everything for us, so that we didn't have to. She gave up her soul so we could keep ours!”

“She committed atrocities.”

You counter, “She did what she thought was right. She was trying to save us.”

“She doomed you.” Your dad shakes his head, starting to turn away from you as he mutters, “I'm sorry.”

You yell back, “Are you?”

He turns back to face you, and you continue on, “Because to me, it looks like you don't feel anything. We’ve made mistakes, but we were just trying to survive! And everything we’ve done, all the bullshit we went through, we did it to save our people, to save the human race. Everything we did brought us here, to this moment, and I’m not saying we’re ready now, but at least let us live. Let us keep trying to do better, because we will. We have.”

“You say you have, yet even now you are poised and on the brink of self-extermination. Look.” He motions to your left, and you turn to look, suddenly away from the dropship and back in the oxygen farm. To your left stands Wonkru, crouching behind barriers and shields, and to your right are the disciples, looking frightened and worried. “You say you're trying to do better, but all I see are two tribes of frightened creatures willing to kill the other to save themselves.”

You shake your head, your brows pulling together as you look between the two groups, frozen in a state of nonviolence. “But they're not fighting or killing each other. It was just a distraction, this proves nothing.”

“They will fight, la lune, like they always do.”

You snap, “You can't possibly know that.”

Your dad motions to your left, to a person in the trees, crouching with a weapon in their hand. As you look their way, you see that it’s Sheidheda, and he has a smile on his face, ready to stir up some chaos. You look at him in fear and try to move closer to him, yelling, “Stop!”

Your dad grabs your arm, pulling you to a standstill. “They can't see or hear you. You can’t stop this, no one can.”

And just as he says, you can't stop him. You can only stand and watch in horror as Sheidheda pulls the trigger, firing a few rounds at the disciples across the field. They look ready to retaliate, and Wonkru looks ready to fight, but Indra manages to keep them restrained, seconds before a figure dressed in all white bursts onto the field. For one agonizing second you think it’s Bellamy, but then you realize that it’s Levitt, and Bellamy is waiting in the trees with Octavia and Raven and Echo. As soon as Levitt is on the field, everyone pauses, listening to him as he yells, “Wait, wait, wait! Listen to me, this is not the Last War. We don't achieve transcendence through violence, Cadogan was wrong. We're being tested right now, all of us!”

You turn to look at your dad, raising one of your brows. “You were saying?”

But he just motions back to the scene in front of you. Levitt is urging everyone to put down their weapons, and people start to respond, lowering their guns and swords, until Sheidheda grows restless and sends another round of bullets towards the disciples. Levitt gets caught in the crossfire, and you watch in horror as he falls to the ground, blood already staining his clothes, and the disciples take the attack on Levitt as an attack on themselves. They return fire, prompting Wonkru to do the same, and before you know it, you have a war on your hands. People on either side are being taken down, hitting the ground, and you catch a glimpse of Octavia and Echo running to grab Levitt before you turn to face your father. “This still proves nothing. The actions of one man should not define our entire species! Those people are scared, and half of them spent their entire lives thinking that they needed to defeat you in a war.”

“Don't you see? Despite the beauty that humans are capable of, you can't break free from the cycle of violence. They trained for a war, because they wanted a war.”

“No one wants a war.”

Your dad shrugs, “This is who you are, and that's why you failed the test.”

You shake your head, thinking of the peace you lived in your lifetime. The peace on Bardo, the peace on Sanctum. You know that peace is possible, that all of you can change, and you turn to look at your dad with desperation. “No. That can’t be it.”

“It's time for us to go, la lune. The end of the human race is here.”

And as you start to turn away, devastated that you couldn't change their minds, you hear Octavia yell, “Indra! Indra, hold your fire!”

You pull your dad to a stop, “Wait!”

Both of you turn back to the battlefield, watching as Indra yells to Wonkru, “Hold your fire!”

Wonkru stops firing their weapons, and in return, the disciples stop firing theirs. You watch on with hope, thinking that maybe, they can still turn this around. Maybe, you can still avoid extinction. But then Sheidheda jumps out of the trees, stepping into a circle of warriors. “Indra is not in command here! I am, and I say jus drein, jus daun!”

He starts to repeat the phrase over and over, and you feel your hope being crushed once again as people start to join him, chanting the phrase and intending to continue the war. But Indra, who has clearly had enough of the Dark Commander at this point, snatches one of the sonic cannons from an Eligius prisoner, turns it on Sheidheda and blasts him to pieces before you can even respond. You feel relief course through you as he disappears, Gabriel’s death now avenged, and as you stare at the group around you, you see none other than your fiance running onto the battlefield, his voice loud as he yells, “Enough!”

Everyone turns to face him, watching him stride out into the center of the field with Octavia at his side, and he looks between both groups with disappointment. “What the hell are we doing here? You swore an oath to fight for all mankind. Well, look around you! We are mankind!”

Octavia, remembering her position as the former leader of Wonkru, turns to face her people, adding, “We are one crew! If I kill you, I kill myself. If we keep killing each other, there won't be anyone left to save!”

She looks to Indra, her teacher, her mentor, resignation in her voice. “Our fight is over, Indra!”

Indra stares back at her former second, giving her a long look before she mutters, “I hope you know what you're doing.”

She drops her weapon, and all around her, the others do the same, until no one on the Wonkru side is armed. You watch on with pride as Bellamy turns to face the disciples, determined to stop this war, right here, right now. “We're unarmed! I know you're afraid to walk away from everything you've spent your lives training for, but I believe transcendence is within reach! But if we fight this war, we’ll never deserve to see it, and we’ll never deserve to survive.”

You can see some of the disciples starting to lower their weapons, as Wonkru nods along in agreement. You smile at your fiance, whispering to yourself, “He’s reaching them.”

Octavia reaches out and takes her brother’s hand before she finishes up their speech. “I've been to war, and let me tell you the only way to win... is not to fight.”

She pulls out her sword and stabs it into the dirt, and Bellamy pulls the gun from his waistband and drops it on the ground. The Blake siblings stand together, united as they should be, unarmed and facing an army. The disciples look lost and confused, everyone exchanging looks, trying to figure out what they should do. Someone calls out, “Sir, what are our orders?”

Their leader looks around at his army and then back to the Blake siblings, before he disconnects his weapon from his suit and drops it to the ground, muttering, “For all mankind.”

All around him, other disciples do the same, dropping their weapons and repeating the mantra, until two armies stand united, at peace, despite the odds. You turn to look at your father with hope, gesturing to the scene beside you. “I told you, we can change. We just need more time.”

He looks at you long and hard, before tuning his gaze back to the siblings. You follow his line of sight, wondering what he sees, shocked to see the pair beginning to glow. You start to jog towards them, surprised, but a second later they disappear, leaving two beings of light in their wake. You whisper with shock, “Transcendence.”

You turn back to face your father, only to find that he’s already gone. All around you are flashes of gold, and you turn back to the field, watching as the disciples and Wonkru start to glow, leaving behind a gold stand in. You turn in a circle, amazed to see everyone transcending, and as you spin, the trees around you transform. Suddenly, you’re back at the dropship, your mind remembering your forgotten niece and twin, somewhere inside Bardo.

You run towards the dropship, yanking the makeshift door aside to step inside, suddenly back in the Stone Room on Bardo. Without hesitation, you take off running, tearing down the halls and back towards M-Cap, reaching the door with an audible sigh of relief. You push the button to open the door and Clarke turns at the sound, a figure of light stretched in front of her, Madi already gone. “My shining star.”

And as the words leave your mouth and you start to cross the room, you realize that the dull ache in your shoulder, present since Sheidheda stabbed you, disappears. You look down at your shoulder in shock, your eyes landing on the light that is starting to radiate off of you, and as you look up at your twin with excitement, you fade away, melting into the light and becoming one with the rest of humanity.

You open your eyes to find yourself in Shallow Valley.

You sit up quickly, looking around in confusion, surprised to see that you’re in the house you saved for you and Bellamy. Stars stretch across the sky above your head, visible to you through the window, though they aren’t as breathtaking as usual. You shake your head, remembering the valley that was destroyed by McCreary, meaning whatever is happening right now is not normal. You turn and slide out of the bed, listening for the laughter and yelling outside, and you walk tentatively to the door, pushing it open to peek out into the night. There’s no one in the village from what you can tell, but the laughter sounds close so you decide to follow it.

The voices lead you through the trees, and you look down to watch your step, remembering how bad some of the tree roots were in this part of the woods. You’re surprised to see your bare feet walking through the forest, none of the usual pain coming along with it. Though confused, you push on, following the laughter through the woods, catching glimpses of a fire as you move, until you suddenly burst through the treeline and see all of your friends gathered near the lake that you, Clarke, and Madi would swim in.

They all look up as you approach, calling your name, and you smile back at them, walking towards the water where they’re waiting. As you move, you see a streak of something barreling towards you, and a second later a body collides with your own. You look down to see a head of dark hair, and Madi pulls away to look up at you, smiling as she does, “Ani!”

You laugh in disbelief and hug her back, but something about it feels off, wrong. You’re excited to see her, happy that she’s okay, but it doesn’t feel right to you. You shake your head, trying to push the thought away as Bellamy steps along the edge of the lake, towards you, smiling as he nears closer. “My love.”

The words don't light you up the way they normally would, and his kiss doesn’t either. Everything about it feels flat and unusual, and you hate it. You have no idea what’s going on, but you hate it.

You look around for Clarke, sure that she’ll know what’s going on, but you see no sign of your blonde haired twin. You look back at Bellamy in confusion, “Where's Clarke?”

“Everyone’s been showing up one at a time. If she transcended after you, she should be here soon.”

“Transcendence.” You nod, remembering the events leading up to this moment. You have only just transcended, but you can already tell that none of this feels right. The fire next to you brings you no warmth, the joy you should be feeling isn’t there, and you can’t feel the sensations of the ground beneath your feet. The stars are dull and lifeless, the laughter sounds forced and unusual, and the affection that you normally feel for Bellamy and Madi and the others isn’t there. You know what it should feel like, you know how you should be acting, but none of this is the way it’s supposed to be. You look around again, seeing if anyone else feels the same, pausing when you catch sight of a glint of metal through trees. “What was that?”

Bellamy looks back quickly before turning to you. “What?”

You shake your head and lock eyes with him, forcing a smile to your face as you do. “Nothing. Uh, I’m gonna go say hey to the others and then I’ll come find you, okay?”

He nods and steps away from you. “Okay.”

But instead of wandering over to the rest of your friends, you slip back into the trees, moving through the dark woods, towards the metal you caught sight of earlier. Weirdly enough, as you grow closer, you can see that it’s part of Arkadia, situated all the way out in Shallow Valley, far from where Alpha Station crash landed to the ground. You step inside of the building, heading to the door at the end of the hall, voices drifting from behind it.

Your feet thud softly on the metal floors, but they don't shock you with cold the way they normally would. You reach the door and push it open slowly, your eyes landing on a large round table in the center of the room. Situated around it are seven different people, talking quietly, their backs to you, but at the sound of your entrance they all turn towards you. You’re shocked to see your mother, Kane, and Jaha, along with a few other familiar council members. You feel a rush of excitement and you start to cross the room towards your mom, a smile on your face, but you hesitate when she doesn't smile back at you, your mind remembering that your mother is dead.

It takes a second for you to realize that this is not your mom, Kane, Jaha, or the rest of the council. It’s the species that created the stones, appearing in front of you in a way that makes sense to your brain. For some reason, your mind chose the Council and the Chancellor.

The seven people in the room take a seat in tandem, looking towards you expectantly. “What can we do for you, Miss Griffin?”

You ask the question weighing heaviest on your mind. “Where’s Clarke?”

“Right now, she’s on Sanctum. Though I doubt she’ll be there long.”

You pull a face as you stare at Jaha, the one who answered your question. “Sanctum? What’s she doing there? When is she coming here?”

This time, it’s Kane that answers. “She’s not.”

“What?”

“Clarke isn’t transcending.” You stare at your mother in shock, sure that you must be imagining things. She shrugs as she looks at you. “How fitting that one twin saved the human race, while the other condemned it.”

You shake your head, looking between everyone on the council. “I don’t understand, I thought you changed your mind.”

“We did. For everyone but her.”

“Why?”

“Her actions must have a cost, Miss Griffin.” You look at Jaha, your expression indicating that you need some clarification, so he adds, “She is the only test subject from any species anywhere in the Universe since the dawn of time who committed murder during a test.”

“So she can never transcend? She has to live out the rest of her days alone?”

“She found Picasso.”

You glare at Kane, both of you knowing damn well that though Picasso is lovely, she is not a replacement for real human interaction. You look between them all, your mind making a decision before you can even process it. “I want to go back.”

“Okay.”

You look at Jaha in confusion, expecting him to fight you on this. “Okay? That’s it?”

“Transcendence is a choice, Miss Griffin. It always has been.”

“Then I choose to go back.”

Kane gives you a long look. “You do understand that if you leave us, you may never return.”

“Yes.”

“You will bleed and live and die as a human.”

“I know.”

Jaha holds out his hands, shrugging. “Then you may return. Though I suspect the others may want to join you.”

“If Madi comes back, will she be okay?”

“Yes. We will restore her health.”

You nod, “And that’s it then? Those of us that choose to return, we’re the last of the human race?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

You shake your head, looking at your mother. “What does that mean?”

“Those of you that leave now can never transcend again, but your offspring will be given a choice: transcend or remain human. If they join us, they will be eternal. If they choose to stay, they will live and die, just as you do. There will be limitations, of course, so that the human species will be unable to repopulate the way you once did, but your lives will remain mostly the same, untouched by the rest of us.”

You nod, processing the information, sure that it’s something you can live with. “Fine. I’d like to tell my friends first.”

Kane motions towards the door. “You will find us when you're ready.”

You look them all over one last time before you turn towards the door and leave, heading back to the lake to tell your friends that you plan to leave and return to Clarke. Madi and Bellamy are the first to join you, and the others quickly follow suit. Word begins to spread through Wonkru, the Bardoans, the Eligius prisoners, and the Sanctumites, and before you know it, you have a couple hundred people that decide to go back with you.

The alien species drops all of you back on Earth, near a large lake, leaving you to figure out how to get everyone back to their respective homes. You’re in the process of leading them all back to the bunker and the stone when you hear a dog bark growing steadily louder. You turn to look at Bellamy and Madi with a smile. “Stay here with the others. I’ll go find her.”

They both nod, just as Picasso breaks through the treeline and comes barreling towards all of you, making a beeline for Madi, laying down at your niece’s feet as soon as she reaches her. You smile at them before taking the path Picasso did to reach you, backtracking towards Clarke’s frantic voice, calling out for the dog. You walk up a small, rocky hill, searching for your twin, and you know you’re close when you hear her broken whisper. “I don't want to be alone.”

You round a curve of trees, Clarke now coming into view, her back to you. You call out, “You're not alone.”

She turns around in shock, her expression surprised as she looks at you, a smile breaking out on her face, tears rising to her eyes. “La lune?”

You nod and your face splits into a grin, and the two of you run towards each other, colliding in a fierce hug. She holds you tight, laughing with happiness, and you do the same, this hug feeling right, the way that it should. Clarke breaks the hug to look at you in alarm. “Wait, what about Bellamy and Madi? And the others?”

You take her hand, leading her towards them. “They understood why I needed to come back.”

You see panic cross her features, and she shakes her head. “No, la lune, I would never want you to leave them behind! Even if it meant I was alone.”

“Hey, stop worrying.” You squeeze her hand, the two of you now reaching the bottom of the hill, coming around the corner and into view of the others. But Clarke doesn't see them, not yet, because her eyes are still locked on you, looking panicked. “La lune, I-”

You cut her off, saying, “We couldn't possibly leave you alone. Not after everything you’ve done for us.”

“We?” She looks at you in confusion, and you just smile, nodding towards the group standing nearby. Her eyes go wide as she turns to see the large group of people from multiple different planets, Madi and Bellamy and your friends standing at the front. At the sight of Madi, Clarke turns to flash you a smile before dropping your hand and taking off running, and the two of them collide in a hug so hard that Clarke falls backwards into the sand around the lake.

You walk towards them, Bellamy pulling you in for a kiss when you get close enough, and you smile into it, reveling in the feel of him and the kiss. Transcendence might be nice in a lot of ways, like joining a conscious collective and getting to live forever, but transcending also meant losing all the things that made you human. Nothing would ever feel quite right, look quite right. Emotions would never be quite complete, you would never feel truly whole. And coming back to Earth means that one day you’ll die, and you’ll be able to feel pain again, but that’s part of being human. Life is messy and complicated, but it’s wonderful too. And feeling things like pain reminds you that you’re alive and that you can feel joy and love and sadness and anger. It means that you get to truly live, experience the good and the bad, no matter what.

Bellamy pulls away from you with a smile, the two of you enjoying your time back on Earth already, and he turns to greet your approaching twin. They hug each other, breaking apart so that Clarke can greet the rest of your friends too. You stand watching, a smile on your face, realizing that you and your family have been given a second chance. You get the chance to prove yourself, prove to Monty and the Universe that you can do better. Prove to Jasper that human beings aren’t the problem, and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

There, on a beach on a regrown Earth, after journeying through the stars and back again, you get a second chance at life.

the epilogue

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Note

I just binge-read all your writing, you're a gift to this fandom! Thank you for doing what you do. How about a scenario for Dazai when the ADA's trying to track down a criminal and he realizes too late that the criminal's targeting his s/o, who as far as he knows has no fighting ability whatsoever, and sent a group of thugs after her. He rushes off to her thinking it's too late, but when he arrives he sees that she killed them all with just a knife? (She's actually a super trained fighter.) ILY!

It's the anon with the request about Dazai finding that his s/o killed the group of thugs sent to kill her. I'm sorry - I should have clarified this earlier, but she's not just a really trained fighter, she's also used to killing so she's super calm about it. Once again, thank you!

➥ genre: fluff

➥ pairing: dazai x reader

➥ warning: very slight gore

➥ word count: 1.5k

➥ a/n: this took a while i’m so sorry i hope you’re still here 😿 & thank you so much for your kind words!! hope you like this anony ily~

Takes two to tango

Rarely is Dazai Osamu ever surprised. It almost never happens. And yet, you are once again the anomaly.

The sight in front of him is that of a bloody massacre. Blood splattered against the brick walls of the alley, barely a spot spared from the red liquid is the grey concrete road below your feet. What people would consider a horrific sight, Dazai considers absolutely beautiful.

A sight to behold — that you are.

There, atop the pile of unsightly bodies, all still and lifeless, you stand like an absolute beauty — or so it seems to Dazai. Your hair in a ponytail still flowing in the breeze, a sheen of sweat glistening your face and the look of utter effortlessness painted on your features.

“You’re a fucking monster!”

