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forestwater87 · 3 years

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Chapter 15: Grand Gesture

Summary: GRAND GESTURE: He or she must be willing to put it all on the line now or risk losing the one thing they need to become whole-hearted. It’s life or death now.

CW: Smut in the last third of the chapter. Questionable quality.

Summer 2017

“Fuck!” Gwen felt her center of gravity shift as she leaned forward, overbalancing on the rickety chair she’d been using to reach the ceiling. It tipped perilously on two legs, then lost the fight with physics and sent her sprawling with a crash that shook the dozens of tiny papers taped around the room. She hit the ground with her hip and the side of her face, one of them making a disturbing crunch sound and both shooting bright white pain down her entire right side. “Shit!”

She was halfway to her feet, wondering if the crossed-eyes dizzy feeling was from lack of sleep, hitting her head, or marker fumes, when fingers closed around her upper arm and she was hauled upright. “Gwen! Goodness, are you okay?” David let go of her, his gaze roving around the room as he took a step back. “What happened in here?”

She looked around, taking a deep breath and noticing for the first time in hours the thick perfume of tacky glue and paint, as though David walking in had turned her senses back on. It was done, mostly. Well, no — it’d never really be done, but it was enough to prove her point.

She hoped.

While she was panicking, David had wandered over to the center of the room, ducking to avoid a string of origami animals dangling from the ceiling. “Is this for camp?”

“Yes — I mean, no, it’s from camp, and maybe we can reuse some of it but no, it’s . . . not really . . .” She’d planned this, during her mad crafting frenzy: how David would come home, wonder what she was doing, and she’d carefully tour him through everything — or maybe she’d let him get on with his morning routine while she added a few more things, made it just a bit closer to perfect.

But his presence had pulled her to a halt. She’d been like a shark all night, afraid to stop moving or she’d die, but now that he was here she felt drained, the giddy, terrified adrenaline that’d been keeping her going evaporating in an instant.

Though hey. At least she had a good reason to be tired, for once.

He frowned at her discarded supplies strewn carelessly around the room. “Are these from Art Camp?”

The question jolted her into action, and she stumbled forward jerkily, like the Tin Man without oil. “Yeah, but I already took it out of my paycheck, it’s fine. I’ll go shopping tomorrow for new stuff.” She wanted him to hear what she really meant, what she was trying to put together through exhausted babbling: that this was important, that it was worth sacrificing sleep and money for, that she loved him and she respected him and she wanted him to know that.

Finally, finally, he turned his attention to the walls. “Gwen, what is all this?”

“It’s you,” she blurted out, then winced and rested her forehead in her palm. “No, that’s not — it’s — some of the stuff you’ve taught me, look . . .” She took his hand, her nerves trembling at the brush of his fingers against her own, and pulled him toward the doorway. She’d made a messy semicircle around the room, right to left like a supermarket. Dropping his hand, she took a step back, steepling her fingers like she was praying and pressing them to her lips with another steadying breath.

She had one chance.

“Okay,” she began. “So . . .”

---

Gwen looked like she was on the verge of falling over, listing dangerously to the side as she led him across the room. There were feathers in her hair, and scraps of paper; she was speckled with color, marker and paint and even a smear of glitter glue on the tip of her nose, the pads of her fingers nearly black with a rainbow of ink that stained his hand as she held it. It was obvious she hadn’t slept, even more obvious that she desperately needed to.

But her eyes were bright even if the circles under them were dark, and she thrummed with an energy and animation David hadn’t seen all summer.

And he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt her, not when it finally felt like she’d returned to him.

“— song you taught me last year,” she said, and he felt a flash of guilt that he hadn’t been listening. She tapped the paper she’d stuck to the wall, the lyrics of his Camp Campbell song scrawled across it in uneven lines. “All the camp activities, remember? At least the most important ones.”

(It was really just the ones that fit best into the rhyme scheme, but he didn’t correct her as she moved on to a second piece of paper.)

“This is a list of all the facts about nature I’ve learned since I started here,” she continued, gesturing. This one was crammed so tightly with writing that he could barely read it, bullet points snaking in all directions and increasingly smaller handwriting as it moved down the page, until finally Gwen had started attaching sticky notes to the wall below and around the list. “I had to keep going back and adding things as I thought of them. I know I’m forgetting something, but I can’t —” She gestured around her head in a classic “scatterbrained” motion, chuckling weakly. “I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Next: a bullseye, a pencil stuck point-first into the wall. “I couldn’t really shoot an arrow,” Gwen explained, “but remember that summer you taught me archery? I’m still pretty good at it — we went to a shooting range for Claire’s birthday last year and I was the only one who hit the target every time.”

Next: a messy drawing of a forest, a little stick figure kneeling next to a moss-covered rock. “That one time we got lost in the woods trying to find a good place for bug-catching, you got us out because you knew how to find north. You’d be pretty great in a zombie apocalypse.”

Next: a sheet of black construction paper poked through with holes, hastily taped to the back window so light from the lamp outside shone through in little pinpricks. He leaned closer and realized that they were in the rough shape of the constellations visible above Lake Lilac. “I didn't know much about stars and shit outside of, like, horoscope stuff — I mean, in the city you can’t even see them — but you always pointed out which constellations and planets were out during the summer and now I know them all too.”

And on, and on. Scale models of the crafts and activities they’d done at Camp Campbell, nature facts, and on one wall she’d tacked up a typewritten letter to the Director of Admissions at Queen’s University Belfast. Skimming it quickly, it looked to David like an application.

“I was trying to get into their Environmental Science program. I wrote about Sleepy Peak Peak and Lake Lilac,” she admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I got in. And I mean, they’re not the best program out there, but they’re still in the top 300 worldwide so that’s pretty cool, I guess —”

“Belfast?” He leaned in closer, confirming that he’d read correctly. “Isn’t that in England?”

“Yeah.” She looked impressed, and he suppressed a weary smirk; yes, he did know a bit about the world outside of Camp Campbell. But she surprised him by adding, “I had to look that up, actually.” She shrugged. “Guess I should’ve just asked you, huh?

“Anyway, that was a couple years ago. I didn’t go, obviously,” she added, responding to his unspoken question. “International travel’s a bitch. I needed a scholarship, and my grades weren’t good enough. I think I only got in at all because of my letter.” She gestured at it, not quite meeting his eyes. “Which I never thanked you for. Or most of the stuff I’ve learned from you. I’ve been . . . kinda taking all that for granted. So, uh . . . thanks, David.”

He wanted to tell her she was welcome, that she didn’t need to thank him at all. That sharing these things with her had been the highlight of his life since they’d met, even if it hadn’t seemed like she cared about any of it. But there was a lump quivering dangerously in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

After a second she cleared her throat awkwardly and led him over to a row of stick figures hanging from the ceiling. “Some of these are from Yoga Camp,” she said, pointing at a few of the ones contorted into uncomfortable shapes, “but also all that other stuff you do. Like smile exercises —” and yes, one of the stick figures had a big pink smiley face, “— and breathing techniques and stuff. I use those sometimes when I’m having a panic attack. They really help, even if smile exercises still make me feel like a dumbass most of the time.”

The decorations started to get more abstract as they made their way around the room, simple crafts and trivia giving way to colorful scribbles and symbols, representing things he’d said to her about her relationship with her parents, her love life. “You have really good advice, you know that? You could be the next Dear Abby or something, seriously. I think that’s still running.”

(It was; he read it every morning with his pre-breakfast tea.)

“These get worse, sorry . . . I was getting tired.” Gwen jerked her chin up at a wobbly butterfly — or was it a bird? — dangling over their heads. “I use your advice about hummingbird-ing all the time. With writing, mostly, but sometimes at work or something, too.”

He gently reached up and touched the bird’s feet, watching it spin in a lazy circle. Technically the idea had been his mother’s, a way to avoid burnout by flitting from one project to another and adding just a little bit to each, instead of devoting all energy and resources to one thing and slogging through until it was done. The whole idea was part of his ethos of being a counselor — wasn’t Camp Campbell a place to get a little taste of everything, after all? He remembered explaining it to Gwen during her first week at camp, just over five years ago.

He wouldn’t have ever imagined that she’d actually remembered.

