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medu-nefer · 4 years

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Whumptober 4: Caged

The Dragon Prince, Ethari-centered, Ruthari, gansters AU

(After a year of writer’s block, I finally managed to spew something out, and while it’s so not up to my old standards [please forgive the rusty English; also, it was about 2-3 AM], it’s gotta do for now. Perhaps I’ll rewrite it after the event is done and I have more time to write for all the prompts I have planned out and in the end been unable to get to.

Still, Ruthari content is Ruthari content, so here goes nothing.)

*~*~*

Ethari stared at the people filing into his workshop with an odd sense of detachment.

He had been working on a necklace for one of his clients, something worthy of a grand engagement, when the door burst open and six people came in. He could see two more through the windows but the pair remained outside.

The people inside were well-dressed in dark green, blue or purple suits – and carried knives and guns, quite openly. They scanned his workplace and made sure nobody else was there, and then one of them approached.

The sides and back of his head were shaven, leaving an artistically messy strip of pale blond hair at the top. His eyebrows were thick and dark, and his hazel eyes gave Ethari a quick once-over.

The young craftsman couldn’t help his gaze travelling to the two earrings adorning the man’s left ear before looking into his indifferent eyes.

‘Come on,’ the man murmured, gesturing with his head to the door. As he took a step back to make space for Ethari, his hand ventured towards one of his guns.

Ethari might have been bigger than any of the men – courtesy of indulging in blacksmithing every now and again – but he knew better than to argue. He stood up from his stool and walked to the door. The two people stationed there barely looked at him, focused instead on the street. Once outside, he paused and let the man lead the way. He noticed two of the people remained in his shop.

As they walked through the alleys, Ethari couldn’t help his growing agitation. He didn’t know where they were going or why. He didn’t know whether his skills were needed or if he was being taken for some other reason. He didn’t know if something had happened elsewhere in the city.

He noticed people staring at them from afar but once they walked closer, everyone got out of their path and averted their gazes. The Moonshadows may have been known to never cause unnecessary trouble but it wasn’t wise to get in their way without a good reason regardless.

After all, who in their right mind chose to have contacts with gangsters?

The corner of Ethari’s mouth wandered upwards at the thought and a small snort escaped him, earning him the attention of the woman and one of the men, but he just shook his head.

Finally, they arrived at the warehousing area and he was ushered into one of the buildings. Outside, it looked quite decrepit but on the inside the conditions were better than in most ordinary houses of Silvergrove.

One of Ethari’s eyebrows twitched when he noticed a lone desk and chair in the far corner, far enough away from a few massive tables in the centre of the room – and very far from the entrance.

The leader of the group approached him and gestured towards the desk. ‘Make yourself comfortable. It’ll take a while.’

Without any real choice, Ethari walked over and let himself inspect the furniture. The big tables were made crudely, without any finesse. After all, it was pretty clear they weren’t there for aesthetic purposes.

The desk was an entirely different story, though. There were ornate decorations etched into the wood – ebony, if Ethari wasn’t horribly mistaken. The chair was high-backed and upholstered, a single silken cushion placed on the seat. There were sheets of paper, pencils, pens and measuring tools placed neatly in one of the desk’s corners.

Ethari looked back to the four people watching him closely and sat down with a heavy sigh. He reached for the paper, immediately noticing its ridiculously high quality.

What should he do? Design some weapons, probably. He had never planned on taking his career in this direction but he would be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn’t made anything deadly.

He reached for the pencils and started sketching out an idea he had been entertaining for a while. It was of a knife that could be turned into a hook or have its blade retract altogether to conceal its purpose, depending on the gestures of its user.

For the first hour he ignored a bunch of people that came in or left the warehouse, and focused on his schematics. But eventually, his attention started straying from his task. He watched the woman from before, took in her blue suit, the braided hair with exquisite ornaments. He knew she noticed him looking but ignored him completely.

Growing more and more frustrated – the wave after wave of worry and trepidation making him increasingly more irritable – he decided to abandon his project and focus on something else. Something he had been putting off for too long.

He grabbed a new sheet and started sketching out two circular objects. Finally allowing himself to focus on the positives in his life, he remembered all the good things the last couple of years had brought him. He had never expected to find himself in that place but he was more than happy with how things had played out.

His lips pulled into a soft smile when he created something delicate and peaceful rather than lethal.

Suddenly, there was a presence at his side and he looked up to see one of the other men coming to a stop next to him. His suit was dark green with black elements. He had half of his hair braided at the side of his head, while the rest remained loose. He glanced at Ethari’s new project and smiled.

‘Can’t wait, eh?’ he asked in a thick accent.

Ethari gave him a little smile and shrugged. ‘You know how it is.’

The man nodded curtly. ‘Let me know if you need anything. We’ve run into some trouble with the Katolis’ scum so there’s some issues with the net but I can’t see why you shouldn’t make yourself at home here while we wait.’

‘Thank you, Skor. Unless you can tell me what’s going on, I’m good.’

Skor winced and looked away. Ethari knew what that meant. The information was there, he just wasn’t privy to it. Of course. He was kept in a confinement, with guards watching his every move. What else did he expect?