Ah, the last remaining survivor of the enemy organisation.

Dazai could very well step out of the shadows and reveal himself, save you the trouble of having to dispose of the man, but he is curious. He wants to see just what his lover is capable of doing to this one. He only made it in time to see the others already dead — he wants to admire the process behind your work.

It’s much like a child discovering a new toy — no, finding out their existing plaything has features they didn’t know existed. Dazai is amazed, interested, entranced by you as you move to the man’s side in an instant, the blade of your dagger swiftly slashing across the pale flesh of his neck with expert precision, right before he drops to the ground, contributing to the red pool of blood staining the floor.

Can you see him in the shadows? No, you don’t need to see him. You already know he’s there, don’t you? Someone with that much skill, that much knife work — he doubts that your senses would equal that of an ordinary civilian’s. But still he waits, testing you, wanting to know just how good you are.

Just how did this slip past him? How has he never realised it before?

And as you turn back, your eyes meet his. He doesn’t see the normal warmth behind them anymore — not this time. This time, he sees only vacancy; a void of emotions, something he’s used to seeing, not in other people but only in the mirror.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They say that eyes are the windows to your soul.

Dazai doesn’t believe it. Not one bit. Especially now that he’s seen you assassinate someone with his very own eyes. But it takes him back to that day. That first day he met you. Not because they look exactly the same, but because they look the exact opposite.

It was what captured his attention in the first place; the way they smiled, how they twinkled in the orange of the sunset as they locked with his. And yet, mixed in with the vibrancy is something that Dazai couldn’t quite place — a darkness or a void.

Maybe that’s why he’s attracted to you, why he felt on edge around you. It’s not like how he would usually feel around others, most of his time being spent around members of the agency where their records are squeaky clean and out in the open. It’s easy to find out about everyone. Everyone but you.

The two of you tread around the subject like you were dancing a tango. Whether it was good or bad was debatable. Dazai would lead, asking vague questions first, in hopes to just ease you into the harder ones. But you always answer in a way that doesn’t give anything away. Still in harmony, but never completely in-sync. These conversations were always a vibrant and playful dance between the two of you; he was always on his toes.

A certain part of him knows that he got together with you because of that mystery. It intrigued him that much; how elusive you are. He didn’t notice though, how over time his focus has shifted. From wanting to find out your identity to wanting to actually get to know you. From doing things out of obligation to doing it because he actually wants to. He didn’t realise it, until he was in too deep.

And he thought maybe, maybe, he didn’t need to know. Besides, how bad could it be? Dazai has a tainted past himself, yours couldn’t be worse than his was, could it?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Worry often casts a big shadow over a small matter.

That shadow consumed Dazai earlier — the moment he realised that their target was you all along. Every inch of their makeshift headquarters was filled with photos and information of Dazai himself, as well as you. But the red circle is marked on your face.

Dazai was the end goal, and you’d be the bait.

Of course, no one knew what you were capable of at that point. Not Dazai and least of all the enemy.

He was alone, and he wasn’t the best fighter, but he’d be damned if he let anyone touch you. So without so much as a call to his partner who had been investigating elsewhere, he rushed out to hail a cab. Dazai vowed to save you, no matter how many of them he’d have to kill.

3.47pm

Your shift would end soon. As cunning as the enemy was, they wouldn’t be able to attack you in a packed café. They weren’t that stupid to put more tails on themselves. Dazai had thirteen minutes to reach you.

3.55pm

“Could you please step on the gas?”

Dazai’s exasperation was clear as day.

“I don’t control the traffic, boy.”

So was the cab driver’s.

4.02pm

The cab finally rounded the corner and the café came into view — Dazai couldn’t even wait for the driver to stop. Money was thrown into the front of the cab and he bolted out the door, past the café and dipped into the alley you always took for a faster path home.

And there he found you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They say the greatest beauty comes from the greatest clarity.

In this moment, in the current present, Dazai is inching just a little closer to that beauty. There is meaning to that emptiness in your eyes — and he knows it all too well. How can one afford emotions when it is one’s duty to kill?

All his worry dissolves the moment he saw you wielding that knife with the finesse of a well-seasoned assassin. And now he has only one concern, the same one he’s had since he first met you: who are you?

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”

Your voice echoes in the empty alley, your fingers rubbing the blood stains off your knife with one of the poor victim’s jackets before settling it back in its holster, hidden under your dress, attached to your thigh. And as you walk towards him, Dazai sees that hint of spark in your eye — the radiance.

“What does it matter? You aren’t going to tell me the whole truth.”

But Dazai’s voice doesn’t carry a hint of malice. Just a pinch of surprise and a dash of admiration. It isn’t easy for anyone to hide anything from him. And if it wasn’t for the enemy, he would probably never have figured out you were an assassin.

“I will tell you one thing, though,” you relent as you reach him, snaking an arm around his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his.

Dazai gives a low chuckle, his hands wrapping themselves around your waist. You are definitely a dangerous one, that he knows. “And what is that, my belladonna?”

You open your eyes wider this time, and Dazai is yet again, surprised. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

He can’t spot any hint of that darkness he’s used to seeing when he looks into your eyes everyday. No, this time your eyes exude earnesty — is this you being completely honest?

“And I’m supposed to just trust you, now?”

Dazai still isn’t exhibiting any hostility — because he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t feel like you’re disguising anything behind those words. And if there’s anybody he trusts, it’s himself.

“You want to, don’t you?”

Your voice carries an absolute confidence, and Dazai is fairly impressed. How insightful you are. No matter how much he wants to deny it, he can’t. Even if he does, you’d see through this at least.

“Ah, my beautiful belladonna—” he gives you a quick peck on the lips — “is there anything that escapes you?”

But of course there is, and you both know it. As much as you are a mystery, Dazai is an enigma. Your occupation is a conundrum, and so is everything that makes Dazai who he is. And even so, you both let it slide, because as time drones on, there is one thing that glues you together.

It is not love, no. You’re not there yet. It’s an unspeakable feeling that attaches you to him, and him to you. Something that neither of you can put into words, yet have so much faith in in spite of that. And as questionable as the both of you find this relationship, you find that you can’t quite let go.

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

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sithapprenticemaul · 3 years

Text

Hunter ; Hunted

summary: Din thought this would be a simple hunt, that he would succeed where others had failed - he was wrong. Din Djarin has met his match.

word count: 1.5k

pairing: Din Djarin x Sherrif!Reader

warnings: a brief fight, mentions of bruising and cuts

a/n: I was literally cuddling my cat when I got the inspiration for this. reader is so sassy and this is gonna be a slow burn. part one of four or five i think. also my first reader insert which i was so nervous to write bc I've never written like this before. please let me know what you think!

When Greef Karga slid the tracking puck across the table, he had warned Din of the challenge of this bounty. Brushing it off without a second thought, Din eagerly accepted, the staggering amount credits offered worth whatever trouble he could possibly get into. This was an Imperial bounty, and the money would greatly help The Tribe. The small village was out in the middle of nowhere, the nearest spaceport being a three-day journey away by speeder, even longer on foot. Din left the Razor Crest hidden safely in the nearby mountains and made the rest of the journey on foot to not be spotted. The element of surprise was key in his work. Humans and aliens of various races traversed the small village, going about their daily lives. Children played, vendors sold, creatures barked and brayed. None seemed fazed at the sudden appearance of an outsider, let alone one clad so heavily in armour. That should have been Din’s first clue that this hunt was not going to go the way he intended. Din approached the weathered tavern with annoyance and frustration in his stride. He was tired, sweat dripping down his back, the Tatooine twin suns baking him in his protective second skin. He stopped just outside the door, the thrum of the taverns patrons inside making its way to his ears. Taking a moment of respite in the shade of the awning, he readied himself for the challenge ahead of him. He swung the door open, and for one of the few times in his life as a bounty hunter, no one turned to look at him. No stares, no hushed whispers or folk scurrying out of his sight. Just lively chatter of folk enjoying food and drink and the whipping of the wind behind him. The Tavern was dark and dusty, just as one would expect from any building on Tatooine. Din’s target was sitting right in the middle of the bar. He could feel eyes watching him now, but no one made a move to stop him as he approached her. You sighed deeply as you heard the door swing open. You’d fought off many credit hungry hunters who had tried to drag you to your doom before - this would be no different. The floor creaked under Din as he stopped just a few steps behind his bounty, curious as to the events that would unfold. It wasn’t common for him to have bounties that wouldn’t put up at least a little bit of a fight. That should have been Din’s second clue. “At least let me finish my soup”, you said slowly, your voice not betraying the anxiety coursing through you. “This is the best that Kintara has made in a long time.” You winked at the bar tending Pa'lowick in front of you as you tipped your head back and slurped down the last of your lunch. Setting the bowl down in front of you gently and wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you lazily swung yourself around to look at whatever bounty hunting sleemo had come through your town this time. Leaning back casually, you took in the sight of the man before you. He was tall, armour in varying shades of brown covering most of his body, a shining silver helmet hiding away his face. His hand was gently trained on the blaster on his left hip. The Amban sniper rifle was still strapped to his back, indicating this was not meant to be a long and drawn out fight. He wanted this done quick. He made no move toward you - yet. The hubbub in the tavern continued as you and the Mandalorian stared each other down, neither of you giving an inch. And then he spoke. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” The corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly at the vocoded words - typical bounty hunter, always assuming the oncoming struggle would be difficult on you. You, the poor helpless bounty that would help to line his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere, Hunter.” you spoke coolly. “I suggest,” you started as you rose from the barstool, “that you get going before you regret stepping foot in my town.” “Not going to happen. You’re coming with me, warm or cold.” he replied shortly, his voice betraying no hint of what emotion he was feeling. His body was tensed, rigid, awaiting your next move. Din couldn’t help but feel a little fascinated by his bounty and her sheer defiance in the face of danger. What had she seen in her life when a trained Mandalorian did not frighten her? Din frightened everyone. You smoothed out your tunic as you stood, subtly uncovering the blaster in its holster on your hip. You were just a few steps from the hunter. You stepped closer, taunting him into his next move, eyes unwavering. Din kept his eyes on you, suddenly becoming aware of the silence that filled the room but unable to tear his gaze from you. His third clue. He grasped his blaster in anticipation. Someone was about to get shot. You drew up to your full height at the sight of the hunter’s hand on his blaster, your eyes betraying the fury and irritation you now felt. You would not be intimidated by this outworlder on your planet, in your town and in your bar. Especially not during lunch. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you....” In a fraction of a second all hell broke loose. Tables and chairs were knocked over; glasses and plates smashed as the patrons of the bar drew their hidden weapons, taking aim at the Mandalorian from all around him. You knew better than anyone that at this close range he was going to hit you, you at least made sure the blaster bolt wasn’t going between your eyes. You twisted your body and dove to the floor as the bolt hit you in the right shoulder, stinging outrageously before you landed amongst the wreckage on the floor.

Din didn’t have a chance to fire again, his blaster falling from his hand as he held them up in helplessness as someone behind him kicked him to his knees. He was cornered, guns, knives, and other makeshift weapons at every angle around him. While his armour could protect him from a range of weapons, it would do nothing to save him from the knife dangerously close to piercing his body between his armour plating. Had he known the whole town was armed he would have brought more weapons. You hauled yourself up, hissing at the pain as you palm your injured shoulder to stem the bleeding. Another shirt ruined. You stagger back to the centre of the room to get a better look at your assailant. Din was doing his best not to panic, a task made increasing difficulty with all the sharp objects being pressed into his body. He could feel a makeshift blade digging in dangerously close to his rib cage. The bartender, Kintara, had a rifle aimed, not at his head, but at the unprotected flesh between his head and his shoulders, covered only by a few layers of fabric. “I say we kill him now and toss his body in the pit and be back before dinner,” grumbled a voice from behind him. He dared not say a thing, waiting for you to make the next move. He was a Mandalorian, a proud warrior, a fine bounty hunter and he would not resort to bargaining for his life...yet. “Easy Karma. Let’s find out what our trigger-happy friend here knows first,” you spoke clearly for all to hear. An order disguised as a suggestion. You were the law around here. He watched as you sauntered over to him, cradling your injured shoulder, equal parts furious, amused and intrigued at the events that had just unfolded. Din’s breath caught in his throat as you got the closest you had been, crouching down to his level. This was his first real chance to look at you, the woman he was to bring in.

You were beautiful, like a sunrise to be seen nowhere else in the galaxy, or so Din thought. Your hair was dishevelled, yet your face was girlishly aglow with accomplishment, despite the few cuts and bruises forming from your brief brawl.

Your eyes had a mischievous twinkle as you fluttered your eyelashes cheekily at the captive Mandalorian. Your mouth held that familiar small smile. He recognised that smile. It was one he wore many times after a successful hunt. It was the smile of a predator who had cornered its prey.

“Knock him out and bring me Nebala. I’ll deal with this one myself,” you spoke calmly, standing to your full height and surveying the damage to your bar.

Din didn’t have a chance to protest before a dart hit him in the neck and he slumped with a thud to the floor.

#aah finally done after two days #din djarin x reader #din dijarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #star wars x reader #star wars self insert #star wars #star wars fanfic #din djarin #the mandalorian #alina!writes

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haledamage · 3 years

Note

92 for Kai?

This ended up being my first Kai/Adaryc fic! They ended up being a lot of fun to write! Something about their dynamic feels very Regency Romance.

This takes place immediately after the Eyeless fight when you first meet Adaryc in WM2

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92. “Don’t move.”

"Wait." Kai reached out and grabbed Adaryc's elbow as he and his soldiers turned to leave. "Your men need medical attention. Let us help."

It was the truth. They'd all gotten pretty banged up by those… creatures, constructs, whatever the Eyless were. They may have won, but they'd paid a heavy price for it, and no one had left that fight unharmed. The Commander himself had a large cut over one eye that was still bleeding sluggishly, and he held one arm close to his body in a way that told her it was likely dislocated, if not broken.

He froze at her touch as if she'd warned him of a bear trap underfoot - or like he was expecting her to sink a knife in his back and finish the job the Eyeless had started. He somehow went even more still when she tugged on his good arm and started leading him back toward the cabin they'd first spoken in.

"Watcher, what are you--"

"Kai," she corrected tersely. "I don't like being called 'Watcher' any more than you do, I'd wager."

He nodded, conceding her point. "Kai. What are you doing?"

"Helping you." She closed the door behind them and brought over a chair. "Sit down."

She didn't wait for him to comply, stepping away to hunt for a water basin and dig through her pack for medical supplies.

"One battle together doesn’t mean I take orders from you," Adaryc grumbled, though in spite of his words he sat down on the stool she'd dragged over.

"Why not, my dear?" she muttered. "That’s how it worked with everyone else." She reached for him again, but this time he flinched away. "You’re injured."

"It’s not serious."

"Your arm is dislocated, and I doubt you can even see out of your left eye right now." Kai tried to gentle her voice, to make it a request instead of a demand. "Let me take care of it."

"Ordering me around again." He didn't sound annoyed this time, more amused.

"It seems to be the only way you’ll listen, Commander."

"Adaryc."

"Adaryc," she repeated with a slight smile.

They let silence fall as she worked on removing his armor, keeping her movements careful so as not to jostle his shoulder.

He broke it first, voice almost hesitant. "You're a skilled fighter."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to judge how sincere he was. "You sound surprised."

"I am," he admitted easily. "I expected you to be… softer. Your memories…"

Ah. That explained it. She must look very privileged to someone like him; in many ways, she supposed she was. "I was raised nobility. It… didn't suit me. I ran away."

"To Dyrwood?" Adaryc seemed genuinely curious rather than judgemental like she expected.

"Eventually." Kai bit her lip, considering how much to say, and eventually settled on, "It's a long story."

A small smile tilted the corners of his lips, the first she'd seen from him. He looked like he was trying to remember how smiles worked. "I'd like to hear it sometime."

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she said dryly. She set down the last piece of armor and reached for the wash basin, wetting a cloth and bringing it toward his face. "Don't move."

This time, he obeyed without argument. He didn't flinch or make a sound as she cleaned the cut on his forehead and washed the blood from his face.

After a couple minutes, Adaryc once again broke the silence. "How long have you been…"

"Been what?"

"Inflicted." He said it like a curse, which she supposed to him it was.

"Six months, give or take. My grasp on the passage of time is… tentative, some days." She left it at that, confident that he'd understand.

He looked surprised. "You've adapted very quickly."

"Not really. I'm very good at pretending." That was a remarkable amount of honesty for someone Kai had just met, but he had already had a front row seat to some of her memories so she let it go just this once. "But I'm no stranger to power and this one, at least, is mine alone. It requires nothing except that I am me and I exist. Few other powers can boast the same."

"You are a strange woman."

That startled a laugh out of her. "You are not the first man to tell me that. Though you are the first to make it sound like a compliment."

"I'm as surprised as you are that I meant it as one." There was something akin to fondness in his voice, enough to bring color to her cheeks.

She turned away to mask her strange reaction, cleaning blood off the cloth as an excuse to hide her face. "So how long have you been 'inflicted'?"

Adaryc was quiet so long that she didn't think he was going to answer, but eventually he just said, "Years."

"That's a long time to be at war with yourself," Kai said quietly.

"I have no other choice." His conviction was clear in his face, but it just made her sad.

"There's always another choice, darling. Gifts and curses alike are nothing more and nothing less than what you make them." She didn't think he was really listening, but she knew enough of self-loathing to know how to be heard over it. She tried a different tactic. "Do you think me less because I'm a Watcher?"

"Yes," he said automatically. Then, "...No."

"I think you have enough war in your life. You don't need to battle yourself as well." She carefully pressed a poultice to the cut over his eye, giving him time to consider her words.

"I will… think on what you've said." He sounded like he meant it, and that was good enough for her.

"That's all I ask. Thank you. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to hurt you." Without any more warning, she pushed hard at his elbow. With a sickening pop his arm slipped back into the socket.

He hissed, but made no other noise at the pain. His voice was only a little rough when he said, "That never gets more pleasant."

"I'm sorry," Kai said, and she meant it. "If I could have done it gently, I would have. I'm afraid without a healer available, I'm the best you've got." They did, technically, have a healer, but she tried not to subject strangers to Durance's ministrations unless absolutely necessary. Especially not such a devout Eothasian as Adaryc.

She took off one of her scarves and tied it behind his neck, making it into a makeshift sling. "That should keep until you can get somewhere safe enough to bandage it properly. Do try to go easy on it."

"I will. Thank you, Kai." There was that barely-there smile again.

She smiled back, fragile and unfamiliar in its sincerity. "You are quite welcome, Adaryc."

She stepped back to put away the supplies, but she only made it a step before he grabbed her arm.

"Wait."

She turned to face him again, unconsciously following his orders like he kept doing to hers. "What is it?"

He stood up from his chair and moved closer. He tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Even though things had calmed down, there was still something feverish in his eyes; it made it difficult to look away from him. "May I?"