He didn’t think she remembered any of this.

But the evidence was all around him — on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, dozens of examples, mementos of the tiny moments that meant everything to him. Immortalized, remembered, in increasingly sloppy handwriting and doodles.

In the corner was a bright red card that looked familiar. David moved over to it and laughed in recognition: it was one he’d sent her after her first or second summer at Camp Campbell, when he’d seen on Facebook that she was looking for work. He tugged it off the wall, careful not to damage the cheap cardstock, and smiled down at the deer wearing a plaid hunting cap, which he’d made out of tissue paper and markers (he’d gotten much better since then, thanks to a few years of Decoupage Camps).

‘Good luck on your job HUNT! I know you’ll slay the interview!’

“I’ve kept that for years to show my friends,” Gwen said, making him jump; he hadn’t realized she’d come up behind him, but she was close enough to nearly rest her head against his. “I felt like it really captured the kind of guy you were.”

Her breath prickled the side of his neck, and he distracted himself by opening the card — ‘oh deer, is this joke going on too long? I feel like it’s overkill!’ — noticing how worn the crease was, like she’d opened and closed it hundreds of times. “Does it?”

He felt her shake her head without having to face her, stray wisps of hair that’d escaped her ponytail tickling his cheek. “Not even close.”

Unable to resist, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and she took his arm, turning him around the rest of the way. He thought she was going to kiss him — she was close enough that he could see a smeary glue thumbprint on her cheek and what looked like half a smiley-face sticker in her hair — but she just took the card from him, setting it carefully on the couch before taking hold of both his hands. Her expression was grave, shining faint with hope, and between the craft debris and her naked earnestness, she looked incredibly young and vulnerable.

“There’s more,” she said, gesturing with her chin toward the far wall, “and I’ll let — I want you to look at it, but . . . I just had to tell you, I’ve been taking you for granted and it’s not right. I’ve been pretending I still think of you as this —” Pulling one of her hands away, she picked up the card again, her fingers shaking so the deer’s toothpick antlers clacked together, “— sweet, silly, kinda childish David, who belongs with someone sweet, and silly, and kinda childish. And I tried to be that and . . . I mean I sucked at it,” she said, breaking off with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to their joined hands. “And it . . . kind of broke me. But I didn’t even think to ask if that was what you wanted, because I thought I knew what you needed, and that was — so, really fucked.” She looked back up at him, her eyes dancing with purple fire, her grip on his hand tightening. “And I — I don’t, you know so much that I don’t — I could fill the entire cabin with stuff I’ve learned from you, this doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

She paused, like she was waiting for him to interject, but David felt like he’d been turned to stone, paralyzed and unblinking while his brain whirled.

“But none of it matters if it doesn’t show . . . if you don’t know —” Her voice cracked, and she dropped his other hand, pressing a fist to her mouth. “— h-how amazing you are, how much you matter to this camp and to me and . . . and I didn’t know people could actually be happy 'til I met you. I mean, I guess I knew technically, but not that it was a real thing people actually were. But you figured it out. You’ve known what you wanted since you were a kid and then you got it and I’ve never done anything without second-guessing myself a million times but you just did it, and it meant making so many decisions about your life that could’ve turned out wrong but they didn’t because they were the right ones for you. And you knew it. You always have.” She swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, crying in earnest now. “You’re a marvel, David. I should’ve said that every fucking day. And I know it’s probably too little, too late, but I’m sorry. For not telling you and — and for everything.

“And I . . .” She swallowed hard, taking a few heaving breaths before continuing, and he knew she was trying to hold onto her composure even as tears poured down her cheeks, “I don’t know what you wanna do. With — with us, I mean. But you’re right, I haven’t been a good girlfriend to you, and if you don’t want to . . . if you want me to leave right now or after the summer ends or if you just wanna be friends or whatever , that’s fine. A-and — if you do . . . y’know . . .” Her face crumpled, her shoulders curling in on themselves. “I love you so much,” she managed, her words harder to make out through damp, hiccuping breaths. “Whatever — whatever you want — I — I — I trust you.”

Understanding pierced his chest, a small pinhole that allowed light to pour, warm and white, into his heart.

“I trust you.”

David hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hear those words until that moment.

He stepped forward, plucking the card from her hand and tossing it onto the floor (he could make her another one, dozens if she wanted, hundreds) and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her. Her cheeks were wet under his palms, her mouth salty and acidic with the taste of not-quite-morning breath, and each brush of his lips against hers was broken by her pulling back to drag in a sobbing gasp, her mouth moving clumsily like she was as close to fainting from exhaustion and emotion as she looked.

It was, without question, the best kiss of his life.

He broke away to press his forehead against hers, sliding his hands from her face to cup the back of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you too, Gwen,” he murmured, his heart fluttering at the giddily-incredulous, teary laugh she gave in response. “And I think you need to go to bed.”

She leaned back, and the bleary confusion on her face was so precious he rose up on his toes to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Huh? But what about . . .”

“I’ve got some stuff to think about,” he said, then gestured at the crafts she hadn’t shown him yet, “and look at. And after that . . . we should talk. But it won’t be a very good talk if you fall asleep,” he added with a laugh as her eyes drifted closed.

She opened them halfway, just enough to glare at him, but the effect would’ve been more intimidating if she hadn’t been swaying slightly. “’m fine.” The adrenaline that’d been keeping her going was clearly wearing off fast, and David was a little worried she wouldn’t make it to bed, that he’d just find her unconscious on the floor of the hallway. “You didn’t sleep either,” she accused, pointing at him with a finger stained silvery with graphite.

Goodness, he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it. “I had a nap.” Not a long one, but he was used to not sleeping much. “Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“It’s already the morning,” she complained, but like a sleepy robot she turned and shuffled back toward the front of the cabin. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and shower and stuff. So I look less like a sludge goblin.”

“You do that, Gwen.” He waited until the bathroom door had clicked shut before turning back to the mess she’d made of their living room. It was almost hard to tell the difference between what was art and what was trash left over, there was so much of both; it looked like an explosion had hit a crafts store.

Gwen wasn’t someone who put a lot of effort into things she didn’t care about. It was one of the most frustrating things about having her as a coworker, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love how unabashedly honest she was, how he could read her feelings just by looking at her work.

There was the soft sound of tape unsticking and one of the decorations sagged, a corner curling away from the wall and drooping down. He pushed it carefully back into place and fumbled for his phone, setting it to camera mode.

This was worth remembering.

---

Gwen was positive she’d never be able to fall asleep; how could she, when things were still so up in the air? But she wasn’t twenty anymore, and after the exhaustion and emotional turmoil of the last few hours — days, weeks; hell, if she was being honest it’d been years since she’d truly felt well-rested — and despite the anxiety buzzing inside her skull she was out in moments.

Soft fingers in her hair drew her back to earth, and when she opened her eyes David came into focus, crouching next to her bed so they were at eye level. He smiled as she blinked at him, warmth and sunshine he probably didn’t even know he was emitting. “Goooood morning, Gwen!” he chirped, his voice way too loud for how close they were, and she winced. “Sorry,” he added, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because she’d missed his morning bellow so much more than she could ever miss having non-punctured eardrums. She sat up, clumsily swiping at her face to double-check for drool or errant eye gunk. “Morning.”

“How are you feeling?” He hopped onto the bed, making her and everything else on the mattress bounce. He was being so . . . normal, like all the drama last night had been a dream.

Fuck it. They had some hard, painful conversations coming; she could enjoy a little bit of normalcy while her brain booted back up. “Good,” she replied, yawning. “I mean, tired, but I’m always tired so —” Her blood chilled, and suddenly she was wide awake.

There went normal. All because she had to remind him of what an unloveable disaster she was.

But when she looked back up he didn’t seem annoyed. He leaned against the wall, stretching his legs out so they dangled off the edge of the bed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She scoffed before she could stop herself, and his gaze flicked up to hers, taking her breath away. (God, how she’d functioned for almost four years without feeling more than a flicker of attraction to this man was unfathomable.) “Really. I want to know what’s going on with you.” His hand landed on her knee, light as a bird but blazingly warm even through her blankets. “All I want is for you to let me in.”