Suddenly, there was commotion at the entrance. Three Moonshadows entered, limping and swearing. The soles of their boots left bloody footprints on the polished floorboards.

‘What happened?!’ the leader of the group yelled, striding towards his wounded comrades.

‘What the fuck do you think happened, Callisto?’ one of them snarled. ‘Fucking Katolis’ scumbags set an ambush. That fucker Viren orchestrated it. Killed at least three of us. We should have killed him when we had the chance.’

Callisto took a step back when the man started coughing up blood, and got his people’s attention. ‘Ram, take care of them. Andromeda, you go up on the roof and prepare a lookout. We need to know if we’re approached and by whom. We might need to help some of ours get here. Skor, we haven’t heard from the Boss. Find him.’

As he spoke, a few more Moonshadows entered the warehouse and Ethari felt the walls coming down around him.

He really was locked in a wooden box, with more and more gangsters coming in and watching him, while out there, something horrible was happening. He was in a cage and couldn’t get out. He couldn’t—

Tunnel vision and laboured breathing. He had to grab the back of the chair he had been sitting on just moments ago lest he fell. When had he even gotten up? He was shaking and couldn’t focus on anything beside the overwhelming need to go out of there and do something, before it was too late.

But all of a sudden, the door burst open once more and a lone figure walked inside.

‘Boss, you’re fine,’ Callisto said, relief clear on his face.

The leader of the Moonshadows wore a three piece suit and an unbuttoned pea coat on top of it. They were all in dark blue or green shades, matching each other perfectly. His hair was white, long and partially braided. His piercing turquoise eyes searched the inside of the warehouse and focused on Ethari.

The young craftsman barely registered what was happening before the gangster’s long legs carried him through the room and into Ethari’s personal space. He began to relax only when he felt hands on his cheeks and lips crashing with his own.

His hands latched onto the other man’s vest and pulled him closer, the excruciating weight of fear lifting off his shoulders.

‘Runaan,’ he murmured against his lips, earning himself a bone-crushing embrace.

‘I’m sorry for worrying you,’ Runaan whispered. ‘Viren was making a move against us and I needed to know you were safe.’

‘I was scared something happened to you.’

Runaan pressed their foreheads together hastily. ‘I promised you I’d be fine. Don’t worry.’

Ethari gave him a weak smile. ‘Somebody has to.’

Unwillingly, they let each other go but kept their hands intertwined when Runaan turned to his people and started giving orders. Within moments, they had their plan of action and most of the gangsters left to do their part to ensure Katolis wouldn’t be able to deal any more damage.

Runaan was making plans for the immediate future when he noticed Ethari’s designs on the desk. He reached for one of them and picked it up, a warm smile adorning his face.

‘Think you can make these before the wedding?’

Ethari tore his gaze away from Runaan’s beautiful face to the two wedding rings he had sketched out.

He felt a grin splitting his face as he pulled his fiancé into yet another kiss, knowing he’d steal plenty more later on, when all the Moonshadows were safe and accounted for, and the two retired for the night.

’Why don’t we see?’

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #caged #tdp #the dragon prince #fic #gangsters au #ethari #runaan #ruthari

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hawkbucks · 4 years

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Tony yelps at the flash of lightning that briefly illuminates the living room a shocking white. Thunder rumbles deep overhead, much, much louder than what he would like. His breath stutters; darkness surrounds him, thanks to the storm currently ravaging its way across the state outside, and the candle burning on the coffee table does little to quell his fear.

“Are you alright, Anthony?” Jarvis’s ever-gentle voice questions, running a gloved hand through the mess of curls Tony calls his hair.

“I’m scared,” he admits, burrowing himself deeper into Jarvis’s side. Another flash of lightning, another round of raindrops crashing themselves against the windows, another clap of thunder, and he feels his eyes start to burn. He’s about to cry, he knows it, and he hates it. Crying means he’s too weak. Crying means he’s too emotional. Crying means that he’s gonna get another one of Dad’s lectures about how “Stark men are made of iron.”

He can’t help the tear that slips down his cheek. He can’t help the sob that rips itself from his lips. He can’t help the shudders that wrack his body.

But thankfully—thankfully—it’s Jarvis that’s with him. Thankfully, Jarvis doesn’t say anything as he wipes the tears from Tony’s cheeks. All he does is hum.

“What is with you lately, Tones?” Rhodey asks, standing in front of Tony as Tony sits on the edge of his bed. He places his hands on his hips, back ramrod straight and his expression screaming that he will not be taking any of Tony’s bullshit answers today. Not when Tony’s been somehow eating even less than he usually does and acting like he’s 2 weeks away from keeling over and dying.

Tony picks at a stray thread on his jeans, refusing to look him in the eye.

He wrinkles his nose. “I’m worried about you, man,” he says, voice going soft. “C’mon. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” God, he hopes Tony tells him. 3 years of living together in the same damn dorm, and Tony still refuses to talk about his problems even when Rhodey openly asks.

“I’ll wait here as long as it takes,” Rhodey threatens, head tilting to the side. “5 minutes or 5 hours, I don’t care.” He stares at Tony, pursing his lips together.