"May you--" her question ended in a sharp hiss as he brushed a wet cloth over a cut on her cheek that she hadn't known was there. "You could have just asked, darling. Words are not your enemy."

He chuckled, a warm and raspy sound. "I will try to remember that for next time."

Kai rather liked the idea that there would be a 'next time,' but she didn't say it and let him clean and bandage her wounds without fuss.

His touch was both gentler and more hesitant than she expected from a man who led a group like The Iron Flail. His fingers were rough and calloused, but she didn't mind. In fact, she found herself having to resist the urge to lean into it. It had been a long time since anyone had been so careful with her.

They both lingered after he was done, standing close but no longer touching. Kai was surprised by how much she wished they were.

"I hope…" he started, but he trailed off and made no attempt to finish the sentence.

"You hope?" she repeated, trying to jostle the rest of the thought loose.

Adaryc cleared his throat and ducked his head, an unexpectedly shy gesture. "That we... will see each other again. Perhaps sometime less dire."

"I'd like that." The last thing she'd expected when she snuck into an 'enemy' fort today was to leave with a friend, but here they were. "You're always welcome at Caed Nua."

"It would be my honor." In a quick, fluid motion, less like a formal bow and more like disarming an opponent, he lifted her hand and pressed a firm kiss to her knuckles. "Farewell, Watcher."

She grinned and bowed her head, somehow managing to make the casual gesture look formal. "Farewell, Watcher."

Adaryc gave her a wry, boyish smile, and then he was gone.

"Gods above, Kiki," she whispered to herself once she was alone, "what have you gotten yourself into now?"

Unsurprisingly, she didn't get an answer. Kai followed Adaryc out into the fort, but she knew by now he'd already be gone.

#kai cirdani #kaidaryc #these poor idiots have no idea what they're getting into #affection-starved and extremely self-controlled with different flavors of self-loathing #nothing could go wrong there #kiki finally has her complete set of romances!#adaryc was the only one I hadn't written her with yet #she has quite a collection of disillusioned and broken boys #I like to think he keeps the scarf and is still wearing it when they eventually reunite #(she is also still wielding Steadfast. it's a Thing)#written on my phone while I didn't have internet so any formatting issues will be fixed when I'm online again #and thank you for your patience darling this took me SO LONG to answer

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southsidestory · 3 years

Note

Your mermay Reylo is just... 😍😍😍 yes please! LOL!

cast off, verb: set a boat or ship free from its moorings.

cast-off, noun: something that is no longer wanted.

She remembers a storm. A dark sky shadowing the sun, grey wind, a torrent of rain that stung her bare skin and drenched her clothes. Thunder strong enough to shake the sea to its sand-grit bottom, so loud that Rey could barely hear her family’s screams. The waves rose higher and higher, wrapped around their boat with black hands, and gave it over to the hungry ocean.

The water swallowed her down, but Rey fought against its pull, swam until she found her mother, clinging to a great plank of wood. She reached out, and even now, she remembers the white fear emptying Mum’s eyes, the cold shiver of her clammy, sea-wrinkled fingers as she grasped Rey’s hand.

Then the plank wobbled, overbalanced by the fresh weight, and her mother cried out. She said I’m sorry, and let go.

—

Kylo knows the legends as well as anyone, the fish wives’ tales about selkies, sirens, and sea dragons. Maybe they’re even real, not that he’s ever seen any such creatures. Part of him would like to believe, and besides, it would be the height of hypocrisy to dismiss an incredible story, considering the blood that runs through his veins.

More than any other, he’s always been drawn to the myth of merfolk: children lost at sea, cast aside and left to drown, who survive the ocean by becoming a part of the ocean itself; half-fish, half-human, living half-lives.

It’s a story that resonates, despite its absurdity. Kylo wasn’t thrown to the sea like so much trash, but he’s been adrift for most of his days. Fitting neither here nor there, and never wanted.

—

She’s a scavenger. A bottom-feeder, as the less kind of her neighbors like to say. Rey is quick and nimble enough to catch the choicest fish, but it’s hard work. She finds it much easier to dig through the sand for crabs, lobsters, and clams, not that any of it is satisfying. Her stomach wasn’t made for seaweed and raw creatures alone. Some days, she remembers the warmth of a cooked meal and aches for it as much as she aches for dry land beneath the feet she no longer has.

Rey avoids the sharks, who are too restless and single-minded for good conversation, and the dolphins, who are smart enough for petty cruelties and selfish violence—just like humans. The smaller fish are sweet, despite their short memories, and the seahorses are as energetic as they are stupid. It’s lonely here, underwater, and if not for the gentle companionship of blue whales, Rey thinks she might have lost herself to isolation years ago.

But today she has a new wreck to explore, and that makes things far more interesting.

A selkie follows her to the sunken ship, saying, Humans are such careless creatures. All it takes is a little wind and rain to kill you.

Rey flinches, and for a moment the only thing she can hear is the raging of a thunderous storm all around her, all she can feel is the slick slipping of her hand through her mother’s fingers. She tries to breathe, but she swallows water, feels her gills ripple, and wishes she was at the surface, where she could fill her lungs with fresh air.

When she calms, Rey says, Don’t talk about them like I’m one of them. I’m not.

The selkie hums, a low not-quite-seal sound. But you used to be.

Rey ignores her and swims ahead. She’s faster, and maybe her unasked for companion will take the hint.

The wreck is so fresh that sand billows about it, fat brown clouds roiling around the splintered ship. It looks like this one was rammed in its side. Not a natural wreck then; there must be a battle above.

It isn’t that she wants to see violence, although watching human bloodshed doesn’t stir her sympathies like it once did. Too many years apart from them have frozen any familiarity Rey once felt toward her former kind.

More than anything, it’s boredom that drives her to the surface.

—

A storm saves his life. Kylo’s ship was surrounded, enemies on all sides, when the sky opened up and pelted them with rain, hail, and every other unholy fury of a sea goddess.

There are certain advantages, he’s found, to being Leia’s son—but it’s hard to remember them when he’s half-drowned, coughing up saltwater and bile, lost in a desert of rolling blue water. The sun beats down on his bare face, burning his cheeks while the rest of him freezes.

A fortuitous wind blew away the driftwood he’s holding fast to, steering it far from the fighting and the storm, but Kylo is still going to die here if his mother doesn’t drive a ship in his direction soon.

“A little help?” he shouts.

A wave rolls over him, rushing seawater down his throat, into his lungs. Once he finishes vomiting, Kylo keeps his mouth shut.

She won’t truly let him die, he knows that. Leia is a harsh-tempered goddess, but she loves him, in her own way.

Even so, his confidence in her mercy is starting to wane, right when he sees a girl in the distance, swimming too gracefully and swiftly to be fully human. And there, he spots the glint of a pale green tail stippled with iridescent scales. As she draws closer, he sees that her skin is sun-browned, like she might spend as much time above water as below it, her hair shorn chin-length, ragged along the edges. Cut with a sharp rock or a scavenged sailor’s knife, he imagines.

She stops before him, her hazel eyes bright against her tan, freckled face. A pretty creature, Kylo thinks, despite the gills below her jaw and the slick sheen of her skin. It looks like a cross between human flesh and the too-smooth hide of some sea mammals, giving her an ageless look. Unsettling and uncanny for how close to a woman she appears, and yet how far.

The mermaid tilts her head to the side, looking him over with curious eyes, and says, “You’re not human either.”

“Half,” Kylo corrects. “Not unlike you.”

Her soft mouth hardens into a sharp line when she says, “I’m nothing like you.”

Wonderful. I’ve offended my rescuer.

“Did my mother send you?” he asks.

She takes ahold of his driftwood, keeping it in her grasp without tugging it down. “I wouldn’t say sent. More like the waves brought me here, and warned to carry me to the ends of the world if I didn’t help you.”

Kylo laughs. “She can be… aggressive, when seeking something she wants.”

The mermaid offers nothing more, so he asks, “What’s your name?”

She sighs, takes a firmer grip on his makeshift buoy, and begins to swim, dragging him along behind her. In the direction of the shore, he hopes.

Before they’ve gone very far, she glances over her shoulder and says, “I’m Rey.”

A snippet just for you, sweet anon! :)

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo fanfiction #mermay #mermaid!Rey #Anonymous

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haildoodles-writing · 4 years

Text

KA’RA

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Alternate Ending

Summary: You have a bounty on your head, and the Mandalorian took it upon himself to turn you in. He didn’t expect the effect you had on him, though.

Warnings: none

Pairing: the Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x reader

A/N: I love the Mandalorian. Sue me.