A swell of emotion swept up from somewhere in her chest, causing her eyes to prick with tears for the thousandth time. She looked away and sniffed as discreetly as possible — which wasn’t very, she assumed, since he immediately reached over and handed her a tissue from the pack he kept stashed in his pockets. “I mean, if you want me to complain, I can do that,” she muttered, tamping down another flow of tears through willpower. “I can complain about fucking anything.”

David’s laugh made her turn back toward him, because it didn’t have a trace of sadness or pity or anything she’d expected. It was so purely, entirely delighted , more than even he could fake, and he was looking at her like she’d said something surprising and wonderful.

“You really like it,” she blurted out, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “That I’m like this. Whiny and —” she waved vaguely “— bitchy, and whatever.”

“I don’t.” He shook his head and her stomach plummeted. But as she took a breath to respond he shifted closer, gently cupping the back of her neck so he could tap his forehead against hers. “I love it, Gwen. I love everything about you.”

A laugh burbled out of her before she could stop it, and she pulled away to hide her face. “Oh my god. You bastard. You’re so cheesy.”

His fingers closed around her wrists, tugging her palms away from her face. “I love you,” he said, kissing the skin she’d covered with her hands — the tip of her nose, each cheek, her top and bottom lip, her eyebrows.

“I love you, too.” She could already tell that if he was going to keep saying that to her she’d spontaneously combust, because this was all too cute and romantic and lovely and she still didn’t fully understand how this was happening, why he didn’t hate her.

But she’d promised she wouldn’t question his decision, whatever it was. She owed him that much.

His smile faded slightly, a faint line appearing between his eyebrows. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied automatically, and when that only made him sigh she added, “I said I was going to trust you,” hating the note of defensiveness in her voice, because of the two of them she didn’t have much grounds for righteous indignation.

“Then trust me with how you feel.” It should’ve sounded too much like a cliche, something she’d tease him for, but he was right and they both knew it.

She’d put him through hell by not telling him the truth, and they both knew that, too.

Gwen closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to relax. Things were — they seemed okay, didn’t they? Almost normal, but better, because all her ugliness was out there for him to see and he knew about it and he didn’t seem to mind. And wasn’t that something she’d never thought she’d ever actually find? “I don’t get it,” she admitted, her voice sounding small and stupid. “I keep feeling like . . . like I tricked you somehow. Like I didn’t explain well enough why you shouldn’t want me, because if you really got it you wouldn’t be here. Not because I think you’re stupid,” she added quickly, desperately, “because I don’t, really! But — but even smart people can be . . . I don’t know, manipulated?”

The confusion in her voice made her pause, sit back. Manipulated? That couldn’t be right, could it? She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone, and she was pretty sure you couldn’t manipulate someone by accident.

Or maybe you could; she hadn’t always paid a ton of attention to her psych classes in college.

“I’m sorry,” she managed after a few deeply uncomfortable moments of silence. “I’m trying, I promise, but I understand if . . . you know. Whatever.” (She still hated saying it, especially now that it seemed like it might not happen. Breaking up with David was hard enough without having to say it.)

He put his arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his side and kissing her temple. “Thank you for telling me, Gwen.”

“You’re not mad?”

She felt him shake his head as she rested hers on his shoulder, scooting down to make up for their (lack of) height difference. “I wasn’t really mad when I came back this morning,” he said, “even before I saw everything you’d made. I had some time to cool down, and I . . . started thinking, I guess.”

Gwen wanted to look up at him, but she wanted to soak in his warmth more so she nuzzled into the curve of his neck, inhaling the smells of floral detergent and piney-woodsy cologne left over from the day before. “About what?” she asked, like there could possibly be more than one answer. Like maybe he’d been pondering the sociopolitics of Malaysia or something.

He let out a little huff of laughter, and she knew without looking that he’d glanced up at the ceiling in a slow blink (that he insisted was less rude than rolling his eyes outright, even though it was just as obvious). “You. Everything that’s happened this summer — and before it.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her cheek, a shrug aborted halfway through so she’d be comfortable. “Things started making more sense after everything we talked about tonight. Like the day we . . . well, when you told me about that gentleman you . . . almost took home.”

“He wasn’t a gentleman, he was a douchebag,” she interrupted, immediately feeling like an asshole. But David chuckled and squeezed her closer, like he enjoyed her company even when she was being annoying (which he did; somehow he actually did) and she let herself relax against his side, believe that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

“I’ve thought about the stuff you said a lot since that day. Mostly the parts that made me feel the worst.”

She flinched. “I’m so sorry —” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss to her forehead.

“I have trouble with . . . rejection,” he continued, sounding embarrassed. Like that minor character flaw even came close to the millions of ways she was fucked up. “I — I guess you could call it ‘abandonment issues’? But at first, and for a while, all I could hear were the ways you didn’t . . . seem to want me around anymore.”

“But I did —”

“I know.” Another soft kiss, and she wasn’t sure if it was to reassure her or himself. “I know that now. And I think, knowing that . . . it made what you said sound different.

“You were drunk — I know, you downplayed it, and it wouldn’t have excused . . . but your judgment was still impaired. And you didn’t kiss him. Thinking back, it didn’t even sound like you really wanted to. Did you?” She shook her head, not willing to look up at him because no matter how gently he tried to frame this she still felt like it was her fault. “And I just couldn’t stop thinking, how if this had happened a few years ago you would’ve told that story so much differently. If we were still just friends, maybe. You would’ve stormed into the cabin raging about how some jerk had ‘put his mitts all over you’ —”

Gwen couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing, pushing away from him and resting her head in her hands. “That can’t be how you think I talk!”

“It was an edited version,” he admitted, flushing. His smile was wide enough to illuminate the room, catching and refracting the dreary dawn light. “Please come back?”

She snuggled into his outstretched arms, her heart panging at the plaintive note in his voice. She wrapped herself around him, legs entangled with his and arms squeezing his waist; she’d missed him just as much. “Your impression of me is really bad,” she said with an uncontrollable giggle that made her feel like she was fourteen.

“I’ll work on it.” For a moment he just held her, soaking in the relief of being together and being okay. (At least, that's what she was doing.) “Why did it bother you so much?” he asked after a minute or so. “It doesn’t . . . well, it just doesn’t sound like you did anything wrong.”

“I guess — yeah, maybe not, technically anyway. But you’d just visited and saw how terrible my life is, and I was having an even harder time being a less-shitty version of myself . . .” He made a soft noise, almost pained, and pulled her closer. “So when this asshole showed up and was, like, exactly the type of guy I usually go for, it felt like . . . I don’t know. Like the universe was telling me we didn’t belong together. That sounds stupid. Never mind.” She pressed her face against his chest with an embarrassed groan. “Pretend I said something that doesn’t make me sound like I write horoscopes for a living.”

“I like horoscopes!” he replied, because of course he did. After a moment he added, “Thank you for telling me. It . . . helps confirm some things I was thinking earlier, when I left. Because what you said, and what you’ve been saying for a long time . . . I’ve been hearing it the way that’d hurt me the most, but I think you meant it to make me hate you.” He paused for a second, then added, “Do you think I’m right?”

Gwen shrugged, feeling more than a little like one of his campers receiving an aggressively pacifist talking-to. “Yeah. I don’t . . . like myself all that much.”

“I’ve noticed.” And David pressed another kiss to the top of her head, like he was rewarding her for being honest. Or like he just couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t treated me very well lately, Gwen. And I was — am very unhappy about that. But I don’t think it holds a candle to how you treat yourself.”

She wriggled away enough to sit up and look at him, frowning. “So you’re, what? Willing to come back to a shitty relationship because you feel sorrier for me than for you?” she demanded, even though it would’ve been smarter to just not say anything and enjoy his pity while she still had it.

But again, she said she’d be honest. And the true Gwen was kind of a bitch.

His smile turned sad, and he carefully tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear. “See, that’s what I mean. You never give yourself the benefit of the doubt.” When she frowned, not understanding, he took her hand and began playing with it, wiggling her fingers and twining them with his. “I understand better, now. How you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to let you treat me like I’m a kid, or — or stupid, or whatever. I know you don’t really think that,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “There’s a whole cabin’s worth of proof in the living room that you don’t really think that. That’s why I wanna try again. Miscommunications, misunderstandings . . . those are fixable. And now that I know what’s been going through your head, I don’t think you’ve done anything I can’t forgive.”

