#like. real 'last place i saw you alive' energies only spread out over an entire weekend

[i-love-you-all]

Whumptober Day 3: Hair’s Breadth from Death

Raze disappeared, and has now reappeared in the clutches of an old enemy. One that Brimstone has only recently learned to be wary of.

It works as a continuation to Rumours of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated.

~1.5k words. Ransom, drugged, description of gore

There were nights where Brimstone woke up and realized that he still had nightmares about the Core. It felt like it haunted him. If he could, he would take the damn rock and toss it into the ocean himself. But it was worth billions of dollars, and apparently, hundreds of lives, and so no one would ever think of just throwing it away. That was the corporate greed that he was used to from Kingdom. If he could, he would just get rid of it one way or another. But he didn’t need another target on his back.

Still, if the desire for the core was a gun, his compliance to keep it hidden didn’t shut it down. It just pointed at others. Just a few months ago, Killjoy was the first caught in the crossfire, and he couldn’t do anything other than pray that she’d be ok by the time he got there. And he saw how it affected others. He saw the wariness in Breach’s eyes, the closest to fear Brimstone had ever seen in the Swede. That was just from the name itself. And well, a name was all it took to ruin Breach’s life for a couple years. A name. Ridiculous.

His hands drew over the case and let out a defeated sigh. It always felt the same. Smooth, a few ridges closer to the top, and humming with a power unlike any battery or generator Brimstone had seen or held before.

How could one stone, no larger than an inch in diameter be worth so much pain?

It wasn’t.

That was the simplest answer he could think of. It simply wasn’t worth everything he had seen.

It wasn’t worth the blood on the walls. The organs of a man strewn around a plastic covered room while he tried to breathe, brain trapped in a ruined body. The pain and blood loss would’ve killed a person in normal circumstances, but with a gas that was pumped in through a ventilation system, the autopsy mentioned that he may have been alive for up to two minutes after he had been left for dead. He didn’t even have the real Core. No, he died in the cruellest way possible for a copy. One of many that was spread around the world to split attention off from the real one.

Brimstone didn’t even know if he held the actual artifact, or if he too had a replica. He saw the row of ten. Each hummed with a hidden energy that could’ve been the real one. And all of them, him and the other nine guardians, stepped up with him to take the stone placed in front of him. Between them, they didn’t even know. It was one last security measure. But a decade had passed now, and Brimstone counted the deaths. There was only one left. And it was only him that still stood.

He made sure that the case was locked then brought it to an empty room where Breach and Killjoy sat nervously across from one another. It was strange. Under normal circumstances, Breach would be struggling to reign in his annoyance with Killjoy, but they had identical looks on their faces now. In a dark corner, Cypher had a laptop connected to the wall through multiple wires.

“We all good?”

“All good from me.” The information broker answered, taking a pause from playing with a trip between his fingers to start up the system. “Now, we wait.”

He looked over Breach and Killjoy, both of whom looked at him as he walked in with the suitcase.

“You had it this entire time?” Breach’s voice dripped with disgust, and for once, Brimstone found him agreeing wholeheartedly.

It was an accusation in addition to the question itself. Breach also knew firsthand just how far some people would go just to learn anything about this one artifact. Even Killjoy seemed wary of him. She was the collateral the last time someone came at him for this.

“Yeah. I didn’t know until today. But if they want it, they can have it.”

“We’re connecting, cut the chatter,” Cypher interrupted them.

Brimstone kept a straight face as he looked at the incoming video.

Raze had never looked so wilted. There was no chaos, no noise. And from her, that was a better indicator of how she was. Her hands were tied behind her as she sat on a thin metal chair. As the light trickled in, her head lifted, weak, perhaps a little disoriented. Then, from the darkness behind her, a hand slid around her throat and forced her head up a little higher so Brimstone could look her in the eye.

“I see the suitcase. Is that where you kept it all these years?”

The thin, scratchy voice filled the room and each of the agents in the room watching the video feed had a different reaction. He saw Breach square up, as if he could punch the kidnapper through the video screen. He saw Killjoy shrink as she remembered the voice and all that came with it. Then he saw Cypher who was just curious. He wasn’t new to this sort of scenario, but the visceral reactions of the other two must’ve caught his eye. And as for Brimstone himself, he felt a heavy resignation because he saw the plans and the schematics that this man had worked out. This was no random act. This man wanted a power that could possibly tear the world in half. Not that he’d care.

“Well? We have a virtual guest. Won’t you say something? You do recognize them, don’t you?”

Raze’s eyes narrowed, and her brows furrowed as she tried to focus on what was in front of her.

“Raze?” Brimstone called out. He wanted to hear her voice, get a sense that she was real, and that this wasn’t another elaborate trick. “Can you say something?”

“Uh…” She was still out of it. Brimstone didn’t need a doctor to tell him that.

The man gripped her jaw again and he saw her flinch. “That’s your captain, isn’t it? Not polite to ignore a question.”

“I’m… I’m fine, Brimstone.”

“See, I’ve treated her well… enough.”

Breach stood up fast enough to send his chair flying which startled Killjoy into a small gasp. Brimstone froze as he saw the kidnapper tense, surely a sign that he noticed the sounds. Breach struggled to keep his mouth shut, and Killjoy covered her mouth with her hand, but it was over. The other agents had given themselves away. Now they just had to pray that he wouldn’t take that as an insult and punish Raze for it.

“An audience? I don’t like surprises… but I think I recognize them. They know me at least.” As he spoke, he tapped his fiver along Raze’s jaw as if he were thinking and tapping his own jaw. Raze didn’t even move. No response. “Well now your soldiers – sorry, you call them agents, no? Well, they can hear about the very fair terms I’ve laid out.”

Killjoy caught his attention as she pointed to her phone screen with one simple word on it. Stall.

“Will you actually be meeting me face to face instead of slinking around the shadows like some coward?”

“Hah,” the scoff came sharp, and loud enough to almost startle Brimstone. “I’m not foolish or arrogant enough to willingly walk into a trap. You’ll meet at the coordinates I sent. You will hand over the case. And once the transfer is confirmed, then you’ll get your agent at the other agreed on location.”

“Why do you want it?” Brimstone let his eyes float to both sides of the table, trying to see if either Breach or Killjoy had a follow up.

“Talkative, aren’t you? But you’ve owned the relic for so long that I suppose you deserve a prize.”

“You can’t have her back.”

He saw the hand tense. Without even seeing his face, he knew he struck a nerve. “If I need to kill I will, and I have. If I need to tear this world apart, I will. And if this world falls apart like crumbling sand, then I’ll just move on to the next.”

Killjoy’s phone went up again. More time.

“You’re a genius, and you’re dedicated. If you joined us—”

A peel of laughter cut him off. Like a hyena toying with its food.

“Each agency I have come across has asked me the same. And they are all very useful but outgrow that use very quickly. And yet I turn around and I have more begging me to join them. Unfortunately for you, I’ve long outgrown the need for an organization like yours.”

Brimstone was going to add something else, but then Raze burst in.

“Brimstone! Don’t give him the stupid rock!”

After staying practically comatose for the entire conversation Raze had leapt up in her chair. Her hands were still tied, and the man kept the chair to the ground, but she had a burst of energy that reminded Brimstone of who she was, and not what he turned her into.

“It’s not worth it! Just blow this place—”

“Enough out of you!”

Everyone froze, and if Brimstone didn’t know better, he would’ve said that the temperature in the room dropped. A dark barrel of a pistol pressed up against Raze’s forehead, and his hand was clapped over her nose and mouth again.

“Say goodbye.”

The feed cut, bathing all agents in the headquarters in a darkness that brought the question that no one wanted to ask.

#whumptober 2022 #no.3 #gun to temple #say goodbye #valorant #valorant fanfic #drugged #ransom #gore #valorant raze #raze #valorant brimstone #brimstone #my writing

[storybook-souls]

time for hannah complaining again <3

#i had SUCH a good trip and was so like. energized and optimistic and ready to Handle Shit #but then! had to go back to my old high school and our church and do a whole bunch of ~graduation~ stuff #and turns out when your best friend from high school died less than a year ago a thing like that can stir up some Emotions! #like. real 'last place i saw you alive' energies only spread out over an entire weekend #which like. i can handle that it's just kinda Painful but i ALSO was trying to do all this emotional care for my whole family #in all these fraught and messy and...i don't even know the words but just a whole slew of emotions going on #which again is like. it's FINE but it used up all those nice reserves i'd built up on my vacation #especially bc as much as i love my friends and had a good time there were things about the trip that were exhausting too #so i really just needed time to like. breathe deep and process #and then my FUCKING car breaks down! \ #and i'm going to have to pay to fix it and don't even know how much it's going to cost and. i don't really HAVE a lot to spare! #and yeah it happened in like. the best POSSIBLE circumstances but i had to get my parents to completely bail me out which i HATE doing #but i had no other choice because i have no FUCKING support systems in this FUCKING city so i'm NEVER really gonna be independent #no one to give me a ride from the airport no one to check in on my cat no one i could call to help with a broken down car #and man that sure does stand out after you spend a week getting to be with people who genuinely love you! #but have no plans or reasonable way to make that happen for more than the fifteen days you get off per year! #and know that you're Bad at Making Friends and Forming Relationships in any sort of active way! #so! now i'm back to being exhausted and anxious and feeling jealous and lonely and inadequate and all the shit i've been dealing with! #and have to go back to work tomorrow and deal with my 800 emails! not to mention the six page to do list i wrote for myself! #which is my only hope of actually getting some fucking forward momentum instead of just treading water until i die! yay!

[roswellwrites]

>posts for the first time in two years

>it's 5k words of the cowboy from dbd eating p*ssy

>refuses to elaborate

>leaves

Pairing: caleb quinn x reader

Tags: oral, fingering, some dirty talk. Relatively tame considering how overboard i went with this imo

Word count: 5052 but we don’t have to talk about it

When you opened your eyes to find yourself standing in the center of Glenvale’s dusty street, you huffed. 

You were used to it by now, the way the unsettlingly thick fog would seem to appear from nowhere, rolling unnaturally across the clearing as it picked and chose those who would be unfortunate this time.

You remembered holding your breath, your eyes squeezed shut and hands wringing anxiously on your lap, begging wordlessly for the Entity’s fog to pass you over.

And yet here you were.

Still, Glenvale was not the worst case scenario.

The old fort -while not exactly new territory in the Entity’s realm- was still relatively unfamiliar to you, unexplored, eerie and overgrown. 

The air was always strange here, imbued with an undercurrent of dark energy, thrumming heavy and electric as if alive with the misfortune that had befallen the small settlement.

You lazily kicked a pebble in your path, the action unsettling the dust in a way that felt dramatic, even by trial standards. 

You noticed your boots first, like nothing you owned in the real world but familiar to you in a way you couldn’t quite place. But it wasn’t just your shoes that were different. Some time between the campfire and the fog and arriving on the dusty streets of Glenvale, your outfit had changed completely.

The dress you wore was a new addition to your (very limited) wardrobe, short in the front and long in the back, layered but surprisingly light, contradictory to the material’s heavy appearance. The fabric itself was a deep maroon trimmed with black, matte with no hint of shine to it, unmistakably high quality though perhaps not quite authentic to the setting. The dress’s bodice was tight and low cut, flattering, you mused, if the eyeful of your own cleavage you got when you looked down was any indication.

You rubbed your gloved hands together idly, enjoying the smooth feel of the fabric and the small ‘swish swish’ of your fingers as they brushed against one another. 

Beyond that you wore stockings, the material closer to sheer than opaque, lacy bands fitting you snuggly slightly above your knee as they disappeared under the hem of your skirt.

Your boots had a small heel to them, laced tightly, the cuffs extending an inch or so above the natural curve of your ankle.

You clicked your heels together experimentally, more amused than anything else.

A saloon girl outfit.

Fitting.

You stopped in the dusty street, raising your eyes skyward in awe as you admired the beautiful swirling galaxies and twinkling stars, brighter and more defined than you had ever seen them before. You allowed yourself only a moment to enjoy the sight before hurrying along, side-eyeing a wayward buzzard as it screeched its displeasure from an overturned cart in the street.

You climbed the steps leading to the saloon’s main entrance, eager to get off the street and find somewhere a little less out in the open, your eyes scanning the establishment quickly as you crossed the threshold.

The inside of the old building was a scattering of overturned furniture, tables and chairs covered in a fine layer of dust and pockmarked by bullet holes.

You cast a cursory glance over the dead bodies, frozen permanently in the entity’s snapshot, no longer human bodies but now props to set a stage.

Your eyes lingered on the bar before passing over it quickly, knowing from experience that nothing of value would be found there. You had conducted a thorough investigation the first time you were here -a search for resources of course, nothing more- finding only shattered glass and a single unmarked bottle, the lone swig of alcohol inside burning your mouth in a way that had you tasting it for the rest of the trial no matter how many times you spit.

But off to one side rested the shining star of the old saloon, an old piano that had completely enthralled you the first time you saw it and every time since.

The instrument in question was the oldest piano you’d ever seen, exciting but not all that much of a surprise given the setting. You dragged the rickety chair from its place under the keybed and took a seat, ignoring the small screech of the chair legs on the old floor as you did so.

You spread your fingers over the keys, your touch feather-light, unbothered by the accumulated dust and grime on your pristine gloves as the piano banged out its own discordant tune.

There was the light creaking of worn floorboards behind you paired with the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps as they approached. Boots, you parsed easily. Definitely boots.

You felt a flash of fear, the feeling lasting only a handful of seconds before you forced yourself to settle again. You took a moment to think of the other survivors that had entered the trial with you. Too loud to be Ace’s loafers, the wrong sound altogether to be Yui’s sandals.

Jeff then.

You straightened in your chair, casting an excited glance over your shoulder. “Jeff,” you beamed. “Check this out-“

“Not Jeff,” the tall man rasped behind you.

Your blood ran cold, all traces of your smile vanishing and eyes widening in dawning horror as your entire body went rigid with fear.

The gunslinger’s hand was on your shoulder suddenly, his grip punishing, and you spun, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of the man towering over you. Your mouth dropped dumbly in surprise as you moved immediately to stand, to run maybe, a startled noise instead tearing itself from your throat as the cowboy shoved you backwards so hard that the old wooden chair groaned in protest.

You noticed his grin before anything else, crooked and unkind as he looked at you. His eyes were intense, sharp and predatory, alight with the thrill of having caught you off guard.

‘My heartbeat,’ your brain supplied unhelpfully, gloved hand flying to your chest as your heartbeat suddenly roared to life behind your ribs. “Why...” you trailed off, tongue darting out nervously to wet your bottom lip. “Why didn’t I hear-“

His grin widened, strange eyes dragging leisurely and without shame from your face to trail the length of your body. “Reckon you just weren’t listening, girlie.”

You followed his gaze, puzzled briefly.

You could instantly feel the blood rush to your cheeks, fear pushed aside and replaced with embarrassment to find that your skirt had ridden up when he shoved you backwards, the already short hem pushed back enough to reveal the tops of your lacy stockings and garters, decorated with small, intricate bows.

You shifted in your chair, moving instinctively to press your thighs together and smooth the fabric back into place before you stopped yourself, a piece of advice given to you by another survivor ringing clear as a bell in your ears.

“Try to catch them off guard."

‘Sure,’ you thought. ‘Why not?’

You inhaled deeply, taking a moment to compose yourself under the man’s sharp gaze, lashes fanning against your flushed cheeks as you closed your eyes. When you opened them again, you tilted your head slightly, allowing a strand of loose hair to slip free from behind your ear and teasingly brush the tops of your breasts. You shifted forward in your seat, pleased to note the obvious way that the gunslinger’s eyes drifted to your chest again. You spread your fingers over your collarbone, making a show of it as you arched your back to give the man a better view.

“Ain’t above fightin’ dirty, I see,” the tall man scoffed.

You ignored the comment in favor of action. You reached towards him, willing your hands to steady themselves as you hooked pseudo-confident fingers behind the man’s belt and tugged him playfully towards you. “Reckon we might have gotten off on the wrong foot, Mister,” you drawled, tongue darting out to wet your lips in a way that you hoped read more sultry than nervous.

There was a moment where the man simply looked at you, head tilting slightly as if mulling the phrase over. He seemed to come to his conclusion quickly enough, perhaps deciding that your sudden exaggerated southern drawl wasn’t meant to offend or that this wasn’t some kind of trap he was about to fall into.

“That so?” The man grinned. He stepped forward into your space obligingly, seeming to humor the invitation of closeness. His eyes still held that unsettling glint to them, too bright and too shiny. Unnatural. Inhuman.

Regardless, you were pleased when he dropped his gaze again, his strange eyes focusing on the slight rustle of your heavy skirt as you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him.

This was easy. This was something you could do.

You felt your heart rate spike again when he shifted his weapon in his hands, your shoddily crafted facade dangerously close to slipping as you fought the urge to flinch. You allowed your eyes to linger on the gun for only a moment before sliding your gaze instead to his face, forcing an air of casualness. “I bet if you put that gun down, we could find a better use for those hands of yours, cowboy.”

You knew the gunslinger could end this little game right now if he wanted, could pick you up and carry you to a hook and there would be nothing you could do about it. But the thought of escaping the situation (or the trial, for that matter) was no longer at the forefront of your mind, a concept that emboldened but -more importantly- thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite articulate.

That’s all this entire scenario was; just one big trust fall.

The gunslinger made a small noise at the offer, over exaggerated as if mulling it over. “Hmmm…” he said, stretching the sound long enough that you had to tamp down your fear again. After a brief pause,  there was the dull sound of steel meeting wood as the man reached past you to prop his gun in the corner where the piano met the wall.

All at once the tension seemed to leave your chest, like a bubble that had burst behind your rib cage. You exhaled softly through your nose, breathing a silent sigh of relief as you cast your eyes upwards to see now that the large man’s expression truly had shifted from ‘firmly murderous’ to ‘more than slightly amused.’

With his hands now free, the gunslinger reached down to cup your jaw, calloused thumb passing idly over your lips as if inspecting you.

“My, you certainly are a pretty thing, aren’t ya,” he mused. “Never woulda guessed what with all the blood yer always covered in.”

Without the immediate threat of death looming over your head, you allowed your shoulders to loosen. You shifted forward in your seat, one hand sliding from his belt to linger now on his thigh. Time to really go for it. “Maybe we could work out some kind of...trade.”

“Oh?” He asked, smug. “And what could you possibly offer me that I couldn’t just take?”

“Been told I’m pretty good with my mouth,” you said matter of factly, purposely ignoring the second half of the question. You tilted your chin upwards slightly, both hands coming up now to catch the gunslinger’s hand as his thumb lingered by your mouth. You parted your lips slightly, taking the tip of the aforementioned digit into your mouth and closing your teeth playfully around it.

The taste that hit your tongue wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought it might be, all dust and faded tobacco and some sort of bitter machine oil. Certainly not a deterrent. “Just say the word, cowboy, and I’ll get on my knees and take you for one hell of a ride.”

The gunslinger said nothing at first, as if processing the information he was given. Finally after a moment he spoke.

“I’ll do you one better, girlie,” he grinned. He moved quickly then, giving you only a few seconds to process what was said before he was lifting you out of your chair, settling you with ease on the dusty piano top. “Won’t even have to get on your knees for it.”

You froze at the suddenness with which he moved you, reminiscent of a deer in headlights. You regained your bravado quickly however,  lifting one thigh and then the other as you freed your dress from where it had become trapped beneath you. “Is that so?” You asked.

He watched the movement of the fabric with hungry eyes, his calloused hands moving from their resting position at your waist downwards, trailing your hips before settling firmly on your closed thighs.

Your heart leapt into your throat as exploratory fingers dipped below your skirt to find the top of one stocking, hooking a finger beneath the garter and snapping it lightly against your thigh. You squirmed, your eyes glued helplessly on his long fingers as he began to push the fabric up and out of the way.

“Reckon you’ll have to pardon my eagerness,” the man said, though the crooked grin on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t as apologetic as he tried to appear. “Suppose if I was a gentleman I might be takin’ this a little slower,” he mused, meeting your eyes before continuing. “But it’s been a long time since I was a gentleman…and I’m in a mighty big hurry to get started.”

From here the gunslinger made quick work of your garter clasps, his deft fingers moving immediately upwards to catch the edge of your delicate ruffled bloomers.

You could feel yourself blushing heavily in anticipation, too warm, almost dizzying as the heat crept further into your chest and face.

The man paused, his predatory gaze finally straying from your lower half to meet your eyes. His lopsided smirk widened further as he seemed to catch sight of your frazzled expression. “You pick these out?” He asked teasingly, tugging playfully at the fabric.

You opened your mouth to speak, your long overheated brain struggling and failing to churn out a suitable answer. “No,” you said instead, decidedly less than intelligent.

He chuckled at this, seemingly amused as he worked the undergarments down your thighs and then over your boots with ease.

You inhaled sharply at the experimental prodding of his fingers at your entrance, the almost gentle way he pressed forward before withdrawing, spreading your growing slick in his wake.

The sounds of your wetness were already audible -embarrassingly so- even over your shaky breathing and the screech of the buzzards outside. You closed your eyes, attempting to ignore the lewdness of the sound but finding this only served to deepen your blush and make you wetter.

“This doin’ somethin’ for you, sweetheart?” The cowboy asked, entirely too self-satisfied for your liking. “Or are you just easily excited?”

You chose to remain silent, a futile attempt to preserve the small amount of dignity you had left.

When he placed his hand on your middle and guided you back gently, you took the hint, supporting your weight with your arms as you leaned backwards to give him better access. From here he bent forward to get a better look at you, large hands forcing your thighs wide, grunting in annoyance when the brim of his large hat bumped against your stomach.

“Damn hat,” he muttered, his tone edging on irritated as he all but snatched the offending accessory from his head and placed it swiftly on top of your own. “Hold this for me, would you?”

You reached up reflexively, grabbing the brim of the old hat and lifting it slightly where it had fallen into your eyes.

You jolted at the first touch of his lips, sudden and bold, cheeks flushed and eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of his harsh stubble on your delicate inner thighs.

“Christ,” you said, too caught off guard to say anything else.

“We’re just gettin’ started.”

His mouth was hot against you, impossibly wet, the movements of his tongue languid and unhurried, thorough as if he planned to explore every inch of you and thought himself to have all the time in the world. The gunslinger’s hands were fire where they met your skin, his calloused fingertips tracing the edges of your stockings with teasing almost feather-light touches.

You lost yourself in a sea of heat, nerve endings alight with pleasure as he really set to work. In the distance you heard a generator roar to life, so far away that you weren’t entirely sure you had heard it at all. How many was that now? Two? Three?

He flattened his tongue against you, the pressure suddenly merciless when combined with the chapped lips and the barest hint of the man’s teeth. You began to squirm, the noises now slipping freely from your lips before you could stop them. You reached for him, your shaking fingers grasping desperately at his coat collar to drag him in closer before you could think better of it.

The gunslinger shifted his weight from one leg and then the other, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the piano top and closer still to his mouth. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder, grinning against your inner thigh as he found a new angle that seemed to please him.

You made a small noise when he pressed one of his long fingers inside of you unexpectedly, a whine slipping from between parted lips as he twisted the digit this way and that. Your hips jolted involuntarily, the action surprising you in its abruptness. Your roving hands flew from the uncomfortable hold on his collar to scrabble uselessly at whatever else you could find, settling eventually on the cowboy’s hat as it rested on your head.

You grabbed the brim with both hands, pulling it down to hide your embarrassment as the gunslinger worked you open with all the experience of a man who had done this many times.

“Now, now,” he chastised, one arm moving from where it curled around your thigh to reach up, pulling the hat from your hands easily and replacing it atop your head in its original position. He flicked the brim teasingly, knocking it upwards and away from your eyes. “No hidin’, girlie.”

You gasped when he added a second finger alongside the first, your body suddenly overwhelmed entirely by the sensation. You twisted in his hold, thighs quaking and toes curling in your boots as the man continued his onslaught.