They’re about 7 minutes in when Tony finally speaks. “You know how I’m supposed to be going home for Christmas break?”

Rhodey nods slowly.

“I had an argument with my dad the other day,” Tony starts, voice hoarse, “and it—it didn’t go so well. I yelled. He yelled. We said things we’d regret. Or at least I said things I’d regret. Not sure about him.”

If Rhodey ever meets Howard Stark, he’s probably going to deck him in the face.

“And he—he was so angry when he hang up and—and I don’t—” Tony blinks rapidly before scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, still refusing to look up at Rhodey— “I don’t wanna go home, I don’t—I’m scared.”

Oh yeah, Rhodey’s definitely going to punch Howard. For right now though, he’ll settle with kneeling in front of Tony and pulling him into a tight hug. “You could come home with me,” Rhodey murmurs, sighing when Tony’s hand clutch onto the back of his shirt. “My mom loves you. You know that. She’ll make you as much pumpkin pie as you want.”

Tony nuzzles into Rhodey’s shoulder. “As many as I want?”

“She’ll make you 5 of those damn pies if that’s what you want.”

Tony manages a giggle.

If Tony dies in this goddamn cave, he’s gonna fucking haunt all the stockholders of SI. He prods at the car battery, face screwing up in distaste as he’s once again reminded that that’s the thing keeping a bunch of pieces of shrapnel from slowly piercing his heart.

“Thirsty, Stark?” Yinsen slides a mug full of water over the table.

The water’s more than likely stale and a bit warm, but he’s not in the position to be picky, is he? He takes the mug and downs the water in 2 gulps, ignoring the metallic taste to it. He rubs at the base of his neck. “How long have I been here?”

“A week,” Yinsen replies. Tony groans. “Which, if may I remind you, is a week of not giving them what they want.” Anyone else and it would seem like a scolding, but coming from Yinsen, whose lips are turned up in a grin, it just makes him feel proud.

“The food here is shitty. They don’t deserve what they want,” he snorts. “And they stuck a car battery in my chest, which isn’t what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Yinsen props his head up with a fist, staring at Tony with such an intense sense of knowing in his eyes that it’s kind of uncomfortable.

Tony averts his eyes, feeling like he’s under a microscope and ready to be picked apart with tweezers. He takes the empty water mug and starts juggling it. “Maybe a chicken sandwich, for one. Preferably on a brioche bun with extra mayo,” he jokes.

Yinsen huffs, which is probably as close to a laugh as Tony’ll get. He’ll take it. “Just a chicken sandwich?”

“And fries.” Oh, shit. He might be salivating a little.

Yinsen raises an eyebrow.

“I’m a simple man, Yinsen. What can I say?”

“Simple indeed.”

“Okay. That’s mean. You didn’t have to agree.”

Yinsen shrugs. “It seemed like the kind of statement that needed agreeing.”

Tony makes a talking gesture with his hand, mocking Yinsen (although they both know it’s in good humor. As good of humor you can get when you’re held hostage with someone else in a cave, anyway). “What, do you want to talk about our feelings?” He places the mug back on the table, leaving it dangerously close to the edge.

Yinsen gestures in between them. “You may lay them out if you wish.”

Tony’s eyebrows furrow. Suddenly he’s 17 again, living in the dorms with Rhodey and hiccuping his sorrows into Rhodey’s chest as Rhodey strokes his back and tells him that it’ll be fine. He clenches his fist as words fight their way up his throat and he tries to hold them back and back and back—”I’m scared,” he blurts out, biting his lip right after. Nice going, Stark, you idiot.

Yinsen nods like he understands. Like. Pft, no, he does understand, Tony knows that. The guy has a family that he wants to get back to, but for now he’s stuck in a cave with some snobby billionaire who doesn’t even remember him because he was so smashed. “Scared?”

“Well, yeah. Going from staying at the Four Seasons to having a bed that I’m pretty sure cannot legally be called a bed would be jarring for anyone.”

Yinsen taps his fingers on the table.

“God, you don’t let up, do you?”

Yinsen shakes his head.

“Shit, fine, okay. I’d like to say I’m not ever truly out of my element, but damn if this experience hasn’t been… trying.” He still has access to drafting paper and pencils, at least, along with some of his other machinations. Still, they’re more or less putting a gun to his head and forcing him to realize that what he’s been building with the intent to protect has been used to destroy. Jesus, he might actually have to get a therapist like Rhodey and Pepper have been bothering him to.

“It’s been trying for all of us.”

Tony exhales. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. And it’s, like… I’m afraid that I’m gonna die here, you know? Not because I want to live—which, holy shit, I can’t believe I just said that out loud—but because if I die here, then I die knowing that I couldn’t do anything about this.”

“This?” Yinsen leans slightly forward.

“This.” Tony gestures at the ceiling above them. “The weapons. The blood. Those things.” And he thinks about the others. Rhodey. Pepper. Obadiah. DUM-E. Shit.

“You’re doing something about it right now by refusing to make them their weapons,” Yinsen says. “Defiance, Stark. Isn’t it great?”

“Defiance,” Tony repeats, “is pretty damn great.”

#old posts

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