Now on AO3!

~~~

Din didn’t know what to do with you, and he cursed himself for it.

He blames the kid, who weaseled his way into his life and made him soft — made him ignore all logical reason and Mandalorian code as a whole in order to protect it. One small giggle and a hand reach, and he was a goner. But you— you were polite, and curious, and spoke with a soft voice that somehow shook him to the soles of his feet. You had a completely different effect on him, something opposite from the kid. Something he couldn’t necessarily describe.

You were sitting in the cockpit’s passenger seat, hands tied yet still fondling the ears of the kid on your lap. Your eyes traced the buttons and levers before you— and you had done as much with your hands earlier. But when he had grasped your fingers and pulled them away, he had to remind himself to be gentle.

You were blind. You couldn’t help but feel your way around the world.

Not to mention that you were a Senate daughter, a princess, with a bounty on your head to return you to your family. You had supposedly run away a year ago, fleeing to some backwater planet that even Din didn’t recognize. Your parents had demanded you be returned unharmed, flinging a hefty price at anyone who could do the job. Din had no choice but to be gentle. He needed the money, anyways.

And so he sat and stared at the stars that whizzed by, listening to your voice as you cooed at the kid.

He was surprised at how compliant you were. In reality, you were probably the most willing bounty he’s ever had. He found you in an old shack on the edge of the woods, singing an old tune he didn’t recognize as you prepared a meal. When he clasped shackles onto your wrists and led you to his ship, though, you didn’t fight—in fact, you agreed.

But the crestfallen look on your face did no good to Din’s conscience.

However much you lacked in resisting, though, you made up for in blunt curiosity. Maybe it was because you lacked the ability to see, or maybe it was just because you were downright curious about the world— but you asked him question after question after question. Lengthy pauses always followed each answer, but you never actually stopped. You asked him about who he was, who the Mandalorians were, what he looked like, who the child was that clung to you— anything. Everything.

And perhaps it was because he was already used to rambling to the child, but he answered. Your genuinity weaved its way into his brain and he couldn’t help but respond. Every single time.

You grew quiet only after the ship entered hyperspace, the child now sleeping in a makeshift crib next to Din’s feet. The silence was . . . Off-putting, to say the least. He resorted to cleaning his smudged beskar with the corner of his cloak to pass the time.

Eventually, though, you spoke.

“May I . . . Go look around?”

A weight dropped in Din’s chest.

When a bounty asked that— that meant they wanted to escape. They wanted to find a way to fight back, or at least to discover how to slip out quietly when they landed. And that would mean that Din would have to put them under carbon freeze until they were turned in, stacking up cold metal slabs to store for later.

And for some reason, Din didn’t want to look at a hard sheet of metal and see you. But he had to remind himself that you were bounty, a walking profit, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He wouldn’t go against the code. He couldn’t.

Din nodded, but then, reminding himself that you couldn’t see, eventually spoke. “Yes,” was all he said— but nonetheless, it felt like he had to drag it up from his chest with both hands.

You thanked him sincerely, and your tone felt like a vine tightening in his chest. He could hear you rise, the tips of your fingers running against metal and your bare feet shifting on the floor. He had turned to watch you go— almost stopped you, in fact— but you had carefully traipsed down the ladder with no significant problems. And then, with the last bit of your hair disappearing from view, you were gone.

For a few moments, the indecision of what to do nearly suffocated him. He wanted to follow you immediately, both to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself (the ship had stray crates and pipes littering the floor) and, well, to keep you around. For some reason, he liked your presence. Despite being in cuffs and in his ship against your will, you were kind to him. Gentle. Genuine. And the kid liked you, too.

But yet again, he had to remind himself: you were bounty. Bounty. Bounty.

And so he sat, listening to the groans of the ship and the soft sighs of the kid at his feet.

Eventually, though, his antsiness got the better of him. He rose quietly, sidestepping the kid. He moved on silent feet out of the cockpit, then turned the corner to the ladder—

But you were there, clutching a box in your hand as you slowly made your way back up. Sensing Din’s presence, though, you paused at the lip of the ladder. Waiting. In your arms, you had a medical kit, marked with a raised cross on its lid. It was the one Din had stored near his bed for emergencies.

“What are you doing?” Din eventually asked, his tone much harsher than he wanted it to be. You weren’t snooping below— you had come back. Something no other bounty had done.

Slowly, Din stepped back enough for you to raise yourself onto the floor— and you chuckled nervously. Once you were up, you stepped to the side until you leaned against the wall, stabilizing yourself. Feeling where you were.

“I . . . felt your arm earlier, when you came to get me,” you said, a smile pulling at your mouth. “You had some sort of wound that you hadn’t treated.” Which was true— you had accidentally brushed against a knife wound on his bicep earlier, and he had softly hissed before retreating. You had evidently noticed.

“I didn’t want you to leave the cockpit, so hopefully. . .” you extended the medical kit towards him, “hopefully this is what you needed.” Your eyes, though unseeing and cloudy, seemed to see straight through him. Seeing past the beskar and the helmet and straight into him.

Din didn’t know how to react to that, so he gingerly took the med kit from your hands instead. He didn’t know how to react at how his chest squeezed, either.

And with a quiet word of thanks, Din watched, mesmerized, as you brushed your chained hands against the wall and felt your way back to the cockpit. He eventually followed— once he got his wits together, at least. And once he had to remind himself that you were bounty a dozen more times. You were to leave soon.

But the fuel tank eventually read ‘LOW,’ and Din had to stop for a few days to refuel before turning you in. A few more days of feeling his chest tighten and listening to your fingers brush against the walls.

He silently thanked the stars.

#the mandalorian #dyn jarren #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #my writing #star wars fic #baby yoda #din djarin #din djarin x reader

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winchester-fantasies · 4 years

Text

Day 182 - Part 4

Day 182 Masterlist

Series Summary: You and Dean are on a routine hunt when strange things begin to happen around you. When you start searching for answers, you soon find yourselves stuck, under quarantine, and no way to communicate with the outside world.

Word Count: 4692

Warnings: smut, fingering, little bit of dry humping (kinda...you’ll see what I mean), unprotected sex, cheating, angst, fluff, violence, danger to reader, hurt reader, concerned Dean, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

Day 106

You sat at the kitchen table, a map of Austin spread out in front of you. You studied the main roads that led out of Austin and jotted down a few side streets that led out of the city. You had to find a way out.

You glanced to the door as the sounds of Logan and Ella laughing like they did every morning filtered past the walls of your apartment before glancing back to the map and highlighting a few promising routes. You had to get out, you repeated to yourself. Whether Dean came with you or not.

Your head was pounding by the time you were done writing down everything you observed. You got up from the table and went to get dressed, choosing jeans, boots, and an old flannel of Dean’s that had long since lost his scent. Pulling your hair back and away from your face, you grabbed your Bowie knife from the table and slipped it into the waistband of your jeans before folding up the map and stuffing it into your back pocket.

You headed for the door, unlocking it and stepping out into the hallway. You paused for a moment as you closed it behind you, your gaze fixed on the door across from yours. Your heart was pounding as you thought about asking Dean to join you, but then you heard him and Jackie talking, their words muffled and indistinguishable, but their tones happy.

Without another thought, you turned and quickly made your way towards the apartment building entrance. You wouldn’t bother him. He had different responsibilities than he had three and a half months ago - responsibilities that didn’t involve you. You wouldn’t burden him anymore, not when he was so obviously enjoying the new family he had gained.

You exited the building, pausing for a moment to gain your bearings. You hadn’t been out much since you’d arrived in Austin and everything that had gone down in the medical tent. But with Dean now taking care of Jackie and her kids, you needed to get over your fears. You were virtually alone now. No one was here to take care of you. And it was high time you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps and took responsibility for yourself. You didn’t need anyone, you told yourself as you turned and made your way down the sidewalk that you knew led to the supply tent.

Soldiers lined the sidewalk and streets, one posted every few yards. Some of them were kind and would tip their heads at you as you passed or even shoot you a smile, but most of them were stone-faced and rigid. You turned the corner, the supply and medical tents visible at the end of the street, barricades behind them, preventing anyone or anything from getting in or going out.

You stepped into the supply tent, surprised to see it almost nearly empty except for a few mothers and their children and one or two older people. You picked up one of the cardboard boxes that had been left by the tent entrance for carrying what supplies everyone needed before making your way down the makeshift aisles. You were shocked at the amount of supplies and food that were available, and you couldn’t help but grab an extra bar of chocolate and a bottle of red wine for those nights when you felt particularly vulnerable and alone.

“How’re you doing, Miss?” the young soldier asked as you approached for him to take stock of and write down everything you had taken in a roster of last names. You glanced up and smiled at the young man who looked no older than eighteen with a bright smile, wide and curious blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his boyish cheeks.

“I’m doing good, thank you,” you said before you took up the box, the young man tipping his head to you in a quick goodbye before he turned to help the next person.

You stopped once you stepped out of the tent, looking over at the medical tent. You had overheard Dean telling Jackie that the medic who had harassed both you and her wasn’t in the medical tent when he’d gone on his last supply run, but that still didn’t stop the wave of uneasiness that washed over you as you stared at it. But maybe the odds would be in your favor and the medic would still be gone. You didn’t really want to take that chance, but you were in desperate need of pain meds, what with these headaches being an almost daily occurrence now, not to mention you were due to start your period soon and you’d need some tampons.

Your shoulders slumped as you finally made up your mind and headed towards the tent. You reached behind you, feeling for you Bowie knife, the feeling of its handle offering a modicum of relief and a sense of safety.

You paused outside the entrance and took a deep breath, then you stepped inside. It took you a moment for your eyes to adjust to the considerably darker lighting in this one. Finally you could make out the rows of items that lined the many shelves, stacked haphazardly with medicines, pills, toiletries, and general supplies outside of food.

You didn’t see the medic. In fact the tent appeared to be completely empty, and you breathed a sigh of relief before you made your way over to one of the shelves, finding what you needed almost immediately.

“Knew you’d be back,” a voice spoke from behind you and you whirled around, your blood running cold when you found the medic standing behind you. A cocky smirk sat on his face as his dark eyes looked you over with a look that made you shiver.

“I...I just needed to get a couple of things,” you said, your attempt at sounding indifferent failing as your voice trembled.

“As much as I’d like to give you those, I’m afraid these come with a price tag,” he said, stepping closer to you, the smell of cigarettes and body odor meeting your nose and making you nearly gag.

“Not interested,” you said, trying to brush past him. He stepped in front of you, effectively blocking your escape. “You haven’t even heard what I’m offering,” he leered.

“And I really don’t want to know,” you clipped, once more trying to get past him.

“C’mon, sugar,” he crooned. “Surely we can come to some kind of arrangement.” His eyes swept over you from head to toe, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as they landed on your breasts.

“Let me ask you this,” you said evenly, anger and disgust mixing together to form a perfect cocktail of courage. “What in that tiny brain of yours would think I’d ever be interested in fucking you? You’re a disgusting asshole, with incredible disrespect for women. You like to flaunt your position and abuse your power. You're an egotistical prick who….”

Your words were suddenly cut off by a stinging pain across your cheek. Your head spun and it took you a moment to realize he’d backhanded you. Before you could react, the box was thrust from your hands and you were shoved against one of the shelves, several bottles of medication falling to the floor.

His hand was around your throat, tight and threatening. You clawed at his hands and tried to kick out at him as you struggled against his much larger and stronger body. “You’re a real bitch,” he spat, rage darkening his eyes and causing a shiver to run down your spine. You could tell you’d pushed him, hit a nerve, done something he didn’t like and wouldn’t accept. “You think you can just come in and take whatever you want,” he growled, turning you and ramming you against the other shelf before throwing you down, a low groan leaving you as your body made contact with the hard ground with a sickening thud.

“Well, that’s not how it works,” he ground out, the front of his boot making contact with your torso. You grunted and doubled over in pain. “There’s always...always a price!” he shouted, his boot finding your torso again, but this time he didn’t stop, kicking you over and over again until your vision blurred and all you felt was pain.

You saw darkness around the edges of your vision and you knew you were going to lose consciousness when a voice broke through the void. “What are you doing?” the voice of an older man asked. The medic stopped, turning his attention to the unexpected and unwanted visitor, but the distraction gave you just enough time to push yourself up and run from the tent before either he or the older man could stop you.

You felt for the map in your back pocket as you ran but came up empty. But you didn’t have time to think about it as you pressed onward, desperate to put as much distance between you and the medic as possible. You ran down alleyways and took side streets, thankful you’d memorized most of the map before going out. It took you longer to get back to the apartment and your body was screaming, feet heavy, and legs like jello, but at least you’d left the medic behind.

You stumbled up the steps leading to the apartment building, tripping a few times and scraping your hands and knees on the concrete as you tried to make your way up the stairs. Finally, you reached the stoop, your hands trembling as you pulled the door open. You staggered down the hallway, hugging the walls and using them for support as you tried to keep your eyes open even as your vision swam.

“(Y/N)?”

You stopped, looking behind you at the familiar voice. Dean stood behind you, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and worry. You hadn’t even realized he’d been in the hall.

Shit, you hurt, you thought as you gripped your stomach, pain shooting through your torso. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Dean asked, rushing to your side.

You brushed him off and hurried to your apartment, quickly opening it and stepping inside before slamming the door on his face. You leaned against it for a moment before propelling yourself forward, pulling off the flannel and your shirt and bra underneath before discarding your boots, socks, jeans, and panties.

You felt dirty and used as you stumbled towards the bathroom. You flipped on the light and raised the lid of the toilet just before you retched, throwing up everything that had been in your stomach. You flushed the toilet before splashing your face with water and hurriedly brushing your teeth.

You crossed to the shower, turning on the water and letting it warm up a little before you stepped in, the water scalding and almost too warm. But you didn’t care. You needed to get the feeling of what you had endured off of you.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, just staring at the wall before the dam broke, sobs wracking your body as tears slid down your face, mingling with droplets of water. You were so lost in your grief that you didn’t hear the shower curtain being pulled back or feel the presence of another person until you felt rough and calloused hands on your waist.

You tensed and tried to pull away, but the hands gripped you tighter, halting your movements. You jerked your gaze behind you, finding Dean, still fully clothed, his eyes filled with concern.

“Shit, (Y/N),” he breathed as his eyes landed on your bleeding lip and swollen cheek. You didn’t say anything as you turned back to face the water.

After a few moments you saw Dean’s hand shoot out in front of you, a washcloth in hand. He held it under the water before pulling it back to him, the warm cloth touching the skin of your shoulders and back a few seconds later. You closed your eyes as you relished in his soft ministrations.

Dean stopped once he had washed your entire back, tossing the cloth into the bottom of the shower, his hands finding precedence on your bare waist again. Your eyes were still closed when you felt his lips make contact with the flesh of your shoulder, the one you’d been pushed to the ground on - the one you knew sported a bruise larger and deeper than any you’d had in a long time, if ever.

Dean’s action was meant to be chaste, sweet, kind - you knew that. But there was something incredibly sensual and electric about it and you shuddered.

“Tell me what you need,” Dean murmured against your skin, eliciting goosebumps across your flesh despite the still hot water cascading down your body.

You turned to face him, his hands never leaving your body. “Help me forget,” you whispered, a tear sliding down your cheek. “Please...just help me forget.”

“Anything,” Dean said breathily before he lunged forward, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss. Your arms flew around his shoulders as he swung you around, one hand sliding below your ass to bring your leg up around his waist as he pressed you against the cool tile of the shower.

His tongue swept over your lower lip and you willingly opened your mouth to him, his tongue finding yours. It was all hands and teeth as you groped and clung to one another, desperate to be as close as you could possibly be.

Dean left your mouth and latched onto your pulse point, sucking a mark that had you fisting his damp hair, tugging at the short strands and eliciting a deep and throaty groan from him. His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh as he pressed himself further between your legs, a shuddering moan leaving you as his erection pressed into your clit through his jeans. He rolled his hips almost as soon the sound left your mouth, his eyes trained on your face as he watched your eyes fall shut and your mouth go slack as the same breathy sound left your lips.

A grunt fell from his mouth as you met his next thrust with one of your own, your desire for him becoming almost too much for you to ignore. Your hands gripped his back, fisting his now soaked through flannel, the feel of his muscles contracting under your hands as he worked both of you up.

You didn’t notice the steam in the room slowly dissipating nor how the water had already turned cold. All you were aware of was how Dean felt against you, his hands searing your skin and mouth blazing trails across your flesh, leaving deep purple marks that would stand out and make someone question just who you belonged to.

You gasped as Dean slid over your clit just right, pleasure shooting from your core through your entire body. “Dean…” you moaned, your voice so breathy and needy you barely recognized it as your own. “Please.”

“I got you, baby, I got you,” he breathed against the skin of your throat, his mouth trailing back up to meet your lips in a quick but passionate kiss before quickly stepping away from you and leaning behind him to turn off the ice cold water. He smirked as he shoved back the curtains and stepped out, holding out his hand to you. You took it, your stomach flipping as your skin was once more reunited with his.

He immediately pulled you into him, his hands sliding down to your ass as he kissed you as if he hadn’t been doing so just seconds ago. He turned you both around, leaning you against the bathroom sink before leaving your mouth and trailing a line of open-mouthed kisses down your throat, chest, and torso before dropping to his knees in front of your core. He looked up at you with hooded eyes, and your breath hitched as his hands fell to your calves before sliding up to your thighs. You knew what he wanted, so you spread your legs for him, his eyes leaving yours to gaze at your wet folds that glistened in the light.

His eyes were wide with lust as he lifted his hand to your pussy, fingers running through your slick. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed. He dipped his middle finger into your wet heat a few times, gathering your wetness, before he found your swollen clit. You let out a small moan as he began to rub small, controlled circles over the sensitive bud. Your hands gripped the side of the sink, and you glanced down to find Dean watching you carefully, his teeth sunk into his lower lip and his eyes clouded with lust.

He suddenly righted himself and stepped closer to you, leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth. You groaned as he left your clit and slid a finger into your sopping hole and began to push it in and out of you as his thumb kept a firm pressure over your clit.

“Dean,” you breathed, your hands leaving the sink to weave into his hair, nails scraping against his skull as he continued to lave at your breasts.

It wasn’t long before your legs began to tremble and your lower abdomen filled with warmth. Dean felt your walls contracting softly around his finger and he left your breasts, his lips falling to your shoulder and working their way up your neck to your ear, each press of his mouth against your skin sending wave after wave of fresh arousal to your core.

“Cum for me, beautiful,” Dean whispered against your ear, his warm breath ruffling your still damp hair. He crooked his fingers and then you were falling, tumbling off that sweet precipice of release.

Your whole body was trembling as Dean removed his finger from your core and leaned in to kiss you, tongues languidly moving together, the slight sting of his almost full beard tantalizing against your skin. “Do...do you want…?” you asked past your euphoria.

“No, not today, baby,” Dean said, his hands running up and down your sides and littering every inch of skin he could find with kisses. “Right now it’s all about you.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he continued softly, his voice deep and almost slurred with lust. He pressed himself into you further, his bulge more than noticeable against your bare hip.

“I want to see you,” you whispered, your hands sliding up under the henley that was hidden by his flannel, fingers ghosting along the skin of his abdomen. He shuddered against your touch and he pressed one more kiss onto your neck before stepping back, taking your hand, and leading you to the bedroom. He led you over to the mattress before he stepped back.

Your eyes were glued to his body, your chest heaving as you carefully watched every move he made. He all but ripped his flannel from his shoulders before reaching behind him, fisting the back of his shirt before tugging, stripping himself of the soaked flannel and henley underneath. He smirked as your eyes met his blown ones, and your stomach flipped. But the next second your eyes were drawn away from his face as he reached for his belt, unbuckling it before unbuttoning his jeans next. He slowly unzipped them before shoving them down his legs, stepping out of them once they were pooled around his ankles and tossed them by the bedroom door.