He chuckled then, a deep rumbling sound that sent another wave of liquid fire to your lower abdomen.

“You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya? So warm and welcomin’ for me...squeezing my fingers like you ain’t got no desire to ever see me go,” he teased. His cheeks were flushed, obvious now where you weren’t entirely sure before, sun damaged face ruddy even beneath the thin layer of dirt that coated him. His breath was hot where it fanned against your inner thighs, something you were acutely aware of as he went on. “…and wetter than a goddamn thunderstorm already,” he continued with a grin, seeming to revel in your squirming. “You sure don’t disappoint, do ya?”

You could feel your face heat impossibly further under the scrutiny, shaking legs attempting and failing to squeeze shut subconsciously as the man’s words began to register in your delayed brain.

He gave another raspy laugh, as if amused by the halfhearted attempt.

“Aww, now don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he grinned, turning his head to deliver a playful nip to your inner thigh. You could feel his large hands on your trembling knees, spreading them to their previous positions and then a little beyond that, exposing you obscenely to his hungry gaze.

As he brought his mouth back to your heated flesh, you realized you had never felt like this before, so entirely overwhelmed and thoroughly devoured.

This was going to ruin you.

There was movement to your right, a flash of pink just beyond the window, and you shifted your eyes to it instinctively.

Ace’s eyes were unreadable behind his reflective lenses, his lips pressed into a tense line, more serious perhaps than you had ever seen him. He lifted his hand slowly, raising his thumb first in question before rotating his wrist nearly a full 180 degrees and giving the universal signal for thumbs down.

You blinked slowly in confusion, eyes moving from the man’s hand then to his face and then back again. You knew you were supposed to say something here, or maybe do something. Your thought process was slowed nearly to nothing as the cowboy fucked you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue.

You were surprised to hear the tall man speak suddenly, the sound all but snapping you from your trance as you continued to stare with unfocused eyes towards the newcomer.

“He’s askin’ if you’re alright,” the gunslinger said, finally dragging himself from your lower half as if that was the last thing he wanted to do. He sneered, shooting a scathing look towards the interruption, impatient in a way you knew would mean trouble for Ace later. “Reckon you should answer him so we can go about our business.” Here he paused, mischievous glint in his eyes as he tilted his head teasingly at you. “Unless yer lookin’ to give the man a show.”

You mulled this over for a moment, seconds stretching on, not so much entertaining the idea of giving Ace a front row seat to your escapade so much as trying to remember how to string together words to make a coherent thought. “Oh,” you said finally, licking idly at your lips. Right. “I’m…I’m good,” you called, your voice cracking under the strain.

“Just good, huh?” The gunslinger teased. His long, dexterous fingers crept back to their original positions on your flushed skin. “Thinkin’ we can do a little better than just good.”

In the time it took for you to realize what was about to happen, he was on you again, delving forward to press his tongue inside of you once more.

You arched in surprise, sitting completely upright now as opposed to your relaxed, blissed out posture from only a moment ago, your own fingers twitching restlessly against your thighs. You gasped softly, eyes darting towards Ace again to find that his expression had changed entirely, smirk curling his lips now where only concern had been before. He tipped his cap at you, head tilted in a small nod and his grin growing ever broader when you reached up reflexively to tip the cowboy’s hat in return.

And then as quickly as the gambler appeared, he was gone, your attention shifting immediately back to the gunslinger as he pressed his fingers inside you again. You reveled in the delicious stretch, the digits thick and pleasant as he scissored them within you. Your legs shook, twinging muscles threatening to cramp as the gunslinger held them in their current positions, stretched too wide for too long.

Your hand dove to grab the edge of the piano top when his tongue found your clit, circling it first before beginning to lick it, all teasing thrown out the window now as he set to work in earnest.

“Quite the gentleman droppin’ in to check on you,” the cowboy sneered between punishing licks. His eyes cut suddenly towards the window, as if scanning for the other man. He gave a pleased hum to see that the other man had moved along, the noise vibrating deliciously against your skin. “Was wonderin’ when he was gonna make himself known,” the gunslinger grinned. “Been standing there an awful long time just a’watchin’.”

“If it was anyone else, I’d probably have the common sense to be embarrassed,” you gasped, head tipped back now as you lost yourself in the rhythm of his long fingers as they rocked in and out. “Ace…” you continued, breath hitching as the gunslinger picked up his pace. “Ace is Ace.”

“Not a fan of that one,” the cowboy said offhandedly. “Beat me in cards once. He cheats.”

“He’s just lucky.”

“He cheats,” the man said again, firm, the tone brooking no argument. The bottom half of the cowboy’s face was shiny and wet, and you found yourself distracted by his tongue as it slid from between his chapped lips to run his tongue through it.

“Okay,” you said dumbly. “Okay.”

There was the abrupt sound of a generator being completed, a sudden blinding brightness that shone through the windows and had you squinting your eyes.

“Ah,” the gunslinger said. “Reckon that’s my cue to finish this up.”

You nearly arched off the piano top when he dove back in purposefully, all tongue and lips and fingers that plunged in and out, in and out. He pinned you easily as you squirmed, movements becoming increasingly more wild as he continued his merciless assault. You could feel the build up in your lower stomach, nerve endings alight as your body struggled to process the gunslinger’s ministrations.

When had you started panting?

“Maybe if you ask real sweet, I’ll - “

“Please,” you said immediately, the word falling from your lips before he could finish his thought. You weren’t above begging. You were so close now, teetering on the precipice, any bit of hesitancy you had before completely thrown out the window in the wake of your impending orgasm.

You began to plead in earnest, the same word spoken over and over again -please, please, please- so many times now that the word began to lose its meaning.

You were beyond incoherent, you knew, entirely incomprehensible as the cowboy worked you so thoroughly that you could swear you saw stars. “Please,” you begged, desperate in a way that would surely embarrass you later. “Please, please.”

The gunslinger said something in his gravelly voice, his tone distinctly pleased but overshadowed by your shameless begging. When his thumb met your clit, you gave a sharp inhale as you were pushed over the edge, less a gentle step into the unknown and more a runaway train careening off the tracks.

Despite the build up, you were entirely unprepared for the orgasm that tore through you. It was all encompassing, intense in a way that you had never experienced. Your entire body shuddered, knees and thighs quaking on either side of the gunslinger’s head, thoroughly overwhelmed. You whined when he continued to lick into you despite the overstimulation, his long fingers still pumping in and out even as you squirmed and twisted.

Then all at once the stimulation was gone and you could breathe again.

The gunslinger began to pull away from you, his voice barely muffled against your skin as he spoke once more. His voice was deep, husky and too low to hear over the blood that still rushed loudly in your own ears.

“What?” You asked, flushed chest still heaving as your head continued to clear. You felt like you were underwater, like you could see the cowboy’s mouth moving but couldn’t make your brain understand what was being said.

The gunslinger straightened, finally returning to his full height as he wiped the slick off his face with one dusty sleeve. He opened his mouth again, a sudden sickening ‘pop’  filling the air as he corrected his crooked jaw. He gave a soft grunt of pain, one hand coming up to cup his face in a way that indicated that this was not an unusual occurrence.

“Said my jaw is hurtin’ like a sonuvabitch,” he repeated, grimacing as he shifted his jaw from one side and then the other as if trying to keep it from becoming stiff again. “I’ll be damned if you didn’t make it worth my while, though.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, overtly aware of the awkwardness as it began to seep back into the situation without his hands and mouth to occupy you.

You made a small noise of surprise when he grabbed you around your waist suddenly, lifting you from the piano and setting you down as easily as he had lifted you in the first place. Your legs felt wobbly underneath you, unsteady, a feeling you tried to brush away as you smoothed your skirt back into a position you deemed acceptable.

The gunslinger watched the movement of your skirt with rapt attention, much in the same way he’d watched it earlier when you were trying to tempt him.

”Nothin’ left to do but leave,” the tall man said idly. That strange glint had returned to his eyes, any warmth fading as he reached behind you for his weapon. “Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.”

Uh oh.

“Go on now,” he grinned, all teeth, unkind and dangerous in a way that sent a chill down your spine. He stepped into your space, standing nearly two heads taller than you as he plucked his hat from your head. “Trust me when I say you don’t wanna test me.”

You yelped when he delivered a sudden sharp slap to your rear, the contact finally spurning you into action. You stumbled down the saloon stairs and back onto the dusty street, one arm coming up to block the too-bright light as your eyes struggled to adjust.

Behind you, the gunslinger laughed, raspy and low. “Find me in the fog any time, girlie.”

You shot one last glance over your shoulder as you hurried along, making your way quickly towards the nearest gate as it loomed heavy and industrial at the end of the street.

In the distance you heard a scream, ear piercing and guttural. You sucked in a breath, anxiously shifting from one foot to the other as if debating what to do, the cowboy’s words from earlier echoing suddenly in your head.

‘Reckon you oughta head out as soon as those gates are open if you want to make it out in one piece.’

In the distance another scream rang out, echoing across the prairie.

You didn’t stick around to hear a third.

#anyway how do i tag this?? #this is like 12 pages on google docs good lord #caleb quinn x reader #i guess? #dead by daylight #does anyone even want to fuck this guy? like is this too niche? #roswell writes

[creativeashproductions]

In the Beginning // Alive!Luke Patterson

Summary: Reggie (Rhodes)’s older sister is the epitome of cool in his, and his friends, eyes with her in a band. Pushed by a hazel eyed brunette with a huge crush on the eldest Rhodes teen the boys decide to start a band. While at first the band is for Luke’s dream of landing you he finds his passion with music.

Warning: Swearing, angst, fluff, dad!Luke

Words: 4.1k

A/N: I couldn’t resist writing another alive!Luke fic with Luke crushing on his band mate’s sister. Ugh, just imagine Luke suggesting a band to impress his crush only to fall in love with music instead.  For my fics it will be Alex Mitchell and Reggie Rhodes until JATP reveals their canon names. 

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1992

The guitar case was a familiar heaviness as you walked into the home for the first time in months after a practice. You ached from the long travel, and all you wanted was your bed. The yawn came first, then the startled yell at the living room.

Four pairs of eyes met the girl standing in the entryway, surprised at a sleepover with her brother and his full friends. Eyebrows coming together you shook your head wondering why they had come here instead of the typical Patterson home.

“Hey!” Fourteen-year-old Reggie beamed towards his older sister excited she was back from her weekend band practice. Your eyes blinked at his usual upbeat personality before switching to the brown eyes from Bobby, too shy to full meet yours.

Spread around the living room watching a movie was Reggie’s best friends; the socially awkward Alex, the shy Bobby, and the Patterson boy Luke. The young typically spent their time at Luke’s place, so seeing them in your home was strange.

“Reg, what’s up?” You asked crouching to untie your shoes confused at the sharp audible gasp coming from Luke. Standing straight up, you saw Luke awkwardly looking away with bright red cheeks.

“How was practice?” Reggie inquired with the smile he got from your mom and his dark hair from your dad.

Reggie usually wasn’t interested in your band leading you to wonder what the hell was going on with them. Being sixteen you didn’t socialize with Reggie’s friends, thanks to the two year age gap, but you were happy he had good friends. Well, less than two years between you and Luke.

“It was good. Since when are you interested in Crimson Queen?” You questioned moving more into the room with the four young teens, “You haven’t even touched your bass in years.”

One eyebrow raised you individually looked at the boys in the room all with sheets of paper around them. From a distance, you couldn’t tell what was on them, but it couldn’t be homework. They all attended the same high school while you had done correspondence with the band and a tutor.

“Luke’s parents got him a guitar,” Reggie spoke gesturing to the decent brand new acoustic guitar on the floor beside the Patterson. Luke’s hazel eyes widening as you came closer to the group.

Your hand picking up the guitar to look it over finding it was decent for a beginner, but it was definitely not tuned. The sheer sound made you wince.

“So, you guys want to be a band?” You questioned sitting on the floor beside Luke. The boy shifting nervously, you weren’t blind that he got shy around girls, “Do you guys even play instruments?”

“I got the bass, Bobby can play rhythm guitar, Alex plays dru-“

“I wouldn’t call it proper drumming. It’s just something my therapist suggested with my anxiety and frustrations.” Alex raised his hand leading to everyone in the room looking at the tall male, recently had a growth spurt, with the backward black hat.

“And Luke will learn guitar as well.” You added, looking at the quiet, “How well can you play?”

“I don’t even know how to properly tune it,” Luke admitted playing with his fingers adorned with a ring.

Luke had chosen a cutoff shirt in an attempt to gain your attention to his arms he hoped had gotten more muscled. He had a massive crush on you but with the guys your own age he had step up; he started working out. He actually enjoyed it, but he’d enjoy it more if you were checking him out.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You mumbled glancing out the window at the ocean waves thinking. The house was on the prime real estate edge of the beach all thanks to your well off parents; Dad, a doctor and Mom, an interior designer.

Your fingers tapped on the ripped blue jeans you had chosen that day with the flannel shirt opened over the black AC/DC t-shirt. You started standing up, grabbing Luke’s hand to pull him up as well; the boy’s cheeks grew pinker, and his heart fluttered.

“What?” Luke spluttered, staring at his hand, caught in yours in sheer awe.

“You’ll need a place to practice.” You answered, dropping is head to reach in your pocket for your key chain.

The key chain had a few keys on it: one for home, one for your car, one for the band van for gigs, one for the garage, and lastly one for the house the garage belonged to. The boys piled into the car, apprehensive for where you were taking them. The only sound was the radio playing local greatest hits, your foot slammed on the brake at the house of your bassist.

“Well Marty, this song has blown up on the charts. New band Crimson-“

“Holy shit.” You breathed staring at the radio. Your door opened as you sprinted down to the steps that led to the garage. The footsteps of the boys following.

The garage was open already with your band members lounging around the space filled with instruments and amps. Their heads swivelling as you frantic turned the radio on.

“Come on.” You mumbled, turning the radio station to the right one, “Guys listen!”

“-Crimson Queen is an LA-based band making waves in the LA Nightlife and hit the top ten with their newest song Sorry Now.” The radio host spoke, “If you haven’t heard the song before, this is the band’s new single.”

The song was blasted from the radio leading to the four girls screaming the song out dancing around the room. Euphoria was the only way you could call the feeling rising in the bodies of the girls in the place. The room burst into more screams as your drummer. Faith switched the radio station.

“Today history was made, Crimson Queen is an all-female rock band fronted by Y/N Rhodes. They started as a hobby at fifteen, but a year later at sixteen they’ve made waves.” A hit radio station, the second one so far, was talking about your band. Holy shit.

“Lucy, this band is going places. My daughter is seven years old, and she’s telling me this band is the talk of her school. I can’t tell how much Lucy listens to their demo.”

Your eyes saw Reggie having a meltdown of excitement for older sister and her band, and you were so unbelievably happy you should care the moment. You rushed over to Reggie to pull him into a hug.

“Girls…and boys.” Mrs Taylor spoke furrowing her brows at the young boys in the garage her daughter had begged to use for the band. Shaking her head, the middle-aged woman turned her attention to her daughter.

“Hey, Ma.” Dawn, your bassist, spoke spreading her pink painted lips to her perfectly straight teeth too hyped up on energy, “What’s up?”

“First congratulations on the single. Secondly, we’re gonna need to get a personal line for the band because our phone is blowing up.”

A sharp gasp from Dawn before the three of the four girls rushed to the house of the Taylor’s. You hung back to look at your brother and his band.

“So? What do you think?” You inquired with the group, “This idea of yours has to be one hundred percent what you want. It won’t be easy in LA, it will come with hardships, and Reggie Mom and Dad won’t let you drop out.”

The four boys nodded their heads because the excitement they saw in your big break was something they wanted. To be able to connect with people cemented their decision.

“Feel free to hang around.” You suggested glancing around the garage that started it all, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

The Orpheum, Los Angeles, 1995

The crowd screamed as Crimson Queen, the song that started this road played with the girl crouching to grasp the hand of fans. At the beat of the chorus, you stood up eating up the energy of the last show of the tour. You went jumped on the drum riser rocking on the guitar as Faith did her magic.

Dawn on her bass made her way to rock with your rhythm guitarist Sara sharing grins with you still feeling the euphoria of this success. As the song came to an end, your entire band went to the front of the stage.

“We’d like to thank our fans for the last nine months of our world tour. We started this band in LA in 1991, so we thought it fit to end our tour at The Orpheum.” You spoke to the crowd, feeding off the energy as the concert came to an end.

The road crew would load your instruments up in the van to take home after months of travelling. You were so excited to see Reggie, who would be seventeen now, having celebrated his birthday while you had been in Europe. Too excited were shocked as Reggie backstage.

“Reggie!” You exclaimed tugging the teen into your arms, leaning back to take him in, “Damn you grew!”

Reggie grinned not giving a shit you were coated in sweat from performing your setlist, but your eyes went over his shoulder. Standing close and just as excited was Reggie’s friends. Alex was taller, Bobby looked more confident, and Luke could meet your eyes. Luke also had changed, no longer baby faced.

“Sunset Curve.” You spoke, stepping back to look them over, “I haven’t seen you guys in months, how did you change so much!”

“That’s what happens when you go on tour for almost a year.” Luke teased tugging you into his arms for a tight hug.

It was odd seeing Luke taller and more muscled than when you left for tour, and the confidence was honestly hot. You had seen Luke as anything other than your brother’s friend, who tended to stare a little too long.

“You played the fucking Orpheum!” Alex screamed, holding your shoulders with a wrinkled nose at the damp red thin flannel shirt. The girls wandered up behind you each with a grin at the guys.

“Well if it isn’t Sunset Swerve,” Sara spoke swinging her arm over your shoulder with a teasing smirk plastered on her face. Her blonde hair swept up in a bun high on her head from a recent shower.

“Sunset Curve!” The male quartet snapped at the name before they fell back into a happy demeanour. Luke and you both staring at each other with a pink-hued face.

Faith was quieter in the group leaning closer to your band to whisper in your ear, “Jay scored us some drinks. But MJ got us into a party.” Faith’s textured hair tickling your neck.

Grins split the three girls at the suggestion each excited for the party with fellow musicians and plus ones. Sure, the parties had drugs and alcohol, but they were fun and part of the scene. Half of you wanted to go, but the other wanted to spend time with your brother.

“I’ll think I’ll pass.” You spoke up to the girls motioning to the guys, “I’ll head back with them. Meet you at the house later?”

Your black vans moving backwards as you moved to be closer to be flush against Reggie’s side grinning as he bumped his hip against you. Sara, Faith and Dawn each raising an eyebrow at your response since you often dragged them to parties.

“Orrr…we could each take one of them.” Faith cajoled mocha skin gleaming in the light with her hands, tugging her hair into a thick braid.

“You want me to take my seventeen-year-old brother and his friends-“

“-I’m like two weeks from being eighteen-” Luke cut into the conversation buzzing at the possible date, but not date, with the girl he had been crushing on for years. He was pretty sure he was in love with you at this point; he did date a little, but nothing stuck.

“-To a party in Hollywood.” You finished pinning your gaze on the three girls ahead each with mischievous grins. Your cheeks puffed as you breathed out, thinking of the positives and negatives.

Bobby was bouncing on his heels with Reggie leaving Alex shifting uncomfortably in his place. His partially relaxed when Luke squeezed his forearm through the distressed black jean jacket that bought his outfit together. Luke himself was apprehensive on your decision because either way, he got to spend time with you.

“Come on.” Dawn implored, pulling out the big guns with her ocean blue eyes widening into the puppy gaze that did you in each time. Her curtain of short dyed pink hair framing her heart-shaped face.

“I’m going to pass this time. Do some shots for me! Not tequila though, that was a huge mistake.” Faith’s grin widened at having you carry you out of the house in the early morning after a wicked party.

“Did you ever find your tho-“

“Faith!” You hissed turning a bright red at her revelation that you definitely didn’t want Reggie to know. The atmosphere turned awkward as everyone realized what the sentence would end with.

Okay so maybe you had hooked up with a few people over the last three years but nothing permanent. It was fun, drunk fun, but still fun and nothing had gone wrong. Your eyes avoided looking at Luke for a reason you couldn’t decipher.

“I’ll see you later.” You spoke motioning for the guys to follow you to the dressing room you had settled in early in the day. The corner of your lips quirked at the awe on each of the boys’ faces.

“I’m in the dressing where bands become legends.” Reggie gasped circling the room with wide-eyed interest. Alex was interested in the band posters on the walls from previous performers.

Luke, however, was more interested in your curves covered by your sweaty stage clothing that stuck to your form. His Adam’s apple gulped as you grabbed your shower bag moving towards the connected bathroom.

“I’ll grab a shower, and we can head out.” You supplied, “I’ll just need to stop at Rudy’s office for our portion of the concert.”

The guys mumbled a response finding a place to wait without hushed conversations of when they would get to play. Luke’s eyes found yours at the low call of his name from the bathroom; a crack opened he walked over.

“Do you have a sweater?” You mumbled at the taller teen with widening eyes as he realized that you were naked behind the door.

Luke stumbled over his feet, retrieving the black pullover Crimson Queen merch he had had for months now. He had saved up money to buy the merch to support the band. The door closed as you tugged the sweater in the bathroom momentarily before walking out.

“Thanks Lu. I forget to pack a shirt.” Luke awed as your nose scrunched up adorably to the amusement of his friends, “So, do you wanna hit the beach? Or maybe give me a concert in the garage?”

Luke intertwined his fingers in yours as he tugged you out of the room with your bag in hand. His heart fluttered as you held on to his hand even in the little office of the Orpheum’s management for the thick envelope of money.

“Thanks, Rudy!” You called over your shoulder at the short, stout man going over the financials and upcoming performances.

The smell of Sunset Boulevard brought a smile remembering the first time you performed and the small group that had waited outside. The first night of autographs and recognition.

“So, Reg how’s my car?” You questioned the teen who impishly grinned tugging the key chain from his black jeans. You had given him the keys when you revealed Crimson Queen had a world tour.

“Right there.” Reggie pointed leading the group of five to the car that would take them to the garage. Reggie drove with Alex in the passenger while you were crammed between Bobby and Luke; Luke was delighted in your warmth against his side.

While your band members partied, you got a first-row seating to Sunset Curve’s talent in the garage where you had started out. It was amazing to see how much they had accomplished in the three years since they started.

The sudden knock on the door had you flailing off the couch onto the floor with a sheet of paper stuck to your cheek. Your spine cracked as you sat up glancing at your watch, finding it was after midnight, only an hour of sleep after inspiration for a new song.

The door was knocked on once more and coming close the sound of crying could be heard, and you wondered if it was Luke. He had been over a few days in the night following a fight with his parents and needed to crash; helped you were giving dating a chance after his well-rehearsed speech.

Imagine your shock when it was Reggie sobbing, “Reggie.”

“C-can I stay here?” Reggie whimpered cuddling himself into the leather jacket he received at Christmas from you. You had inside in your arms in moments, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Are they fighting again?” You murmured to your younger brother content to hold him as he cried. Bringing him to the living room, you held him as he cried humming under your breath the first song you ever let him see.

“Yeah. The music doesn’t work anymore.” Reggie murmured leaning back to wipe his tears off, “Sorry for crashing. I can go stay with-“

“Here. Reginald, you can always stay here.” You soothed the seventeen-year-old boy with sad eyes and a sombre look. His sad eyes shattered your heart, knowing he had suffered the fighting for months alone, “This house is empty Reg. You can move in here.”

His lip quirked up, “Can we play country music?”

“And eat breakfast at night.” You teased him grinning as his lips pulled up into his trademark grin, “The guys can come over whenever they want. I’d actually prefer they know they can stay here, they deserve a safe place to stay.”

You knew that Alex endured living with his parents, who had gone out of their way to avoid him after he came out. Luke couch surfed at your old house, never at Alex’s home; after coming out, Alex didn’t feel comfortable bringing anyone over.

“Good, because they’re outside.” Reggie sheepishly admitted raising his thumbs-up, “Go thinking ahead!”