Her eyes filled with tears — again, and she was going to die of dehydration if she didn’t get ahold of herself — but this time she couldn’t resent them too much, not when it felt like she was brimming over with hope that was eager to burst free. “What’re you saying, David?”

He shifted back, turning so he was sitting cross-legged facing her, and took both her hands in his. “I keep . . . trying to find a way to say it,” he admitted, looking down at their twined fingers and flushing pink, “because ‘do you want to be my girlfriend again?’ is maybe too middle-school, but ‘dating’ sounds too casual, and —”

Gwen pulled out of his grasp and closed the distance between them, straddling his lap and taking his chin in one hand. His face lifted toward her before his eyes did, darting from her chest to over her shoulder before finally meeting her gaze. She wound her free arm around his shoulders, sliding her fingers into the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. With the hand cupping his jaw she gently swiped her thumb across his lower lip, slightly chapped but still warm and softer than it looked, each breath skating across her skin feather-light and making her skin prickle. “Yeah,” she said, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead to his, holding back a laugh — or maybe a sob, she wasn’t quite sure; the emotions roiling inside her were too much to separate between happy and sad. “Whatever you’re asking, yes, I want it.”

She felt his smile spread under her thumb before he brushed her hand away, tilting his head so he could kiss her. “Good,” he murmured with a breathless chuckle, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “I mean, I was pretty sure you’d say that, but still — that’s a relief.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You idiot.” Her blood turned to ice, and she pulled away from him, stricken. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t she be anything but herself for five minutes? “I didn’t mean — !”

David smiled, far more fondly than she deserved. “I know, Gwen.”

Groaning, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m trying, really I am.”

“Don’t.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back until she was upright, looking down at him again. “Please don’t try so hard to be what you think I want. Just be you.”

“Right.” She forced her shoulders to relax, tilting her head back and rolling her neck until it cracked. “I’m . . . gonna have a hard time with that. ‘Just me’ is kind of the worst.”

“I know you think that,” he said, pressing his half-open mouth to the hollow of her collarbone and making her shiver. “And I’ll keep reminding you until you don’t think it anymore.”

She managed a weak chuckle, leaning into his lips as he moved up her neck. “Good luck with that.”

His answering laugh rolled over her skin, warm and teasing. “Haven’t you heard, Gwen? I like projects.”

Jesus. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she tugged him upright, taking a moment to appreciate his gasp that wasn’t just surprise. “I love you,” she said, loosening her grip and kissing his forehead, petting away the furrows her fingers left in his fluffy red hair.

His expression softened. “I love —” he began, and Gwen tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, just so she could watch his eyes flutter shut and his breath catch, “— y-you too.”

Dragging her palm down the side of his neck, she settled her thumb on his throat, feeling his pulse flutter rapidly, and bent to kiss him again. She hadn’t necessarily meant to turn it into anything, just wanted to feel his lips against hers, but her fingers tightened involuntarily in his hair and he moaned, and it was a lit match dropped down her throat to a stomach full of gasoline, a whoosh of heat blazing to life in the pit of her belly. “David,” she breathed, not so much because she had anything to say but because she needed to say it, to roll the sound of his name around in her mouth, let it melt like chocolate on her tongue and infuse her whole body with sweetness.

“Gwen,” he said, and she thought he was doing the same thing, saying her name just because he could, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing her away, gentle but firm. “Gwen, wait, we should — talk about this —”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Okay. Sorry.” She sat back, her face warming. But as she settled her weight more firmly in his lap he jolted; and if she’d thought she was embarrassed it was nothing to the way his already-flushed cheeks flamed pink, spreading in blotches up to his hairline and the tips of his ears, down to disappear underneath his bandana. He stammered out an apology, avoiding her eyes even as his cock twitched, like bashfulness could disguise how hard he was against her. She quickly rose back up — the last thing she wanted was to make him feel ashamed, or pressured; everything between them was as tremulous and new as the first time — but realized almost instantly when David squeaked that this just shoved her chest in his face.

She hovered there for an awkward second, the two of them staring at each other in mortified horror. Then his whole expression wavered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before quickly flattening into a thin line, and the break in his composure took hers out too. She snorted, and they both burst out laughing. “I’ll just sit over here,” she said through giggles, rolling off his lap and settling on the other side of the bed with her feet curled under her so they were no longer touching. He made a small sad sound like a squeeze toy deflating, and Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched out one leg until her foot brushed his knee. “Here, hold my foot if you’re that lonely. It’s practically holding hands.”

His eyes widened, hands closing around her ankle and setting it on his thigh with something like reverence. “Thank you,” he murmured, gently tracing the outline of her foot with his fingertips. “That was very sweet, you know.”

God, she was blushing, wasn’t she? She had to be. “Yeah,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ticklish feeling as he kept playing with her foot like it was a toy doll. “Felt weird, too. I kinda wanted to insult you or something, just to balance it out.”

He smiled, wiggling her big toe like he was playing that little piggies game she used to do with her nieces when they were babies. “That’s my Gwen.” And he sounded pleased, almost proud, like she’d done something wonderful.

But that was David; even though sometimes he was completely oblivious, sometimes he noticed and appreciated the tiniest, most inconsequential things. That’s my David, she thought, her heart swelling like it was going to burst. “You wanted to talk about something?” she reminded him, waggling her toes to get his attention.

“Oh! Right.” He gently took her foot and set it on the bed next to him, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “Sorry, I was getting distracted, and that was the whole point of you moving over there.” (He said it with a pout, like she’d gone to Spain instead of just out of arms’ reach.)

“I thought the whole point of me moving over here was so you could cool down, tiger,” she teased. But when he didn’t respond except to flush darker, his gaze firmly on a fraying edge of the pillowcase in his arms, something weird and hilarious clicked in her head. “Oh my god, are you into feet?”

“No!” He lifted his head to give her a tragically betrayed expression. “Not a weird amount!”

She grinned, poking his thigh with her outstretched foot. “What’s a weird amount?” she asked.

He shrugged, not quite able to maintain the kicked-puppy look when a smile kept trying to break through. “I don’t know. Watching people in heels step on fruit. I don’t like that sort of thing, I’ll have you know,” he added defensively, and for a second Gwen was sure he’d stick his tongue out at her.

“Sure, but you’re into them enough to know those videos exist.”

“I think I’d like to go back to you being nice to me,” he muttered, and she felt a stab of panic before he gently patted her ankle and met her gaze with a slight smile. Like he knew what she was thinking.

So she shoved past her nervousness and said, “But I thought you wanted me to be myself. And as myself, I can’t believe you never told me you were a foot guy!”

“I’m a you guy. And . . . you know. All of you. You’re perfect.”

“Yeah, but the feet are a thing, huh? At least a little bit.” When he didn’t answer she laughed, shaking her head. “So do you, like, want a footjob or something?”

“I really don’t.”

“How have we been dating this long and I didn’t know about this? What other freaky sex things are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said, hugging the pillow tighter. After a moment he looked away and added, “I didn’t want you to think I was weird.”

“David.” She leaned forward, waiting for him to look at her and see in her expression just how ridiculous that was. “You can’t get weirder than I am. You know that.” When the color in his face receded just a little bit, and his eyes flicked back toward her hopefully, she sighed and attempted to dredge up one of the strangest kinks in her vast library. “I’d totally fuck Drogon.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “From Game of Thrones? So would I- Iiiiiii mean, s-so would most people.”

“No, not Khal Drogo, Drogon. The dragon. Not like a humanized version, either — just full lizard.”

“Oh.” He smiled a little, almost a smirk, and Gwen felt distinctly, lovingly judged. “That does make me feel better. Thank you.”

“No problem. And tomorrow I’m gonna go into town and get a pedicure, just for you.” She wiggled her toes at him, grinning. “I’m thinking something slutty, like hot pink.”

“Gwen!” He shoved her foot away, laughing. “I was trying to have a serious conversation before you started talking about — about slutty toes and dragons!”

She cracked up too, falling over onto her side and nearly toppling off the bed. “Slutty toes,” she repeated breathlessly, and it took a few minutes to recover; every time they tried to make eye contact they burst out laughing again.