His boxers were tented, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation. You didn’t realize how much you had wanted this moment. But now that it was here, it was almost overwhelming. Your emotions were muddled together - desire, nervousness, love - and you weren’t sure which one wanted to take over. All you knew was that Dean was here, his longing for you undeniable.

Dean finally moved again, going to remove his boxers. He kicked them off before turning to face you once more, giving you an unobstructed view of him in all his naked glory. He was beautiful, with his broad shoulders, toned abdomen, bow legs, and cock standing at full attention, pre-cum already seeping from the swollen and red tip.

“Please…” you mewled, reaching out for him, your need to feel him around you and inside of you almost more than you could take.

“I’m here, baby,” he said, wasting no time in coming to you. He took your face into his hands and kissed you gently before he released you, helping you slide up the bed, him following close behind. He pushed you back against the pillows, coming to lie between your thighs as you spread your legs for him. He hovered over you, kissing you slow and deep.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly pushed into you, a soft groan emanating from his chest as your walls opened to him without resistance. You slid your hands along his shoulders and down his back, finding precedence on his firm ass.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Dean breathed, his voice cracking as he tried to hold himself back. “You feel so good...so tight.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, words escaping you at the feel of him stretching you. You’d never felt so full, so safe, so cared for. You could have stayed like this forever.

He continued until he couldn’t go anymore, holding himself still until you gently rolled your hips, silently telling him to move. He hummed and nodded, pulling back his hips before sinking back into your heat. It wasn’t fast or brutal; he was taking his time, enjoying the feel of you around him and making sure you felt everything he had to give as he offered up everything he had. It was slow and sensual, deep and passionate. It was everything you’d never had, and all you’d ever wanted.

Your orgasm came on slowly, a pressure building and building. And when you finally came, it wasn’t mind-blowing and intense. Instead it was like a wave washing over you, caressing you and pulling you underneath its weight, drowning you until all that was left was Dean - the chant of your heart and the praise on your lips.

And afterwards, as you both lay in the dark, sweaty limbs tangled together and hearts slowly evening out, you basked in the rapture of it all. And as your eyes slowly drifted shut, you finally let sleep overtake you. And you slept. Better than you had in weeks.

**********

Day 107

You sighed as sleep began to fade away and your eyes fluttered open. You glanced over beside you, almost shocked when you found Dean beside you, his face almost nestled into the side of your neck. You shifted slightly, realizing his arm was slung around your middle as you glanced down the bed to find the quilt covering only his ass, leaving you a perfect view of his muscular legs and bare back.

Your cheeks flamed red as you thought back over everything that had happened the day before and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth fill your stomach. But just as suddenly all of it was replaced by guilt as you thought of Jackie. She must be frantic this morning, worrying and wondering just what had happened and why Dean hadn’t come home last night. You had stripped that away from her. And Logan and Ella…. Your stomach roiled at the thought of the small children that had come to view Dean as their second dad.

He could have been home with them, waking up to Jackie’s smile, cooking breakfast and sitting down to eat with his family. Instead he was here, in bed with you. You'd been selfish, needy, wanting something you knew you couldn’t have and claiming something that wasn’t even yours. You’d used Dean, coerced him. You were a homewrecker….

Tears stung the backs of your eyes and you slowly slid out from under Dean’s grasp, no longer wanting to be near him. You felt nauseous as you picked up a discarded article of clothing and threw it on and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind you before going to relieve yourself. Your hair was a mess and your neck, chest, and shoulders were littered with purple hickeys, all testaments of what had transpired the night before.

You couldn’t stand to look at yourself, shame filling your mind, so you quickly exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen. Maybe if you made yourself something to eat, it would stop the roiling of your stomach.

You had just poured a bit of pancake batter into the pan when a pair of hands settled on your hips, causing you to jump. “Mornin’,” Dean said gruffly, his voice still coated with sleep. He pressed himself into you from behind, his hands never leaving your hips as he leaned down to brush a kiss to your neck.

You shuddered at his touch and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes, even when your mind was screaming to not get pulled under. “Dean…” you said, your voice coming out in a longing murmur.

“Mmm?” Dean hummed, his mouth never leaving the skin of your neck.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly.

“What does it look like?” Dean asked, a chuckle in his voice. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him impossibly closer. “I like seeing you in my clothes.” You glanced down, finding the flannel Dean had thrown off the day before, and your stomach lurched.

Dean buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. “And you smell like me,” he growled, his possessive words sending a shiver of desire down your spine.

But you willed your mind to focus. “No, Dean,” you said firmly. “What are we doing?”

He stopped, pulling his head back, but his arms never leaving your middle. You could feel the shift in the air and the tension falling between you as he went rigid. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice void of any emotion.

“Dean, you know what I’m talking about,” you said, your voice unwittingly trembling. “Last night….”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” Dean said, his voice laced with confusion.

“I did...but it was wrong, Dean,” you said. “It was a mistake.”

Dean stepped away abruptly as if he’d been burned. You turned to face him, his expression one of confusion and hurt at your rejection. “(Y/N), I...I….”

“Go home to Jackie,” you said evenly, cutting him off, your lip quivering even as you said the words.

He moved towards you again but you stepped back. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes heavy and his lips set in a thin line as his jaw ticked. “Dean...please go. Just...please, please just leave.” You turned your gaze to the floor when you found yourself unable to hide your tears.

Dean stood there for a few moments longer before his feet disappeared from your line of vision. You heard him moving around in the bedroom, most likely redressing and gathering up the evidence that he was ever here. You didn’t look up as he came back out, pausing at the kitchen entrance, almost as if he was waiting, giving you a chance to stop him. But you didn’t, and he finally moved on, the front door opening and closing a few seconds later.

As soon as you knew he was gone you slumped to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, and laying your face over your crossed arms. You tried to stifle the sob brewing in your chest, but finally it bubbled up, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty apartment. You hated yourself. You hated that you had taken advantage of a man who was already taken. You had betrayed Jackie and let down Logan and Ella. You hated yourself for giving in to the desire of the one thing you wanted most in life. And most of all you hated yourself for still wanting him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤️❤️

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction series #day 182

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

Text

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 2: Thriller •

A/n: I apologize for the possible spelling errors from the Torah scene. They didn't have it in the subtitles so I borrowed from the original script for authenticity, so I apologize for any incorrect information or spelling. Reader's scene is inspired by a scene from the conjuring cause I am unoriginal af and I am a fool for making myself do this since I hated that movie and how it stressed and scared it made me but hey it was writing inspiration so yeah. Anyways, spooky chapter ahead :( Eddie + reader content coming soon!

"He thrusts his fists against the p-posts,"

Anyone who knew Bill well knew of his pride in his bike, Silver. Countless times had he been found barreling down the streets on his pride and joy at impossible speeds, crying out in joy.

"Hi-yo Silver, away!"

Now was not one of those times. Currently, Bill was descending Jackson St. wheeling Silver alongside him as he practiced the tongue twister his mother taught him, as an exercise for his stuttering. He was never quite able to make it all the way through, but that never stopped him from trying.

"The thrusts his fist against the p-po-" He shook his head angrily, licking his lips. "Shit!"

At that moment, he had reached the familiar scene of his driveway. One of the garage doors, he noticed, was open. His dad must be woodworking, he presumed. Sure enough, when he parked his bike in the usual spot, his dad was waiting for him. He took his eye goggles off and turned around, facing away from his current woodworking project.

"Need some help?" He offered, walking into the garage. "I-I-"

"I thought we agreed." His father sighed.

Bill's stomach dropped. He looked to his makeshift model of the sewer system he had created. It was made from borrowed parts of his hamster's tunnels, with two accompanying bins representing different areas of the town.

"Before you say anything-"

"Bill,"

"Just let me show you something first." He insisted, walking towards the model.

He eagerly picked up the little green toy soldier, dropping it into the tube labeled Witcham. He grabbed the hose that was still in place from his last attempt and stuck it in the tube, turning it on. The little army man clinked and thunked down the tubes, finally popping out into the other end and into the bin labeled THE BARRENS.

His father watched unimpressed.

"The Barrens," Bill urged. "I-I-It's the only place th-that Georgie could have ended up."

"He's gone, Bill."

"But if the storm swept Ge-Georgie in, we should have gone--"

His father snapped, standing to his feet suddenly and his voice grew in volume.

"He's gone! He's dead!"

Bill swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and failed to meet his father's eye as he was scolded.

"He's dead! There is nothing we can do! Nothing!"

Bill was feeling his hope and happiness being torn down all over again, and his father's voice lowered into a spiteful venom.

"Now take this down before your mother sees it," He walks over to the blueprints of Derry tacked to the wall, and angrily takes it down. "Next time you want to take something from my office..."

He fitfully folds the poster, refusing to look his son in the eye, and storms out of the garage.

"ask."

Bill looked sadly at his hamster, who was climbing the walls of the cage.

"Guess you get your t-tunnels back,"

×××

Mike Hanlon speeds down the road on his bike and into the edge of town. He was making his usual delivery to the butcher, one of his many jobs on his grandparents' farm. It was a warm evening, which made for a nice trip into town. He sped along the main streets, making his way through the familiar turns to the butcher.

He reached the butcher's and he dismounted his bike, ready to unload the packages of meat for his delivery. That was until he heard the hoots and hollers of the familiar Bowers gang cruising down the street.

His nerves spiked and Mike sprang into action, quickly grabbing his bike and running him and the bike into the safety of the alley. Bowers always had a knack for finding Mike on his trips through town, and every time he would terrorize the poor boy, spitting racial slurs at him, or worse. Sometimes he would have to come home to his grandparents with injuries he would have to explain. Bowers was as bad as they come and his grandfather was right about people like him.

As he hid himself and his bike behind a junk pile in the alley, watching the car cruise by slowly on the street, he was brought back to the conversation he and his grandfather had had.

"There are two places you can be in this world," He said. "You can be out here like us, or you can be in there, like them,"

He was pointing to the pen stocked with sheep, and Mike felt queasy from the fate of the animals, but knowing truth rang in his grandfather's words.

"You waste time hemming and hawing, and someone else is gonna make that choice for you. Except you won't know it until you feel that bolt between your eyes."

Mike saw the blue Trans Am pass the outer street and he exhales in relief.

"Oh, Jesus."

Still panting heavily, trying to calm his racing heart, he walks his bike to the end of the alley. He leans his bike against a nearby dumpster, back facing the door of the butcher's, and begins unloading packages of meat.

He hears a soft growl accompanied the rattling of chains behind him. Quickly, he turns to face the door, curious. He sees the old dirty - or was it singed? - door attempting to swing open. It only opens a crack, the chains on the handle preventing it from opening. And did Mike smell smoke?

Nevertheless, his eyes never left the door, and his breathing never slowed. He was appalled and horrified to suddenly hear the voice of his mother, or at least who he thought sounded like his mother.

"Mike!" She screamed.

Mike flinched, his heart pounding horribly fast. It ached to see the familiar scene before him, just as vivid as he had remembered. Charred hands slipped out from behind the door, clawing at the pavement desperately.

"Hurry, son!" His father.

"Help! It burns!"

Still frozen in terror, Mike steps forward hesitantly, ready to reach the door. Hands are still clawing at the brick wall, scratching the charred door.

Smoke unfurled from the cracks of the door, the hands retreated. Mike took a step back and the door swung open suddenly. He could hear the rattling of chains once more, and the boy frowned at what he saw. Behind the door was a dark room, the only source of light came from behind the freezer strips to the meat cooler. He could see the outlines of the meat hangers and the many figures of the deceased animals.

Mike heard the bleating of sheep and metal clanging. Suddenly, a figure hanging in the freezer moved, looking up at him. It was a long lanky figure, everything but it's head limp. It was a distorted figure of a man. He could have sworn it looked almost like a clown.

The figure twirled around on the chains it hung from. It was now facing Mike, who watched frozen in fear, shaking violently. It stared at Mike, two glowing yellow lights emitted from where its eyes should be. It waved its long slender arm, it's movements stiff and forced, like a marionette puppet.

The loud and sudden revving of an engine brought Mike out of his daze. Mike jumped frantically, barely missing the Trans Am by inches. Unable to catch his footing, he landed on a pile of cardboard near the dumpster. The car came to a sudden stop, rock music blaring from the radio. In the front seat was Belch Huggins, and a livid Henry Bowers stood on the passenger's seat and popping out of the open sunroof.

"Stay the fuck outta my town!" He roared, veins bulging from his forehead neck, spit flying.

He flicked his cigarette at Mike who flinched, and the car roared to life and sped away. Mike stayed on the ground, still panting heavily from the intense encounters.

"Mike?"

He looked up to the open door, the familiar face of the butcher stepping through the side of the building where the clown once was. He was cleaning his knife, blood stained his apron. He looked at Mike in concern.

"Are you okay?"

×××

Inside the Derry Synagogue, Stan Uris reads from the Torah, rehearsing. His father, the rabbi, is pacing above him, waiting for a screw up.

"Baruk atah Adonai, eloheynu meleek,"

"Melehk. Start again"

"Baruk atah Adonai, eloheynu malehk... malehk... "

"Ha'olam..."

"Ha'olam, Asher bahkar Mikal..."

"Banu Mikal! You're not studying Stanley. How's it gonna look? The rabbi's son can't finish his own Torah reading. Take the book to my office. Obviously, you're not using it" he spits.

Stanley closed the book, sighing. He timidly made his way to his father's office and opened the door. With the book clutched to his side, he brought his other hand up to the side of his face, blinding himself from the painting that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

And yet Stan was still able to see the crooked frame on the wall, just as crooked as the woman in the painting itself. Everything about the woman in the painting made him uneasy. Her unnatural elongated neck, and her claw-like fingers that wrapped around the flute. Her eyes were uneven and they were a blank milky white.

It's silly, Stan told himself, it's just a painting. Just a stupid painting. He stepped forward, trying to calm his racing heart. He exhaled, placing the book under his arm and straightened the painting. See? Nothing bad happened.

He gladly walked away to the bookshelf at the end of the room, though he couldn't shake the adrenaline that had accumulated in his system. He placed the book on the shelf, and-

SMACK!

Stan could hear his blood pumping in his ears and he slowly turned around. The painting face down on the floor. The lights flickered with an obnoxious buzz, matching the rapid beat of his heart. Stan gulped, picking up the large frame and hung it carefully back in place on the wall. He stared at the painting, his heart in his throat and his stomach churned.

He took a few frightened steps back, panting heavily as he tried to comprehend the now blank painting before him. The woman was gone.

His breathing picked up, he couldn't believe his eyes. Stan whirled around when he heard the office door creak open. But it had stopped moving. Suddenly, Stan felt as if he was being watched.

Stan felt chills run down his spine and his skin pricked. It's too quiet, he thought. Right on cue, something dropped to the ground suddenly, and a dark looming figure unknowingly behind him. A figure with a long unnatural elongated neck, and long talon-like fingers. His lungs constricted, he gasped for breath that struggled to enter his lungs, he shakily turned around.

Out of the shadows came the woman, towering over him, smiling an unnaturally large smile, showing rows of several sharp teeth. A shaky scream erupted from Stan's throat and he fled, slamming the door to the office and never looked back.

×××

Night had fallen and Beverly and Y/n lay passed out next to one another in front of the Y/n's television set. They were both snuggled up under a shared blanket in the middle of Y/n's living room. The room was silent, apart from the soft and muffled voices coming from the TV. The alternating hues and shades casting from the TV and onto the sleeping form of the girls was the only source of light.

Laughter from the on-screen audiences echoed in the otherwise silent living room, and Y/n stirred awake. She didn't have to open her eyes to know the TV screen was bright. Soft hues were peeking through her eyelids and she sighed quietly, knowing she had to get up from her spot and turn it off. She sat up slowly, cautious not to move too much and wake Beverly.

She gently pulled the blanket off her form and it wasn't until her legs were exposed had she realized how hot she had become. Her apartment didn't have the best air conditioning, and summer nights like these made getting comfortable no easy feat. She tiptoed across the room and bent down to switch off the TV. The room was now eerily silent, and she could hear a slight ringing in her ears. She froze when she heard a soft rustling come from Beverly, who stirred in her sleep.

A brief moment passed as Y/n prayed silently that she hadn't woken Bev up. When nothing happened, she visibly relaxed. Her eyes were still very much heavy from sleep, she trudged back to her spot on the floor, and laid down underneath the blankets.

She breathed contently at the feeling of her chilled pillow as it met her heated cheeks. Her feet wiggled their way out from under the blanket subconsciously for air, the thin blanket clinging to her sweaty legs. She mentally thanked her past self for opting for her shorts over her long pajama pants. She nuzzled her head gently into the plump cushion and felt sleep blanket her conscious.

Y/n was eased in and out of sleep like the tide wading up the sand before slinking back out. She was unaware of how much time had passed, but at one point she became aware of Beverly kicking her leg. She frowned, ignoring it, figuring she had done it accidentally.

She felt the groggy fog of sleep wash over her brain once more. Until she felt a tug on her exposed foot. She frowned, moving her leg away, growing cranky.

Y/n groaned in protest, a pouty look contorting her face, her eyes still glued shut.

Another tug.

"Knock it off, Bev," she whined into her pillow.

Another tug.

"Jesus, Bev, I mean it! I'm trying to sleep" she groaned louder.

No reply. That's when Y/n realized there hadn't been any reply from Beverly the first two times. Not even a breathy chuckle or any sign that Bev had acknowledged her. Or even heard her. She opened her eyes slowly. Soft white slats of light that were creeping through the window was the only source of light.

Beverly was right next to her, under the blanket, her back to Y/n. And snoring. She was fast asleep. She couldn't have done it. She frowned and propped herself up slightly to get a better look at Bev and she stared in confusion. She looked around the room, but she saw nothing unusual. Her eyes landed on Beverly again, her racking her brain for any possible solution.

The next thing she knew, she was flung back as she was pulled violently forward across the carpet. Her head smacked into the floor rather harshly, and she temporarily lost her senses. She felt her stomach plummet and she gasped when she made herself peer up. Standing there, towering over her was an impossibly tall, slender figure with disheveled tufts of red hair poking out on all sides and a ghostly white face. Its large bulbous head was cracked and dry, like chipped paint and it was smiling down at her hungrily. It was a clown.

She would have screamed but nothing came, she had no voice. She trembled violently in terror and she felt hot tears stream down her cheeks, she was begging her limbs to move but they all failed her. His arms were impossibly long, and they were twig thin. No thicker than a paper towel roll and they stretched down all the way to her leg, and he hardly had to bend down to reach. Her left ankle was captured in his thin gloved hand.

The clown smiled, forming an anatomically impossible U shape, showing rows upon rows of teeth. Its eyes were completely black, save for two glowing yellow irises in the center. Y/n felt her leg grow damp and she realized he-it- whatever the hell this thing was, was now drooling on her, it's fingers still coiled around her leg.

Y/n hadn't realized she was in pain until she heard herself whimper. Long sharp claws that ripped through his white gloves were now hooked into her ankle tearing her skin to shreds as he pulled. She realized she was slowly being pulled towards the clown inch by terrifying inch. Y/n flinched when she heard a scream until she realized it had been her own.

Beverly jumped awake in a frightened panic, looked everywhere around the room, but she found nothing but her traumatized friend.

She saw her friend sitting up straight, slightly farther down from her pillow, shaking violently. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot, silent sobs shook her body and her gaze was focused a million miles away.

"Jesus Y/n, what happened?" She brought herself forward and wrapped her arms around the girl.

"C-Clo-" But she was never able to finish her sentence.

She collapsed into sobs, still shaking with fear. Beverly's heart broke as she cradled her. She gently swayed her, rubbing her hand up and down Y/n's arms soothingly.

Beverly felt her shoulder grow damp from Y/n's tears but she didn't care. She just continued to try and soothe her best friend. Y/n flinched at just about every move Bev made, and her heart broke more, understanding more than anyone, and Bev tried not to move too much.

Beverly sat comforting her friend for the better half of an hour. Finally, her sobs had died down, but her eyes were still wide, still very much alert form the horrifying encounter. She sniffled, nuzzled into her friend's arms, and occasionally Bev's long red hair tickled her nose and she'd sniffle.

Beverly finally spoke up in a gentle whisper. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She felt Y/n shake her head no, and she felt her shoulder grow damp once more.

Finally, Y/n spoke, her voice came out in a harsh whisper, it cracked ever so slightly. Either her screaming or lack of words or some combination of the two had taken a toll on her voice.