Snorting the human version of a golden retriever you opened the front door to the house finding two guys in strange positions. Alex was inspecting the light fixture, and Luke was leaning against the wall with his elbow, foot across the other.

“You guys need lessons in the art of pretending you weren’t eavesdropping.” The sigh fell stepping aside for the two to enter the home—each carrying a backpack and small duffle bag for wherever they would have crashed.

The male trio got comfortable in the living room curiously glancing at the mess of papers, sticky notes and pencils. While with good intentions, they didn’t follow boundaries well, even for Alex.

“Whatcha working on?” Luke inquired, leaning closer to a sheet of paper. His pout coming over his face when you quickly tidied up the papers.

“Nothing. I fell asleep on the couch. The label wants new songs.” You groaned rubbing your eyes, “I got inspired last night. Oh! Hey, I took a message for you guys.”

Jogging to your office studio for the band you quickly grabbed the envelope along with the note that you had been given.

“So, Rudy called me, and I had a meeting with him.” You started sitting on the coffee table in front of the trio. The trio leaned forward.

“Rudy?” Luke questioned, pursing his lips together at the male name. While you and Luke were dating it wasn’t official, he was just really nervous with his dream girl liking him back.

“He’s the management for a venue. He asked if our band was available for a concert, but we collectively decided to focus on songs and recording, which you can’t tell anyone about, but he’s in dire need. So, I might have given him something. Specifically a demo of yours and knowing your home situations I gave my information.”

“Okay…so?” Alex questioned, leaning forward. His eyes growing wide as you pushed the envelope in his hand.

Alex quickly opened the cream envelope finding inside a paper along with a mock-up promo poster with Sunset Curve. The squeal was shocking from the teenager as he read the letter and note out loud.

Y/N,

I gave the demo a listen, and we usually wouldn’t do this, but Crimson Queen has been gracious with us. Always mentioning where the band got its start and closing the tour here. To repay the favour, we would formally like to invite Sunset Curve to perform. In the envelope is a mock-up poster as an option for the promo. Get the Sunset Curve’s people to get in touch. I can get the word out to some friends from some labels to come for a listen. Get in touch as soon as possible.

Manager of The Orpheum in Los Angeles,

Rudy West.

 “The Orpheum?” Luke screamed, yanking the paper from Alex to re-read it in complete shock, “We don’t have people!”

“But Crimson does.” You smirked, “On a temporary basis Crimson Queen formally offer our manager’s help.”

In his excitement, Luke lunged to pull you into a kiss freezing the room in shock.

“He got the girl.” Alex breathed elbowing Reggie in the side who’s mouth was open at his best friend kissing Reggie’s older sister. The older sister who was the driving force behind Luke wanting to form a band to impress her, “We need to tell Bobby!”

1995 was the best year for Luke Patterson. He got the girl, his band made it, his parents finally saw his dream was worth it.

The sound of music hypnotized the woman as she wandered down the hall to the open door of the large home. Nothing too over the top like Bobby’s mansion, but it was a nice size in a gated area. Your neighbours being Reggie on one side and Alex on the other side with his partner Willie; Willie had skated into Alex and into a love story pretty much.

Resting against the door edge of the designated home studio you saw Luke had moved a rocking recliner in. Softly playing in the room was a soft acoustic song recorded months previous as a surprise for you.

“When are the lessons starting?” You questioned bringing Luke’s attention to your soft smile and the love in your eyes. Luke’s grin widened glancing down at the miniature version of his love-filled eyes.

“Given her legendary parents, I think at two.” Luke chuckled shuffling the baby to the crook of his arm shifting, so you could curl into his side as well. Both eyes gazing at the little baby you had welcomed what felt like yesterday.

Stevie could fall asleep only to the lullaby her father had created during the pregnancy, and he had written. Stevie had Luke’s eyes, and so far her blonde hair had yet to darken so the question of if she’d take after your hair or his hair was unanswered.

“Hey sweetheart.” You whispered to your daughter falling asleep to the sound of her father’s voice in the room. An adorable yawn pulled from her little body as she nestled into Luke’s arms.

“She’s so gorgeous.” Luke breathed tears welling up as he could understand the reasoning behind his parents’ opinions in his teens. He truly felt terrible at hurting his mom now that he felt the love for his child.

“We did good Patterson.” You murmured back to the man who had held your heart since you were nineteen and back from tour. Your finger tracing Steve’s soft cheek, “I think she has your mom’s mouth.”

Luke’s lips lingered on your cheek heart full of love for his family with you and his little girl. He had known since his eleventh birthday he would marry you even if you were a year older. A year that made the difference when he was months older than his friends, so the year felt like two for you. At eighteen when was tentatively dating you, he knew he would marry you. He never anticipated the sheer amount of adoration for the little girl he would have at twenty-one.

God, he loved his life. He made up with his parents, his best friends, had the girl of his dreams, the most beautiful daughter and it all thanks to music. Can you see why he lives and breathes music?

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#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson x reader #dad!luke patterson #julie and the phantoms imagines #charlie gillespie imagines #alive!luke patterson #jatp luke #caitsy and ash productions #jatp au

[det-loki]

poison & wine pt. seven

You think your dreams are the same as mine

warnings: suicide, blood/gore, angst

pairing: detective loki x fem reader

word count: 2,294

A/N: i am so sorry for the delay in updates, writers block slapped me in the face. this is a heavy chapter with a heavy subject, please be gentle and honest with yourself before reading. don’t force yourself. enjoy! xx

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 You sat in the interrogation viewing room as Loki sat in front of you staring at Bob Taylor through the glass. You weren’t getting anywhere questioning him, so in a last resort attempt, you had him draw a maze in hopes to find the little girls. This had been going on for three hours. You shifted in the office chair slowly, your joints cracking at you angrily for sitting in this position for so long. Neither you nor Loki had moved much in the past three hours, watching as Bob drew his maze and listening to him hum as he did so. You could feel the waves of anger and frustration rolling off of David as he stared ahead with his chin in his hand beside Officer Carter. 

The door opened behind you, Captain O’Malley leaning against the door frame, “How long has this Bob Taylor been workin’ on this map?”

“Three-and-a-half hours.” Loki quickly muttered before turning his attention back to Bob and the pages of maze drawings sprawled messily in front of him. 

“And you two think this is gonna lead you to the bodies? Cause I sure as shit don’t.”  O’Malley had been bothering you this entire case, creating unnecessary roadblocks for you and Loki, and David had had enough.

“Do me a favor, Captain. Go fuck yourself.” Loki snapped at O’Malley, who had no immediate reaction, he was used to this from David. “We weren’t getting anywhere questioning him.”

“That looks more like a maze than a map.” O’Malley walked closer to the window as he spoke, David getting more and more irritated with him.

“He’s got a thing for mazes. If you don’t have anything constructive to say, I’d appreciate it if you’d just fuck off and let us do our jobs.”  You spoke up from your perch in the office chair, snapping at O’Malley, who was not used to this attitude from you, it was usually David. This caused a twinge of worry to set on Captain O’Malley, if you were starting to lose it then that meant something bad, and that scared him more than he liked to admit. You were struggling to not fly off the handlebars along with David.

Captain O’Malley nodded his head once, “I’m goin’ home. Call me if somethin’ happens.” Loki huffed loudly as O’Malley left, the door clicking as it shut. You and Loki continued to watch Bob draw his mazes as Officer Carter sipped on his coffee quietly, the only sound filling the room was Bob’s broken humming. 

Loki snapped up from his rigid position, chair rolling back, snapping his fingers at Officer Carter to give him the key card to the interrogation room. You watched silently as Loki exited the room, too exhausted to question him. You adjusted in your seat, moving to the edge of it in case you needed to jump up. 

“All right, it’s done now.” Loki snapped at Bob, his voice wavering and you knew that something was wrong, David hit his breaking point. You knew David like the back of your hand, and you knew the past few hours had been a lot for the both of you. You stood from your seat, ignoring the questioning look Officer Carter sent you, stars exploding across your vision as you stumbled out of the room.

You opened the interrogation room door to hear Loki continuing to yell at Bob, asking him what he was drawing. Taylor’s nose continued to drip blood on the paper and the table, mixing with his tears, multiple pages of drawings spread across the table haphazardly. You looked at David, trying to meet his icy eyes to get him to reel it back in, but his eyes stayed trained on Bob in front of him. 

“Tell me what you’re drawing.” Loki waited a moment for a response, his arms crossed in front of him, sleeves pushed up his forearms, bunching at his elbow. More of his tattoos were exposed on his forearm, revealing more of yours and his history that had normally been hidden by clothing. The air in your lungs evaporated as Loki lunged for Bob, throwing him back against the backrest of the chair, hands intertwined tightly in the collar of Bob’s shirt as Bob cried out, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can! Yes, you can!” Loki yelled in his face before throwing him forward against the table, the sound of an already broken nose cracking once again filled the air. You stepped forward quickly, hands grabbing at David’s bicep to try to pry him off of Bob. 

 “David, let go. You have to let go.” Your attempts were ignored as Loki continued to yell at Bob, his voice bouncing off the walls of the interrogation room. Behind you, the door flies open with Officers Carter and Wedge coming in and dragging Loki off of Bob. You shift in front of Bob, trying to calm him down as you see him reach for Officer Wedge’s gun. 

Your eyes widen as you yell out, “Gun!”  Loki and Carter draw their weapons as you continue to stand between them and Bob, pleading for Bob to listen to you and lower the weapon. You knew that two guns were being aimed at you, but you didn’t care, you were desperate. You also knew that if you made it out alive, David would be mad at you for standing in the middle of crossfire. You didn’t care anymore. At all. 

“Bob put the gun down, we can figure this out.” You pleaded with Bob as he held the gun to his chin, Loki behind you, yelling at you to move. Your head snaps around briefly to David, telling him to put the gun down. Bob was scared and two guns being pointed at him wasn’t helping the situation. Your hands are thrown in front of you in a calming gesture as you look at Bob with a gun aimed at his head. Tears pricked your eyes as you continued to plead with him. He couldn’t kill himself, both for the sake of you and this case. 

Everything happened in slow motion. The last thing you saw before dropping to the ground was Bob pulling the trigger with a shaking finger. Blood and brain matter splattered across the window behind him and pooled near you on the ground. Your ears were ringing as you felt Officer Carter nudge your shoulder and ask if you were okay as you nodded yes. Bob laid lifeless in front of you, limp. You were sure this image would haunt you forever, another nightmare added to the list. You sat up slowly and turned to see Loki run a shaking hand across his face, “Fuck. Go call a fuckin R.A.!” Officers Wedge and Carter ran out of the room, David standing with hands over his face and you on the ground, numb.

Your hands were covered in blood. You don’t remember how the blood got there , all you know is that the continuous scrubbing under the scalding hot water in the locker room isn’t working to get the red staining off. As you continued to scrub your hands raw, tears spilled over and down your face. You had just seen someone kill themselves, lost a lead to the case and you felt hopeless. Two little girls might be dead because of you. You felt arms snake around your waist, pulling your burning hands from the water. You struggled against David as you cried, his embrace tightening around you as you turned, your hands pounded weakly against his chest as you sobbed. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, apology after apology being whispered into your ear, David's hands clutching at your sides desperately so he didn’t fall apart. 

You felt hot tears on your neck, shifting in Loki’s arms to see him crying. You brought your red trembling hands to his face, wiping away the tears with your thumb. You hadn’t seen David cry since the funeral, the worst day of your life. Neither of you said anything, just savoring a fleeting moment of peace in each other's arms before you had to go face the real world. 

The next day, you sat in O’Malley’s office silently, Loki next to you with the maze drawing from Bob at his feet, he was in a place mentally far from here. He was hunched over, finger gliding over the paper, trying to find a way out as O’Malley poured whiskey into a glass for himself. He offered a glass to you and Lok but both of you declined, O’Malley combining both glasses in his own, not hiding his love for alcohol. You stared blankly at the ground, head pounding as O’Malley spoke, goosebumps raised across your arms, a chill ran through your body. The little girls were probably dead. You had seen a man kill himself. You haven't spoken to David more than 5 words at a time since the breakdown in the locker room. You encompassed the word ‘broken.’

“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about losing you two to PSP. Forensics is finished with the guy’s place, we’re gonna deploy the cadaver dogs. Look, kid, we can’t always save the day. All right? We’re just cops, janitors. So you lost this one, all right?” O’Malley had no idea what he was saying. He had no idea what this case meant to you or David. No one did.

You could feel O’Malley look between the two of you, “You two have gotten too involved with this case. You both look like hell.” You wanted to laugh. You did feel like hell. You had on one of David’s sweaters, opting for comfort, your hair messily pulled back, not having the energy to do anything more. Makeup hadn’t touched your face in a week, you’re dark circles engulfing your eyes. You definitely looked like hell. David was no better, his dark circles made him look sickly against his already pale skin, his stubble casting shadows on his face that made him appear much older than he actually was. Maybe you two were too invested, however neither of you said anything. 

O’Malley huffed and looked at David, “Look, you want fulfillment, you need to find a girl, you know, start a family, have some kids. Let it go.” Your world shattered at O’Malley’s words. David brought his hands to his hair, tattooed fingers raking through it as he did his best to not lash out at Captain. He did not know the weight his words carried.  Your little girl couldn’t just be let go. The complicated dynamic you and David had couldn’t just be let go. You and David were connected on a level deeper than anyone would ever be able to understand, the pair of you being present for every moment, the good, bad and the gruesome ugly. Foster homes, detention centers, halfway houses, grimey apartments, the police academy, even the fucking Chinese resteraunt, everything connected to you and David from the past flooded through your mind. 

You followed David out of the room, not daring to speak to him after what Captain had just said to him. You knew he was furious. His personal life was always a touchy subject for him, considering his past. You were also a touchy subject. No one knew about you and David’s relationship; you were the one good thing he had and he didn’t want others to tarnish it by knowing. You were his home, able to be himself and unleash his inner demons with no judgement. You had seen it all first hand anyway, where there was David, you usually weren’t far behind. Unbeknownst to you, David wanted everything O’Malley had said with you, a family, the white picket fence house, even a dog. He didn’t think he was good enough for you to have those things.

You sat at your desk as David sat at his behind you, waves of anger rolling off of him yet he hadn’t said a word yet. 

David finally snapped. You were counting the seconds, he made it to 47. He lashed out, shoving everything off of his desk, sending his computer monitor and papers flying. He sat at his chair for a moment, hands clasped in front of him, his body collapsed in over itself as everyone in the station turned to look in his direction. You watched from your chair only a few feet from him as he grabbed for his keyboard. He raised it above him, bringing it down against his desk twice, sending keys flying as the keyboard hinged against his force. The keyboard dropped from his hands, clattering on the carpeted floor as David brough a shaking hand to his face.

Looking down you see a key from the smashed keyboard. Leaning down, you pick up the key and stand, bringing it over to Loki. He had a picture of the corpse from the priest’s basement in his hands along with the maze drawing, studying it with an intensity that scared you. Your eyes dart from the pictures to the toy RV from Alex's room that had been knocked onto the ground. You looked between the two pictures, the significance clicking.

The maze drawing and the pendant on the corpse matched. Perfectly.

David’s phone ringing brought you back as he fumbled for it from his black shirt pocket. You could vaguely hear the person on the other line, “Hey, it’s Rich. We found something.”

You knew you and David needed to properly talk, and you definitely needed to call your therapist, but it had to wait. You needed to solve this, even if it tore you from the inside out. Even if it killed you.

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[thiswasinevitableid]

77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

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

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

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

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

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

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

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

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

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

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

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

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”

#OT4: Government men and their cryptid boyfriends #sternclay #indruck #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #agent stern/ barclay

[thehoneybeast]

Reconnecting

Ok sooo.. I have been a little obsessed with this great show and had the inspiration to write and actually finish! a fanfiction because apparently I am n love with a stupid cartoon monkey called Hugo.. so here we go! Maybe some find a little joy in this.

Warnings: mention of death, maybe trauma, stupidly dramatic

Pairing: Hugo/Scarlemange x Reader because why not

Okay a little rant from me first. Spoiler! I couldn't just accept that Hugo dies at the end of the series so I had to come up with a stupid way in which we could save him. This came from the same storyline in which he wouldn't die. If my motivation is big enough, I might continue this, but for now this is all I have. Also, the story is a little straight forward, no gentle start or anything. Enjoy!