“Okay, okay.” Gwen finally sat back up, trying in vain to smooth her hair out of its mass of tangled bedhead. “I’m sorry, you were trying to say something serious. What’s up?”

“Right.” He took a deep breath, fingers knotting in her blankets until his knuckles were white. “It’s just . . . it was starting to seem like we were going to — um, you know. Be intimate.”

She resisted the urge to tease him for his word choice. “I was open to it, yeah.”

“M-me too! That’s why . . . well. Okay.” He took a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face, and Gwen noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything,” she said, shifting closer so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He nodded, patting her hand before brushing it away so she didn’t feel rejected, and once again she felt a rush of love so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes. He could be so simply, effortlessly kind, without even thinking about it. “I do. At least, I think I do. I- I mean, I know I do, but it’s hard to . . .” He waved his hand around his head like his thoughts were scattering birds.

“The night before we . . . well. Ended things.” He flinched at his own words, and she felt the same pain flicker over the surface of her heart.

It’s okay, she reminded herself, wishing she could sweep him up in her arms and block out all the bad memories she’d put there. It still hurts, but we’re going to be okay.

Like he’d been thinking the same thing, David stretched out his hand to find hers, squeezing her fingers. “I said I didn’t want to,” he continued in a rush, “you know. Be together like that. And you . . . seemed to get mad — at me. And then the next day you broke up with me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath that had tears behind it, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “It’s okay,” he said, opening his eyes and giving her a slightly-watery smile. “I’m okay. But I just need to know . . .”

“God, no,” she jumped in, taking up the thread of his question as it trailed off into nothingness. “David, no, it had nothing to do with — I freaked out, but I was already — I mean, I was gonna fall apart over anything, it didn’t have to be that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.” She couldn’t stand it anymore, so she pulled his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles because she wanted to respect his need for space but she had to touch him or she was going to die.

He swallowed, watching their joined hands for a moment before looking away. “You — that really hurt me, Gwen. I just needed to tell you that.”

All the anger he’d thrown at her in the past several hours, all the pain and frustration, and it was those small, matter-of-fact words that slashed her heart in two. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

She hated apologizing — it always felt weak, or dangerous, or something. Like it was an opening for someone to hate her even more, like she was handing them a weapon to hold over her head for the rest of her life. (It was why she hated receiving them, too; she could be spiteful and vindictive as anyone, but it was uncomfortable watching someone flay themselves in front of her.)

But with David . . . it didn’t feel like she was giving him leverage when she told him she was sorry. She wasn’t scared he’d hold onto it and throw it back in her face someday. She wasn’t resentful of him, and she wasn’t worried about how he’d react.

She wasn’t anything but truly, genuinely sorry.

And he didn’t brush it aside, act like she had no reason to apologize the way she’d half-expected. Either she hadn’t been giving him enough credit, or he’d grown up while she wasn’t paying attention. Maybe a little of both. But whatever the cause, he just stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and nodded, a ghost of his smile returning for a second. “It’s okay,” he said, looking at her like she was — god, like he loved her. “Hearing it helps.”

She wasn’t sure if he needed more than that, but she wasn’t going to let a single doubt linger in his mind. “Seriously, David, you can — I won’t ever be mad at you for saying no, ever. For any reason, or no reason or . . . whatever. It’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

“I — um, I had a reason.” He spoke fast, his eyes wide like he’d surprised himself. Still, he pressed his lips together into a flat line and met her gaze, clearly nervous but just as clearly not intending to end the conversation until they’d said everything they needed to. He was so brave. “I should’ve mentioned it at the time, but I guess I was scared.”

Gwen snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I can relate to that.”

He rewarded her with a small, soft smile before continuing, “The thing is, everything had just been so gosh-darned strange between us, and it felt like you were avoiding me all the time — except when we were together like that.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I couldn’t help but worry that maybe that was . . . all you were interested in me for.”

Her stomach sank. “And then when you said no, and I freaked . . .”

David nodded, his throat moving as he swallowed again. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking away. “It — it sure felt like you only wanted me for that one thing, all of a sudden, and when you couldn’t get it . . .”

“I dumped you,” she finished, covering her mouth in horror. “Oh, David.”

“I was a little nervous to tell you to stop.” He pulled his hands from hers so he could fidget, twisting his long fingers together. “Earlier — just now. A minute ago. So we could talk. I — I know it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t stop thinking you might get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad,” she replied, her hands shaking with how badly she wanted to hug him. (And god, what a change from their normal paradigm, that she was the one who had to hold herself back from a hug.) “I mean, I was, but never at you. I was mad at me, for screwing things up. I — you’re right, I was avoiding you, or avoiding talking to you, I guess. Because I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to act so you wouldn’t find out that I’m . . .” Her throat closed, thick and gummy with tears, and she took a deep breath and swallowed them back. “Rotten,” she finished, which was a stupid, melodramatic word but it felt right; it described the way she still felt despite everything, squishy and overripe and putrid. “It was getting harder to hide, once we were together all the time. And when we were fucking —” She couldn’t tiptoe around the words like David, not when she could just say it and watch him flush red. Even her rotted heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled. “It felt like I didn’t have to try so hard. I couldn’t be amazing, but I could make you feel amazing. And if I could do that . . .” She sniffed, looking away and wiping her face clean. “I thought I was letting you know how much you mean to me,” she admitted, the realization coming right on the heels of the words. “I mean, obviously I wasn’t — add that to the list of things I suck at — but when you didn’t want to have sex, it . . . I took it really hard.”

Her face was turned away, so his hand on her shoulder made her jump. “It felt like I was rejecting the only thing you had to offer,” he guessed, his voice soft and sad but no longer on the verge of tears. “Gwen . . .”

“It’s fine,” she said, shaking her head like she could rattle her self-pity out of her head. “That was just me being stupid, I know that. More importantly — seriously.” She looked back at him, at his beautiful open face, at the way he was watching her like she could possibly have something to say that mattered. “It’s never been about sex with you, David,” she said. Felt the encroaching tears yet again and decided to ignore them. If they came, they came; they weren’t going to stop her, because it was the most essential thing in the world that he knew, that he believed her. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the sex is really good —” He chuckled, blushing exactly the way she’d hoped he would, and it gave her a little glowing spark of strength, “— but it doesn’t even come close to being what I love most about you. None of that stuff —” She gestured toward her bedroom door, and the mess of crafts cluttering their common room. “— comes close. It’s — everything, a billion other things I don’t know how to explain or describe or show you but I love you, so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone and it scares me, and — I’m rambling. Sorry.” She shrank back, feeling like an idiot again. “I just wanted you to know that. It . . . we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, ever, and I’ll never be mad at you, or disappointed, or anything like that.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” He was quiet for a minute, and she felt the tension ratcheting up in her shoulders with each long, spiraling second. Part of her wanted to snap at him to just say something, finish the damn thought before he gave her a heart attack, but that was her anxiety and regret talking, and she never wanted to take her own issues out on him ever again.

(She probably would, considering what a mess she was. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it on purpose.)

“You’re right, though.” David’s voice was a surprise, as was the soft laugh accompanying his words. He was sitting with his head tilted back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he could see through it to the fading stars and brightening sky. His gaze dropped to meet hers, and he immediately looked down and away, biting his lip to try and hide a smile. “We are pretty darn great together.”

A massive weight dropped from Gwen’s chest, rolling away like a stone. “Yeah,” she agreed. Then, to test the waters: “I taught you well.”

It worked; he turned back toward her, his shyness replaced with half-serious indignation. “I like to think some of it was natural talent!”

“Ehh,” she teased, holding her hand out flat and seesawing it back and forth in a “so-so” motion. “Pretty sure enthusiasm was doing most of the heavy lifting in the beginning there.”

He crossed his arms over his chest with a disbelieving scoff. “Well, I never!”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling. What a dork. “Y’know, I should say we were insanely good. But I dunno, for all I know you’ve totally lost it.” Shaking her head mournfully, she quickly glanced over to make sure he wasn’t actually offended.

His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide before narrowing. “I haven’t lost anything!” he snapped, and — oh, the playful irritation in his voice made her stomach twist. Not in the awful sick way she’d been tied up in knots earlier, but with a flush of heat that took her breath away.