"Y-you wouldn't believe me,"

"Of course I would, Y/n." She assured.

It was quiet again, and tears silently streamed down her cheeks.

"I can't..."

Bev sighed, hugging her Y/n tighter if that was even possible.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna force you. Here," she gently pulled herself away to look her friend in the eye. "Why don't we turn on the lights and grab some midnight snacks from the kitchen and just talk, okay? I have a feeling you're not going to want to go back to sleep. Am I wrong?"

Y/n shook her head no, and Bev smiled. "Okay, sounds like a plan."

Bev rose to her feet and walked over beside the couch to the lamp on the side table and switched it on. Soft yellow light lit up the room. Both girls squinted from the bright light, both of them having gotten used to the dark. And Beverly tiptoed to the cent of the room.

"Must have been some nightmare, huh?"

Y/n went pale, her eyes fixed on something. She had tried to tell herself that everything she just saw was a figment of her imagination. She would have loved nothing more than that horror show to be just a twisted nightmare. And as Beverly had soothed her, calmed her and comforted her, she had almost begun to believe it. That was until she shifted her foot slightly and felt pain flare up on her ankle.

Beverly was unaware of her friend's rising panic. Her back to her friend as she rose slightly on her tiptoes to reach the dangling metal chain for the fanlight on the ceiling.

"Now, let's get some comfort food in you. I myself am craving some..." she trailed off, her eyes bulging out when she saw Y/n.

In the dark, neither of them had seen it. And Y/n had still been in such a state of shock, she forgot all about the pain.

Y/n's sad and panicked eyes were fixed on her ankle. Another defeated whimper escaped her throat as she stared at the three long and deep gashes that trailed down her left leg, blood staining her [s/c] and the carpet beneath her.

+++

@seasidecrowbar @bevxmarsh @supernovawriting @readyforitbitch @classiprincess @edsloveshisrichie @sivords @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica @kaitlynjones12 @songbird-writes @traceylader

#it #it rewrite #it chapter 2 rewrite #eddie spaghetti #eddie 2019 #eddie kaspbrak x reader #eddie kaspbrak #eddie 2017 #reader insert #it reader insert #series #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #bill denbrough #stan uris #• chapter 2 •#pennywise #filler chapter #kinda?

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cherryrogers · 5 years

Text

Halloween.

Loki x Fem!Reader

Contains: Pure fluff.

Synopsis: It’s Loki’s first Halloween, and you’re determined to make sure he enjoys it.

__________________________________________

“Halloween?” Loki asked, a confused brow raised as he sat across from you at the kitchen counter.

“You don’t know what Halloween is?”

The god didn’t react, indicating to you that his answer was no.

“Well,” You started. “It’s a holiday where everyone dresses up in a costume, usually something scary. People decorate their houses with creepy stuff, carve pumpkins, eat way too much candy... it’s basically a day to celebrate all things horror.”

Loki just stared at you for a couple of seconds, comprehending your explanation before deadpanning at you. “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of.”

You sighed, knowing that he would have that reaction to Halloween. Sure, it was pretty stupid. Was their any logical, important reason for the holiday to take place? Not particularly. Did you waste a tad too much money on Halloween decorations? Certainly. But it was fun. While you knew Loki wouldn’t intitially like the idea of Halloween, you knew that with a bit of persuasion, he would be dressed in costume and jamming a knife into a pumpkin in no time.

“I read somewhere that people originally started wearing scary costumes on the day to ward off ghosts.” You stated, pulling out your phone and going to your camera roll. Perhaps showing Loki consumes from the previous Halloween’s you’d celebrated would get him more in the spirit.

Usually, when it came to getting Loki out of his bedroom and stopping him from brooding, you were the one making him do those things. Watching him trying to settle into living in the compound was hard, seeing as the rest of your housemates didn’t tend to give him a second glance when he was around. Of course, Thor would occasionally have brotherly banter with him, but other than that, Loki didn’t have much of a relationship with anyone else. You’d been in his place before - being new to the compound and feeling like the odd one out. You knew it wasn’t a nice feeling, and you were determined to make the compound feel like somewhat of a home to him.

“Look.” You placed your phone in front of him on the marble counter. The picture on the screen was a photo of you and Natasha from the previous Halloween, before Loki had arrived at the compound. Natasha had her back to the camera, showing off the makeshift wings you and her had spent days crafting to try and resemble Sam’s outfit. She was looking over her shoulder dramatically, standing directly next to you in your costume. Red boots covered the bottom half of your legs and stopped just below your knee, hiding the blue leggings that you were wearing along with a long-sleeved, shoulder-less top. The top was plain white at first, before you painted the top part blue and added the red stripes to the bottom of it; not forgetting the star in the centre. To top off the costume, you were holding Cap’s actual shield in front of your body, which you’d begged Steve for you to use for the night.

Sam and Steve tried to act like your costumes were terrible, but they secretly were quite impressed.

“These were mine and Nat’s costumes last year. Clever, huh?” You attempted to get a positive reaction out of Loki, but you unsurprisingly failed.

He didn’t take his eyes off your phone as he replied. “And these costumes were meant to ward off evil spirits? I’m not sure the image of the almighty Captain America will do that job.”

He wasn’t wrong, honestly. However, he just didn’t seem to be grasping the idea of Halloween. You couldn’t necessarily blame him, considering he’d never celebrated any seasonal holidays before moving permanently to Earth.

“Halloween’s not really about that anymore. Like most things, it kinda lost its traditional purpose and became something more... fun. I mean, it’d be weird if I dressed up as Steve on any other random day. But on Halloween... totally fine.” You took your phone back and shoved it back into your pocket.

“So, it’s now just an excuse to dress up in outfits that aren’t usually socially acceptable?”

“...Yes.”

“Again, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You smacked a hand against your forehead, letting out an agitated sigh. He just didn’t get it. Maybe if the guy actually tried dressing up and enjoying himself, he wouldn’t be so critical of it.

Loki had a smug smile on his face when you looked back up at him. “Look, there’s two days until Halloween. We’re having a party on Halloween night, and everyone is gonna be dressed up. Please tell me you’ll be there? With a costume?”

His smile faded slightly. “I don’t like parties.”

“But it’s a Halloween party.”

“That doesn’t change my mind.”

Your eyes widened hopefully, leaning closer to Loki across the counter. You weren’t going to say it aloud, but you really wanted him to be at the party. You liked Loki a lot; as a friend, and perhaps even something more than that. It was important to you that he didn’t miss out on things just because he doesn’t feel like he belongs. While he hadn’t directly told you that, you could tell that was what he thought of himself. You noticed how he tended to leave a room when too many people were on it, how he never joined in on movie nights, how he would disappear during missions despite Tony scolding him for it every time.

Loki shouldn’t have to feel like that, because he was a person - he was just as important as everyone else living in the compound. And you wanted to make sure he knew that.

“Come on, Lokes.” His nose scrunched at the nickname he supposedly hated (he didn’t really). “I’ll make sure you have fun. I’ll even help you with your costume. We’re running a little short on time, but I’m sure if I finish all my work now and get started as soon as possible I can put something tog-”

“Fine.”

“You’ll come?”

He exhaled reluctantly, a small grin playing on his lips. “Yes.”

As soon as he said the word, you rushed out of the kitchen to your office to get started on the paperwork you needed finished for the 30th. Your handwriting was slightly messy, and you could barely focus on what you were meant to be doing as you thought of a million ideas for a Halloween costume for Loki. Would he want something more on the creepy side? Something more playful? A character from a movie, or something original? Thoughts whirled around in your mind as you got yourself hyped for the party, hyped to see Loki.

While you were in the middle of working, Natasha wandered into your office and sat herself on the chair across from you, making herself comfortable. The red head often came in when she was bored - Nat was incredibly fast at finishing paperwork. The woman did it as soon as it was handed to her and never had to worry about deadlines. You wished you had her work ethic.

“You got a costume for Thursday yet?” She spoke up.

“Please,” You chuckled, putting down your pen and resting your chin in your hands. “I’ve had a costume planned since last Halloween.”

Natasha raised a curious brow. “And that is?”

You smirked, holding up a finger, telling her you’d be one minute as you fled to your bedroom to grab an element of your costume to show her.

When you returned, you instructed Natasha to close her eyes while you carefully put on the small part of your costume. Once you were happy, you allowed her to open her eyes, and she let out a laugh at what she was looking at.

You had put on two black gloves, but that wasn’t all. Attached to each glove was sharp, long scissor blades that followed the movement of your fingers when you moved them. You weren’t too sure about the idea at first, as you could hear Steve’s voice already telling you about how your costume was a ‘safety hazard’, but it was for Halloween. As long as you didn’t get too drunk and forget that literal blades were sticking out of your hands, you were sure you’d be fine.

Nat tilted her head to the side, examining the makeshift gloves. “Edward Scissorhands?”

“You guessed it.” You beamed. “So, if anyone asks why all of the scissors in the compound have disappeared, don’t rat me out. It’s for the cause.”

“It’s for a Halloween costume you’ll be wearing for a couple of hours.”

“I’m sure Tony won’t have an issue with buying some more.” You shrugged. “Plus, now that my costume is sorted, I need to think of something for Loki.”

Leaning forward in her seat, Natasha furrowed her brows. “Loki? He’s coming to the party?”

“Yeah, I asked him to.” You said the gloves off your hands and laid them gently on your desk.

“And he said yes?” More confusion was laced in her tone.

You nodded, feeling proud of yourself internally for being the only one that could actually get Loki to come to the party. “Yep, but he needs a costume. Something that he won’t hate. I want him to enjoy himself, you know? If he has a shitty costume, he’s gonna hate me for making him go.”

A smirk made its way onto Nat’s lips, and her expression gave you hope. “I have an idea.”

* * *

As you skipped down the hall to Loki’s bedroom, you couldn’t shake the excitement that was practically making you glow. It was finally Halloween, and there was two hours until the party started.

After Natasha suggested an idea for Loki’s costume, you and her spent a good amount of time putting it together. She made you a list of everything you needed to buy from the costume store, and while you were at the store buying all of it, Natasha planned his hair and makeup. Yes, hair and makeup. If Loki was going to look amazing in his costume, he was going to have to venture a little out of his comfort zone.

Loki was aware that you were planning out his costume for the night, but he was definitely underestimating you. He was thinking at the most you’d give him a prop and a headband. Little did he know...

Knowing that you’d be very busy getting Loki prepared for the night, you had your hair and makeup done early, as well as your full costume on - except for the scissorhands. Although they looked cool, they were quite impractical. Your hair was curled into tight ringlets, and the dark coloured shadow on your eyelids made your eye colour pop. Several thick belts tapped around your black t-shirt, and that was complimented by a short black tutu and knee high combat boots. You looked hot, honestly. Sure, maybe your hair should be a little messier and your skirt shouldn’t be so short, but you were hoping to impress a certain someone tonight, and you didn’t want to ruin your hair by dousing it in hairspray. Plus, the skirt was just cute.

Using the hand that wasn’t carrying the bag of Loki’s stuff, you knocked quickly on his bedroom door. It wasn’t long before the door opened slowly, revealing the god wearing a surprised expression at your costume. Maybe it was the makeup that accentuated your eyes, or the tutu that didn’t quite cover your thighs; after whatever it was that caused Loki to gulp nervously, you smiled warmly at him.

“Happy Halloween, Lokes.” You greeted him, sliding past his tall frame and setting the duffle bag down on his neatly made bed. “You ready to see your costume?”

The mention of his costume snapped Loki back into reality. “I’m not quite sure, if I’m honest. But, go on.”

After fumbling with the zip of the bag, you pulled out the main part of his costume - the headpiece.

It started out as a plastic hairband, but you and Nat worked your magic, and it became something pretty awesome. The hairband was painted dark green, and long, green and gold snakes, which honestly looked sort of realistic, stuck out from it. It didn’t look like a crappy two dollar hairband from the costume store - it looked professionally made. Even Loki was pretty impressed, yet a little confused.

He reached out and took the hairband from you, examining it carefully. “This... looks like you spent a lot of time on it.”

“I did. Well, we did. Natasha and I made it together.”

“So... what is my costume? Some sort of snake man?” Loki questioned, causing you to glare playfully at him.

“No, you’re not gonna be a snake man. Do you still have all of your green, Asgardian stuff?” You asked.

He nodded cautiously. “Yes, why?”

“You’re gonna need it for your costume.”

* * *

An hour later, Loki is in a long, green cloak over a simple black tee and tight leather pants. Admittedly, you picked them out because his legs looked fine in them. He is sat on his desk chair, which was moved in front of the long, vertical mirror in his room so that he could watch as his makeup and hair was done. Initially, he was a little reluctant to having a large fuss being made on his appearance, but he secretly loved the feeling of his hair being combed and the soft bristles of makeup brushes touching his face.

Natasha was on hair duty. She’d brushed through his locks gently before adding semi-permanent green dye to certain streaks in his hair. Meanwhile, you were setting the light layer of foundation you’d added to his skin and beginning to do some subtle eye makeup on him.

“You excited for the party yet?” You murmured, tapping the eyeshadow brush against the palette to rid any excess green powder and lifting it to his eyes.

“I’d be more excited if you told me what I was going as.” He responded.

You chuckled with a roll of your eyes. “I thought you would’ve figured it out by now, Loki. You’re wearing a headband covered in snakes, you’re all dressed in green...”

Loki just looked at you cluelessly.

“You’re Medusa! The one with snakes for hair, and if you look into her eyes, you get turned into stone.”

A look of realisation overcame Loki’s expression. “Ah, I see. Sorry, I don’t tend to pay that much attention to Greek mythology. I’m more interested in the Norse type.”

“Hm, I wonder why.” You scoffed at his words. “How’s the hair coming along, Mrs Incredible?”

“Just about done, Scissorhands.” Natasha replied, sliding the snake hairband on top of Loki’s head. As always, the girl looked stunning. She was dressed as Elastigirl, and the outfit was practically identical to her outfit in the movie. You and her really didn’t mess around when it came to Halloween costumes - if you weren’t going all out, what was the point? You let Nat know that the eye makeup was finished too, and put all the makeup products back in your duffle bag.

Clapping excitedly, you ushered Loki to stand from his chair. “Alright, Medusa. Let’s get a full look at you.”

The god stood up, groaning slightly at the pain in his legs from being sat down for so long. His gaze trailed from the ground up to his full reflection in the mirror. His outfit was something he was pretty used to wearing, as it was his own Asgardian attire. However, his eyes widened at the slight green-gold colour that had been brushed over his eyelids. He eyed the headband that was sitting on top of his dark locks, surprised at how much it... worked for him. Loki was honestly sort of crapping himself, worried that he’d show up to the party looking like a joke. Though, he wasn’t so concerned about that now.

“Do you like it?” You asked hesitantly, stepping closer to him so you were staring at both of your figures next to each other in the mirror. Honestly, you thought you looked like quite the duo.

There was a short silence, before Loki cracked a smile. “You’ve pleasantly surprised me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t prevent the grin that took over your face, and your hand raised to Loki’s shoulder, squeezing it assuringly. “I’ve gotta say, Lokes. You make a pretty good-looking Medusa.”

Loki couldn’t tell whether his breath hitched from your words or your touch, but both made him genuinely glad you’d pushed him into dressing up for Halloween.

You looked behind you, seeing Natasha packing the duffle bag and then throwing it over her shoulder, getting ready to head downstairs. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to the red head, considering the whole Medusa constume was her idea. In return, she mouthed a ‘have fun tonight’, winking playfully before pulling open the door and leaving.

* * *

As soon as you heard music blaring through the speakers downstairs, you pulled on your gloves covered in scissors and motioned for Loki to follow you out to the party, apologising with a giggle when you accidentally wacked him in the arm with one of your blades.

You and Loki manoeuvred in between the crowds of people in their costumes; considering the party was for people in the compound and anyone else Tony approved to come, there was a lot of people dotted around the usually empty ground floor.

Once you made it to the bar, you ordered drinks for the both of you. Not something too strong, but just something to take the edge off. To take the edge off you, anyway. The regular alcohol wouldn’t have an effect on Loki, but he still liked drinking the stuff - the bitter yet sweet taste was comforting in its own way.

After thanking the bartender, you went to pick up your drink, bit were soon reminded of the impracticalities of your costume when one of the scissor blades clinked against your glass. Loki noticed your frown, chuckling gently as he sipped his own drink before placing it back on the counter.

“Allow me.” He leaned forward and spoke next to your ear over the loud music, causing your body to freeze at you being in close proximity to the god.

His own hand clasped around your glass, and he lifted it up to your mouth, tipping it towards you. Feeling the liquid against your lips, you opened your mouth slightly and let yourself sip the drink, savouring the sugary taste on your tongue. Your eyes never left his as he took the glass away and placed it back next to you. There was something oddly... alluring about Loki doing that for you, especially since his bright eyes were piercing into yours the whole time. It made your stomach turn with nerves in a way it never had before, a way that you were sure could only be caused by the man in front of you.

“Thank you.” Your voice was slightly raspy, since your previous interaction made your throat go dry, ironically after you’d just taken a drink.

“I was meant to tell you before,” Loki dropped his gaze to the bar for a moment, before bringing it back up to you. “Your outfit is marvellous.”

He wasn’t speaking next to your ear that time, so you couldn’t quite hear what Loki had said. You took a step closer to him, your chests almost pressing together. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the music. What did you say?”

Colour arised in his cheeks as he leaned in next to your ear again. “You look incredible tonight, (Y/N).”

Your stomach was doing flips at this point, but the compliment also gave you a surge of confidence. It was Halloween, after all. Not that that had anything to do with making impulsive decisions, but if you made one and it backfired, at least you were at a party where you could drown your embarrassment with alcohol.

Before Loki could pull back away from you, you reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Your lips lingered on his soft skin for a moment, and you could tell his whole body had stiffened. However, judging by the smile playing on his lips, you assumed that he appreciated the gesture.

“Thanks, Loki.” You practically whispered, but because you were still so close to him, Loki heard you very clearly.

Quickly, you pulled off one of your gloves and grasped your drink, chugging the rest of the liquid in two gulps. After putting the glass aside, you replaced the glove on your hand and pushed yourself away from the bar. Tilting your head to the side, you motioned for Loki to follow you to the dance floor.

With you walking in front of him, you didn’t notice the smile that had widened on face. To think that he was going to completely ignore the existence of Halloween. He reminisced on the moment you had shared only a minute prior, still feeling his skin tingling from your soft touch. Hopefully, that would be the first of many intimate moments you’d share.

“Ow.” A voice pulled Loki from his thoughts, and he searched for the source of the cry, eventually assuming it was blond in front of him who was rubbing his arm with a pout on his lips.

“Those gloves are a safety hazard, (Y/N).”

“Shut up, Steve.”

#i wasnt expecting for this to be so long #but here we are #happy halloween y’all #a new part of princess should also be up by the end of the week :)#loki #loki oneshot #loki reader insert #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki x you #loki x fem!reader

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xxaussiewerewolfxx-arch · 3 years

Text

@asynjja sent a message: ‘ why did you turn out this way? ’

FINGERTIPS INSTANTLY RECOIL BACK FROM THE IMMINANT THREAT OF BEING TOUCHED. The once pristine white bandages wrapped tightly around pale knuckles were soaked through with crimson blood ( far darker than that of a human ) though he was almost certain that the wounds underneath were just minutes away from closing completely. There were personality traits of his that he had always despised. Probably more that he would like to admit and his unnatural willingness to dish out violence was certainly one of these; because for far to often had he let his fists or a weapon ( usually a knife dipped in his own poisonous blood ) do the talking for him. The weight of her disapproving gaze was becoming almost unbearable and maybe that was what caused him to breath a sigh of relief when she finally uttered her question. Granted it wasn’t the question he had been expecting her to ask though ironically it did link back to his bloody knuckles. Violence, misery, rejection had turned him into the man he was today. She was the only individual he allowed to get away with asking him a question like that as anyone else would have been thrown out of the door. Should he tell her he had only assaulted someone because they had threatened to stab him for brusquely asking them to pipe the noise down so he could drink his pint of Fosters lager in peace. No that didn’t seem like the wisest thing to do right now. It was much easier to let her think he had injured his knuckles while doing a solo sparring session at the gym down town.

A trembling grasp brings a warm china tea cup covered in peacocks ( a birthday present given to him by his son Morgan during his travels around India ) up to his lips, allowed his senses to bask in the comforting fragrance of freshly cut lavender before finally allowing speech to roll of his tongue. “Where do ya want me t’start, Moa? I mean plenty of things have shaped me into the man ya see before ya today.” A mumbled response, though voice is perhaps harsh enough to give away the offense he had taken to her curious queries to slip into his tone. ”Should I tell ya it was me own mamăˈwho made me this way. By discardin’ me at birth and dumpin at an children home run by nuns in the north of Bucharest. I had to sing hymns with all the other kids every Sunday and pray to a God I didn’t bloody believe in every single night before I was allowed to go to sleep. Yeah even at an early age I knew in my heart that Christianity wasn’t the religion for me. I guess I should be glad they didn’t try to convert me, huh?.”