He smelled the sweat on your skin, mixed with the earthy note of dirt before he recognised your own scent underneath. He let go, held your head between his hands and smiled widely. Your hair was a mess, dull and mixed with leaves but it held the same beautiful colour that he remembered you with. Your eyes stared at him with confused happiness and he felt his heartbeat quicken. It had taken  him  years to find you, to finally see you again. You had grown, your features had become more firm and you were confronted with the same sense of astonishment as him. Last time you had stood in front of Hugo, he had been the same hight as you. He always looked a little shy with his rather small frame. Now you stood in front of a mandrill the size of a gorilla, his shoulders broad and hidden underneath a fancy costume of the old France. You could feel the enormous strength in his arms as he held you, the intimidating strength of a mute.However, you couldn't comprehend the fact, that he was alive. After what felt like forever, you finally found a known face and one that you held a special place for in your heart. It brought tears to your eyes, which caused his grin to falter, instantly letting go of your head. "Are you hurt?" the question came out quiet as he let his eyes search your body for any signs of a wound but you just shook your head smiling, wiping your tears away. "I'm so happy to see you are alive-" was all you could say, before a wave of emotions hit you and you let your head sink, ashamed of causing a scene, but he just went to embrace you yet again. "No need to shed tears, you are save now." His words were quiet, just loud enough for you to hear. "Nothing will hurt you as long as you stay with me." You held each other, enjoying the familiar company. When he let go this time, he made a few steps back suddenly filled with energy, spreading his arms. "You are now part of my kingdom! Everyone will know not to touch you, unless they wish to face the strength of my army! " he announced, proudly taking in the view of the humans behind you. He felt his heart flutter as you watched him with big, beautiful eyes.It brought him on a high he hadn't experienced in a long time. He turned around and motioned for you to follow him before he stalked ahead. "Let me show you around!" he more or less ordered and you needed a second to get of the ground and hurry after him. While rushing to his side you couldn't help but notice the people behind you. You didn't recognise them because of their masks but you felt something was off about them. He tangled his arm with yours as soon as you reached him, grinning and leading you through his place. It was way bigger than you would have imagined, overgrown by nature in many places while still holding a sense of luxury. You understood immediately why he had chosen to stay. He was obviously proud of his home and trying to impress you. He had to slow down a little for you to appreciate what he was showing you and it took him a little self control. You were overwhelmed by the new surroundings and even more by him. It was odd seeing your sweet and gentle childhood friend so very proud and outgoing. You felt a little arrogance in the way he acted but you didn't really care for now. Just being around him made you feel younger and filled you with more energy than you had have since the breakdown of the borrow. It was good to see him healthy and all grown up and you really embraced the warmth which whom he met you. His enthusiasm was infectious and while he was rambling about the great meaning behind paintings and decorations, you listened with wide eyes, completely forgetting about your confused feelings and the rush of fear that you had experienced before you had recognised each other. You didn't think of questioning anything over your joy, until you reentered the great hall you started from. He lead you to his grant piano which was placed on  a platform in the middle of the room and as he talked about the music he adored, your gaze shifted trough the room, coming to a halt at the group of humans standing perfectly still. You tilted your head irritated. "What's the deal with them?" You asked Hugo who had paid no mind to your audience. You realised that you didn't really ask yourself why none of them had introduced themselves or even bothered to say anything when you were brought in or after that. Were they even real beings? "They're my peasants." He answered nonchalantly sitting down, starting to play a walz on his piano. You looked at him in confusion, wanted to ask him where they came from, what was going on but as he snapped his fingers, you began to understand. To your horror, the motionless people started to dance. They didn't speak, they didn't laugh or sway mindlessly, they danced as if hanging on strings, as if programmed just to dance. Hugo laughed while you could only stare, slowly processing what was going on. You remembered why they had kept him in a cage back then. You remembered when your father had told you to stay away. It was his sweat. That hypnotic influence it had on primates. You felt your heart drop to your stomach, the easy feeling of home coming disappearing behind the maniacal laughter of your friend. There was nothing odd about the humans dancing in front of you, it was Hugo. He had changed more drastically than you could ever have imagined. He continued his play joyfully, not taking notice of your uneasy expression until you carefully put your hand on his, stopping his movements. Confused and angry he glared at you before he saw the way you looked at him. You tried to smile, suddenly scared of angering him. "You play beautifully, but please don't make them dance." Your voice was gentle but he must have heard the trembling underneath. His grin grew back, this time more evil than welcoming. "Oh you don't have to pity them. This is one of the only things they're good for anyways." You didn't know what to say. There was hatred in his eyes and you bit your lip nervously, looking back and forth between him and the people. His hands were still hovering over the keys of his instrument, his gaze fixed on you, waiting for a reaction. "Please don't-" was all you could mutter before he turned to the people and waved one of them to step closer. Hugo watched with amusement as the man walked over, a wide and unsettling smile on his face. He enjoyed it. When the stranger arrived Hugo snapped his fingers again and the poor guy started to uncontrollable stepdance. You made a step back, feeling sick watching him. "You don't have to worry, you are my guest. As long as you follow my orders willingly,  there is no need for this." He motioned at the man his voice filled with pride and authority. You stared at him. Your breath became short and your heartbeat fastened. He watched his peasant do as he pleased. He didn't know why he had felt the need to demonstrate you his ways, after all you had never made any attempt of running yet, but as soon as he had seen your curiosity for the other humans, he had felt anger. You had been separated for so long, he didn't know you anymore. Maybe you had never missed him, maybe even forgotten him until now, maybe you had even become like them. There was jealousy in his veins but he chose to not let you see that. After all, who knew what your motivation was at this point. It wouldn't hurt to show you, who was in control. Better to introduce you to his new world in a way that you wouldn't dare to question him. When he turned to you again you had brought quite a distance between the both of you, your body reacting to the fear rushing trough your bones. You had lived quite some time out there, all alone. Your instincts had saved you most of the time but you felt your scars tingle as they reminded you of the times it had not. He could do the same to you. You felt hatred crawl into your eyes and run over your cheeks. The hate wasn't directed onto him but rather onto the entire world. This world had made him like this. Your heart ached, wondering what had scarred him so deeply that he felt the need to put others under his control. You realised, that he had most likely wanted to put you under his spell as well until he had recognised you. Hugo, or what he would soon teach you to call him, Scarlemange, watched the war behind your eyes. He managed to look unscathed on the outside while inside he was slightly scared of the decision you would come to. He wouldn't let you leave, he couldn't loose sight of you again. Part of him regretted his little show but he reminded himself, that he could not just trust you to know your place. He wouldn't put you with the rest of them, maybe even let you wander around once he trusted you enough to not try and flee. He yearned for your acceptance of the situation so he could try and rebuild the connection the two of you had shared so many yeara ago. You wiped the remains of your tears of stress away with the hem of your dirty clothes and he instantly wished that you hadn't. It made you look more like a dirty dog and he only realised now how wore down you were. You had been a little chubby as a child, not overweight but a healthy amount of flesh on your bones. It occurred to him, that you might have had to fight for food, maybe falling asleep hungry sometimes. Over all, your body looked strained, he could see muscles under your skin but also bone where he didn't want to see it. He felt himself getting softer by watching you, now more alert than you had been before. "How about something to eat? If you're done throwing a tantrum. " His voice was weaker than he had intended it to be, but he couldn't help himself but worry about you. Of course you weren't allowed to know about that, after all you could use it to your advantage. Your shoulders were stiff your eyes narrowed, trying to see the intention in his eyes. It was sad how quickly the atmosphere around the two of you had changed. It now seemed like a short dream where things had been how they used to be. The reality had hit you hard and brought your mind back into a state of survival. You stood a few feet away from the monkey, meeting his glare unimpressed. "Well?" he tried again, his tone now harsher and more demanding for an answer. You sighed heavily before nodding  scared that your voice might break if you tried to speak. He smiled grimly offering you with a gesture to walk beside him. Of course it wasn't really an offer and rather a demand. You looked up at him more disappointed than angry and let him lead you to the other hall where you had come along the giant table. You felt naive for hoping he would be the same and you struggled to decide whether it made you want to leave or stay. He clearly had lived through something that made him like this but you weren't sure if you had the strength to put up with his very dangerous new side in order to help him find back to a healthier view on the world. You had been through quite a lot yourself and thought it unfair that you would have to suppress your own happiness and safety for his sake. So far he hadn't put you in too much of an inconvenience but rather just scared or threatened you. To your surprise he didn't lead you to the dining room but made his way up the stairs to the second floor. It occurred to you, that you could probably run from him, try to escape but you decided that if you were going to do it he shouldn't be expecting it, what he was surely doing at the moment. Instead you followed him slowly,  taking in the view of the room while getting higher. Your hands slid carefully over the old wooden stairhandle and you noticed a bitter feeling of hope in your heart when you turned your head in Hugos direction. He was waiting at the end of the stairs and smiled. It was almost charming if you just could have brought yourself to forget what just had happened. "You will change before we eat. I will not have you smelling like a wild animal while dining." He didn't leave room for an argument but you didn't feel like you had the strength for that anyway. "There is a bathtub in there, ready to be used. It was meant for me but you can have it. Clothes will be brought in when you're done." He already headed off, leaving you in the doorway of a lightly lit room which was filled with the smell of flowers. "I hope you don't expect me to wear something like you..?" You asked, facing the big old bath but he was already back on the stairs throwing you a confident grin before he stalked away while you slowly entered the bathroom. A warm bath sounded rather appealing and would maybe help you relax again. The water was hot, a comforting feeling on your skin and even though you couldn't stop feeling sad about your experience with Hugo, you did enjoy the feeling of the dirt getting of your skin. You washed your hair, your face and looked carefully at yourself when you were done. There were scars you didn't recognise and others which causes you would never forget. There was a big towel hanging at the wall, big red and fluffy and you curled yourself up in it. A content sigh passed your lips when you sat down on one of the puff chairs which stood around the room. You didn't want to face him again. Not when he had become like a possessive tyrant. You burried your head under the towel and thought back to a better time. A safer time. You jumped slightly when the door opened before a big wooden box was pushed into the room and the door closed again before you could see who had brought it in. You stared a few moments, debating whether you should play along or not. Sighing yet again, you slowly walked over and lifted the top so you could take a look at the the fabric inside. Of course he hadn't brought you normal, simple clothes. No, it had to be the same old school fashion that him and his 'peasants' were dressed in. You rummaged through the box on the search for something more comfortable than that and found a rather normal looking leggings with ruffles on the outside but decided it was good enough. For your upper body you took one of the white dress shirts two or three sizes too big so that it would hang loosely over you chest. As happy as you could be with your outfit you walked over to the mirror again and took in your form. Your scars were hidden, your hair clean and after you had found a brush and forced it into a more presentable look, you were surprised how good it felt to feel like a human again. The door was opened again, this time all the way and a gorilla peeked inside his hand covering his eyes while he asked in a deep voice: "If you're dressed, please come outside. Scarlemange awaits you. " You frowned hearing that name. You had nearly forgotten who it was you were brought to. Not Hugo, whom you had mistaken him for but the monster you had heard many mutants talk about. After debating with yourself if you should insist on calling him Hugo, you made the decision that it wouldn't bring you anything good to be stubborn right now. So instead you answered with a gentle "I'm coming!" and followed the gorilla out the door. He brought you to the Hall as expected and upon seeing the giant table, now with plates of fruits and fancy dishes, you felt your body scream for food. Hardly keeping yourself from rushing over to eat with your bare hands, the gorilla seated you on the other side of the long wooden table so now you were facing Hu- no, Scarlemange a few feet away. You could see his eyebrows narrow as he took in your new look. "You could've picked something fancier." He scolded loudly to reach your ears over the distance but you just shrugged your shoulders. "I didn't feel like dressing up. Comfortable is better than pretty." You answered nonchalantly, trying not to stare at the meals in front of you. Scarlemange noticed the hunger in your eyes and laughed slightly to himself. "Please, be my guest and treat yourself." He motioned over the table and that was all the invitation you needed. You devoured every bite you took, enjoying the feeling of your stomach being filled to the brim. When you were done, your belly hurt a little but you felt happy and content. Sighing you leaned against the back of your chair. Scarlemange, who was used to eat regularly, took his time, eating with elegance and you couldn't help but smile over the way he was so serious about looking pretty while eating. You had grown a little tired but also braver. Deciding that you didn't want to scream for him to hear you, you eased out of your chair and made your way over to his end of the table. He stopped in his movement watching you through squinted eyes. You reached the chair to his left, pulled it out and sat down, smiling sheepishly at him. "So now you aren't scared of me anymore?" he asked bitterly and you rested your head on your hand, still looking at him. "Surely you understand why I am a little cautious after your little show off with that man. You did it to scare me, didn't you? But you are rather nice to me. You let me clean myself, you feed me. You also tried to intimidate me. I'm not quite sure what you want with me, but I'm willing to give you your time to express it." He raised his eyebrows unimpressed and continued eating while you watched him closely. He had earned some scars himself. Tho they made his colourful face even more interesting. You hummed to yourself as you took your time taking each of them in, wondering what may have caused them. He looked older, more masculine. "You've become rather handsome." It left your mouth without intention and as you noticed what you had said, heat crawled into your cheeks. To your surprise he just laughed evily and glared at you. "What, do you think flattery will make it easier for you to fool me?" There was mistrust and anger in his eyes and you realised that he didn't believe you, which frustrated you. "Nah, I think a poor peasant like me couldn't fool a majesty like you, since you are oh so great and scary!" You huffed angrily. Your anger reflected in his eyes and you took a deep breath, trying to calm the situation. "Seriously. Even though I don't like these clothes on me, they do look good on you. It fits the colour of your fur." He just stared at you, now more confused than angry, which made you continue. "You found your theme and it compliments your personality. I'm just being honest here." You saw his look shifting uneasy and knew that you had flattered him, probably the first to do so in a long time. Maybe now he would answer some questions. "Look Scarlemange, I don't know what happened. I'm pretty sure you don't want to tell me so I'll leave it alone. But I will not just sit and wait, so please do tell me what you are planning to do with me. Am I your prisoner? Your pet? Will you kick me out when you are bored by me? I just want to know what to expect. " For a moment he was quiet. He put his dish aside, keeping his eyes on you, his glare unbroken. "You are a human. You belong to me. I will not let you leave." That was what you had expected but it made you shiver, once he had said it out loud. "However," he continued in a generous tone, ignoring your nervous gulp, "you have the privilege of good memories being connected to you so I will give you the chance of earning the right to keep your own will, just like I told you before. Don't misbehave. Don't betray me or you are going to join the others of your kind in serving me." His tone was firm and emotionless. He wanted to stand up but you stopped him. Your grip wasn't harsh but he stopped in his movements. He wasn't angry with you this time, just wanted for you to say what you had to. "I understand that." You looked down at your hand now covering his and had to fight the urge of getting too upset. "But you get that it is a lot to ask to just demand that I stay here, right? You treat this as if it should be obvious when I have hardly even told you how I feel about it. This has been a very onesided interaction so far and as much as I am happy to see you, we can't go back to being friends if you're not willing to listen as well. You changed your name, your personality. I as well have nice memories of us two playing silly games and spending our time with each other, but the way we lived then was different. Our world was different. We changed a lot. You are not the shy little body I had befriended back than and neither am I the stupid little child." You raised your gaze, afraid  of his reaction but he didn't seem upset yet. Instead he took his hand back from yours and talked in a voice like he was teaching a child. "You are right, we lived in another world back than." Now he raised from his chair entirely, walked a few steps and turned his back to you, locking his hands behind his back. "I realised that the world wasn't as we saw it. I had to wake up from that fantasy world of a 'family' and did what helped me survive in the real world." His voice had become spiteful and you felt pain in the words he said. You felt you chest tighten and stood up as well. "Yes, this world is scarier than in the burrow." You interrupted "I had to face that fact as well when the burrow was gone. The life on the surface is hard. It left it's scars on me too." He looked over his shoulder at you, doubt and mistrust in his eyes. " Why did you leave the new place then? If you think the surface is so scary, why come out? To explore it? Are you telling me you had no choice? Do you think I am that stupid?"He stopped in his rant when he saw your eyes go wide. "New..New home? What are you talking about?" He saw genuine shock in your eyes and he was taken a little aback by that. "The place you flet to? The place you all took of to when the burrow broke down?!" There was a heavy silence between the two of you before you could talk again. "So.. That is why I never found anyone after that. I thought-" you stopped yourself sinking back into your chair. Scarlemange squinted his eyes watching you, trying to decide whether you were lying or not. Your performance was pretty believable. "Why would they leave you behind?" he questioned and your heart ached thinking back to that day. You didn't have anyone to talk to about what happened that day so you chose to push it into the back of your head, ready to be forgotten. The trauma would have prevented you from surviving, you didn't have the room for a breakdown when you had to be on guard all the time. But now someone wanted to know, someone knew what had happened and the memories flooded back. You burried your face in your hands, shaking it, trying to stop the emotions from overrunning   you. It had been suppressed for so long. Scarlemanges face softened, seeing you react so emotionally. Maybe you were telling the truth. He came closer, not really knowing how to calm you down but also wanting to know. "Please, tell me what happened. " His voice was gentle and more quite than before while he slowly placed a hand on your back. Your words were small, chaotic and he had trouble understanding what you said. "The day the burrow broke down..My father- He was hit by the collapsing roof... The bricks burried him underneath them and he... He was still alive. I couldn't reach him.. Everyone rushed to leave, they were all in panic.." You paused to take some heavy breaths and he felt your body beginning to shake. "I couldn't leave him.. Some tried make me leave with them but... I stayed with him for two days until.. Until he stopped answering me-" You hick uped and your throat was too thick to continue. Images of the chaos flashed into your inner view and the sickening screams of your father. Your whole body started to stiffen up and when Scarl reached over your shoulders for comfort, you turned and clung to him for dear life, crying heavily into his shoulder.There you were again, hugging him, now out of grief instead of joy. He didn't know what to do so he just let your small frame cling to him, carefully wrapping his arms around you. He could only listen to half of your story, though he felt that the rest was rather easy to guess. You had stayed behind for your father and once he was dead you had been left alone with nowhere to go. Even if they had noticed you missing, they most likely assumed that you had been killed like your father. No one would have risked it to come back and search for someone presumed dead. He felt guilt for having brought back those memories and anger as he realised that you as well had been left behind. You must have felt even more lost and scared than him, he at least had been somewhat capable of defending himself. He vowed to himself to try and trust you a little more, especially now that you shown yourself so vulnerable to him. It was the first time that He had embraced someone since his life in the burrow and the fact that it was you filled him with gratitude. Maybe there was a chance for a new friendship between the two of you. If only you were going to understand that he was in control. After all, Hugo was no more. He kept you in his arms until your body started to calm down. The shaking disappeared and your breathing softened. As he looked at your face he saw your red puffy eyes and nose, tears still running down your cheeks. It made his heart ached that you searched for comfort in him and he tried to accept the fact that he wouldn't be scaring you any more. You looked much more exhausted and weak than when you had entered his home this morning and he felt a biting feeling that it was partly his fault. He decided that you had been through enough for today. Not saying a word he heaved you into his arms bridal style and passed through the dining room, up the stairs and to the end of the hallway where his bedroom was. When his servants, the mutated ones, looked at him questioningly, he motioned for them to leave. You didn't move much, your head was hurting and everything felt dull and heavy. Only the heartbeat against your ear and the warmth of his body gave you comfort and when he moved to lay you down and leave you whined like a child. He had put you down onto his king sized bed with comfortable red sheets. "I think you deserve some rest, don't you think?" His eyes were back to the way they had been when he first recognised you. There was no fear, anger or mistrust, only worry and warmth. You reached out for him, taking his hand and pulling it in. It felt mesmerising to be wanted by your side but he looked at You uncertain. "Are you sure? I take up a bit of space." The grin on his face was gentle and you felt a piece of hope return to your heart when you nodded. "I don't want to be alone. I think I have enough of that for quite some time " your smile was sad and your eyelids felt incredibly heavy. He gently pulled the blanket up to your neck and walked to the other side of the bed. He thought back to the Times you two had have sleepovers where you would stay in his little room when your father would allow it. It were some of his most treasured memories, innocent and pure. To think that he could relive them someday was incomprehensible to him. When he layed down you were already at his side again, having turned around under the sheets and cuddled up to him, your body heat welcoming him under the sheets. He felt blood rush to his face and he was glad that your eyes were closed while he returned the embrace once again. No, he wasn't reliving memories, this was different. There was something new within him and he realised that maybe, just maybe he didn't only want a friendship anymore. He listened to your peaceful breathing and found himself relax in your arms, a feeling of comfort and home that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

#scarlemagne x reader #hugo x Reader #kipo and the age of wonderbeasts

[visionsofus]

Regarding Scarletvision prompts.....I’m such a sucker for the trope where one member of a couple goes apeshit and all protective/NO TOUCH when they think the other member is grievously hurt, maybe something like that with Vision instead of Wanda? With potential fluff/comfort once things are fine. Your fics are wonderful!!

anon you are totally speaking my language with this prompt!! I absolutely love this trope so much too (and was actually halfway through writing one where Wanda loses her shit). Decided to go with Vision for this because we don’t often see him lose his cool in canon. Thanks for this request!

Really hope you enjoy! 

| read on AO3 here | send me a scarlet vision prompt |

Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape Track #17: Can You Feel My Heart

One year into being a fugitive Wanda gets cornered, Vision sees the news in real time and runs to her aid. Aka Vision going apeshit when he thinks Wanda is dead.

Warnings: angst, references to guns and blood. 

“Vision, look at me,” Tony said waving a hand in front of Vision’s eyes in an attempt to get his attention. “You can’t go. You understand that right?”

Vision dipped his chin in acknowledgement even as his brain ran furious probability equations through and through again. But they came back low again, and again, and again. There was only going to be one option.  

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Rhodey said from his seat before the flatscreen occupying half the wall of the strategy room they had gathered in. “Tony, this looks pretty bad.”

Vision turned his head and his gaze to the lights flashing across the screen, a live news report of everything that was going down in New York.

Tony swore at the sight before them, and Vision put a pause to his maths in shock. The camera was tracking a hooded redhead through a crowded street, suddenly zooming in on the individual’s face as she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

“Wanda Maximoff has been a fugitive since 2016 when she was decreed an international criminal by the United Nations,” the news reporter said over more footage of Wanda blending in as best she could with the crowds of the city. “While Maximoff has evaded capture for over a year, authorities now believe they are close to apprehending her.”

At this Vision had to quickly let go of the chair he was sitting in, lest he split the arm rests in two.

“We go live now to New York. Please be aware the next clip could be distressing to some viewers”

Tony scrambled to turn the news off even as Vision overrode his authority, ordering the compound AI to keep the report running.

The scene changed once more, and Vision watched as the crowd parted around Wanda as she engaged in a close combat fight with a man clad all in black. Her red magic had him restrained immediately as she spun around, a clear attempt to identify her best exit route. From that moment Vision knew her chances of getting out unharmed were dismal. In those precious seconds another agent was at her back, smartly keeping his distance and instead engaging her with his taser. Wanda’s head snapped up as her body jerked, but she somehow managed to twist around and send the man flying away. All around her agents emerged from the throngs of people trying to get off the main street. They began to close in like a pack of predators.

“Vision—” Tony said reaching out, but he was too late. Vision had risen without thinking when he saw the first taser, his legs moving of their own accord so that he had phased through the wall and was flying out away from the compound in moments. He’d never pushed himself to see how fast he could really travel and now he’d need every ounce of power to get to Wanda’s side in time.

The world was a blur, even to him. The only thing that kept his worries at bay was her in his head, the closer he got the louder her cries grew. He didn’t know how she was doing it; she’d always needed direct physical contact for her voice to be this loud in his head. He reached the streets of New York with her voice as his guiding light.  

‘I need you.’ She was weaker now. ‘Hurry.’

He was close now, all she had to do was keep talking.

‘I hear you, I’m coming for you,’Vision thought back, but he couldn’t say for certain if his voice reached her.

It didn’t matter though, he had arrived.

Vision managed to slow himself down enough to land, though his feet shredded the asphalt beneath him. Bullets flew his way immediately but he sidestepped easily and used the mind stone to blast two agent’s guns to pieces in their hands. The few bystanders left at the edge of the arena now before them, realised this was their indication to leave. They were quickly replaced by what must have been a hundred soldiers.  

Another agent took a run at Vision, electrified baton raised but all it took was a well-placed foot to send him to the ground. Vision continued walking forward, reading for the next onslaught even as Wanda’s voice echoed in his head again. ‘You shouldn’t have come’.

That made him angrier. He didn’t blink as he took out the next three agents before disarming two soldiers who’d mistakenly decided to try their luck against his inhuman body and the power inlaid in his forehead. They’d had enough difficulty restraining Wanda with carefully directed electrified pulses that had her incapacitated, on her knees in pain. They tried the same, turning the pulsing weapons his way but the energy passed harmlessly over him as he phased, carefully avoiding it. He was almost at her now, if he could just get to her side and get her out of the square, away, safe, alive. It was all he could think about.

Someone must have figured that out because next thing Vision knew, all weapons were trained on Wanda.

“Stay right where you are,” a voice crackled over a loudspeaker from a waiting cop car.

Vision didn’t stop until someone took a carefully aimed warning shot and he heard Wanda cry out in pain as she was hit by something. He didn’t know if it was just another pulse or if it was something more final.

The loudspeaker crackled again. “You take one more step and we won’t be taking her into custody, she’ll be going somewhere much more final.”

Vision had been learning a lot about feelings in the last year with Wanda. He’d experienced joy, love, lust, longing. He’d discovered these were warm emotions. Now he knew what rage tasted like.

Rage was cold, so cold. Rage made him irrational. And he was about to discover what happened when he turned that rage against others.

Wanda was on the ground again, clutching at her knee. So, it had been a bullet then. Vision’s shoulders trembled with unrestrained rage as she locked eyes with him, and a bloody, desperate hand reaching out.

And Vision exploded.

Eye-witness accounts would later say it was like the street had come to life. Others would say they thought a Chitarui ship had broken free from beneath the city, that the street had risen from the ground like a huge snake. Others still, would describe the red man, who had supposedly faced down two hundred members of the defence force, as impossibly fast, the yellow energy crackling around him like lighting. They’d say it felt dangerous, it was an ancient power that made the hairs at the back of your neck rise and your gut scream at you to run in the opposite direction. Those testimonies would never reach the news because no one could believe them.

Vision himself couldn’t be entirely sure what happened. He only recalled that he acted without thinking, his movements entirely guided by the immensity of rage crackling through his blood, calling to the stone at his forehead.

The stone, which so often sat dormant at his forehead, acted without his control. The power spread throughout his body and in his anger, he raised his hands, the golden light phasing and crackling about his arms, and thrust them towards the ground with a cry.

The soldiers didn’t have time to use Wanda as bargaining tool as he did this. As the power hit the tarmac the street shuddered and cracked. It didn’t reach the surrounding buildings, restrained only to the street and those who tried to weaponize Vision’s lover. She’d already been used that way once; he’d never let her be trapped again.

With the armed forces in varying levels of disarray, some injured while others just stunned at what they had seen, Vision darted towards Wanda.

The news would later say that an unidentified man and woman arrived on the scene some point into the chaos, but they would never be able to identify the individuals. Something about their cameras conveniently cutting out just in time.

Steve and Natasha raced for Wanda, lying prone and vulnerable in the middle of the street. They’d sent her out for the regular grocery run but hadn’t anticipated her getting caught. Afterall, they’d been in New York often in the last year and had never had problems like this. Vision was quicker and again it was as though the stone acted on his emotions. It took him a moment to recognise Nat and Steve past the caps pulled low over their heads and the masks taking up lower half of their faces, but by then the stone had already done what he must have deemed necessary, at least subconsciously.

As he reached Wanda’s side, throwing himself to his knees beside her and desperately surveying her body for injuries, a barrier appeared crackling in the air around them. Whatever irrational part of him that had seen his old teammates as a risk, wasn’t going to quieten down until he was sure Wanda was safe.

Steve didn’t manage to stop in time and went flying off the barrier. Nat helped him to his feet even as they both hesitated behind the crackling ring of gold energy. Vision didn’t know how to lower the barrier, but at that moment it was the least of his concerns.

“Wanda,” he whispered lifting her carefully and drawing her into his lap. He supported her shoulders and laid a hand against her cheek even as her eyes cracked open. Her lip trembled even as she winced, trying to sit up.

“You weren’t supposed to come,” she said, coughing slightly. “I had it covered.”

“Evidently,” he murmured absentmindedly looking over her knee, glad it had only been grazed by the bullet. The rest of her was fairly scratched up from hitting the ground so many times, but she was remarkably okay. “You know I couldn’t stay away.”

“We promised,” she said, and Vision saw the tears welling in her eyes. “We promised we wouldn’t put each other at risk.”

Vision sighed, if she had the time to worry about him in her state then she really had to be okay. His relief was immeasurable as he dropped his shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers lightly, taking comfort in their shared breaths, evidence they were both still alive. He had thought the worst for a moment.

As he closed his eyes the barrier around them dropped and Steve and Nat were finally able to get to the pair.

“We need to leave, now,” Steve said with all the authority of the leader he had once been. “They’ve called for reinforcements and with the guns their bringing in, we won’t stand a chance like this.”

Vision helped Wanda stand but when she staggered on her injured knee, he immediately scooped her up.

“You understand the decision you’re making her, Vision,” Nat said as they started away from the scene they had caused. “There’s no going back now, are you staying or coming?”

“Staying is not an option anymore,” Vision said without hesitation. His decision had been made the moment he left the compound.

Wanda sighed sadly but rested her head against the crook of his neck in defeat. “You’ll lose everything.”

“As long as I never have to lose you.”

#Wandavision fanfiction #scarlet vision fanfiction #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #the vision #scarletvision angst #whump #you all keep asking for angst #so I deliver #Vision is OP is this one #visionsofusfics #also I have 11 prompts waiting in my inbox so I promise I've seen y'all and I'll get round to them asap

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 12: Asking Her To Marry You

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

(Which is now complete!!)

Check it out on Ao3 or FFN!

————————————

Asking Her To Marry You

At this point in your relationship, you’ll hopefully know her well enough to plan the perfect proposal. But don’t worry too much about perfection— if you’ve followed our advice, she’ll be charmed enough to say yes to an imperfect one too. So alas, this is where our guidance ends, your future together begins. Best of luck!

————————————

Ron chuckled at the book’s irritating, yet unsurprising lack of advice. Annoyingly, the book was right— he no longer needed its guidance. What he needed was sleep, in fact, his body was now begging for it.

He set the book on the table beside him and curled up behind Hermione. With his face in her hair and his arm around her waist, he closed his eyes and was asleep in no time. Any anxiety about the next day was appeased by his dreams, in which his elaborate— maybe slightly exaggerated—  plan to propose went off without a hitch.

xxxxx

In his dream, Hermione was the first to rise— as usual, and Ron woke to the sound of the shower. Ron watched himself stumble out of bed and into the steam to join her, where she enthusiastically embraced him, jumped into his arms, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He pinned her to the wall and kissed her lips, her cheeks and her neck before working his way down her body. Dream-Ron moved his mouth between her legs while Hermione gripped his hair and slipped her thigh over his shoulder. Pleased with his own technique, Ron smugly watched on as Hermione unravelled, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time that day Dream-Ron would invoke such an enthusiastic exclamation while down on one knee.