Managing a smirk, she laid back on her elbows, a warm glow of satisfaction blooming in her chest as his gaze dropped to her stomach, to the narrow strip of skin where her camisole had ridden up. She waited until he dragged his eyes back up to her, dark and intense like the ocean in a storm, then grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?”

His face lit up — or, not quite. Because his smile was bright and warm as sunshine, but underneath the tenderness was a sharp competitive edge that he almost never turned on her. It was almost intimidating, but the shiver it sent down her spine had nothing to do with fear. “Always,” he replied.

Before she could respond he’d pushed himself to his knees and grabbed her just above her calves; a quick tug forward and Gwen was pulled flat on her back, dragged down the bed until her body was sprawled out beneath him. He let go of her, bracing his hands on either side of her head and bending down to capture her mouth in a kiss.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer, bending her knees so he was caged between her legs and arching her back to bring as much of her skin against his as possible. He was warm, almost uncomfortably so — her furnace, her own personal sun, and she wanted nothing more than to melt into him. When he abandoned her mouth in favor of trailing long, suckling kisses down her neck she pressed her lips together, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You could’ve —” A gasp, too sudden for her to swallow it back, and she felt David’s satisfied smirk against the base of her throat as he bit down again. “— given me a concussion, you asshole.”

He hummed in assent, his lips skating up to her ear and his tongue lapping at the sensitive spot just behind it. “I know,” he said mildly, “but I didn’t.”

He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, and she couldn’t help the strangled noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sigh. Grabbing his hair again, she dragged his mouth back for another kiss, enjoying the shudder that rolled down his spine and made him tremble everywhere his body was touching hers. For a few dizzying minutes she held him there, barely allowing either of them to draw breath. His mouth was blood-hot, warmer than even her fevered skin, and she didn’t know exactly where she wanted it because she wanted it everywhere — against hers, his tongue lapping at the roof of her mouth and making her shiver; around one of her nipples, his teeth catching on the pebbled skin; sucking bruises into her inner thighs, closing around her clit, dipping inside her cunt, her asshole, along the sensitive strip of skin between the two. She wanted him to kiss her places that weren’t even close to erotic but she knew would burst into flame if he so much as brushed his lips over them: the bone jutting out from her ankle, the ticklish spot inside her elbow, wherever the fuck he wanted to press the gorgeous wet heat of his mouth she wanted to let him, because from the very first kiss he’d been good, better than he’d had any right to be but time and experience had worked their magic and now his mouth could ruin her; without even trying he could reduce her to twitching, shuddering goo.

“Take this off,” she gasped, not sure if she meant her clothes or his because she was wriggling out from under him and trying to remove both at the same time, her fingers clumsy and shaking with how badly she needed to touch him without any fabric in the way. She struggled to her knees, practically yanking her camisole off and throwing it across the room before hooking her fingers in his belt loops and dragging him close enough for her to undo the buckle. “Come on —”

“So I won?” He laughed breathlessly, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, smugness making him unfairly graceful like he was trying to show off.

“Sure, whatever,” she muttered, because who cared about some bet when he was kneeling half-naked in front of her? They’d had silly, jokey sex but that was not this, not when he was so beautiful she was having trouble looking directly at him, hair mussed and lips damp and swollen and pink blooming in blotches under the light constellations of freckles across his skin. He looked debauched, flushed and obscene even with half his clothes still on, and there wasn’t room in her brain for humor when all she could feel was clawing shaking need. She dropped onto all fours, leaning down to trace the hard outline of his cock with her tongue, and even through his shorts he was burning warm. He sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse spiking under her mouth, and Gwen couldn’t resist closing her lips around the shape of his erection, breathing in the salty-ammonia smell of precome and feeling her mouth water. “David,” she began, but there was no end to that sentence so she lifted her head slightly, bit the delicate ridge of his hipbone where it peeked out from the waist of his shorts, caught him as his hips stuttered forward. She kept him steady, one hand splayed across his lower back, as she rose to her knees without lifting her mouth from his skin: over the barely-there softness of his stomach (no werewolf six-pack here, despite his lean strength), tongue swirling among the faint red hair below his belly button, following the curve of his ribs, just barely brushing one nipple — he made a small, strung-out noise in the back of his throat, almost despairing as she moved on up to his neck — until she found his lips again, dragging him into a bruising, breathless kiss.

When she pulled away David’s smile was gone, drawn out of his mouth and leaving him panting. “Okay,” he murmured, soft and almost reverent, but before she could figure out what specifically was okay he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing, capturing her lips for a second before trailing down her throat, pausing at a sensitive place above her pulse point and biting down hard, sucking the skin between his teeth.

Pain bloomed under his mouth, rippling out into shockwaves of cold-hot pleasure, and when he bit her again she couldn’t hold back a moan. “You’re gonna — leave a mark,” she gasped, gently shoving his head away and running her fingers over the damp skin. It was already tender, and judging by David’s expression, contrite and amused and darkly heated, it was going to be a hell of a hickey. “I can’t hide this!”

“I’m sorry!” he tried, but it wasn’t close to convincing when he couldn’t hide his grin. His eyes drifted down to the mark again and he licked his lips, expression growing dazed for a moment before he snapped back up to look at her face. “I can make you a bandana, if you want. Just until it fades.”

“Fucker.” Gwen laughed, not so much because it was funny but because it was him, and she loved him more than she could possibly stand. Tired of the overheated, confining clothes she was still wearing, she shimmied out of them, tossing her pajama shorts and half-soaked underwear without bothering to see where they landed. “Come here,” she said, pressing her legs together and shivering at the wet slide of her inner thighs and labia, a thousand nerve endings sparking to glistening life. “You can make it up to me.”

She swore she could almost see his mouth water, his gaze dropping between her legs as he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said — and they’d never tried that before, but judging by the way his cock twitched and his eyes jumped sheepishly to hers, it was something he’d thought about a lot. Filing the information away for later, she held out her hand and pulled him closer when he took it, resting her forehead against his. It took just the slightest shift in the angle of her head to kiss him again so she did it without thinking, her hand sliding between their bodies to curl loosely around the outline of his erection.

He gasped shakily against her mouth, his hands fluttering up and down her waist like he couldn’t decide where to touch her. One of them dropped to her ass, a light, almost hesitant touch, and she rewarded it with a soft groan; he made a weak noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, kneading her ass before slipping lower, between her legs. The heel of his hand brushed teasingly against her clit as he pressed two fingers into her, and she mimicked his pace, gliding her palm down the length of his clothed cock and relishing the way his fingers twitched against her inner walls.

He fingered her like that, slow and steady, for — she didn’t know how long. Lost track of the strokes that sent warmly buzzing tendrils up her spine, lost count of the breaths gasped raggedly between their lips, of the kisses that melted into one another until she wasn’t entirely sure where she was, she was hyper aware of the heartbeat pounding in her clit and every too-gentle drag of his hand but numb to literally everything else that wasn’t right here, wasn’t David —

“Fuck,” she breathed, pressing her forehead against his shoulder with a shuddering sigh. She turned her head and lapped at his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth and biting down hard enough to make his fingers jolt inside her, pressing against her g-spot for one delicious moment. “God, I -- please, David, just make me come, please --”

Another shiver, another twitch of his fingers that took her breath away. “Okay,” he said, his voice strangled and hoarse. He pulled out of her and sat back on his heels. “Lay down, all right?”

Yes, yes, whatever he was thinking was 100% all right with her. She almost kneed him as she scrambled into position, but her embarrassed giggle evaporated as he lowered himself onto his elbows, scooching her up the bed like she weighed nothing and settling between her legs. Alarm cut through her arousal, her mind immediately trying to calculate the last time she’d showered, let alone shaved --

His eyes flicked up to hers, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he replied before she’d even opened her mouth. “I promise, I really want to.”

Oh, god. She covered her face to muffle a squeak, flopping onto her back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m that predictable, huh?”

David hummed thoughtfully, the sound vibrating up the inside of her thigh. “Only with some things. Other times you surprise me quite a bit.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her mound, his tongue dipping into the V formed by her lips and just brushing her clit — a teasing touch, his mouth moving away even as she lifted her hips instinctively. “I’m surprising?”