He feels his mind wander back to all the early mornings he had spent wandering through the woods that stood not to far from the children's home when the nuns had been far to focused on their prayers and contemplation to notice he was missing. He thinks of how the birds were unnaturally drawn to him —— the different species of corvids watching him from high atop the tallest pine trees with an almost consuming gaze before cawing amongst themselves — one of them had even decided to land on his head and use him as its new makeshift perch . It should have unnevered him on how much they were drawn to him but in a way he felt like they were just keeping an eye on him or hoping he would lead them to a food source. Wolves and ravens had always shared a natural bond with each other —— and many of those birds had become his trusted companions during his time at the children's home. Moa on the other hand hated the ravens as they were Odins eyes and ears but he himself loved them above any other animal. “I could always tell ya about my time with the demon who tortured bled me dry and killed my fiancee right in front of me. I mean that changed me more than any other event has in my past. But then again that would be cruel. For both you and me.”

#asynjja #/ I'll face it with a grin. I'm never giving in / ( MAIN VERSE )#/ On with the show / ( QUEUE )

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hawkbucks · 4 years

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Number One With A Bullet

I saw a prompt comment on the WinterIron subreddit, and I thought I’d try my hand at it. It read:

Tony grows up in an average household, but his brain still lands him at MIT. One unlucky night, his trip to the bank gets interrupted by a robbery. However, the criminals leave as soon as they see Tony’s face. Looking into it, it turns out Tony was put on the No-Harm list by the leader of a global crime syndicate who goes by the Winter Soldier. He is completely flabbergasted when the Winter Soldier looks exactly like his ex-boyfriend, Bucky Barnes.

Tony doesn’t live in a bad neighborhood per se, but he wouldn’t be caught at an ATM in the dead of night with no more as defense than his keys poking through the slits his fingers make when they’re balled up in a fist.

And yet, that’s how he finds himself, standing under a cloth awning with a yellow light doing its best to illuminate him and provide a feeling of safety. He slides his card into the slot and waits for the mechanical voice to tell him to punch in his PIN. Damn the fact that the nearest convenience store is cash-only (seriously, they might as well be an inconvenience store with that policy in his very humble opinion), and damn the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s going to need at least 2 extra cans of Red Bull to get through his courseload tonight. He squeezes his keys harder, his keyring starting to dig almost painfully into his palm. Maybe leaving New York was a bad idea. Maybe he should’ve just went to NYU; at least then he’d be surrounded by familiarity.

The ATM asks for his PIN.

As his thumb hovers over the keypad, something sharp presses into the base of his spine. He freezes, breath catching in his throat, and hopes to god that he’s just imagining things.

“We just need you to withdraw a li’l something for us, alright?” a raspy voice sounds from over his right shoulder. It’s muffled slightly, probably due to a ski mask or a pulled-up scarf covering a mouth. “We don’t want this to get ugly.”

Yeah. So much for imagining things. He has his makeshift claws, sure, but he never thought that he’d actually have to use them, and the usage of ‘we’ isn’t exactly instilling any sort of confidence in him, especially when the presence of another person is confirmed by a low hum in agreement.

‘Course, it’s either stand here and let these guys bleed him for all the money he has in his account, or act out—and possibly get stabbed to death—in hopes of scaring them away once they see he isn’t going to be that easy of a target. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t mind doing a little tango with death if that means he isn’t going to be evicted from his apartment and end up living out on the streets. It’s not like he has that much to lose anyway (unless you count his piles of rising student debt and well-worn clothes as something).

“You know what to do, right?” the voice continues. “Just give us some money, and we’ll be right outta your hair.” The sharpness grows insistently, and he knows it’s only a matter of time until it breaks through his clothes and sinks into him.

“Just money?” he asks, swallowing down any residual fear.

“Just money.”

He blinks and nods twice. Now or never, Stark. Now or never.

He wildly turns around and punches out with his “claws,” satisfaction settling in his chest when he hears a grunt of pain. The knife clatters to the ground, and he watches as they reel back, holding the side of their face.

He sets his shoulders, adrenaline coursing through his veins as his breathing becomes heavy. He glares at the other, daring them to come forward.

Except that the other doesn’t come forward. No, their eyes are wide through the holes in their mask, and their knife is hanging loosely at their side. “Oh, fuck,” they start, their voice higher-pitched and more nasally. They look at recently-punched-guy out of the corner of their eye before looking back at him. “Uh, shit. Dude, it’s him. Norman, fuck, it’s him.”

Tony furrows his brows together. “It’s him”? What the hell does that mean? Last he checked, he wasn’t anyone that would get people caught up while attempting to rob him, unless he somehow turned into a celebrity overnight.

“Aw, man,” recently-punched-guy—or Norman, as he’s recently learned—moans, looking at Tony, knees buckling from underneath them. “The Soldier’s gonna have our heads.”

The Soldier? The closest person he knows to a Soldier is Rhodey, and he’s pretty sure Rhodey isn’t the kind of guy who would go around threatening to have people’s heads if they screw with him. Or maybe he is, but he’s definitely not the kind of guy who would make good on that promise if the way his would-be robbers are looking like they’re staring their death sentence in the face is any indication. (Speaking of which, probably not the smartest move to have given Tony one of their names.)

“We didn’t know it was you, man, we swear!” Not-Norman pleads, sounding on the verge of hysterics. “Dude, you gotta tell the big man that we didn’t know!”

He stays silent, racking his head and trying to figure out who this Soldier could be and why it seems like they want to protect him so much. Rhodey’s out, obviously. Pepper may be the next most likely candidate, but there’s also the fact that she has better taste than to call herself the Soldier. It can’t be Peter, that kid he tutors, since Peter is 12, and it’s not Peter’s Aunt May because he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t hurt a fly even if it was buzzing all over her lasagna.

Norman and Not-Norman, however, take his silence to mean that he is, in fact, considering not telling the “big man” that they didn’t know. “Listen, if we knew it was you, we wouldn’t even have approached you!” Norman says. “Just tell him that, yeah? ‘Cause we have to go. You—fuck—you hit hard!”

“I’ll tell him,” he says. If he could ever find out who “he” was.

“Okay, okay. We good?” Not-Norman’s already backing away.

Tony nods.

Norman, still holding his face, turns tail and runs. “You can keep the knife!” he shouts out, Not-Norman lagging just a few strides behind him.

Tony looks down at the knife, considering.

See, someone calling themselves the Soldier sets off alarms in Tony’s head. Unless they’re some 14-year-old on an MMORPG, they’re probably involved in some shady, shady business, and it’s not like he can just Google who they are. Fortunately, Tony knows someone who deals in shady businesses (mostly because they’ve been friends since elementary school and, while they went down incredibly different paths, she’s always looked out for him). He sprawls himself out on his couch and dials a familiar number.

“Who the hell’s the Soldier?” he asks once he hears her pick up.

“Wow. Not even a hello,” Natasha quips dryly. Rustles of cloth and faint shouting can be heard in the background.

He decides not to ask. It’s probably for the better. “Hello.” He pauses for what he assumes is an appropriate amount of time. “Who’s the Soldier?”

“What makes you think that I’d know?” Natasha says in a tone of voice that makes it painfully clear that she does, in fact, know.

“C’mon, ‘Tasha. I’m curious.”

Natasha hums in acknowledgement. “Answer one of my questions first.”

Oh, great. Intelligence for intelligence, as she says. “I—sure, okay.”

“You’ve never asked me about them before, which leads me to believe that you’ve never even heard of them until now. Who told you about them?”

He stares at his ceiling. “Uh, Rhodey? You know how he works for the military and all? He—”

“The truth, Tony,” she sighs exasperatedly, cutting through his lie like a knife through butter. So much for that.

He mumbles, “I was in the middle of… getting robbed—”

“Getting robbed?” Natasha’s voice is razor sharp, concern seeping through.

“It’s not—that isn’t important.” He waves a dismissive hand although he knows she can’t see. “I wasn’t hurt, which is exactly why I’m curious, because those guys stopped once they saw me and then they started acting like this Soldier was gonna kill them.”

“Who was trying to rob you?”

He could rat out Norman and Not-Norman, but he thinks that not even they deserve whatever kind of hell Natasha would rain upon them. “Not important.”

“It’s important to me.”

“Not to the story overall. ‘Tasha, please, I don’t want to talk about this any more than I have to.”

“…Fine,” Natasha acquiesces in her own way of apologizing. “I know him. Not personally, but I know him. Give me an hour and I’ll send you his address.”

“You can’t just tell it to me now?”

“I’m working, Tony.” With that, she hangs up.

He wonders if it’s revenge for him not telling her about Norman and Not-Norman. Knowing her, it is.

His base is near Boston, Natasha’s text reads, his text tone startling him awake. You’re lucky. Tell me how it goes.

If he’s being honest, he didn’t expect the base of someone with enough power to make a couple of simple-Joe-robbers nearly piss their pants at the thought of them to look so… plain. Bricks stained a dark red from the passage of time and accumulation of grime, black-tinted windows denying any nosey onlookers the pleasure of being able to look in, and a rather nondescript sign proclaiming the building to be under the ownership of a company calling themselves HC Inc.

He takes a deep breath and enters.

There’s a receptionist there, maybe a year or two younger than himself. Blonde. Her eyes widen when she sees him, but she quickly clears her throat and goes back to typing on her computer.

“Hi!” he greets once he’s up at the counter. He flashes her what he hopes is a friendly smile, because something about her tells him that she won’t hesitate to put him through the floor if she thinks he’s suspicious in any way, shape, or form. “I’m looking for, er…”

She smiles back up at him, eyes glinting. “The boss, right? Don’t worry, I’ll phone him.”

He nods politely before backing up and walking a few steps away, just far enough that he can still hear her without looking obvious (or at least he hopes he isn’t looking obvious).

“There’s someone here to see you, boss man,” he hears. “No, it isn’t her. It’s—” she glances at him— “it’s Stark.” A pause. “I’m sure. He looks like the picture.” Another pause. “Yes, of course.” She places her hand over the mouthpiece and beckons him over. “Can I see ID?”

He fumbles with his wallet as he fishes it out. He flashes his MIT ID, hoping that’s enough.

And enough it seems to be. She nods towards a hallway off to the left. “There are elevators down there. The boss is on floor 30.” She uncovers the mouthpiece as he walks away. “I’m sending him up right now.”

The room the elevator opens up to is far more extravagant than he would’ve expected looking at the outside of the building. A heavy-looking mahogany table sits in the middle, magazines splattered all over the surface, while a pair of thick maroon curtains help block out anything the tinted windows can’t. A chandelier illuminates the room in a soft yellow light unlike the harsh flickering from the ATM before.

Either he’s about to be served the finest glass of red wine he’s ever had, or he’s about to be executed while Chopin bombards his eardrums. It could be both. Not that he’d mind.

He takes a few careful steps, looking around the room. “Uh, hello?” he calls out, trailing his fingers on the table. After a couple of seconds of no response, he picks up a magazine and flicks through it. He can play the waiting game.

“Tony?”

He yelps, turning around to smack whoever that voice belongs to with the magazine, but is stopped when a large hand wraps around his wrist. “Wh—” he starts, then everything he’s about to say dies in his throat. No way, right? There’s no way?

It’s been a few years since they’ve seen each other, since they broke up because he wanted so desperately to go to MIT, to leave their state, but he’s pretty sure that he’d recognize the other anywhere and in any life.

“James?” he squeaks. James is taller now, broader and more muscular with a fair amount of scruff on his chin and hair that reaches his shoulders, but his eyes have always stayed the same: this cool blue that brings him back to the ocean. “You’re the Soldier?”

“Winter Soldier, technically,” James says, releasing his wrist. “Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Winter Soldier?” Tony narrows his eyes and rubs at his wrist. He doesn’t doubt that James didn’t mean to harm him, but his grip is strong. “Like… like from when we used to play Runescape?”

James cringes, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I couldn’t think of anything else. What are you here for anyway? I never thought that you’d… that you’d find out.”

“I—” Tony throws the magazine back on the table— “was approached by a couple of lovely guys, and they mentioned you. Said something about how you’d have their heads for even coming near me.” He crosses his arms. “I’d like an explanation, please.”

James rubs the back of his neck. “There’s a list that I have of people that, uh, that shouldn’t be hurt. You’re on it. So are a couple other people, but… yeah, you’re on it. You’re number 1, actually.”

“Number 1?” Tony isn’t sure if he should be flattered or afraid. Flattered because, well, it shows that James still cares for him, still thinks of him, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t send his heart aflutter. Afraid because there’s bound to people out there that aren’t scared of the Winter Soldier’s wrath, and the fact that James just offered his name and face up on a silver platter… he’d just have to hope, as with most things.

“Yeah. You’ve always been my number 1.”

No. Tony can’t have that. His head is already spinning what with all of this information that he’s under the protection of some mob boss (although Tony strongly suspects that James is the head of more than just a mob) and that mob boss is his high school boyfriend that he thought he left in New York. He can’t have old feelings resurfacing. He can’t think about the nights where he stared at James’ contact information in his phone, never quite building up the courage to call or text. “We haven’t talked in years, James.”

“Doesn’t mean you’ve grown any less important to me.”

Tony exhales. He can’t really come up with something to say against that. Or at least he can’t come up with something to say that wouldn’t make him feel like a monster (which is funny, because James has probably dealt with much worse people than an old flame with a lashing tongue). “What is that supposed to mean?”

James shrugs loosely. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

Oh, no. Oh, no, Tony, don’t, his mind says. James has changed. He isn’t the same boy that used to quote Star Wars with you all day. He’s dangerous, more than likely. “And if I want it to mean something along the lines of us trying again? As friends, and maybe… maybe we can see where it goes.”

James smiles sanguinely. “I can accept that definition.”

#number one with a bullet au #I am so darn glad that it at least kept SOME of the formatting because if I had to re-do the italics I think I would've just opted to die.#Unsure of whether I should tag this WinterIron or not as I HAVE posted it before... it just got deleted... like my blog...#I don't know. I don't want people to see this in the WinterIron tag AGAIN and get confused.#I'll think on it.#Anyway. I'm also bringing back my personal favorite tag on the original post:#Tony: Uh yeah maybe he does run a crime syndicate but he's hot and I missed him :(

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scholar-thief · 4 years

Photo

[ RP LOG ]

Momori threatens Gwannes. Then they enjoy some...five hour energy.

Momori is seemingly asleep in the tall grass. She’s surrounded by several books, some open, some not. One is currently being used as a makeshift pillow. However, on closer examination, you would notice that her breath is shallow. Dehydration, perhaps? Sun exhaustion? Or maybe that’s just how she sleeps.

Gwannes | There's a grunt, a man's, that originates from somewhere near Momori. It's sudden, disrupting relatively peaceful sounds of distant fauna and rushing wind. "Nn-- Auckgh-- Nn--!" There's a scraping sound, like steel against flat stone that repeats a few times, then goes silent again.

(Momori) gwannes flying /below/ the islands like a proper suspicious fellow (Gwannes) phasing through the floor like a real shady fella (Momori) ????? is he ok?????? omg hahah (Momori) clipping into an object and taking damage from physics engine going haywire (Gwannes) source engine collision noise

Momori wakes up immediately, and assumes a defensive stance, daggers drawn. Her book pillow momentarily sticks to her face, and peels off slowly. “Who’s there?!” She looks around, trying to pinpoint the source of the strange sound.

Gwannes | There's more grunts, then more silence, and this on-off pattern alternates for another short moment before there's actual movement near Momori. More specifically, an arm shoots up from beneath the edge of the floating island, a hand clawing its fingers into a depression in the rock. Attached to the arm was... a hyur, whom pulled himself up by said arm, quickly joining it with another then pulling himself up onto the ground in his entirety, rolling onto his back. "Ggh--"

Momori - With each iteration of grunts and silence, she grows increasingly cautious. By the time an arm appears from the edge of the island, she’s ready. To kill. Thankfully, her throwing knife goes whizzing over the thing that's crawling onto land like some beached seal. Face blank, she watches.

Momori: “.........................excuse me? Excuse me.”

Momori checks for pulse.

Gwannes seems winded to the point that he doesn't even register Momori's throwing knife, let alone her presence. The man halfway looks like a corpse already: From his arms to his neck to his face, the man's hide is positively covered in scars and blemishes, only capped off when he raises his head, turning to face Momori, a single eye darting to look at her. "...Uh." The man sat up, at that, blinking. "..."

Momori gets a good look at the ‘corpse.’ Bald head. Eyepatch. Though scruffy beyond belief, there’s no denying it. This thing is called ‘Gwannes.’ She narrows her eyes as the man looks to her. Suspicious.

Momori: “Care to explain yourself?”

Gwannes blinked, staring at Momori for a moment. "..." The man glanced around past Momori, then back over his shoulder at the edge of the island. "Explain what?"

Momori: “Why you were crawling up the edge of the island.” She crosses her arms.

Gwannes stares at Momori.

Gwannes looks back over his shoulder at the edge.

Gwannes looks back to Momori.

Gwannes: I had to get up.

Momori: “........................”

Momori uncrosses her arms. Twists her fingers together and stretches them, outwards. She grabs Gwanne’s right heel and menacingly pulls the man with surprising strength towards the edge once more.

Momori: “You shall tell me or you shall have a good trip in the lifestream.” She’s straining somewhat at the effort of dragging Gwannes along.

Gwannes offers... not much resistance to this, laying back and letting Momori drag him closer to the edge with little more than a token wriggling and a faint "C'mon, man..."

Gwannes closes his eye, sighing. "I hate the fucking lifesteam."

Gwannes idly swings his head backwards, gently hitting the back of his skull against the ground.

(Momori) its like when you drag a rake behind you (Momori) and it's bouncing around hitting every stray rock + pebble (Gwannes) yes

Momori: “I hear it isn’t so bad during the winter moons,” she says, as she lets go of the man’s ankle. With his body positioned close to the edge, she places her heel on his shoulder. A strong push could roll the man straight back into freefall.

Momori: “Last chance, Baldy.”

Gwannes tenses his shoulders for a moment, then places a palm against the ground and quickly rises back to a sitting position. He slips out from under Momori's heel with all the elusiveness of an earthworm. In spite of getting out from under her, he only does so to move /closer/ to the edge, scooting forward and draping the both of his legs off of the edge. "I'm tired."

Momori makes a sour face, but lets Gwannes do as he wishes. Killing a follower was a one way ticket to being kicked out of the whole expedition, and she couldn’t have that. At least, not yet. But by the gods, she was curious about why the man was ‘rock climbing’, and she hated to have the possibility of answers dangled in front of her face.

Momori: “If you’re tired, go take a nap. Or take one of these.” She pulls a small packet from her sleeve. It’s semi-transparent, and contains some red goo inside of it.

(Momori) eorzean five hour energy. gel form. (Gwannes) Momoris ultimate plan to give gwannes oskwell a pair of cement shoes

Gwannes stared down at Momori's hand. "Candy?"

Momori: “Haha. Sure!” She doesn’t say anymore. Places the questionable packet in Gwanne’s hand.

Gwannes looks to be completely willing to immediately consume someone who was threatening to murder him less than 120 seconds ago. He places the packet in his mouth and bites down on it, then swallows the entire deal.

(Momori) momori will remember this (Momori) gwannes dont take candy from suspicious lalafell!!! (Gwannes) i want Momori to grant my greatest wish and poison me to death

Momori - It all happens so fast that she doesn’t have time to tell him, no, you don’t eat the packaging. She grimaces slightly as Gwannes downs it all....but that doesn’t stop her from offering him another. “You look like you enjoyed that. Have one more.”

Gwannes blinked. "Oh, I-- I shouldn't. I don't know how strong they are."

Momori: “As long as your will is stronger, you are safe.” She covertly plants the offered energy gel into anything that resembles a pocket on Gwanne’s person. “Still tired?”

(Momori) haha wait since this is eorzea (Momori) it'd be five bell energy (Gwannes) drink drink five hour energy its not a drink more like a drink

Gwannes glanced back at Momori, at that. "Oh, well, my will isn't stronger than anything, really. We'll see, I guess." His legs, hanging out over the abyss, swung back and forth idly. "So do you normally threaten to push people off of cliffs while you're not working?"

Momori: “Well, do you normally begin a conversational encounter by pulling yourself up from the edge of a sheer drop?” She raises a brow slightly as she leans against the stalk of one of the dandelion trees.

Gwannes: I didn't know anyone was out this far.

Gwannes: Most people are sticking closer to the camp.

Momori: “For good reason. Though these places are good for a little peace and quiet.” She pauses. “And for studying the Zundu.”

Momori: “The rotund birdmen here are. Acceptably friendly. For birds.”

Gwannes presses his thumb against the backs of his knuckles, stretching his fingers. "You say that like there's a reasonable expectation. A-- Bunch of people from half a continent away come in their airship and start incessantly probing into your territory, how'd you react? There's certainly folk out here that would take a whole lot less kindly to our presence. Like the Vundu."

Gwannes paused. "Well, your presence, maybe. They know me. At least a little."

Momori holds her tongue. In Ul’dah, beastmen were, generally speaking, treated with contempt. A side note to be swept aside. Add to the fact that she simply hates birds of any form, and well...She wants to say that they don’t owe the Vanu Vanu anything, courtesy included. But she doesn’t say that.

Momori: “I. Suppose they are being reasonable, given the situation.”

Gwannes clears his throat. "Yeah, they are." His heels knock against the rock face behind them. "There are far worse places to be, as far as beastman territory. You should see some of the things that go on with the caravans that are unfortunate enough to have to cross through the Xephatoli borderlands."

Momori: “I have only heard stories.” She sits down, back against the base of the dandelion stalk. “Banditry. Vengeance. Greed. Violence. Blind belief. Such qualities are not limited to the beastfolk.”