Almost too suddenly, the shower scene morphed and shifted like a memory transition in a pensive. Dream-Ron was in the kitchen, and Hermione was curled up in the living room with a book. Pots and pans sizzled on the stove, and the scent of a hearty breakfast filled the air. The tea-kettle whistled and he poured two cups before piling their plates high with food. They sat cozily on the sofa, eating breakfast and confirming plans for the day.

The walls of their apartment then faded away, rematerializing into what appeared to be a blend of a nearby bookstore and the Hogwarts library. Ron and Hermione were quickly engulfed by the maze of bookshelves. Hermione’s mind was always turning, looking for problems to solve and puzzles to complete, so she didn’t protest when Ron handed her the first book— Wuthering Heights, and told her he’d set up a puzzle for her to solve. In that book he’d dog-eared a page, and circled letters that named the title of the next one. Ron saw a smile spread across her face as she began her hunt, excitedly flipping through each novel until her stack included Wuthering Heights, as well as Iliad, Little Women, Life of Pi, Year of Wonders, Oliver Twist, and Utopia.

Hermione became so engrossed in the scavenger hunt that she didn’t notice Dream-Ron leave the bookshop. She had no problem finding the rest of the books, and was soon holding a stack of blurry titles which Ron knew to be Moby Dick, Alice in Wonderland, Robinson Crusoe, Rabbit Hill, Youngblood Hawke, and Mansfield Park. There was just one more to find— Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’, which happened to be a portkey enchanted to bring her to Grimmauld Place.

It might have seemed like a random assortment of books, but it wasn’t. Ron had spent significant effort locating these exact titles, and he could list them in order by memory, and as a result, they’d been swimming in his dreams for quite some time now. He knew Hermione was clever enough to figure out the pattern, possibly too clever— so much so that she might miss the connection entirely. After all, she frequently overlooked what was right under her nose.

As soon as she laid her hand on Emma, the walls of the Corner Books—Hogwarts Library hybrid started spinning, morphing into the drawing room of Grimmauld Place as if it had taken a long swig of polyjuice potion. Soon enough, Hermione was standing face-to-face with Harry and Ginny.

“Hermione!” Ginny said excitedly. “You made it!”

“Where’s Ron?” she asked excitedly.

Harry answered by handing her another scrawl of paper.

Meet me in the place we first kissed. You’re clever enough to find out how.

Hermione looked up at Harry and Ginny, letting slip a little huff of annoyance. “That would be the room of requirement.”

Ginny shrugged, as tight-lipped as Ron had told her to be.

“The only way to get there is with a house elf—“

“Keep reading,” said Harry.

Hermione glanced back down to the note.

Ps: Remember what I said to earn that kiss!

Hermione scowled at the note.

Harry nodded. “I can summon Kreacher if you want—“

“No!” she said, and Dream-Ron smiled. Just like at the battle of Hogwarts, he would never force house elves to be part of his proposal plan, and he understood her well enough to assume she knew that. “There’s another way.”

Harry smiled and gestured to the rest of the house. “Have fun.”

The world spun around her once again, shifting into another room upstairs. Hermione was suddenly standing in front of one of the Vanishing Cabinets that the Aurors had confiscated from an ex-Death Eater months prior. In his dream, the cabinet was a bit more obvious than in reality. It was tall, colorful, and bursting with energy as though it were alive, unlike the dull, dark, and sinister version that actually existed. Even though the cabinet looked fun and enticing in the dream, Dream-Hermione was still a skeptic, so she stood in front of it with her arms crossed, her face scrunched up as though it had called her a dirty word.

Ron had pulled some serious strings to set the second one up in the Room of Requirement, but luckily, McGonagall was as much of a hopeless romantic as he was. Hermione continued to study the cabinet from a distance, as if checking for dark magic, and he understood her hesitation of course— she had no way of knowing where its sibling was. She gingerly opened the door to find another note scribbled inside.

You found it! See you on the other side.

Hermione beamed, and then to his confusion, dropped her bag to the floor, hastily removing books. When her bag appeared empty, she piled two books back in— Year of Wonders and Emma.

Interesting. Ron wasn’t going to pretend to understand that choice, even in a dream-state.

He shrugged it off, which was easy to do once distracted by the look of pure giddiness on her face as she disappeared inside.

Grimmauld Place faded away, and its place appeared the Room of Requirement. Not that it was recognizable as such— Ron had asked the Room of Requirement to look a very specific way, and of course, it had obliged, exceeding all expectations. Hermione stepped out of the cabinet into what appeared to be a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, just like the one where he had first met her.

She looked around, and tears filled her eyes as the memories of their first encounter flooded in. On the cabinet door was another note, which she unstuck from the wall with a trembling hand.

This is where we met! It’s also where I first realized how much I valued the opinion of that precocious know-it-all, Hermione Granger. I still check for dirt on my nose everyday.

Hermione shakily laughed, and wiped a tear from her eyes with her free hand. Then the train compartment doors slid open to reveal another room. This time it was a bathroom, much like the one where she nearly lost her life to a rogue troll when they were eleven.

She shuddered at the memory, but grinned when she noticed the writing on the wall.

This is where I learned exactly how desperate I was for your forgiveness, and how far I was willing to go to earn your friendship. Thank you for teaching me how to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa.

Her eyes watered again, blurring her vision so that she nearly missed the door sliding open again to reveal the next room. Patting her sleeve to her eyes, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the Great Hall, which was all dolled up for the Yule Ball. The Weird Sisters playing loudly in the background was a stark contrast to the soft decorations and draping lights which looked exactly as romantic as they did in their fourth year.

This time, however, the lights spelled out a message.

This where I realized I fancied you.

Hermione laughed, clearly not as saddened by the memory as she could have been. Instead, she appeared grateful for the event that made Ron’s daft teenage self realize she was not just any girl.

A pair of doors appeared across the room, and Hermione continued her way through, admiring the decorations with a soft smile on her face. When she exited, she found herself in the Gryffindor Common Room— more specifically— the armchairs and fireplace where they had spent so many nights huddled up close to one another, studying, talking, or simply sitting in comfortable silence.

Her eyes paused on a message plastered on the wall, just above the fire.

This is where I fell irrevocably in love with you.

She looked longingly at those chairs, like she wanted to take a seat by the fire and curl up with a blanket and a book. He could clearly imagine her eyes scanning the pages, her fingers drifting over the words as if touching them would make them real, and her lips forming into a content smile as the day’s stress left her body. It was a beautiful image of her in her default state, a picture that was one hundred percent Hermione. He’d never seen her happier anywhere else.

Dream-Ron had appeared behind her. He cleared his throat, and Hermione turned on her heels to face him, her eyes instantly re-watering at the sight of him.

“Hermione,” he began, his voice shaking with nerves. “I know that you don’t like surprises, so I hope this doesn’t come as one.”

Her lips quivered and she brought a trembling hand to her face to absorb the tears that were now falling freely down her face.

“I even spelled it out for you in the bookstore, so I hope you’ve had time to think of your answer.” She softly laughed and her eyes sparkled when he reached into his pocket and took a step toward her, lowering himself to one knee. With a shaky inhale to prepare, he asked the question. “Hermione Granger, will you marry me?”

Dream-Ron’s voice cracked like he was a teenager asking her to a dance, and he half expected her to look at him in confusion, and ask “what?”

But that’s not what happened. She was lost for words, and answered with her head which bobbed up and down as she ran toward him. He opened his arms to embrace her, but she halted.

“Wait!”

She dug into her bag, and pulled out the two books she had purposefully brought with her, Year of Wonders, and Emma. She handed them to Dream-Ron, who looked them over with an amused grin on his face, while she dove back into her bag. She pulled out a third— one that was not from the bookstore. Pride and Prejudice— her favorite book, the one she always has with her. It all made sense now.

Year of Wonders

Emma

Pride and Prejudice

Holding all three books, Dream-Ron smiled up at her. “Is… this a yes?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have an S, it’s a ‘Yep’,” she said, before finally diving into his embrace as the books tumbled from his arms like basilisk fangs.

He had forgone all effort to keep from crying, and so had she. He momentarily pulled away from the hug to slide the ring onto her finger. It took a couple tries with their trembling hands, but then she fell heavier into his arms and he tightened his embrace. He lifted her up and carried her to an armchair, and they sat intertwined by the crackling fire, hugging, kissing, and crying into each other’s hair.

Ron half expected the room to shape-shift again, bringing them to the celebration at the Burrow where their families were waiting, but his dream never got that far. Their embrace in the armchairs began to feel even more real, and soon enough, the Gryffindor Common Room was fading to black.

xxxxx

Ron awoke in his own bed, his arms still wrapped solidly around Hermione. The sun was shining through the window, sending a beam of light to the floor where Crookshanks slept, belly up, as if he was trying to photosynthesize. Hermione began to shift restlessly in her sleep, groaning, as the light knocked on her eyelids like an unwelcome solicitor..

Reality set in, and it would have been easy to feel sad upon realizing his perfectly-executed proposal was all a dream. But instead, Ron just felt giddy with excitement. This could very well be the start of the best day of his life.

As long as everything went according to plan.

———————————————

“To Ron and Hermione!” exclaimed Arthur, reaching his champagne glass straight up into the air.

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed a chorus of Weasleys, Grangers, and a Potter.

Glasses clinked, champagne splashed, and a beaming Ron slipped an arm around Hermione to pull her close to him. She tilted her head up to his, and he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. He felt her arms wrap around his middle and vaguely heard a few whistles in the background.

Ron and Hermione. It always had a ring to it.

No time had been wasted before preparing The Burrow for the celebration. CONGRATULATIONS was magically written on the wall in capitalized, tinsel-like lettering that flashed red and gold. Jean and Molly had prepared an impressive spread, which rivaled Hogwarts welcoming feasts. Hugo was already mentoring Arthur in the art of mixology, while Charlie and George eagerly volunteered to taste test each new cocktail. There was a cake shaped like an engagement ring, and it appeared that Ginny had gotten to it, because the words “about fucking time” were scribbled across in icing.

“So, Darling,” said Jean, as she refilled her champagne glass. “Aren’t you going to tell us how he proposed?”

“Yes, dear! Please tell everyone!” echoed Molly.

Hermione, who had just taken an unusually large bite of watermelon, replied with a look of surprise, as if for some reason she hadn’t expected that question. She slowly chewed, buying herself some time, and sent a panicked glance in Ron’s direction. A silent conversation followed.

How much do I tell them?

That’s up to you.

They squinted at each other for a few more moments, finalizing the details of their abridged story. Then Hermione turned back to her mom. “I’d love to tell that story.”

xxxxx

Earlier that day...

“Good morning,” were the first words Ron mumbled at the start of the best day of his life.

“Morning,” she muttered back.

He snaked his arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said, sending him a look of slight confusion at his eager confession of love. “I’ll be right back,” she added before hastily untangling himself from her arms, and bolting to the bathroom.

Ron groggily rolled out of bed to get dressed for the day. He opened the drawer of his nightstand to find the small velvet ring-box, and slipped it into his pocket before hobbling into the kitchen to make tea and start breakfast. He filled two mugs and set them aside to cool off while breakfast sizzled on the stove. His stomach twisted in a combination of hunger and nerves as he shuffled eggs around in the pan, planning out how he would introduce today’s activities. Luring her to the bookstore should be easy enough, but he hoped she was feeling up to the rest of the adventure.

He heard the shower starting upstairs, and turned the stove down to low. Remembering the colorful beginning of last night’s dream, he stumbled back into the bedroom, hoping Hermione wouldn’t mind a visitor. He presumptuously pulled off his shirt before cracking open the door to unleash a flume of steam into the bedroom.

Ron froze at the sight of Hermione. The shower was running in the background, but she was crouched on the tile floor, hovering her face over the toilet while she wretched. One hand wrangled her hair behind her head, while the other supported her weight on the floor.

Fuck.

“Hermione,” stammered Ron. “Are… are you ok?” He rushed to her side and knelt down, taking her hair from her hands. He cleared some loose strands away from her face while she gently shook her head.

“No,” she groaned. “Not okay—” her body interrupted her as she heaved again.

“Well, shit, Hermione,” he said softly, hoping his disappointment didn’t sour his words. Hermione rarely threw up. In fact, the last time he recalled had been during a panic attack in Australia before they found her parents. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time he’d held her hair on a bathroom floor while she vomited into the toilet. He felt a strange sense of pride, as if they had reached a new relationship milestone.

As his hopes for a smooth-sailing proposal started to fade, there was a part of him that considered asking her right there on the bathroom floor. It would have been the least romantic way to do it, and she’d probably hate him for it, but he doubted she’d say no. Something about seeing her in such a vulnerable state made his heart swell, and he wanted her to know it was that it was her humanity that he fell in love with.

Fuck, he’d marry her on a bathroom floor with vomit on her face, no question about it.

She grimaced and groaned, then leaned over the toilet yet again, and Ron gently held her close and rubbed her back as she suffered through the next wave of nausea.

He could maybe wait a little longer.

Eventually she stood up and wiped her face, revealing an expression of utter embarrassment. “Thank you,” she whispered, pointedly looking away from him. “I’m going to shower now.”

Ron scoured his mind for something to say that might make her feel less awkward. His randy brain landed on, “do you mind if I join you?”

Hermione paused, then laughed. “You want to shower with me?” she asked incredulously. “After that?” she added, motioning toward the bathroom floor.

“Well… always,” shrugged Ron.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t exactly feel sexy right now.”

He wanted to tell her how wrong she was, and that his attraction to her was unconditional, but worried it would have come off insincere. “Ok. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen—”

“About that,” she interrupted. “It smells wonderful but…” she trailed off, motioning to the toilet where she’d left last night’s meal.

“Right,” said Ron. “Would porridge be better?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then. Porridge it is.”

“Thank you.”

Once in the kitchen, Ron scraped the remaining eggs and veggies into a leftovers box, and stored them in the refrigerator, before getting started on a gentler, blander breakfast.

To contrast the flavorless porridge he was making, Ron’s mind shifted into overdrive, trying to rework his proposal plan to consider Hermione’s nausea. Portkeys could upset even the strongest stomachs, and the Vanishing Cabinet was no walk in the park either. He had planned to floo to the Burrow from Grimmauld Place after returning together in the Vanishing Cabinet, and at the very least, they could always floo to the Burrow early…

Fuck.

Ron tried to keep an open mind about the day ahead. Maybe Hermione would be feeling better after her shower, and a trip to the bookstore would cheer her up. If that didn’t work, maybe his mum would be able to push the celebration back a day, and he could try tomorrow.

Everything was going to be fine.

He doubted that even more when Hermione never returned to the kitchen. Thinking he’d better go check on her, he left breakfast on the counter for the second time, and made his way back to the bedroom.

She had returned to the same place as before, crouched on the bathroom floor, head bowed over the toilet. She looked pale and sullen, and hadn’t bothered to change into day clothes or dry her hair after her shower. Her sopping wet hair stuck firmly to her towel which seemed to absorb enough water to save their neglected houseplants and she sat on the tile with the heaviness of a bag of flour.

“Hermione?” Ron asked tenderly.

She shook her head, and covered her face with her hands.

“You’re not feeling any better,” he said.

Hermione shrugged.

Ron willed himself to emotionally detach from the remaining images of Hermione in a bookstore, the Room of Requirement, and the Burrow and sat down next to her. With a closer look at her face he realized she was crying.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as he slipped an arm around her. “I’m worried about you. You’re never sick.”

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

“Sorry?” he said, pulling her close to him so he could hear her better.

Lifting her face from his chest for a brief moment, she said, “We haven’t been spending mornings together.”

She was right, their schedules had never lined up enough to enjoy waking up at the same time, and as of late that was even more true. “Hermione,” he whispered. “Has this been happening a lot?”

Hermione nodded and pressed her face back into his chest. She spoke so softly against his shirt that he might not have heard her, but the words demanded his attention. “Ron, I’m pregnant.”

The images that had been dancing in Ron’s mind were still there— Hermione gathering books, searching for the Vanishing Cabinet at Grimmauld Place, wandering through Ron’s memories, and embracing him by the fire in the common room. It almost felt that his mind was expanding so that those images took up less and less space, because they weren’t actually real, and this was.

In all that extra space, his mind cycled through visions of his future, playing memories yet to be made. For the first time since he had decided to ask her to marry him, proposing felt like a simple task because he saw far beyond that now. He wanted to ask her, but then he wanted to hold her hair if she got sick again. He wanted to run out at weird hours of the night to buy the food she craved. He wanted to go to that bookstore, not so she could partake in his scavenger hunt, but so he could buy all the books about pregnancy and parenting.

“Are you serious?” were the words that tumbled out of his mouth, dripping with pure excitement. She nodded affirmatively, and an involuntary smile spread across his face.  He reached a hand to her cheek to wipe away a tear, before landing his lips on her forehead.

He felt her grinning under his hand, seemingly pleased at his positive reaction. Her excitement gave her next question a melody. “Well...what do you want to do?” She asked it confidently, like she already knew what he would say.

But she didn't know.

“I want to marry you,” he stated, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

She pulled away and squinted skeptically at him as if he might be joking, but there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

He then reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, and popped it open to reveal a beautiful solitaire ring— simple, understated, yet timeless, just like Hermione.  Then a smile enveloped her face and she didn’t need to say anything at all. She leaned into his embrace, and he felt tears leaking from his eyes, elation on his face, and nothing but happiness.

They sat there intertwined and crying for some time until he realized she’d never actually answered. “So… will you?”

She responded wordlessly, with an enthusiastic nod against his chest, and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

It really felt like the rest of the world had disappeared and they were alone, the only people that mattered. When reality started to filter back, Ron had to chuckle at the sudden realization of what room they were in. It was almost funny how much effort he had put into planning out the perfect day, only to propose to Hermione on a bathroom floor.

“I had a better plan, you know,” he said finally. “To ask you.”

She shook her head and mumbled into his chest. “This was perfect.”

Maybe it was. Their friendship began in a bathroom, as did their relationship nearly eight years later, so it was quite fitting that he proposed in one too. He’d have to save his scavenger hunt for another occasion, but that was ok. He had a lifetime of opportunities ahead.

To outsiders, it might not be the most romantic story. Luckily, Ron didn’t give a fuck what outsiders thought, because he had Hermione.

xxxxx

“We had just woken up and were getting ready for the day. We got to talking, and I asked him what he wanted to do,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her face. “He said ‘I want to marry you.’ I... didn’t see it coming at all.”

Ron was thankful for the fact that his lopsided grin was pretty much stuck to his face, otherwise he might have winced. As he had predicted, Hermione had left out the most important piece of information. Without it, it all sounded rather unremarkable.

“Out of the blue?” asked Molly, her eyebrows raised.

In his peripheral vision, Ron saw Harry and Ginny exchange a knowing glance.

“Out of the blue.” said Hermione, before taking another big bite of her watermelon slice.

“I think that’s so romantic!” Jean had one hand resting on her heart, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Ron, did you plan it like that?”

Ron inhaled sharply at the sound of his name. “Um, well no, actually,” he said, sending a reassuring look toward Hermione. “I had something more elaborate planned.”

“Then what happened?”

Ron grinned as he watched Hermione show off her ring to Ginny and Angelina who had appeared at her shoulder. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

Molly and Jean’s soft smiles and sparkling eyes suggested they were satisfied by that answer.

The celebrations continued into the evening hours, and sometime after dinner, Ron appeared at Hugo and Arthur’s makeshift bar to find that Hugo already had a drink waiting for him.

“Congratulations again, son!” said Arthur, before engulfing him in another hug.

“Thanks Dad,” he said.

“I’m going to check on my future daughter-in-law!” he said excitedly. “I’ll see if she wants a drink.”

Arthur scurried away, leaving Ron alone with Hugo.

“I already made you an Alexander,” Hugo said, sliding the drink across the table to Ron. “Made one for Hermione too.”

Ron felt his ears turning crimson, as if he’d been caught in a lie. Now was not the time to inform Hugo why his daughter wasn’t drinking. He would just have to drink for two today.

However, Hugo was quite observant. In a whisper he added, “there’s no alcohol in hers.”

Ron met Hugo’s unflinching gaze, and the two men stared at each other for an uncomfortable pause. The tension finally broke when Hugo smiled, and Ron felt a wave of relief. “How did you know?”

Hugo chuckled. “I’ve never seen her eat watermelon.” He took a dramatic swig of his own drink before continuing. “But Jean couldn’t get enough of it when she was pregnant with Hermione.”

Ron glanced over at Hermione, who was working her way through yet another slice of watermelon. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her eating it, but was drawing a blank.

Hugo brought him out of his memories. “I guess our conversation about contraception was for shit.”

If Ron had just met Hugo, he might have put more effort into formulating a diplomatic answer. He might have interpreted his pursed lips as stern disapproval rather than a weak attempt to prevent himself from laughing at his own joke. He definitely would not have burst out laughing and answered the way he did.

“Total shit.”

Encouraged by a few cocktails, Hugo grinned widely and unleashed a hearty laugh. Then he did something surprising. He put down his glass, circled the table, and opened his arms to embrace Ron.

“I’m happy for you, son,” he said softly. “I hope you’re happy too.”

Ron saw no reason to hold back his tears, so he didn’t. He had always assumed his future father-in-law would consider Ron's happiness simply an extension of his daughter’s, but Hugo proved him wrong. This was a man who cared about him deeply, as if he was his own son and Ron could feel it. “I’ve never been happier.”

Hugo pulled him to arms length. Ron noticed a tear on his cheek and felt another wave of connection with the man. With a pat on his shoulder, he turned back to the bar and grabbed both glasses. “Now go have a drink. Have some fun,” he said before adding with a wink, “while you can.”

Ron found Hermione discussing wedding plans in the living room with Ginny and Angelina, and slid into a seat on the armrest of her chair. He pressed the glass into her hand and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “non-alcoholic.”

She looked up at him and mouthed, thank you, before leaning against him while he slipped his arm around her.

Ginny was smiling at them as more Weasleys piled into the living room. Seeing Ron and Hermione together ignited another toast from the group. “To Ron and Hermione.”

“To Ron and Hermione!” echoed the crowd.

Plus one.

He’d never been more excited about anything in his life, and it was clearly evident by his expression. When she clicked her glass against his and looked him right in the eyes, he saw his own elation reflecting back at him, and knew she felt the same way. They had come so far, but their story was only just beginning.

#hp fanfic #ROMIONE #hpromione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romione fluff #ronweasley #ron x hermione #ron and hermione #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger

[re-rift]

The Lion King | Lowell | Epilogue

If given the chance to make a difference by his own hands, Lowell would always take it, no matter how long and arduous the road ahead was. It’s always been an uphill battle from the start for him, so it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to.

It was because of said experience that he knew how desperately he needed a break and simply rest - that went for him just as much as everyone else here. Being forced to take part in a second mutual killing game, witnessing the deaths of other people all over again… They were all physically and mentally scarred. It was a long battle against absurd odds, but in the end, they have prevailed again–

Though the battle wasn’t entirely over yet; because they chose to continue it until they were able to grasp true victory with their own hands. Until they were able to save those who were deemed unable to be saved. Until they would make the impossible possible.

This was their fight and Lowell would do everything within his power to be triumph over fate again.

But for now, it was time for farewells.

(Good thing it wasn’t a permanent one or else he knew that he wouldn’t have been able to hold any tears back.)

“Right, no need t’ get sentimental now. I’ll be seein’ y’all soon ‘nough - or at least, most of ya, anyway. Just make sure ya take care of yerselves first, ‘cause we’ll be needin’ all that energy to make this whole thing work! So, see ya.”

While he was content with such a simple goodbye for most here, there was one person in particular that he needed to properly see off–

And it seemed like said best friend had the same thoughts as him.

Lowell chuckled and said his piece after she was done:”Heh, don’tcha worry, I’ll take care of myself jus’ fine. If anythin’, I shoulda return those words t’ ya - yer prone t’ overwork yerself, so ya better take a proper breather too, yeah?” He gently ruffled her hair as he spoke the next words:”Ya ever need help, ya know ya can call fer me, t’. And… ‘s my line, really. Thanks, I mean. Wouldn’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for ya, so… despite everythin’, ‘m really glad that we were able t’ meet.”