“You are,” he said, the camp-counselor cheer in his voice making what he was doing feel even more obscene. He traced the line of her cunt with his mouth before gently fingering her open. “The first time you did this, for example. That surprised me quite a bit!”

“This?” She knew exactly what he meant — her stomach still dipped and swooped at the memory of kneeling on the floor of his shower, the heady rush of confidence and vulnerability she’d felt looking up at him with his cock at her lips — but she tilted her head back with a sigh and breathed, “Pretty sure I’ve never eaten you out before. Not that I wouldn’t be into that, just saying.”

He gasped and spluttered, pulling back to wipe his mouth and staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, then coughed, tapping his chest with his other hand. “Excuse —?!”

When he lowered his head to cough again and take an unsteady breath, Gwen sat up on her elbows, not sure if she should be amused, worried, or mortified. “Oh my god, please tell me you did not just choke on cunt juice!”

David gave her a disgusted look, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “There had to be another way to word that,” he said, as primly as he could while still struggling to catch his breath. “But — um, you didn’t…w-was a joke, or…?”

“I meant it,” she admitted, “but I get it if you don’t want to, don’t feel pressured either way —”

“No — I want to.” He looked startled by his own words, and immediately dropped his gaze, smoothing his palms down her thighs like he could disguise how his fingers trembled. “Sometime. If — if you do.”

Gwen let the awkward silence linger for another moment, not quite sure how to move forward. “Good. That’s…something to put on the to-do list.”

“Y-yes. Okay.” He did meet her eyes then, brightening. “See, you did it again!”

She frowned. “Did what?”

“Surprised me.” He leaned over her body to tug her into a slow, sweet kiss. When she pulled back to breathe he cupped the back of her neck, holding her close and brushing his nose against hers. “You’re an adventure every day, Gwen,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I’m a real goddamn roller coaster,” she grumbled, shifting her hips upward in a blind search for his touch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking ride me already.”

David laughed softly against her mouth before turning his attention to her jaw, throat, collarbone — a damp, shivery brush of his tongue against her skin moving down her body. “Well goodness, Gwen, now I’m confused.” She both hated and loved the smug, teasing tone he got whenever her composure cracked. “I could make love to you,” he continued, nipping the skin just below her bellybutton and making her jump, “but I thought you wanted me to do this first.”

He closed his lips around her clit and sucked gently, catching her with an arm behind her back as she arched toward the maddening wet heat of his mouth. Lowering her hips back to the bed with infuriating tenderness, he paused, resting his cheek on her inner thigh and looking up the length of her body. When she met his eyes he smiled, pausing to press a chaste kiss to her leg before returning her gaze.

“What do you want, Gwen?” And he asked it untauntingly. Seriously. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to tell him what to do, and like he’d do it without question.

His sincerity was going to be the death of her, she decided with a groan, burying her hands in her hair and shielding her face from his view with her arms. “Fuck. I don’t know. Everything.”

When it came to David, she always wanted everything.

“That’s a real swell coincidence, then!” He traced the seam where her hip and leg met, then dipped down, dragging his fingertips through the wetness smearing her thighs before swiping them up to circle her clitoris. “Because ‘everything’ is exactly what I’d like to give you.”

She barely had time to absorb the statement before his mouth was on her again, sliding the hood back with his lips before swirling his tongue beneath it and around the exposed clit. It was almost too much, too sensitive, bordering on painful and if he stopped she might actually die; she knotted her fingers in the flimsy sheets to keep from pushing his face harder against her, vaguely aware that she was mumbling nonsensical pleas, an incoherent litany of “oh god yes please fuck don’t stop” —

He didn’t. Without lifting his mouth he braced one hand under her knee and pushed it toward her chest, bending her leg and using two fingers of his other hand to enter her. It took him a second but when he found her g-spot he pressed up hard, stroking with the same rapid pace of his flicking tongue. It was more pressure than she was used to, strangely achy but pleasurably so, and it was impossible not to writhe under his touch as the need to come coiled tighter, dragged her higher, kept her suspended on the brink for a frustrating, dizzying, electrifying moment that stretched like a rubber band…

Then it snapped — a dam breaking, a wave cresting and finally letting gravity take over — and she curled forward with a sob of relief, pleasure rippling through her limbs and turning her bones to liquid, trembling through the aftershocks.

The shift from overwhelmingly perfect to just plain overwhelming was a split second. “Nngh, stop, stop —” She pawed weakly at his head, just barely smacking the edge of his fringe with her fingertips, but he lifted his mouth from her with a look of concern. “You’re fine,” she added quickly, struggling to catch her breath and shivering from the buzz of overstimulation, “s’just too much.”

David nodded, relieved, and sat back, wiping his face with the back of his arm. “Wow,” he murmured, eyes wide and awed. “Wowzers. Gwen, have you ever done that before?”

She sat up, frowning. “Come like a train? Like every time we — whoa.”

The sheets between her legs were wet. Not damp, wet like she’d spilled a glass of water (and cooling rapidly, she realized with a grimace, shifting to avoid the blotchy patch). Presumably the same wetness dripping down David’s chin.

“Oh my god.” She groaned, hiding her face in her hands like if she couldn’t see it, it would disappear. Or feel it slicking her inner thighs. “And uh, not really,” she finally muttered, a belated answer to his question. “Once or twice, but you’ve really gotta work over the g-spot to make it happ --” She glanced up just in time to catch his expression, a flash of recognition mixed with pleased sheepishness. “Which you were.” David quickly looked away, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and flushing pink. “On purpose?”

“I -- I’d read about it, that’s all!” he said, meeting her gaze defensively. “I knew it was, well . . . a thing. That some wom- people can do. And I was -- I’ve seen -- I was curious!” Gwen tried to stifle a laugh and failed, turning it into a choking snort, and he blushed even darker. “I know I should’ve just asked, but I couldn’t figure out how to say . . .”

She waited for him to finish the sentence, but when it became clear he had no intention of doing so, she injected as much demented cheer into her voice as possible and chirped, “‘Golly gee, Gwen, could I try making you squirt sometime?’”

Her imitation of his voice was passable -- she’d spent enough years making fun of him to get good at it -- and though he turned his head away she was positive he rolled his eyes at her. “I don’t know if that counts as bad language or not.”

“Oh no. It’d be so shocking if I said one of the no-no words.”

He chuckled, trying and failing to disguise it as a sigh, and climbed out of bed, tugging the rest of his clothes off. (As he picked up his shirt and wiped his face clean, Gwen quickly bent forward and sniffed the damp spot on the mattress. A little like saline, mostly like nothing. Good to know.)

“So how often do you trawl the internet for sex tips?” she asked, grinning. “Or -- god, tell me you’re not checking out books from the library.”

“Of course not!” He looked horrified at the thought. “And . . . sometimes. More often, after we started dating. I . . .” He paused, looking like he was reconsidering the rest of that sentence, and joined her on the bed to lean back against the headboard. “The time you visited, when I -- used my mouth on you for the first time.” (And what was it about his delicate tiptoeing that made it sound so much more filthy than if he’d said it outright?) “I thought -- or, well, I hoped . . . anyway, I did a little reading. Online, obviously. Just in case.”

So that was how he’d been so goddamn good right off the fucking bat. Always prepared, her boy scout. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, and sat up, throwing one leg over his lap and draping her arms around his shoulders. “Can I please fuck you now, Mr. Greenwood?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, his cock twitching up against her; the tip of his head slipped between her outer folds, making them both gasp. “C-condom,” he breathed, his voice raspy and uneven, and she scrambled off his lap before she could give in to the voice in the back of her head insisting they didn’t need to stop and get anything, he was right there , if she’d angled her hips right he could’ve been inside her already --

Her fingers were shaking as she retrieved the foil packet and brought it over, letting him take it with relief. (There was no way she wouldn’t have ripped it, with the way her whole body was trembling like the room had dropped ten degrees.) She watched him roll the latex down his cock, unable to tear her eyes away from how beautifully flushed it was, precome beading at the tip and slicking the inside of the condom.

God, she needed him inside her. Immediately.