Momori‘s gaze hardens as she lets her thoughts stew in her mind. She lets out a quiet huff, and shakes her head. “So, Gwannes. Why are /you/ with the expedition?”

Gwannes cleared his throat. "I'm not with the expedition. I'm just here temporarily."

Gwannes: I was already caught up with the Rovers before I came across anyone from this whole... group.

Momori: “Oh. You have your own beef with the Rovers then.” She shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”

Gwannes: Not like that, but--...

Gwannes: ...I wanted just to talk to Nate and then get out of here with my wife, seeing as he owes me a favor, but-- now he's indisposed, I've been told.

Momori: “He’s not exactly in the mood to talk nowadays.” She gets up and gives Gwannes and odd look. “But why not just leave with your wife then? He won’t stop you.”

Gwannes: 'Cause he owes me something.

Gwannes: It's by my own choice that I'm-- I'm stayin', not his.

Gwannes: That, and I'd like to be there when the Rovers--

Gwannes: Well, you know.

Momori figures that whatever Gwannes is asking for is immaterial. A favor that only the Father can provide. Something that cannot simply be taken.

Momori: “Yeah. When the Rovers bite the dust.” She pats herself off. “Well, see you around Gwannes. Good luck in whatever it is you’re trying to get out of Nate.”

Gwannes stands, at that. "Heading out, then--?" He nods to Momori. "Alright. See you around, yeah? Just be careful out this far. Vundu still send out patrols, sometimes. Wayward search parties, that sort of thing..." He pauses. "Anyway, I'll see you around." At that, he immediately... turns on his heel, then takes a step forward off of the edge of the cliff. He's gone.

Momori just. Accepts what is happening in front of her. So many strange folks, so little time. She has a feeling she'll see him again, crawling up from some ledge like a monster of the deep. Farewell...for now.

(Momori) wauw (Momori) what an exit (Gwannes) distant cartoon splat noise (Momori) splort (Momori) does he like. live under the islands like a bat?? so many questions

#momori mori #Gwannes Oskwell #ff14 rp logs #heartless AU

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Winter Haze

Was in a weird funk this evening, so this happened! I have a playlist of what I was listening to during the writing of this; if anyone wants that info as they read lemme know.

Also we get NSFW in this one, just an fyi. Smut can be healing because of...reasons. That’s as much energy as I have to elaborate on that right now tbh.

I took liberties with how train cars were and are because I could barely write today, let alone research at my usual pace. Forgive the inaccuracy, and enjoy the fantasy of a train car and compartment of said car that I sort of designed as I wrote to make it fit what I needed it to do.

If anyone likes this enough to want a part two of them actually in the city I send them to in this one, lemme know on this post or via ask or message or carrier pigeon or whatever mode of communication you prefer, and I’ll try and get it out and done before the holiday break is over. I work most of it, but I’ll have a day or two where I should be able to write some, and I have Ideas for the Boys in The City.

The decision to spend Christmas Eve and Day away from everyone wasn’t lightly made, but it was made quickly, and in the simplest of motions. A quiet conversation about how much money a train ticket for each of them would cost, a phone call to Mary (Sid was out) to ensure she or Sid could check on the animals each day they were gone, and packing in a rush as they reassured the cats and the dog with soft kisses and words that they would return.

Exactly what the journey was supposed to shake, Snafu couldn’t say. There had been the usual ennui of the winter months, the repetition of work and just enough time after at home to try and relax before doing it all over again. The preparation of gifts bought months ago in advance for the holiday (Eugene was ever a planner, buying the first gift last March, a knife set for Sid to use when he went out hunting.)

Those gifts were sat in the front hall closet now, where they would likely remain until they returned. They’d given Sid and Mary permission to divvy them up and take them to the appropriate people if they wished, since most of their friends and family in Mobile met at Eugene’s parent’s house for Christmas, but they’d refused, not wanting them to miss out on seeing them opened.

As rude as he figured it was, Snafu couldn’t bring himself to care about that. He still wanted the people getting the gifts to enjoy them of course, but needing to make an event out of the gift-giving wasn’t necessary this year.

Eugene had bought the tickets at the station, to where Snafu didn’t ask and again found he didn’t care. There was a lot he didn’t care about right then, except for getting on the train, holing up in the sleeper car for two Eugene had insisted they get even with its extra cost, and simply existing there, with Eugene, who seemed to be in a similar sort of mood.

They both had been for weeks though, struggling to do much more than wake, go to work, keep the cats and dog fed and loved and entertained, exchange a quick kiss or hug before settling to sit in the living room after work to try and fail to read a book or whittle or do any of their other usual hobbies, then going to sleep to do it all over again the next day. Any conversations about it previously had floundered, not for a lack of trying and not in any anger or frustration, but in exhaustion.

Hence, the trip. They already had the time off of work, and while there were sure to be complaints from everyone else (excepting the understanding Sid and Mary) for them not being at the usual celebrations, it was otherwise a perfect time to go.

They didn’t speak all the way through the station. They didn’t need to. It was muscle memory, the pace at which Eugene liked to walk through the station (quickly enough to get to the train more than on time, but not so quick as to be pushing anyone else aside, especially any women and children or elderly trying to parse their way through the busy station), the way he’d reach for Snafu’s hand in a big enough crowd to ensure they wouldn’t get separated, how he always wanted Snafu to let him on the train first (so he could reach back out and take Snafu’s suitcase with one hand, the other reaching out to help him up onto the train.)

Finally, inside the sleeper car with the door shut tight and the curtains on the windows of the compartment pulled to block out any light or curious eyes, Eugene sighed.

“Feels safe now, doesn’t it?” Snafu asked.

“That’s exactly it. I haven’t been able to put a word to it till now,” Eugene replied, dropping onto one of the beds, his suitcase haphazardly shoved underneath it.

“I know the feeling. It didn’t hit me until we got in here, but man...I still can’t explain it anymore than that. We got no reason to feel unsafe back at home,” Snafu said as he put his suitcase in the holding rack above the other bed, then moved Eugene’s from the floor onto the rack of his bed.

He nearly dropped it as Eugene’s fingers traced at his stomach through his shirt, cooled by the winter air but welcome all the same.

“The routine of it all, maybe,” he continued as he finished placing the suitcase, then knelt by Eugene’s bed, taking those same fingers to his lips to kiss them gently. “Different sorta danger.”

“Staleness,” Eugene remarked. “Maybe not as bad as never knowing what’s gonna come next, having too much going on, but-”

He shrugged as best he could laying on the bed, his eyes meeting Snafu’s, looking warmer than they had in weeks, months even. “Still bad. You know exactly what’s coming, and that unless you do something, nothing different is likely to show up unless it’s some horrible emergency to fix. Forgetting every day, every week, because they all blend into one slurry.”

“Like the muck on Peleliu,” Snafu murmured. “Just tragic in a different way. Less human loss, more...”

“Destruction. Internally mostly, instead of both internally and externally. And not for any great effort or cause or need, just a result of living the way people say you should. Day in, day out, barely noticing any of it passing by because it never changes,” Eugene finished. “I wish they had beds that could fit two people on these.”

Snafu nodded, then peered at the clasp that the beds tucked into, to hold them up and allow the regular seats to be pulled from where they tucked into the walls of the car. “Can you get up for a second?”

Eugene nodded, and stood, watching him work.

He stole the pillows from the beds before pushing them into the clasps, making sure they were held tight before freeing a blanket from one of the two extra suitcases they’d brought with them (four total suitcases was maybe an excessive number for two people, but if he told the truth, neither of them really gave a shit about that) and spread it on the floor. They had, however, only brought the one blanket with, so he popped free the beds for a second to steal the blankets from those, settling them on top of the one on the floor as best he could.

“It ain’t gonna be the comfiest, or perfect, but-”

Eugene dropped to the floor on his knees beside him, and pulled him close for a kiss, a hand on his back to hold them both upright as the train jerked to life and started it’s journey, the sound of the engine muting their moans as they lay on their makeshift bed, their shoes hitting the door of the compartment.

“I didn’t move the blanket up far enough,” Snafu giggled in between kisses.

“Shit,” Eugene laughed. “You stay put.”

“What? No, let me-”

Before Snafu could move, Eugene was there at the top edge of the blanket, pulling it further away from the door (not that there was much further to pull it, the compartment being only so big), with Snafu still on it.

“There,” Eugene smiled as he lay back on top of Snafu, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Better?”

Snafu nodded, and pulled at Eugene’s jacket sleeve. “Awful lot of layers left on you. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we ain’t outside in the cold anymore. You can take that off.”

Eugene stood, and stripped off the jacket, tossing it to the far corner of the compartment. “Good?”

“Mhm,” Snafu mused. “Tie really isn’t needed either.”

Eugene grinned, and pulled it free, tossing it to Snafu.

He caught it and tossed it behind him without looking. “What about that shirt? Awful warm, that shirt.”

Eugene laughed and shook his head, but started to unbutton it.

“Let me help you. Those fingers must still be froze up,” Snafu said, and moved to crawl forward to Eugene, getting onto his knees so he could reach for the bottom buttons of Eugene’s shirt.

Eugene’s hand was in his hair, playing with it gently as Snafu undid the rest of the buttons, pulling his head to rest against Eugene’s waist once the shirt was undone.

He pressed his face to Eugene’s stomach before carefully biting at the buckle of Eugene’s belt.

“Just real warm in here, isn’t it?” Eugene asked with a giggle. “Don’t really need any of these clothes.”

“No sir,” Snafu replied, moving away from Eugene to start stripping off his own clothes. His eyes stayed on Eugene though, watching him take off everything else, tossing it into the rest of the clothing pile they’d created. He was only half undressed, his belt just undone by the time Eugene was in front of him, completely and perfectly naked.

He motioned Eugene over anyway, too eager to wait any longer to touch and be touched.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t have this back at home, and a good most nights they did, sometimes to their own frustration the next morning if they were up too late. But there was something different about it here, just as good but something else at the same time, being able to be safely behind a locked door, being taken somewhere else, with nothing to worry about except each other.

He could taste that feeling, in every kiss, in the way Eugene’s fingers scrabbled to help pull off the rest of his clothes, in the way Eugene’s hips rocked against his. It was otherworldly and strange and familiar all at the same time, and he didn’t want it to end.

They were somewhat limited by the size of the compartment, but he wasn’t prepared to let that put a damper on anything. He had a small container of Vaseline secreted away in his suitcase that he moved quickly to grab, earning a fussy and yearning whimper from Eugene the second he was gone, returning to slick it onto both of their hard cocks so he could focus on everything else. Letting their hips move together, hands roaming, lips everywhere they could reach in a quick moment, leaving marks on each other’s necks and shoulders, making them gasp just loud enough that he had to ponder if anyone in the next compartment could hear them.

Not that he really cared, as he figured politeness would prevent anyone from asking after them, and he was much more concerned with gently running his thumb over and around the head of Eugene’s cock, feeling Eugene’s teeth just a bit too sharp in the meat of his shoulder as his hips jerked and he could feel Eugene’s cock throb as cum hit his stomach.

He didn’t have a chance to reach for his own before Eugene’s hand was there instead, working him as softly and sweetly as only Eugene knew how to, pulling him close with his other arm around the back of Snafu’s neck, a leg wrapped over Snafu’s hips as they pushed against Eugene’s.

He let himself moan softly in between kisses to Eugene’s shoulder and chest, both hands wrapped at the back of Eugene’s neck, as he came with a shudder onto Eugene’s stomach.

For the next few minutes they stayed there, locked against each other, kissing. It was warm and soft and safe and if Snafu could have bottled and saved any moments of theirs, this was one he’d wanted bottled first.

But finally they had to move, using one of their shirts to clean up (not ideal, but they’d not sprung for the even more expensive sleeper car compartment that had its own bathroom, and even he didn’t want to go walking in between cars in that much of a state) before dressing again to go to the dinner car.

It wasn’t amazing fare, but it was edible, and he hardly paid attention to the food anyway. He only had eyes for Eugene, who could barely eat but for the giggles he got whenever their eyes met. Finally, they gave up on dinner and returned to the sleeper compartment, kicking off their shoes and clothes to put on their pajamas and snuggle underneath the thin blankets from the compartment beds.

“Where are we headed anyway?” Snafu asked as Eugene tucked himself up under his arm, both of them wanting to be as close as possible. The darkness settled over the compartment now, as they’d left the lights off so neither of them would have to get up to turn them off later.

“New York City. Was one of the only spots they still had these sorts of tickets available. No idea what we’re going to do there though,” Eugene replied with a chuckle.

“I don’t care,” Snafu said with a smile. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna be good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause it’s gonna be you and me, and that’s always good,” Snafu kissed the top of his head, and settled in for the night. He didn’t know how long it took to get to New York, but he didn’t care. He had his man and time to spend with him, and that was all that mattered.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu

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detectivejigsawpines · 4 years

Text

A Pinesmas Carol-part 7 (Decking in the halls)

*If you want, you can imagine the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's version of "Carol of the Bells" playing during parts of this. It feels kind of appropriate.

Clink.

It was a tiny sound, barely audible in the stillness of the night; just a small, muffled noise that was barely recognizable as glass breaking.

But it had Stan opening his eyes almost immediately... and sliding the brass knuckles he’d kept under his pillow onto one hand, while opening his knife with the other.

Slowly he slid out from under the covers, straining his ears as he got to his feet. Was there a creak of hinges that came after, or was he just imagining it because of how wound up he was?

Sounds like that came from the back door. Do I go there to investigate, or stay here and make sure nobody ambushes my family while they’re sleeping?

If it had been just him, then it would have been easier, he wouldn’t have needed to worry about having to protect-

Wait a minute. Where’s Ford?!

The makeshift bed contained a distinct absence of long-limbed nerd (unless you counted Shermie, but he didn’t fit the description well enough as far as Stan was concerned).

Horrifying possibilities flitted into his head: Archer or one of his goons could’ve already broken in and seen Ford first, and thought he was Stan so they grabbed him and somehow took him without waking anyone else up; he could have gotten up to investigate on his own and got captured, and maybe even now they were-

Chill out! You literally cannot afford to panic right now if you want your family to get out of this alive.

Then, to his relief, Shermie was awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What is it?” he whispered, looking up at Stan.

“I think I heard something,” Stan whispered back. Then, decision made, he handed him the switchblade. “Just in case anyone tries comin’ through the front.”

And before Shermie could answer he crept into the hallway.

****

Stan moved into the kitchen, glad that the windows were letting in a few squares of light so he could see that...the room was empty.

On the one hand, if there were intruders, they hadn’t come in here: good.

On the other hand, there was still a significant absence of Ford: bad.

Maybe he’s upstairs.

Was it worth checking? Shermie was awake and armed now, and if they’d decided to go upstairs and found his twin-not that Ford couldn’t handle himself if push came to shove, but old instincts died hard-

A dark form was suddenly looming in the kitchen doorway, and lunging towards him; something long and metallic-looking flashed in its hand.

Stan didn’t think twice before snatching one of the chairs away from the table and bringing it down on the figure’s head.

So much for tryna be stealthy.

...Oh crap, I really hope that wasn’t Ford.

But to his relief, when he pulled the now prone figure into one of the pools of light, he saw that it was a totally different man: bulkier than Ford or Shermie, wearing a thick black turtleneck. With a large wrench in his hand, just the right size for smashing onto someone’s head.

Stan glared, and snatched it up.

Finders keepers, loser.

And then, just as he was straightening up again, he felt something cold and metal press into the side of his skull.

****

It was only made worse by the fact that this new guy-another of Archer’s thugs, Stan was guessing-didn’t start monologuing like any self-respecting comic book villain would have done when they had someone at gunpoint, or even say something along the lines of “Archer’s been looking for you for a long time, Pinowski.” He just stood there quietly and waited for Stan to straighten and turn to face him.

Once that was done he moved his hand, gesturing towards the hallway.

Of course. Archer doesn’t want me dead just yet. He’s probably either gonna try ta take me somewhere else now and finish the job like he tried to last time...or he wants ta threaten my family first, make me beg for their lives before he kills them anyway.

...Screw that.

Stan, in a move that would have had police officers (and his mother) tearing their hair out and lecturing him for a good half-hour on his recklessness, suddenly jerked to the side and grabbed the goon’s wrist, pushing it down and twisting the gun. Something in the other man’s trigger finger cracked, and he screamed as Stan yanked the gun out of his hand, before landing a blow to his jaw that collapsed him right next to his buddy.

Once he was sure he was out for the count, Stan stepped out into the hallway, his new gun drawn-

And there was Archer.

He had a few new scars along his nose and forehead, and his hair had grown out a little; other than that he hadn’t changed much.

There was yet another generic thug standing behind him, also with a gun in hand.

Sheesh, you’d think I was the first guy ever ta stop him from selling kids. Unless he gives this kinda treatment ta everyone who p_sses him off.

For a moment they just stood there, staring at each other...before Stan smiled crookedly and waved with his free hand.

“How’s it hangin’?”

Archer’s own smile was pretty thin and mirthless. “I was sure you were here.”

Stan aimed at the jerk’s chest. “Well, you found me. And now you’re gonna leave.”

Archer raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

The generic thug lifted his gun, pointing it...over Stan’s shoulder.

He glanced behind him (even though he knew how dangerous it was to take his eyes off his target), and let out a small curse of frustration. Because there was Shermie, standing behind him in plain sight like an idiot when he should have been hiding in the living room where he’d be safe with his family for a little longer, why had he thought this was a good idea-

He was probably coming to see if you needed help, a voice in Stan’s head whispered, and he groaned, lowering the gun in defeat and then dropping it to the ground.

Archer nodded his approval. “Good boy. Now come here.”

Stan only had time to take one step forward-before a voice sounded from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t touch him.”

****

As you might have guessed, it was Ford. Standing there, with a lit candle (where did he even get that?) placed on the banister next to him, a small bell in one hand, and his journal open in the other.

“What the [ CENSORED ]-” Archer began to say.

Ford just talked over him. Or, more specifically, he began to chant, while ringing the bell.

“Mutare, mutare,

Lusus naturae,

Facti quod tu es,

FACTI QUOD TU ES!”

Then he slammed the journal shut, and some incredibly crazy crap happened.

****

Specifically, Archer and the thug, and, judging by the flash in the kitchen, the two other jerks, were all suddenly surrounded by an angry-looking red light. It enveloped them entirely, and then...they began to disappear.

Or maybe shrink, since their clothes were still in place, and they just seemed to be disappearing into them, kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West.

There was some screaming, but it didn’t last very long. Until finally, all that was left were two lumpy piles of clothes.

Ford slowly descended the stairs, carrying the candle now, and looked over at Stan.

“You all right?”

Stan nodded slowly, eyes feeling a little wide. “Um, Poindexter...what did you just do?”

“Let’s see.”

And on that cryptic note he went over to the pile of clothes that used to be Archer, and began digging through it-until at last he lifted out...a baby.

A somewhat chubby, disoriented-looking baby, not exactly newborn but probably not more than a few weeks old, who on being exposed to the air began to kick and scream.

“...You turned them into babies?” Stan asked over the noise, staring in disbelief at what he was realizing had to be Archer regressed into an infant or whatever the term was.

“Not precisely. The spell was to turn them into whatever they are at their basic essence. I suppose this can be interpreted as saying that at heart, Archer-” Ford’s lip curled at the name- “was a spoiled child used to getting whatever he wanted, perhaps.” He finally registered that he was holding a naked infant in his arms, and set him down in the pile of clothes, blushing.

Curious, Stan went to the other pile of clothes-which had begun moving on its own, and shaking, until a dark-furred puppy stuck its head out. It looked up at him and whined.

Stan gave Ford a disbelieving stare; he looked equally nonplussed, but finally said, “A loyal dog, I guess?”

Stan snorted...but decided not to argue the point. He guessed it made a kind of sense, at least to magic.

“Wonder what the other two mooks were.” Stan gestured to the kitchen.

Ford peered in-and a second later pulled his head back out in a disgusted grimace.

“...They turned into a weasel and a rat, respectively.”

“That makes sense.” Stan was disconcerted to realize that the puppy had wandered over to him and was now attempting to climb into his lap. He made a few futile attempts to shove it off, until he admitted defeat and started petting it, deciding not to think too much about the fact that a few minutes ago this had been a person who was attempting to shoot his brother.

“And weasels are known to be occasional predators of rats.”

“Oh, eugh.” Stan made a face similar to his twin’s as he realized what he was saying. “How bad’s the mess?”

“The weasel’s about halfway finished with his meal.” There was a chewing, tearing sound from inside. Stan decided he was happier not seeing it.

Then he half-turned, still with the puppy in his lap...and saw the expressions on the faces of Shermie and Rebecca and Xander, who were all standing in the living room doorway and gaping at them.

Stan gulped.

“...Um...I guess we should probably explain.”

********

...Okay, technically most of the decking took place in the kitchen. But it was close enough, okay?

This explanation should be fun for everyone.

#flipside au #stan pines #ford pines #shermie pines #pines brothers fighting #not with each other this time #ford is awesome #stan is awesome #saving the day

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