A genuine smile spread across his features and the next words that left his mouth were spoken in sincerity without even a hint of embarrassment:

”I love ya, Ada. Yer my best friend!”

—

As soon as Lowell was sent back to his own rift, his legs were already moving on their own before his mind could even catch up. However, he knew intuitively where he needed to go and it became only more clear once he recognized his surroundings.

He was close to his home.

The sun was setting as Lowell sprinted across streets, not caring what anyone crossing his way would think of him rushing ahead like a bull. It didn’t matter, not when he could finally see his parents again. His grandmother. His friends.

Lowell had to let them know that he was alive and well.

The landscape painter was short of breath when he finally reached the front door to the tiny apartment that he shared with his parents. As he didn’t have a house key on him, all he could do was knock on the door and hope they were home. If not, he could always just wait right here until they came home from their various jobs.

However, he wouldn’t have to wait, as the door was shortly opened afterwards and he was able to see his mother for the first time in many, many months. The sheer surprise on her face was palable, before she cried out her son’s name in utter relief and pulled him into a tight hug. In a matter of seconds, they were joined by his father, whose reaction was pretty much the same as his wife–

And Lowell was unabashedly letting his tears out, holding his parents tight as he uttered quietly:”I’m home.”

—

Within the next few days, Lowell visited many people, among them his grandmother and his close friends. Some of them got more of the truth behind his disappearance than others, but all the same, he let everyone know that he had something important to do. It was something that he couldn’t and wouldn’t run away from. It was something that allowed him to make a real difference and he had every intention of taking it, even if it meant that he’d be occasionally away for quite some time from home.

While his parents especially were worried, it was ultimately his grandmother who convinced them that it would be alright. Even though she knew the least about the circumstances of his disappearance, she could tell that Lowell meant every word he said and thus, she wholheartedly supported him in his endeavour.

So in the end, while Lowell left home again, he was able to properly bid his goodbyes this time.

—

And a lot happened.

So much that it would be improper to recount everything right now. After all, there was time for a later now.

However, it would also not be right to mention the most important thing–

In the end, the fight was finally won.

They succeeded in bringing the others back. Each and every one of them whom they thought were gone for good, have come back. At last, they have grasped this chance and made it work.

And with that, Lowell was able to make yet another important decision–

—

For the upteenth time, Lowell was nervously running his fingers through his hair, second-guessing his decision anew. The myriad of thoughts running through his mind were almost overwhelming, but he managed to calm his nerves by recalling everything that led to this decision in the first place.

Lowell had been a coward for the longest time. A cowardly lion who was all bark, but no bite - at least when it came to the matters that truly mattered.

He was excited and scared at the same time, but he wouldn’t chicken out. Even if he couldn’t tell whether this was a good or bad decision, he would stick by it and see it through to the end.

And once he saw Ada approach him with a certain white-haired young man in tow, his head became crystal clear.

Lowell grinned as he greeted them both.

“Hey there, Ada!”

His expression softened when his eyes fell on the familiar stranger in front of him.

“And you must be Hiraku, right?”

He held his hand out and smiled brightly.

“’S nice t’ meet ya. ‘M Lowell - Lowell de Gloria!”

#Epilogue #Lowell #submission

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 22- Dueling a Dragon

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

While the heist team discovers the identity of the dark mage, Mumbo is facing his greatest challenge yet. Fighting a dragon before all of the kingdom. Will he claim victory, or be burnt alive?

CW: battle scene ____________________________________________

“I don’t know how you’ve done it Mumbo, but I believe you can take it all the way!” Joe’s voice is toned in such a way that Mumbo can’t tell if he’s being sincere or teasing him. He’s going to go with the former, only because he’s not sure he could take the latter. 

“Ah, thanks Joe. It’s been a real doozy.” He wipes the sweat from his brow, trying to regain some energy back in his body as he stares across the field. Staring down his opponent. The one person Iskall said he wouldn’t have to worry about. Avon, the other finalist in the duel tournament. “I’m not quite sure if I can take her on, of all people, though. I mean...she took out Grian!” 

“Just barely, and only because of that trident she’s got.” Grian huffs, tucking his arms against his chest. “No matter what happens, Mumbo Jumbolio, we’ve secured our place in the labyrinth event. One way or another, we’re one of the two best guilds in the Chimaera’s championship. In all of Lairyon!” 

Mumbo nods his head, gathering his nerves and shoving them into a little box. He beat the best duelist from the Guild of Gedeon, he can beat one lone wanderer. The points the hermits have gathered throughout the games have held them at a steady first place. But he wants to win this event for them all. To prove to himself that he does have control over his magic. To prove to his father he doesn’t need him- he has a better family. And because he has a taste for competition. A taste that can only be satiated with winning. 

It’s just Mumbo and Avon. The winner takes the glory, a champion of the most popular event in all of Lairyon. Mumbo glances at the stands, the coliseum packed to the brim. Scrying spells are everywhere, and even a few cameras from the industrial cities. Everyone is watching him. It’s terrifying, but also thrilling. This is his time, in front of all of Lairyon. As long as he keeps control of his magic, and doesn’t pass out from his swimming head, he can win the most popular event in all of the Chimaera’s Championship. 

“Go get ‘em, dude. Show them how much of a mega wizard of doom you are.” Iskall grins, patting Mumbo on the back and sending him into the torchlight that illuminates the field. Massive orbs of light, blinding to look at and controlled by a single light mage, chase off shadows from the field and illuminate the two competitors. Avon struts across, until the two are toe to toe at the center. Mumbo realizes the dragonheart is almost a full head shorter than him, though her wings rise above the lion’s mane for hair. The daring gaze she gives makes him feel like the shorter one, however. Like the ground is sinking at his feet. 

“Duelists!” Their eye contact severs at the voice of Magistrate Dolios serenades the crowd into silence. Out of the corner of Mumbo’s eyes, he swears he can see sharp teeth appear from a curling scowl on Avon’s face. Dolios stands from his seat, sweeping his hands to both Avon and Mumbo. ‘I congratulate you both on your strength and magic to make it this far. You are both the pride of what Lairyon has to offer, and even I am astounded at the show of power I’ve seen from all competitors in these games. This will be a championship for the history books, and I can’t thank you two and your groups enough for braving to come here as non-guild teams.

“Unfortunately, only one person can be crowned victor of the duels. As much as I would love to see you both take home the medal. However, Avon- you know that no matter what, your team won’t make it into the Labyrinth run?” Mumbo looks over, just barely catching the tiny nod. More a bounce of her hair than a move of her head. “And you still wish to compete, despite being in third place no matter the outcome of this event?” Another short nod, and Dolios smiles. “A brave soul, I was hoping for some more fight left. Let the final duel begin...now!” 

Mumbo scrabbles backwards, avoiding the sharp prongs of Avon’s trident by a narrow width of air. He trips over his own two feet in the retreat, rolling over the grass and landing with his gaze glued on the crown box. Magistrate Dolios has seated himself again, watching with a glint in his eyes. Completely relaxed, unlike the crowd all around him. Even his fellow councilmembers are bellowing, though two are missing. He yelps, a ball of flame singing the verdant grass beside him. In his own mind, he can’t help but note how much it looks like the blight he saw in Gildara. 

Up on his feet, Mumbo takes a deep breath and faces his opponent. Avon, the very person Iskall said he wouldn’t have to worry about. Of course, his luck leads him to fight a draconic mage. She looks different- her wings have disappeared. Mumbo raises an eyebrow. Didn’t she always have- 

A poison barb rips against the black fabric of his robes. If he was a centimeter to the left, it would’ve dug into his leg. He doesn’t have the privilege to think- not against an opponent like this. But that’s what Mumbo does best! He leers to the side, casting his circle. His head swims, and the spell dissolves away. 

“Not now!” Mumbo whimpers, fleeing the barrage of attacks from his opponent. Can’t she give him one minute? One minute to concentrate, to focus on his magic? He’s doomed, he can’t do this. His magic is too unpredictable, like catching smoke in his hands. One minute it’s there, the next it’s gone. He tries to focus, to follow the guidance Grian taught him when they’d train. But his best friend’s advice is doing nothing to aid him. What he wouldn’t give to have Grian and the other hermits at his side right now. 

“You can do it Mumbo!” He leaps away from another throw of the trident, backed into a corner, but looks up at the sound of Grian’s voice. Cheering him from the sidelines, waving and whooping with wings spread wide. Iskall is at his side, getting rowdy as his voice carries with Grian. Every last hermit is there, cheering for him. Even Doc, Etho, and the rest of the heist team. What did they find? Zedaph, Tango, and Impulse are waving something he can’t catch, the shepherd mage on both Tango and Impulse’s shoulder. Right now, they aren’t focused on the heist, or who the dark wizard is. The entire guild of hermits is cheering him on. Him, some screwup multi-mage who can’t control his powers. Not like how Magistrate Dolios can control his multitude of magics. 

“Go Mumbo! Just cast the spell, don’t think! Just cast!” Xisuma shouts, his mask doing little to stop his encouraging voice from carrying to Mumbo. The draconic mage makes her steady approach, flourishing her trident. Mumbo closes his eyes, and does the one thing he’s never done before. 

Not think. When Mumbo opens his eyes, he can feel power rushing down his arms, lightning crackling against his sleeves and a burnmark where Avon once stood. She’s retreated, eyes wide but a smile cracking through the empty expression. “Finally, a challenge.” 

Mumbo steps forward, summoning another magic circle. At first, the circuits and lotuses wobble in the air, his magic unsure. But Mumbo can hear his friends calling his name. The crowd cheering for him. And the spell strengthens so bright he can hardly see past the arcane circle. He releases his magic, and unchains the beast within. He knew his magic was powerful. It was hard to summon for that reason, like trying to call on a storm. But once the storm appeared, on it’s own or by will, there was little he could do to stop it. 

Redstone slithers across the ground, wrapping around Avon’s ankles like vines. Hungry for warmth, for life. Dragging her down against the ground, Mumbo’s magic traps his opponent. In the light of the coliseum, black scales appear on Avon’s open skin, steeling herself to the attack. The redstone constricts, and Mumbo prepares to send a bolt of lightning down the redstone circuit. But Avon’s lips open, and fire escapes from her mouth and nostrils, like a firebreathing dragon. It burns away the redstone circuits, freeing the dragonheart. 

It becomes a battle, back and forth between the two. A poison barb traded for lightning, fire traded for redstone. Mumbo fends off attacks from the sky, from the ground. They both share a similar form of magic- lightning. Avon releases a bolt, only for her purple lightning to be met by Mumbo’s red bolt. The two wrestle for strength, but Mumbo wins out. The energy strikes Avon, throwing her across the field. Unfortunately for Mumbo, nothing can seem to keep his opponent down for long. No matter how hard he strikes, how fast he strikes, Avon doesn’t remain on the ground. She just stands up, brushing away the blood and mud, and retaliates. 

Exhaustion grows in Mumbo’s body, threatening to keep him down when a fireball burns the fraying fabric of a torn sleeve. He can hear the hermits, the crowd cheering for him. He’s not going down, he’s not losing. He wants to win. Avon rushes forward, her trident reeled backward. Mumbo’s just barely able to stop her, twisting redstone around and pulling it taut. They’re trapped in a stalemate, feeling each other huffing for air. Mumbo can see blood dripping from a wound on her forehead, her cheek. A swollen eye and torn lip, the black scaled pauldron dented from battle and her clothes torn and bloody. Purple fabric of her cloak brushes against Mumbo’s leg, causing a poisoned wound to sting. 

He’s not in much better shape, but he refuses to go down. “You’re really not going to let up, are you?” 

“Nope.” She offers a smile, then rips her trident away. Mumbo stumbles backwards, catching his weight and nearly crumbling on a wounded ankle. Avon is struggling to her feet too, wings reappearing and scales disappearing to gain dexterity back. Now’s the time, if ever he had a chance. Her wings seem to be the biggest targets. If he takes those out, maybe she’ll stay down. 

Mumbo raises his hand to start drawing his circle, and flicks his wrist in an attempt to get rid of mud that clings to the blood on his fingers. Just like that, his circle activates. Holy shit, did he actually summon his magic without having to go through the motions of drawing it? He’s never done that before, but he’s not going to waste the chance he has now. Mumbo strikes the center of his circle, and a storm of lightning and redstone rains down on Avon. Lightning strikes her down, throwing her back against the ground. The redstone clings to the dragonheart, capturing the electricity and sending the currents running back through his opponent. 

She stays down. The entire coliseum goes quiet as the dead, watching Avon struggle to get to her feet. Magistrate Dolios and the Council stand, opening their mouths. They’re about to call the match. Bruised, bloody, and broken, there’s no way Avon can get back from a spell that powerful. Mumbo must’ve won. 

A single syllable escapes Dolios’s lips when Avon rises to her knees. Steeling herself to the pain, gritting her teeth against the lightning still ricocheting down her form. Rising to her feet, leaning against her trident for stability. Her eyes remain closed, wincing against the pain. Dolios calls down. “Do you surrender, wanderer?” 

Her eyes snap open. Gone are the purple irises, calm and collected. All Mumbo can see is rage in elongated pupils, thin and sharp as a snake’s. Scales ripple across her skin, wings growing larger and spines appearing from the crown of blonde. When she opens her mouth, a snarl escapes through sharp, daggerlike teeth. “A dragon never yields.” 

Suddenly, Mumbo isn’t facing a draconic mage. The wanderer before him transforms, growing in size as more ebony scales appear across skin and fabric. Mumbo stumbles backwards, wincing and bracing against the pain as his rear bruises on the dirt below him. When he opens his eyes, he only sees scales and teeth. 

A dragon is before him, purple eyes set between purple horns, islands of color against black armor. The only way Mumbo knows for sure that’s Avon is the tufts of blonde hair at the crown of the dragon. He’s awoken the dragon’s wrath. 

Mumbo yelps, leaping away before purple fire engulfs him. He runs as far from the dragon as possible, about to cry despite the crowd in a cacophony around him. But no matter how far he runs, the dragon form of Avon is right behind him. Just a flutter to reach his sprint. Above the stadium, dark grey clouds swirl and lightning traps Mumbo from retreating. 

The next thing Mumbo knows, he’s on his back. Trapped between two sharp purple claws, the pressure of the dragon’s foot weighing down on his chest. Mumbo struggles, attempting to wriggle free to no avail. He’s trapped beneath Avon’s claws, trapped between the massive talons that could easily rip out his throat. The muzzle of the beast lowers down, purple flames rolling free from bone white fangs. Mumbo cranes his neck backwards, trying to avoid the impending doom. He closes his eyes, and calls out to everyone and anyone. “I surrender!” 

For a second, Mumbo fears Avon couldn’t understand him in that form, that nothing he could say would stop the dragon from burning him to a crisp. But after a second, the weight relieves from his chest, the heat of the fire ebbing away. 

“The victor of the duel goes to the wanderers.” Dolios calls, ending the duel event. “Do not fret, Mr. Jumbo, your team still has first place- I cannot wait to see your team in the labyrinth tomorrow.” 

Mumbo offers a weak smile, attempting to stand up but falling to his knees. He can’t tell if he’s just in shock from nearly being eaten by a dragon, exhausted from fighting for his life, or too wounded to stay standing. 

He’s not the only one beyond exhaustion. Avon steps back, her form shifting back to the sturdy human he knew when they first met. Her eyes roll back into her head, wings stretching out to try and catch her fall as Avon collapses to the ground. Passed out, the other two wanderers run to her side. Red calls for her to wake up, Ecto scooping the dragonheart into her arms and brushing away blood from her face. 

Mumbo leaps out of his skin, someone’s hand against his shoulder. It’s TFC. “Well done Mumbo, you really fought to the end. No matter, we’re going into the labyrinth challenge tomorrow!” 

“And we know who the dark mage is.” Doc whispers. Mumbo follows his gaze, past the wanderers, up the wall of the coliseum. Coming to rest on Magistrate Dolios, leaned back in his seat with one cheek resting against his hand. A charismatic smile rests beneath calm, friendly eyes. Eyes that stare at Mumbo and the hermits just a little too fiercely. “Come on, man, we need to get outta here. This coliseum is a trap.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft au #Light of lairyon #lol #wizard au #wizard hermits #wizard mumbo #wizard grian #wizard tfc #wizard xisuma #mumbo jumbo #grianmc #grian #tinfoilchef #xisuma #writing

[unwhithered]

The Clone Wars/Jedi Musketeers prompt fic

@fuzzytale prompted: “ i love you, every part of you. even the parts you don’t like. ” For the Jedi Musketeers boys, whichever combo you like

And I wrote you a whole ass 2k word fic for this prompt & Porthos, on top of the one for Aramis. AND I made it Clone Wars and sad for good measure.

“Any news?” Commander Edee asks, falling in at Porthos’ side as he descends the stairs. Only the roof of the bombed out tower receives enough signal to get a message out, even a local one. Given that what’s left of the roof consists of three durasteel beams and is in direct eye line of enemy snipers, Porthos has banned anyone but himself from venturing above the tenth floor.

Mouth set in a grim line, Porthos shakes his head. “I couldn’t raise any of the other companies, or the ship. I’m sorry.”

“I see.” Edee tucks his bucket under his arm as he pauses to look out a broken window. Below is a sea of green and gray - local Separatists and droids, hunkered down behind their shield generators and awaiting darkness to press the attack once more. Both men know it will be the last attack. Edee’s eyes are golden in the dying light of the twin suns, the scar on his right cheek a canyon of shadow, an entire landscape painted in the grooves and scratches of his black-and-gold armor. The long campaign has left no time for repairing his usually meticulous paint. Force, he looks far too old and weary for someone who feels so young. Grief for a loss that hasn’t even happened yet hits Porthos like a blow to the chest as Edee glances up at him. “It’s not such a bad place to die, is it?”

“No,” Porthos hums, leaning on the opposite side of the window. Ignoring the grind of bone on bone in his chest is becoming steadily harder, his breaths more labored, and he’s silently grateful for the chance to gather himself before descending to join their remaining troops on the 8th floor. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”

Though Edee’s face remains neutral a tidal wave of emotions builds around him in the Force. Porthos lets his eyes slip shut to better see his Commander as he truly is - helpless red rage, guilt spreading like an oil slick between them, grief like the bite of bitter citrus under his tongue, and love. Despite it all, so much love. “I was just starting to believe our lucky streak might hold long enough for you to show me Coruscant, sir.”

Porthos swallows hard. Born and bred for nothing but a war he has no stake in, and Edee still believes in luck. It strikes him again how good this man is, loyal and kind despite his lack of freedom, his constant losses. Porthos wishes he had followed Aramis in refusing to take part in this pointless, brutal affair. He wishes that he could keep his promise to show the 78th the heart of the Republic their brothers are dying to protect. He wishes...but wishes are for children. A Jedi Knight faces reality. Even the reality of his own death.

“C’mere,” he commands, crooking the fingers that still bend. Edee obeys, lurching forward on his probably-broken foot to stand in Porthos’ shadow, just out of sight of any potential snipers. “Close your eyes.”

Porthos ducks to rest his forehead against Edee’s, ignoring the sour scent of their mingled breath and the distant decay of bodies as he breathes deeply. Powdered duracrete scrapes between their brows and the last rays of sunlight retreat to leave them in steadily deeper purple shadows. He tunes it out, tunes it all out, and sinks into a memory of the Coruscant of his youth.

“It’s never dark on Coruscant,” he murmurs, pushing an image of the view from his room in Master Treville’s quarters into Edee’s mind. It’s harder, with a non Force sensitive, but after a year of living side by side in the trenches there’s enough of a bond between them that he manages. The scent of Aramis’ favorite night blooming flowers weaves into the memory, real enough that Edee inhales and doesn’t even smell death on the air.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes.

“That’s nothing.” One after the others, Porthos shares memories that feel a lifetime away. Coruscant from space, a glittering ball of light and life. The sharp taste of adrenaline and exhaust fumes as he weaves through air traffic on an illegally modified swoop bike, Athos and Aramis darting in and out of sight as they race back to the Temple before curfew. A cool breeze off the waterfall in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, Aramis’ laughter bubbling along with the stream they’re laying beside, grass under their fingers and Athos’ thigh warm beneath his cheek. Home.

Edee stumbles back, gasping, as the whine of engines overhead signals the end of the day. As the first bomb lights the night Porthos spots tear tracks carving muddy lines through the dirt and blood on his face.

“Thank you, sir,” Edee says, the last word warped by the speakers as he slams his helmet on. “Oya!”

“Oya.” Porthos grunts, wiping at his own eyes with the back of a filthy glove. “K’oyacyi, Edee, and may the Force be with you.”

Another explosion shakes the already fragile building, raining duracrete around them. Edee salutes informally and turns to take the stairs three at a time, calling back over his shoulder, “Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur.” It’s a good day for someone else to die.

In the half second Porthos takes to send up a prayer to the Force and one last wave of lovegrieflongingI’msorry to the four points of light in the back of his mind, everything explodes in heat and fire and pain.

--------

Porthos wakes, rather unexpectedly given that his last memory is of being blown up. Bacta and ash make an unsettling combination on his tongue, and he finds his mouth too dry to swallow the taste away. The resulting coughing fit forces him into a curled position on his side, one arm reflexively clutching ribs that aren’t broken anymore. 

“Easy,” a familiar voice soothes. “Breathe, Porthos.” 

Something cold presses against his lips and Porthos opens his mouth automatically, lets a steady hand push an ice chip between his lips. The sweet relief of cool, clean water dissolving on his tongue draws a groan from him and chases the lingering coughing fit away. More ice chips follow, fed by a hand that lingers on his cheek in between, until Porthos is conscious enough to recognize the presence beside him as Athos.

“That’s enough,” he grunts, batting Athos’ hand away as reality begins to filter through the haze. Sifting through his memories feels like struggling out from under a heavy blanket, a feeling he recognizes as Force-assisted sleep. He must have Athos to thank for that. It takes him three attempts to sit up, the last time finally accepting Athos’ steadying hands on his shoulders. Only then does he crack his eyes open. There are deep bruises under Athos’ eyes and lines on his face that weren’t there when Porthos last saw him, nearly a year ago now. “Happened?”

“We arrived just in time to watch a tower collapse on you,” Athos replies. Usually the least physically affectionate among them, he can’t seem to stop touching Porthos. Reassuring himself the other man is in fact alive and whole by holding his shoulder, cupping his cheek, threading his fingers through the tangled hair behind Porthos’ ear and rubbing his thumb over the thin skin there. “You’ve been in bacta for two weeks.”

“Edee?” he asks, bracing himself for the answer. “My Commander? My men?”

“I’m sorry, my friend. We found another company sheltered elsewhere in the city, nearly intact, but your flagship was destroyed in orbit, and none of the men in your location survived.” Athos digs in the pocket of his robe, offering a scuffed and cracked object to Porthos. A gauntlet. Edee’s gauntlet, a golden 78 in scratched paint above the knuckles, blood between the finger joints. 

-------

Athos has to step back quickly to avoid being knocked over when Porthos surges to his feet with a wordless snarl. Machines scream as he pulls wires and tubes from his arms and chest - Athos silences them with a wave of his hand before any of the medics come running into their private room. A growing prickle of unease at the back of his neck, something he has learned not to ignore over the years, tells him this is a moment no one else should see.

“What took you so long?” The very air around them shimmers as Porthos rounds on him, the room suddenly too small for his presence. “Where were the reinforcements we asked for weeks ago? We were abandoned! A hundred fifty thousand men in that invasion and you’re tellin’ me a hundred survived.”

Something behind Athos cracks loudly, and across the room trays of instruments crash to the floor. He stands steady and watches as Porthos prowls the space between them without ever closing it entirely. “Your messages never reached the Council or the Senate. My battalion wasn’t sent to rescue you, Porthos - I came because I felt your distress as we were returning to Coruscant.”

“Never reached the…” Porthos’ expression collapses from rage to grief, an unfamiliar hopelessness in his eyes. He wavered, the energy draining from the room, leaving a cold void in its place. “Force, they just left us out there alone. All my men, and no one even knew.”

Just like the flash of knowledge that tells Athos where a blow or a blaster bolt will land a breath before his attacker even moves, Athos steps forward to catch Porthos just before his knees buckle. He’s lighter than Athos remembers, a larger than life figure made small by the endless grind of war, campaign after grueling campaign that wears them all into shadows of their former selves. He goes easily into the nearest chair, Athos folding himself down to kneel at Porthos’ feet.

“No one left to remember them.”

Catching Porthos’ hands before they can cover his face, Athos threads their fingers together and squeezes. “You will remember them.”

“How long until I’m gone, too, and then there’s really no one?” Porthos barks out a painful laugh. “Kriff, how long until all of us are gone? Our whole Order? Aramis was right. We lost this war the second we started fightin’ it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Athos snaps. His jaw flexes and he takes several deep breaths, deliberately softening his voice before he speaks again. Kriff it all, he wishes Aramis was here. He’s always been better at this comforting business. “We made a pact. One for all. I’ll hear no talk of you dying without us.”

Porthos snorts and tries to lean back, stopped by Athos’ unrelenting grip on his hands. “That was a lifetime ago, ‘thos. I don’t even know who the boy who made that pact is anymore. ‘M not him anymore, that’s sure. Force,” he looks to the ceiling, blinking hard, “maybe we shoulda listened to all that attachment talk. ‘Mis left us, you and Constance and d’Ar are all across the galaxy, fighting this war I barely even believe in for Senators who never see the sufferin’. Leading an army that’s no better ‘n slaves. I’m out here on my own and I don’t recognize myself anymore.”

“I recognize you,” Athos replies, quiet but fierce as he kisses Porthos’ scarred knuckles, then the palm he opens to cup Athos’ bearded cheek. “This war has changed us all, it’s true, but I recognize you. Porthos du Vallon, Jedi Knight. My friend.” Looking up at Porthos’ disbelieving face, he searches desperately for the right thing to say. Remembers something he and Porthos had told Aramis once, and Aramis and Porthos had told Athos in turn. “Whatever this war has changed in you, I still love you, every part of you. Even the parts you don’t like. Even the parts you don’t recognize anymore. That will have to be enough.

#the musketeers fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #porthos #athos #original clone characters #mandoa #tw character death #tw injury #prompt me?

[imagine-what-would-happen]

A Little Bit of Grey

So this is a little fic I’m going to be doing about Kylo Ren, I’m not entirely sure if I’m going to make it a kylo x reader fic or if it will go more in the direction of an OC character. Personally I don’t think it would make much of a difference in how the story turns out so I guess we will see! Let me know what you guys think! If you guys like it then I will definitely continue and give it chapters and a master list... all of the things a fic and its reader’s need! Enjoy!

Word count: 3.1k

Warning: Little bit of swearing and minor mentions of rape.

Link to Part 2

Link to Masterlist

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

Sweat dripped down the heated skin of his face, he could hear his heart in his ears, the drum that continuously became heavier with every breath he took. Kylo could taste the blood flowing off his lip from biting it with so much force. Ironic, he could use the force with such ease and yet, the force within him, was an animal that refused to be caged, there was nothing he could do. When he finally let out his breath, ragged and jagged, he only then realized what he had done, it was just another opportunity for everyone aboard to fear him, another rumour to support the fact that he could not control himself.

Glass clinked and shattered under his heavy boots, spread all along the elevator floor. He shook his head bitterly, he could never be better than this, never be better than a child with a mere power that could crush a man’s life in seconds without so much as taking a step forward. That is what Snoke insinuated anyways. 

The doors slid open with ease, two men standing there, their eyes widening within the moment, seeing Kylo Ren in the flesh, without his helmet was nearly unheard of. “Clean this crap up” He muttered then pushed past the two dumbfounded guards, nearly sending the shorter of the them to the ground with his force.

Kylo’s steps were heavy, heavier than usual, he felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders... rightly so because it was, and the pull to the light never made anything easier. His eyes were grounded to the polished floor, making sure to not look directly down for fear of seeing his shameful reflection staring back up at him. It was always hardest after getting reamed out by Snoke. Darth Vader was his idol, but Snoke was alive and his Supreme Leader... even if he hated it, he had no one to turn to after his conversations with Snoke.

He tried to hide the pain on his face after accidentally biting on his already wounded lip. He couldn’t bare to deal with the worried and gapping faces he saw in his peripheral vision, passing him in the hallways, trying to be as discreet as possible. Usually he would deal with each of them in the most painful ways possible but all of his energy was spent on the absolute destruction of his helmet in the elevator. He just needed to get to his chambers, get out of this horrendous suit he always had to wear to prove his loyalty. Who knew that the dark side has a uniform, makes you think twice about joining. 

A damn stormtrooper manages to make everything worse by stumbling into Kylo’s swift stride, almost grabbing onto his garments before realizing who he was holding onto then snapping back to attention.

“Apologies, commander!”

Kylo simply rolled his eyes, keeping the grimace on his face. “Find your balance before your face finds its way to the floor”, he snapped at the storm trooper. 

“Y-yes, sir” He managed to get out, audibly gulping before remembering the situation he was in. Quickly running to get to his comrade struggling with a prisoner.

This grabbed the commander’s attention as he came to a sudden stop, watching the girl fight off the two uniforms trying to restrain her. Kylo crossed his arms watching with amusement as the girl sent the troopers stumbling into one another. There was a wildness about her, it made his head tilt just slightly recognizing the absolute rage, he had to hold down a smirk, but could not resist his eyes focusing on her.

It was only when she finally got her hands on a blaster that he fell back to attention. She aimed at the masked man who was not knocked utterly unconscious by the severe beating that had been dished out. Kylo began reaching out his hand to use the Force to control her but stopped himself. She was not going to shoot. She could beat them both completely to the brink, but it was obvious in her eyes that she could not go any further. The conflict in her was real, it was prominent, she tried desperately to not close her eyes, to not show fear or guilt. He easily sensed these things off her, it was radiating all around her. He wondered if she ever had taken a life. 

He saw her trembling further and further and decided to end her suffering. He Force controlled the man into knocking his head into the near by wall, then her, forcing her to drop the weapon, letting it skid against the floor, hitting by a metallic pipe. She gritted her teeth and was trying to struggle, although she knew it was pointless. Her eyes snapped to Kylo’s, his hand out stretched in her direction. The grimace had left his face without his knowledge of when. Only left with curiosity, a raised eyebrow with eyes that studied her.

“You’re feisty, aren’t you.” His held tilted, restraining himself from turning her to study her further, he never truly saw anyone around him lose control like that... like him.

“Better than the soulless puppets you got in this shit show of an Empire... sorry my bad, second order.” She stated. Kylo figured she had been thinking about that idea for quite a while with how badly the phrasing came out, it was so corny it nearly made him crack a smile at the mere attempt. He was enjoying this.

“May I ask what you were thinking of doing after getting past the two dimwits over there?” He asked with a slight cockiness in his voice. He could see she was not in the mood to play games, she was probably thinking of the many ways she has imagined killing him. 

“If you’re going to kill me, get it over with already. I don’t feel like being your creepy play thing.” She spat, taking Kylo completely aback. He nearly dropped her, letting go of her with the Force. She stumbled slightly, she had not been further off the ground than where the tips of her toes could touch, but the release nevertheless surprised her. She looked utterly confused, now it was her raising the eyebrow at Kylo.

“Not that it matters what you think, but I’m not like that. The dark side doesn’t employ creeps... at least not to my knowledge” He muttered the last part at the end.. a few names and faces came to mind as he was thinking about it more and more. He tried not to obviously cringe at the thought, this is why everyone hates us. He shook the thought away and focused back on the girl who he saw was trying to make another attempt to flee. Did his question really not resonate with her, or did she actually have a plan? Just as Kylo was about to Force her back from the corner she had rounded just moments ago, he heard a scream. 

“Let go of me!” She screeched. Kylo didn’t know why but in the moment she screamed, his breath caught in his throat, it was not until she was rounded back the way she came that he let it out. Storm troopers will vary on if they shoot on sight, it depends on if they’ve gotten the courage and spite built up in them yet, it depended on various things. The First Order thought they were so good at manipulation and brain washing but Kylo knew better. These were all still people inside, not monsters, not like him.

The girl groaned and struggled in the cuffs she was now placed in, with several storm troopers around her, Phasma leading the way. “You seem to have lost dropped some garbage, commander.”She stated confidently. The storm troopers dropped the girl to her knees in front of Kylo. “Shall I dispose of it for you?” There was near anticipation and a dark kind of giddiness in Phasma’s voice, she was pulling her blaster from her holster.

“No! Uh- N-no, no need for that. Thank you, Captain Phasma. No sense in waisting time on her. She’s with the rebellion... throw her in the prison. I’ll deal with her later.” Kylo had no idea why he lied for her, what he was trying to save her for. He even saw the girl’s eyebrow furrow and then arch as he spoke for her. Phasma, even with the chrome helmet on, seemed to be just as confused.

“Right away then, commander. Move!” She ordered the troops. Kylo watched them raise her to her feet and shove her along, down a near by corridor. What in Vader’s name was he doing?

Kylo waited until he could no longer hear the timed footsteps when he finally took in a deep breath and ran his fingers through his dark locks. Why did he have to make things complicated for himself. Snoke would obviously hear about this, he would expect information about the rebels to come from this. He sighed heavily, that would be a problem for tomorrow, for now Kylo just wanted to get to his chambers and take the long hot shower he desperately needed.

It had been nearly six hours since Kylo had witnessed that storm of a woman. He had showered, put on a pair of sweatpants and sweater he had to wear in his chambers only. They were the only non-black clothes he had, they were a soft grey colour. He felt at ease in them, at least as much as he could. Kylo managed to pace around his chambers over a dozen times, that was saying a lot with how big his chambers actually were. It was well in the middle of the night shift aboard what could be called his home. It was the least manned of any time, granted there were still quite a few guards around, but a lot less than normal. He decided to take his chance and go with his gut. He had to see her, make something up, see if she was actually with the rebellion and he could luck out. He had no idea why he saved her, he had no idea why he even bothered talking to her. He was supposed to be focused on his tasks... Maybe Snoke and everyone else was right, maybe he could’t control himself.

That’s it, he was not going to go. He crossed his arms and sat himself on his bed, trying to convince himself that he would sit here until he felt tired enough to sleep, although that would be difficult with his dominant hand being severely cut up. Even while wearing his gloves, it had not stopped his hand - mostly his knuckles - from bleeding and bruising due to the scene in the elevator. He sighed, at least this would give him an excuse as to why he was out at this hour, not like he needed an excuse, but it was still easier than just giving another poor idiot back problems for life. 

He got up and headed down to the prison. Having quietly gone down the stairs he told the guard to go and do something else... immediately. The guard quickly rushed off, accidentally slipping on one of the steps and mumbling “I’m okay”, then continuing to rush away, this time holding onto the hand rail. Kylo shook his head, his locks falling over his eyes. He swept them back as he walked over to the only cell in use. The girl was laying on the floor asleep, her back facing him. He couldn’t understand why she was on the floor when each cell had a cot, granted it probably was not the most comfortable... at all, but it would be better than the floor. Every time he thought he understood this girl, she would surprise him. He Force pulled a stool toward him from off to the side. The guards were not supposed to be sitting while at their posts, it made them seem less at attention, but after being on the dark side for so long, Kylo knew a few things, and he did let things slide. He didn’t always want to hurt people. His emotions just got the better of him a lot. Its one of the things he struggled with heavily while training with uncle Lu-... Luke Skywalker. 

Those thoughts had been popping up more and more recently. Associating his past... his family... with emotions and memories. He had to stop, it was what was pulling him further and further into the light. He already made his choice, there was no going back now, even if he did. No one would trust him, everyone would think of him as a traitor. No, he wanted to take care of everything, he needed to become the next leader. Soon enough, Snoke would have his last day, and then there would be nothing, not even Hux in his way.

Before taking a seat on the stool Kylo stopped himself. He saw that she was shivering in her sleep. He bit his lip and looked around, there would be no blankets or pillows anywhere. No one particularly cared about keeping prisoners comfortable here. Wait no, why did he even care about keeping her warm. She wanted - still does - want to kill him! She had murder in her eyes, she was wild, she was on a rampage, and she... she was just like him. He sighed and gave in. Shaking his head he walked to the control panel for her cell and checked one more time to make sure she was sleeping before opening the lock. 

The doors made a hissing sound as they diverged from one another, he slowly took a step inside. He studied her one more time before beginning to pull his grey sweater off. As he began to pull the soft material up, his white tank top tagged along and came up, “Shit” was muttered as his head got stuck on its way out. Only then did he hear a scream.

“Get the fuck away from me!” the girl screeched yet again, but this time kicked in the side of his knee, making Kylo buckle to the ground, his sweater and tank top both still locked in an embrace around his head and arms. His head hit the floor with a loud thud and then it was black.

His own groans woke him. Kylo reached to touch the back of his head but felt unable. His brows furrowing he managed to blink his eyes awake, trying to look around. His arms and legs were tied with his thick sweater and tank top. He scoffed then looked to the opposite corner of the cell, the girl was standing, pointing his own blade back at him. Kylo kept it on him at all times in case of emergencies, the Force was easily draining... “What the hell happened?” He muttered and tried to rub the back of his head against the wall. “And why did you take off my clothes?” He groaned then looked to her for answers, he did not realize human eyebrows could possibly go that high. 

“What happened was that your filthy scum of self tried to rape me!” She stated blatantly, pointing the blade closer at Kylo. 

He scoffed, “Don’t compliment yourself, princess.” Rolling his eyes he noticed that the cell doors had closed “Are you kidding me!”. The cell doors automatically lock after a few minutes. 

He groaned, throwing his head back at the wall and then wincing at the wound. “Look I was trying to warm you up by-”

“By raping me!” She accused further. 

“Oh shut up,” Kylo scoffed. “I was going to give you my sweater, you idiot!” he nearly spat. He definitely was not in a good mood, he was far too tired for this, further more, he never got his hand bandaged, though that sting was nothing compared to his head right now. “The sweater got stuck and my top rolled up with it underneath!” He shook his head, he could only imagine the ways people would believe that he could not control himself now. He wanted to be feared... but not in this war, that was not him at all.

The girl could be seen slowly putting down the blade from his peripheral vision. “Can you just untie me, I rather not get caught here like this.” His eyes wandered down. He was so ashamed, this was pathetic, he had to stop getting involved. “You can keep pointing the blade at me if you wish, its just cold in here.” He could feel goosebumps coming along his arms and a shiver running down his back.

Looking over to the girl he could tell she wasn’t sure of what to do. He made a choice, “I can use the Force. I could get you to untie me, I could get whatever I want, but I’m asking you, please.” His eyes connected with hers. 

“I’m keeping your blade.” She muttered as she came closer. “You make any moves and I will stab you in the face.” She held the blade less than an inch away from his cheek.

“You think it’ll make me more approachable?” He tried to break the tension and was quickly made aware that it did nothing for him. He let out a breath. “Yes, I get it, I just want to get out and then I’ll leave you alone okay?”

She gave a quick nod and untied Kylo. “Whats your name anyways?” He questioned. She gave no response. “Where are you from?” he raised an eyebrow. Again, nothing. “Are you with the resistance?” he tried and managed to get a scoff from her. 

“No way, those guys are idiots.” She muttered more to herself than to him. He became confused. 

“Then how did you come aboard?” She was done untying him and he slowly began putting his clothes back on. 

“Are you getting out or what?” She questioned, her eyes studying him, probably wondering if she had made a mistake.

“Yes, I’m going.” He reassured her. He looked to the control panel and used the Force to get the doors to open, the familiar hiss coming about.

He was so tempted to make her feel better using the Force, if he could force people to do things, then maybe he could force them to feel things. He wasn’t too sure, he hadn’t gotten that far in his training and Snoke was not much of a teacher. He shook both the idea and memory from his mind. He didn’t know why but... he did not want to control her.

He stepped out of the cell, hands still in the air, and then began closing it, right as the doors were about the slam shut, he Force pulled the knife from her hand and into his and smirked - the girl scoffing, “Goodnight, girl”.

#kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #ben solo x reader #ben solo #phasma #oc character #kylo ren #darth vader #snoke #supreme leader snoke #star wars #imagine #creative writing #story #new story #star wars imagine #imagines #ben solo imagine #storm troopers #storm trooper #space #new star wars #fem reader #reader x #fandom #star wars fandom #locked up

[arrivalation]

2020: An Account

This year has been a nonstop, off-the-rails bullet train ride into what looked at first like chaos, but ultimately was a tearing down and reconstruction of my entire being. Because I know myself and I know I won’t remember much of this later, I’m recording it here. It’s hard to put some of this information out, but the universe regularly urges me to be more open. So here I go.

January

I got married.

It was, without contest, the absolute best day of my life. I’ve known since I was real little that I wanted to be married, that I wanted to be loved the way M loves me and to love someone just as much. I don’t know how to explain the feeling of having achieved that, and being able to share that with my entire circle. @abyssalsun​ made it down!! (my only regret is that @ladyoriza​ couldn’t make it, but I’m still so glad we got to make it to theirs). As often as I can, I revisit the memory of going to @chromecutie​’s house afterward, thinking it’d just be the four of us there, and opening the door to find a whole impromptu surprise party happening. Everyone cheered for us when we came in. I played CAH with Mordred, my brother and his wife, and several friends from out of town. By all accounts, these people would never have been in the same room together, but they were, and it was transcendent. It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t recovered from all the planning and stress; but now that I’m past it, I can say with relief that it was 100% worth it.

February

We bought a house.

Up until this point, I’d been planning a wedding, participating in house-buying stuff as best I could, interviewing for a job I ended up not taking, and dealing with life-long mental illness that was festering and reaching critical mass. But then stuff started wrapping up. The wedding happened. The house was ours. We moved in. I could finally fucking breathe. LMAO bitch you thought.

March

The pandemic reached us.

I guess by this point it had probably already been in the US for a couple months, idr. But it wasn’t until March that things really started happening. People started dying in droves. New cases spread like wildfire. I remember thinking that this would be the zombie apocalypse, because at this point, I don’t think the CDC knew much about the virus. In my anxious mind, that was a completely reasonable assumption. My boss had us all start working from home. We all thought it’d be just a couple weeks.

April

I settled into working from home.

It didn’t take me long to get used to it, maybe a week. I hadn’t yet gotten used to my new hour-long commute from the new house to work, and so working from home quickly became my new normal. But I didn’t know yet why working from home was so good for me. All I knew was that I now had the brain-space to process things. I had the energy to do yoga and cook and do hobbies, and the time to appreciate and care for the home I lived in. I could think more clearly because there was no one else around to distract me. There was sunlight I could bask in. I felt human for once, and that became vitally important and infinitely valuable to me. Despite that, I still struggled with extreme anxiety, panic attacks, and some of the worst depression I’ve suffered through since I was a teenager. Outside my house, everything was a fucking mess and no one had their shit together.

May

I went back to the office for a few weeks.

There was a lull in pandemic activity. My boss had us all start coming back to the office again. At this point, I couldn’t make heads or tails of reality anymore. Everything was changing, nothing was stable. I desperately needed to stay working from home, because that was the one thing that felt Good and Right, but I had no real argument other than, 'I just need to.' So imagine me, at this point a soggy, run-over sloppy joe, attempting to return to normal. As you might think, it was... bad. I cried and hurt all the time. I think I really freaked out my boss with the way I reacted to coming back to the office. But then the second wave hit, and we all went back to working from home again.

June

Uncle Mike died on the first day of the month.

My uncle had been sick for a while, but no one was expecting him to die so suddenly. None of us were ready for it.

I also died that day.

It might sound dramatic, but I mean it quite literally and honestly. Over the years, I had gained suspicion that I was on the autism spectrum. M graciously found me a psychiatrist that took my insurance (and happened to be right next door). I wasn’t even going in for that - I was seeking treatment for my anxiety and depression. But I had amassed a (very long) list of my symptoms, and I brought it with me and read it to my doctor. I wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the list when he stopped me. I’m paraphrasing here, but in effect, he said, “No, yeah, you’re definitely autistic.”

I remember the way my body felt. Like someone had detonated a bundle of TNT in my chest, and I was burning from the inside out. At the time, I didn’t realize this emotional immolation was purposeful and executed by the universe to get rid of this old structure and build a newer, better, stronger one. For about fifteen seconds after he said that, I was relieved that it had been that easy, that there was an explanation for everything that my ADHD didn’t explain. It made a ton of sense why my environment was so important to me. And then I felt something unnameable. It was obvious to my doctor that I was autistic. Had it been obvious to everyone else? Why hadn’t it been obvious to me? I read the rest of my symptoms to him in a daze. I don’t remember how the rest of the appointment went.

And then I burned quietly and ungracefully until I was a pile of ashes. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently it’s common for newly-diagnosed autistic people to have such dramatic and painful reactions, especially if they weren’t well-informed on the condition. Which I wasn’t.

I started therapy.

I also started learning about my “flavor” of autism. It was arduous, embarrassing, isolating, and ugly. I became aware that I had been masking my whole life, and I was astounded by just how often I did so. What really crushed me was knowing that I’d always have to mask to protect myself. I also became hyper-aware of the things that made me Feel Bad. Inexplicably, I stopped being able to react to those things the way I used to. Previously, if something made a loud and unexpected sound, I would suppress my reaction, because it’s not cool to get mad about it. But I found I couldn’t do that anymore. I had no choice but to react the way I needed to react. I realize now that this was to make me aware of what things make me feel a certain way so I can either avoid them or learn better tools to deal with them.

The therapist I saw wasn’t specialized in autism, and she wasn’t any help in that area, but she did teach me some important things. Like, “Is it reasonable for me to feel ____?”

July

Black hole.

I don’t remember a whole lot from this month, except sifting my own ashes through my fingers and crying. Every day brought a new revelation, a new thing that clicked. All of it was helpful and very painful. My psychiatrist recommended medication, but I’d had a bad and long-lasting experience with medication as a teenager, so I suffered through the pain on my own.

I shouldn’t have. I got so low I didn’t want to be alive anymore. But I think it took reaching the bottom and feeling that much pain for me to get over my fear of pharmaceuticals. 

I got into astrology.

I had been interested in it for most of my life, but it wasn’t until this point that I started studying it in depth. I discovered it was a language that I could use to translate so many things about my own life that I didn’t understand. It was a rulebook in a time when I desperately needed rules - but one just flexible enough that it taught me how to stop thinking in binary.

August

I got medicated.

There was a big adjustment period, of course. It didn’t cure me. But it did start to make things easier. And it helped to know that, even if I didn’t believe it at the time, I deserved to rest. I deserved not to feel so much emotional pain all the time.

I turned 30.

It was easily the second best day of my life. I learned a lot of important things, like that it’s important to be present, that I’m seen and loved (just the way I am!!), and that I deserve good things. M planned a whole day of surprises:

I woke up at my leisure and we had coffee on the couch. He got me a cute card with one of our inside jokes inside - I still have it.

We went to our favorite combination lunch place and bakery, which I believe was our first real outing since the pandemic started.

We stopped by a tattoo place. I almost got a tattoo.

He set me loose in Texas Art Supply.

We got dim sum for dinner.

We had a lovely virtual cocktail hour with @chromecutie.

He bought me an ipad!!

I became Spiritual™.

I had been agnostic for the past decade or so, slowly and subtly slipping into nihilism, without realizing how detrimental those ideas were to me. I’m not sure what I thought spirituality was before, but I wasn’t into it. I had always rolled my eyes at people who talked about “a higher power”, auras, and spirit guides, until I became that person.

My psychiatrist introduced some powerful ideas to me, ones that meshed well with my previously-existing idea of how the universe worked. I won’t get into details here. That’s a whole other post. Ask me though - I’d love to talk about it.

Anyway, I started (intermittently) meditating. I learned some exceptionally powerful stuff. I felt my scaffolding being erected.

September

I started learning who I am and why I am this way.

I started seeing a new therapist. She thinks like me. She follows my erratic, forking trains of thought. She sees me and offers real, actionable feedback and solutions. Working with her, I’ve gained the ability to see my life from a 30,000-foot view. I can see now why I’ve felt so lonely my whole life. I understand how my family’s dysfunction has shaped me. I know now that I have the opposite of a victim complex - by default, I believe I am so awful that I feel sorry for everyone who has to deal with me. Because that’s what I was taught to believe. Learning that I deserve to take up space, set boundaries, say no, and be wrong sometimes is still a hard lesson for me. But most days, I believe it now. It takes other people believing it and convincing me. I still need that reassurance often.

My parents sold my childhood home.

Mentally, emotionally, I still lived there. I was still the inverted victim, still beholden to my stepdad’s whims and my mom’s complete cognitive dissonance. This was a blinking neon sign from the universe that it was time to move out. My mom told me when the closing date was so I’d have time to drive down and look at the house one last time. I didn’t go, and I still don’t regret it.

I started learning my boundaries.

After my spiritual move-out, I learned I don’t have to jump when my stepdad holds out the little circus hoop. When he otherwise shows zero interest in my life but still baits me with passive-aggressive texts, I don’t have to answer!! What a concept! I don’t have to feel guilty for not talking to my mom more than I do. We have very little in common, and I still have a lot of things to work through regarding her.

I learned how not to be so reactive.

Or rather, I’m still learning. Something else I learned in therapy is that over the course of my life, I’ve developed a desperate need to defend myself and to justify every action or thought I have, even to myself. It’d been especially troubling at work. My RSD led me to felt stupid, incompetent, and unseen daily; if my boss complimented someone, I believed it also meant he thought I was stupid and bad and wrong, otherwise he would have complimented me too. If my boss said something that even remotely sounded like I’d done something wrong, I’d race to build an impenetrable defense: “This is the reason I did that. Here’s my line of thinking. Do you understand? Can you please understand?”

Now I know that so little of what everything everyone says or does at work is about me. I can appreciate a coworker’s accomplishment and also realize it doesn’t take away anything from me. I’m not stupid or incompetent, and I’m a valuable part of the team. A lot of times, my boss and I are on two different wavelengths - that’s because I think a lot faster, which can be frustrating for him sometimes. He doesn’t fully understand me, but that doesn’t mean I’m doing anything wrong.

October

I let go of an old friend.

This was especially hard, because I had known this person for years. We’d gone through a lot together, and we’d shared some really important and emotional story plots and characters. I had agonized over whether I was truly important to her or not. It didn’t matter how much I loved her as a friend, or how badly I wanted us to be close again and remain close. I had learned to read the universe’s signs, and it was clear it was time to move on.

November

The election happened.

I was expecting things to turn out badly, but I still hoped for something good. And then something good did happen. I cried watching Harris’ speech. I felt a tenuous hope that things might finally start looking up, societally. I still haven’t really let myself fully embrace that hope, but every time I see a court shoot down another lawsuit, or hear about trump’s own conservative republican supporters tell him, “Okay, buddy, it’s time to step down,” I feel a little better. 

M and I went non-monogamous.

There’s so much I want to say about this, but it’s for another post. Suffice it to say that like every other experience this year, it has been unexpectedly challenging and ultimately a catalyst for  priceless growth. I’m unfathomably grateful that we’re doing this together, for the things we’ve learned so far, and for how much closer this experience has made us, even when I didn’t think we could get any closer. 

Turns out I’m not gray-ace.

I had identified as such for a couple years, which was why we wanted to try non-monogamy in the first place. On the surface, it perfectly explained my sexual personality. But every time I told someone my identity, I felt inexplicably sad. When I read about others having “normal” sex drives and “normal” relations with their spouses, I felt jealous.

Turns out I’m just traumatized, lol. Walking along this non-mono path has unearthed a lot of things, including this gem.

December

This was our first married christmas in our new house.

One of the handful of good things the pandemic has done for me was allowing me to back up my boundaries with hard evidence. It’s been difficult dealing with my stepdad bullying me about not coming over for thanksgiving, and having my mom subtly guilt me into making plans for next year already. But what I needed this year was a quiet holiday, instead of the usual weeks-long chaos, and I got it. And it was fucking delightful. I’ve dreamed of days exactly like that one - spending a tranquil morning with my spouse, sipping coffee and listening to music and eating treats. Deciding exactly how we want our holidays to be, because we deserve to.

I’m scared of what’s to come in the new year. I’m still an anxious mess, and some days I’m not strong enough to pull myself out of the spirals I throw myself into. I’ve gotten used to the pandemic holding my hand, allowing me to shelter in my home, helping me enforce my boundaries, teaching me who I am. When it’s over, I don’t know what will happen or how I’ll react or what I’ll learn next. I’m not finished rebuilding, but I don’t think that’s the point. I’ll never be fully rebuilt. But at least I’m figuring out the new layout.

#personal #void-Avatar

[deliasbabe]

Dancing Through Our House With The Ghost Of You

Billie deals with her own ghosts. Kind of a Character study, I guess. Inspired by the song “Ghost of You” by 5SOS. Part 2 coming soon! 

Words: 2,148

Warnings: Language, Major Angst

As Billie stepped out of the taxi and grabbed her luggage, she glanced up at the place she at one time called home. It still was home, in the general sense. All her things were there, all her pots and pans and picture frames. But could she really call a place she hadn’t stepped foot in in almost a year home? 

Ten months and sixteen days, to be exact. She kept count. The trip was only supposed to last six months, just a quick visit to some of the most haunted places in Europe for her new special. But the longer Billie was gone, the more she realized she didn’t want to return, not that there was much to come home to anymore. She kept extending the trip, using the extra funds from you not being there to do it. Then, once Lifetime’s funding ran out, she financed the trip herself, dragging her new assistant, Amanda, along with her.

As the medium stepped through the threshold, she could have sworn she heard the familiar humming of that one NSYNC song you always played on loop, the one Billie relentlessly teased you for. It put her at ease, sent the butterflies in her stomach swirling about, only to be crushed moments later by reality. There was no humming, no NSYNC song, and most importantly, there was no you.

“I can take your bags to your room for you.” Amanda offered, breaking Billie out of her trance. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but it must have been a while. 

She shook her head, still dazed. “No, sweetheart. That’s ok, I can do it. Why don’t you…” Billie trailed off, too lost in her own thoughts to say a proper command.

“Get dinner started?” Amanda asked, Billie nodding in return, “Stir fry ok?”

“Yes darling, that’s fine.” Billie said, Amanda quickly reaching for Billie’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, but all it did was make the woman’s veins run ice cold. It was wrong, so so wrong. In the absence of you, Billie had so carelessly fallen back into her old ways, and in turn, Amanda had fallen into her bed. She hated to think that the girl she had showered with affections only days before now repulsed her, but the woman had to face the fact that Amanda was only a placeholder, a European flame, although Billie knew her assistant thought it was more, thought she was more.

Billie carefully walked up the steps, hating the hollow sound her heels made when they came in contact with the refinished wood. Everything about this was harsh, even the silence. Her home always used to be so soft, comforting, like her own personal safety blanket. Nothing had changed, the house was still the same, and Billie had to wonder if maybe it was you who kept the house alive, kept its heart beating and warm blood pumping through its veins. Maybe, maybe not. Maybe the house was just a house, maybe you were just you, but something told Billie the chill in the air wasn’t thawing anytime soon.

Billie threw her suitcase on the perfectly made, king sized bed and kicked off her heels. It didn’t feel right to call it her bed anymore, not when she could still smell your perfume on the comforter, not when the echoes of your giggles radiated around the room. Billie had always been sensitive to energies, lingering presences that had been etched into the walls and woven into the fibers of the 1000-count sheets, and yours was everywhere. She untucked her silk button down and unzipped her pants, changing into her favorite pajamas that she had for whatever reason decided to leave behind. She wasn’t the type to change right after arriving home, you had spent countless nights teasing her about wearing her heels until the moment she climbed into bed. But something about the way the silk felt on her skin made her want to scream, and truthfully with the way the night was going, she wasn’t sure she would be awake much longer. With a sigh she sat on the bed, unzipping her suitcase and pulling out the contents, ready to put each article back in its designated spot and erase all of Europe from her memory. She heard the soft padding of bare feet on the stairs, glancing up to see you, dressed only in her striped button down and leaning on the doorframe. It wasn’t real, she knew it wasn’t, but she couldn’t help but indulge herself for a moment, memorizing the kinks in your mused hair, your gleaming smile and the way you gripped tightly to her favorite coffee mug.

“Thought you might want some coffee.”

That was the morning after the first night you two had spent together, and it was a moment Billie wanted to burn into her brain for eternity. Still, she hated to torture herself like this, and she forced herself to look away from your form, shaking her head to clear the vision. She glanced back at the open door to see it empty, and breathed a sigh of relief, or despair, she wasn’t sure which. 

When the smell of dinner began to waft into the bedroom, Billie decided to head back down. Despite her being fully aware that she was leading Amanda on, she felt obligated to keep the charade up for a little longer, if nothing else than to keep Billie away from her own thoughts, which seemed to be quickly spiraling. The unfamiliar feeling of her own bare feet on the wooden steps gave her a sense of grounding, or so she thought. Things were different, she was different, and there was no use being swept up in the past. 

She heard the familiar song before she had even made it to the ground floor, her heart pounding wildly as the tune blended with the sizzling of the stove. 

“And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills…”

Billie’s steps lightened, sneaking up to the entryway of the kitchen and indulging herself for a moment. You always sang while you were cooking. Frankly, there really wasn’t ever a moment you weren’t singing or humming or making noise in general, and Billie loved it. She loved hearing you from rooms away, loved knowing you were always there, loved always having you on her mind. She watched you push the vegetables around the pan and she smiled softly, but something felt wrong, and the smile quickly dissipated. It didn’t sound like you, it sounded like…

“Billie? Billie?” Amanda asked, snapping the woman out of her trance, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine dear.” Billie said, glancing down at the floor as her heart dropped, reality settling in once again. This was wrong, all of this was wrong.

“Are you sure?” Amanda asked as Billie glanced back up, “You’re crying, love.”

The medium swiped her thumb across her cheek, catching a single tear with the long nail. She didn’t even know she was doing it, and she let out a small, frustrated grunt. Her gaze returned back to the floor, “Why don’t you head home sweetheart? I can finish this.” She didn’t dare look up, not wanting to see the disappointment stamped across the redhead’s face. She knew Amanda thought she would be staying, there was hardly a night she didn’t end up in Billie’s bed, but even the idea made the woman’s skin crawl. 

“Are you sure? Because I can…” Amanda said, Billie glancing up only long enough to see the realization sink in and her jilted lover’s face harden, “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, Billie.”

Billie knew she wouldn’t be back. It would be just like all the times before, all the times where she had so carelessly thrown her flings to the curb. All of the women before you, probably all of the women after. Her resignation would be a text, effective immediately, once it finally set in that she was just like the rest, one of the many. She wouldn’t be able to bring herself to call, not that Billie blamed her. She knew what she was, what she always had been. A womanizer who loved the chase, but couldn’t ever get serious. The longer the chase was, the longer the relationship would last, but she really didn’t have to say much to get Amanda into bed, and so really, the game was over before it had even begun.

You were different, or at least Billie thought you were different, right up until she did the same to you. But you weren’t easy to catch, and maybe that was why she held on so long. You weren’t wooed by her shameless flirting, you had no interest in her games. She actually had to work for you, fight for you, and you weren’t an easy girl to trap. When she finally got ahold of you, she swore it would be different. But if it was different, you would still be there, you would have gone with her to Europe, not Amanda, just like you two had planned. 

Then again, maybe it was different. Billie knew she wouldn’t think twice about letting Amanda go, in a week she wouldn’t even remember her name. She would be a face, one of the many, that would fade quickly. But Billie had spent the past ten months thinking of you constantly, wishing it were you and not her. That had never happened before. She certainly didn’t see ghosts of her past lovers floating around the halls, just you.

Forgetting about dinner entirely, Billie decided to tackle her demons head on. She wanted to get it over with, despite knowing it would be brutal. She didn’t want to see flickers of you every time she entered a new room over the next few days, didn’t want the constant reminder, so she grabbed a bottle of wine and moved through the rooms one by one, choking down tears. There you were, begging her to dance in the living room, studying at the dining room table, standing in her office covered in paint. Each memory was like taking a dagger to her chest, one after the other. There wasn’t a single room in the house where she didn’t see you, didn’t feel an ounce of your presence. One bottle of wine quickly turned to two, trying to numb the aching feeling that was spreading from bone to bone, nerve to nerve. It was harder than she thought, brutal in every way. You were smiling at her from the balcony, whispering to her in the bathroom, you had even left your mark in the laundry room, and it hurt, it really fucking hurt.

By the end she was stumbling, the second bottle dropped and shattered somewhere on the second floor. She didn’t care, because as she fumbled down the stairs, she was hit with the sucker punch. You were standing by the doorway, bags packed and gauze covering your forehead, hiding the numerous stitches underneath, the ones from the car accident. Your cheeks were tear stained, red rimmed eyes staring back at her filled with hurt and betrayal.

 “Bill, are you sure you want to do this?”

Billie dropped, tucking her knees to her chest as she let out a guttural sob. She didn’t want to do it; she knows she didn’t. Hell, she knew then, but she couldn’t stop herself, and she did. She let you go, all because she was scared. That accident almost killed you, and the medium realized she couldn’t bear the idea of losing you. She hated that she was so attached, and once you said those words, she snapped. She ended things and they ended badly, and she never gave a reason, but you knew, you knew her better than she knew herself. She pushed you away because at least then it was a choice, and Billie needed that choice. 

The woman looked up and you were still there, your eyes boring into hers as you shook your head.

“Bye, Billie.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Billie sobbed, dropping her head into her knees, hoping if she didn’t look, she wouldn’t see you walk out that door, never to return. But Billie couldn’t run from this, couldn’t pack her bags and head back to Europe, not anymore. But this house wasn’t home without you, and Billie wasn’t Billie without you, and you were gone. She hurt you, broke your heart in two, and now she had to pay the price.

She sobbed and sobbed until her lungs burned, never lifting her head. She heard the front door open, instinctually turning away from the noise. “Amanda,” She squeaked out, “I told you that you could go home.”

There was no response, and Billie thought she must have imagined it, that was until she heard a familiar voice.

“Billie?”

#wow I kind of hate how this turned out #the first third is good but the rest is trash im sorry #I should have just finished it last night #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #AHS #ahs imagine #ahs murder house

[megapandathing]

Pyrrha’s Cuckquean Awakening

(This story was written for NaughtyRWBY/NaughtyWeiss after a discussion about how hot cuckquean Pyrrha is. Sadly they have since deleted their blog but hopefully they’ll see this post.)

Pyrrha was the happiest she had ever been. Since starting Beacon, she now had many new friends, a wonderful team, and now she even had a boyfriend. Jaune was sweet, loving, a gentleman and perfect in every single way. . . Except one. His dick. It was huge! And not only that, because of his aura, Jaune’s stamina and libido were insane. Pyrrha usually couldn’t feel her legs after their lovemaking. It was time for some reinforcements. And she knew just the experienced girl to help her out. . . Yang Xiao Long.

During one of the many boring lectures Pyrrha had to attend at beacon, Pyrrha scribbled a message for Yang down on a note and passed it to the busty blonde sat next to her. Yang looked at Pyrrha with a confused expression, Pyrrha responded by pointing to her folded note. Yang discreetly opened the note and read its contents.

‘Yang, meet me behind the main hall when this lesson is over. I have a proposition for you.’

Yang smirked and looked at Pyrrha who responded with a suggestive wink, both girls would exchange quick glances as the lesson progressed. Once the lecture reached its end Pyrrha gave Jaune an affectionate kiss on the lips and said

“I’ve got to go help Yang out with something I’ll meet you back at the dorm okay?”

“Sure thing Pyrrha! Take care and I’ll make you some food for when you get back.” Jaune’s reply was sweet as ever.

Pyrrha’s heart warmed each time she spoke to the handsome boy she was dating and she knew her plan would be a treat for both of them. She and Yang made their way through the maze-like hallways of Beacon Academy until they found themselves at the agreed place behind the main hall. Turning to face Yang Pyrrha laid out her plan. Yang listened intently as Pyrrha explained the troubles she had with the size of Jaune’s dick and his seemingly endless stamina. Yang’s eyes widened in excitement as she began to figure out what Pyrrha was asking of her.

“So, you want some advice on how you can handle Jaune’s raw masculinity?” Yang suggested with a seductive smile. “Not quite Yang. I want you to be the one he fucks” Pyrrha said with a shy giggle.

“Oh my Pyrrha! I didn't realise you were so kinky. I was waiting for the day you’d find your kink.”

With those words Yang’s grin widened as she pulled Pyrrha into a warm hug, Pyrrha was confused by Yang’s words but decided to ignore them for now. With their mission in mind the two beautiful women went back to team JNPR’s dorm to find Nora and Ren absent and Jaune arc sat at his bed reading a comic book. As Pyrrha and Yang entered they closed the door behind them quietly, the soft clank of the door closing caught Jaune’s attention as he looked up to see Yang standing confidently in front of him, her shirt was partially unbuttoned to air her cleavage but Pyrrha knew the approach Yang was aiming for. Pyrrha was smiling in anticipation at thought of her lover fucking Yang with the same power he fucked her with.

“Jaune, Yang has been kind enough to join us for our love making session today. Don’t worry about me feeling bad, I’m gonna be watching the entire time.”

Pyrrha’s voice was like silk to both Yang and Jaune’s ears, the arousal of the two blondes was clear to see almost the instant Pyrrha began talking. When she put her mind to it Pyrrha could go from a well-behaved student to an enchanting sexual beauty. A trait she knew Jaune loved and Yang had just seen for the very first time, Yang saw Jaune’s rising bulge in his jeans and wasted no time in removing them from the boy. Once his underwear was gone as well Yang saw Jaune’s huge dick for the first time, Yang now understood perfectly why Pyrrha struggled to take such a beast from the size alone. But Yang was undeterred by Jaune’s size and would prove to both Jaune and Pyrrha that she was the right girl to spice up their sex life.

Getting down on the bed Yang crawled to Jaune’s cock and brought her face straight up to it, bringing her soft skin into contact with the cock. Yang placed slow and deliberate kisses up and down Jaune’s shaft while Pyrrha slowly removed her clothes to give Jaune a little extra show. Yang was practically drooling over Jaune’s length and slowly took his dick into her warm mouth, using her experience Yang bobbed her head along the shaft’s entire length, trailing her tongue along to add more pleasure for Jaune. Jaune could not contain noises of enjoyment as Yang worked her magic on his cock, shivers ran up his spine as Yang hummed happily around his cock.

Pyrrha was now sat on the opposite bed with her leg’s spread wide, her fingers were already vigorously pleasing her clit as she watch Jaune’s reactions to Yang’s expert cock sucking. She watched with glee as Yang released Jaune’s cock and saw her spit trailing down the incredibly thick member, Pyrrha knew what kind of man Jaune was in bed and she decided to wait to see if Yang could really handle her boyfriend when he finally took the initiative.

That is if Yang hadn’t taken the initiative first, she finger’s movement intensified as Yang laid herself down on the bed next to Jaune, spreading her thick, strong legs to give both Pyrrha and Jaune the perfect view of her hairless pussy. Jaune understood what Yang wanted him to do and practically tore his own clothes off and lined himself up with Yang’s soaking wet folds, he looked to Pyrrha with a loving smile and Pyrrha gave a nod. Jaune then ploughed his cock straight into Yang’s pussy and she moaned in pleasure, Pyrrha saw the outline of Jaune’s beastly cock as it plunged in and out of the beautiful blonde girl.

Pyrrha had never felt more aroused in her life, she ceased pleasuring he clit and put two slender fingers into her own pussy and rapidly fingered herself, moaning out in sheer passion as she never took her eyes away from the sight of her boyfriend fucking another woman. She loved the lewd expressions Yang was making as Jaune filled her insides with his huge cock, she loved watching Yang’s breast bounce wildly as Jaune’s pace increased. But the real main attraction for Pyrrha was watching Jaune utterly dominate Yang, Pyrrha finally saw how she might look when she and Jaune made love. As she fingered herself, she brought another hand up to her breast and played with the large, soft mound.

“Pyrrha! He’s so big!” Yang gasped

Jaune was completely silent as he pounded into the sexy blonde girl, his body alive with pleasure beyond describing as Yang’s walls tighten and flexed around his cock. Unlike Pyrrha Yang was taking his cock without any resistance from her body, he cast his gaze over to Pyrrha and saw his lover furiously masturbating to the two blondes fucking. He felt himself approach his climax at the sight of his girlfriend enjoying herself so much, he groaned loudly as he released his first load into Yang. Yang came hard at the feeling of so much cum filling her insides up, her panting reaching a fever pitch as her own juices covered the bedsheets beneath her.

Pyrrha thought Yang had reached her limit sooner than her reputation said, however she was delighted to see Yang still hand energy to spare as she flipped Jaune over so now Yang was on top and Jaune lay on the bed. The two fuck hungry blondes wasted no time as Yang instantly began riding Jaune’s cock with rough slams. Only occasionally did Yang slow down to rotate her hips around Jaune’s dick, giving him the added pleasure of her walls caressing the boy’s length. Pyrrha suddenly came hard from a combination of the divine sight before her and her own arousal.

Unlike every other time, where Pyrrha was spent after the first climax she found her current situation left her ready and able to continue pleasing her body. This time Yang and Jaune both watched as Pyrrha began slowly fisting her pussy, the two blondes fucked each other even harder, both of them were sent into a sexual overdrive knowing Pyrrha was watching them so intently.

“That’s it Yang take his monstrous cock! Jaune you’re doing great! Show me more!” The amazon practically screamed from the raw pleasure she was feeling.

Nothing had ever aroused Pyrrha more in her entire life, her boyfriend was so strong and so manly when he was fucking Yang, where a normal girlfriend would feel bitter envy Pyrrha only felt the most overpowering lust she had ever felt. She came countless times as the two blondes fucked for hours on end, neither one seemed to run out of stamina, Jaune had cum on Yang’s stomach and breasts more times than Pyrrha thought possible. The bed sheets beneath Yang were soaked like they had been out in the rain; the busty blonde was panting in her sexual haze as her breasts bounced and shook with the force of Jaune’s fucking. The two switch positions so now Yang was on all fours, her large, round breasts hanging freely and bouncing with each thrust Jaune gave. All three of them were lost in their own sexual lusts as they indulged their strongest urges, Pyrrha got up from the other bed and walked behind her boyfriend.

"That's right Jaune, fuck this busty slut for me. Show me what you can do."

Pyrrha whispered lustful temptations into her boyfriends ears, before switching to Yang and groping her tits and kissing her neck. Yang was overwhelmed with heavenly feelings as Pyrrha whispered promises of being fucked like this every day. Yang felt her whole body flush with arousal once again as she neared her final climax.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum again!” Yang moaned out like a true slut.

Yang’s body arched as she shook from her most powerful orgasm yet as her juices sprayed out as Jaune continued thrusting throughout her climax, Jaune slammed into Yang one last time as he let loose his biggest load. Yang’s stomach inflated drastically from the sheer amount of cum being pumped into her, she screamed out in pure pleasure as both her and Jaune finally tired out. They moved apart from each other and laid down on the bed, leaving enough room between the two for Pyrrha.

As Pyrrha approached the two, she felt a sense of powerful satisfaction from arranging this lust filled encounter. A confident smile stretched across her face as she laid between her amazing boyfriend and their new sexual partner.

Yang was right, Pyrrha really had discovered her kink.

She was a cuckquean, through and through.

#not sfw