David caught her with a breathless laugh as she vaulted back up onto the bed, curling his fingers around her hips and holding her steady. “Careful,” he murmured, and she rolled her eyes, fumbling blindly between her legs to line him up. “Have I- hhha --” He cut off, squeezing his eyes shut with a sigh as the head of his cock pressed into her, “t- told you how beautiful you are?”

Gwen frowned. It was kind of hard to focus on the question when her body was fluttering and pulsing as it adjusted to the welcome intrusion. “A lot?” she guessed, sinking down the last few inches too fast and bottoming out with an electric shock of pain and pleasure. “Fuck.”

“No. Not like that.” He slid one arm between their bodies, parting her folds to see the way she stretched around him. “I -- think you’re so pretty,” he managed, gently tracing her inner labia with his fingertips. “I like your colors. And how we -- um, contrast.”

No one had ever told her that her cunt was pretty before. It was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David would do. And he was right; his cock looked so pale against her, where she faded from shocking pink into a dark purplish-brown that lightened as it blended into her normal skin tone. There was something about it that reminded her of a sunset -- which was just the kind of stupid, romantic thing David made her think.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and raising up a few inches, “and I love you so much.”

“I — love you too.” Suddenly he froze, his eyes widening and his grip tightening around her waist, keeping her from moving.

“David? Everything okay?” God, he wasn’t having some kind of terrible flashback, was he? Maybe they shouldn’t be doing this.

His eyes flicked up to hers, and a wide, sunny smile spread across his face like spilled honey. “This is just like the first time.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about, but then it hit her: this was like the night they’d first had sex, from the position to the location to the dizzying, giddy strangeness of it.

God, he was perfect.

“Sort of.” She pressed a hard, quick kiss to his lips before grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging his head to the side so she could reach his neck; he whimpered and twitched twice, each pulse against her inner walls taking her breath away. “Except I know you way better now.” She punctuated the statement by licking a wide stripe up the side of his throat, then sucked a mark right beside his Adam’s apple, where it’d be safely hidden by his bandana. “All your weak points.”

“I—” He swallowed, tilting his head obediently as she trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses up to his ear, “d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She just hummed; that wasn’t worth dignifying with a real response, and the vibrations against his damp skin made him shiver. Instead she toyed with him: tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue, nipping at his earlobe with just a hint of teeth, exploring the delicate area around his ear and neck she knew so well, had staked her claim to a hundred times before.

David’s breathing quickened, roughened, and she had to tighten her grip on his hair to keep him from squirming. Her hips weren’t moving but his were, minute jolts she was positive he couldn’t control. “Gwen,” he gasped, “please, I -- hhit's too much, I can’t --”

“Could you come like this?” she asked, fighting to keep her own voice level. She could feel his pulse pounding in his cock and in his throat, under her lips; her clit throbbed in response, a metronome perfectly attuned to him. “Without me even moving? Or just . . .” She squeezed her internal muscles, clenching around him in a quick staccato pattern, and lapped her tongue against his neck in time.

“Nnno. Or -- yes?” His fingers tightened around her hips, a helpless spasm. “I don’t know. It’d . . . be torture.”

His voice was so low, wrecked, and Gwen’s stomach went into a dizzying, delicious free-fall. “Good,” she said before she could stop herself, think it through and reject it as sounding weird and freaky. David successfully pulled back from her, his eyes wide and blown out with arousal, and he looked so beautiful she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I want to torture you sometime. Nothing you’re not okay with -- and not now, but . . .”

“Yes,” he breathed, and the word was barely out of his mouth before his hand curled around the back of her neck and he was dragging her mouth to his, a kiss made of teeth and desperation with words gasped out against her lips: “yes, god, whatever you want Gwen please I love you --” His other hand slid to cup the curve of her thigh, urge her up onto her knees so he could fuck her properly, pull her back down to set a rhythm that bordered on frantic.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she braced her palms against the headboard for better leverage to ride him faster, harder. “Told you,” she teased, biting his lower lip hard enough to drag a breathy whine from him. “Weak.”

That made him moan, drawn-out and broken, and he slipped one hand between their bodies; curling it into a loose fist, he splayed his index and middle fingers just enough for her clit to glide between them, adding an extra jolt of friction every time she moved her hips. Gwen gasped, clutching at his back with one hand as her second orgasm coiled tighter at the base of her spine.

She bit his shoulder because she could, because she had to, because he’d like it and because it was that or scream loud enough to wake the entire camp. “Fuck, god, David --”

He shuddered and buried his face in her hair, his breath hot with a stream of pleasured mumbles beginning and ending in her name --

Gwen didn’t know which of them came first. It didn’t matter, really, because they dragged each other over the edge. His cock was almost painfully hard, unyielding as iron as her muscles tightened and fluttered around it, and the sudden snap upward of his hips as he came nearly knocked her breathless.

She was going to be sore tomorrow. Or . . . later today. She turned her head and mouthed at David’s neck, relishing the sweet-salt taste of his sweat, and let him hold her up as they caught their breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered belatedly. David huffed a weak laugh into her hair, stroking her back with a touch that was light and ticklish. “But we’re sleeping in your room tonight. I don’t wanna deal with the wet spot.”

Yeah, she was going to be sore, and exhausted, and facing a hell of a cleanup both in her bedroom and outside of it.

David groaned and gently pushed her upright, sliding out from under her and taking her hand, like she was a camper who needed to be ushered back to bed. “Phone,” she bleated, weakly reaching for it as they walked past, and he paused to pick it up for her, and in that second she loved him even more, more than she’d ever thought possible.

Worth it.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #this ending is too awkward to put in the main tags but fuck it #i spent weeks working on this okay #maybe even months #i am exhausted and cannot look at this anymore #hope y'all like your smut interspersed with pages upon pages of talking #because that's what you're getting #the only reason this isn't a total disaster is raenbows and don't anyone forget it #forestwriting

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maggot-monger · 2 years

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Feel like I'm cheating with this one so feel free not to answer but I've always been curious about a dvd commentary on your gabriel/kali poem "she is fierce and fearsome"? 👉👈

omg yay ok ok! idk why this would be cheating, poetry analysis is my favorite <3 (poem is here)

first shout out to whisper for the gabriel/kali prompt for the exchange; i very seriously doubt i ever would have gotten around to writing anything for kali and her too-chatty chair boi without that inspiration!

gabriel's adventures in figuring out how to be not-gabriel are so interesting to me...i have thought more about the very early days of that, with adapting to being an untethered angel and finding a role in the norse pantheon and learning about existing long-term in a human or at least human-ish body, but his growth would certainly have continued over time. he's an entity that seems to have his share of curiosity about things, and nordic religion wasn't static so there would continue to be changes regardless. it doesn't suuuper matter when this poem is set, but in my mind, it is after gabriel is well-established and comfortable as loki, and has started to be interested in expanding his social circle to include gods from elsewhere. he's stable enough to be able to willingly give bits of himself to others who deserve it, and WOW does he think kali deserves it.

the way kali is described here is at least attempting to be a combination of things he feels are different about her compared to him, and qualities that overlap between his identities as loki and as the archangel gabriel. she has a frightening, commanding, absolute presence that would be at least somewhat similar to how angels are (She moves like fire and flame, / Rage, wrath, and cities burned — gabriel certainly knows about what it's like to move like that from his old testament days...) but she's not following anyone's orders, which is much more a god thing than an angel thing — though she carries that differently from how 'loki' carries his own godhead. she smiles and laughs and understands games and trickery like loki does, but she's not sneaking around trying to steal freya's jewelry; she's decked out in jewels of her own, having no need to hide anything about herself, which gabriel can't relate to under any of his names anymore. so like, i guess game recognizes game here, but also kali does everything she does with her whole chest in a way gabriel maybe more associates with angels than with his own experiences as a god, which is eye-opening and super attractive! he's not trying to emulate her; he's good with being sly and full of lies, but it's exciting to be reminded of what unabashed directness was like (both to embody and to experience) from someone who is not at ALL like an angel in other ways. it's comforting and new all at once.

so, what better way to show his admiration than by disguising one of the most valuable "things" he has, that symbolizes the parts of his old self that she reminds him of, that he no longer has any use for, that he carries around like it owns him but that she could wear in a way where it's clear she owns it? the halo marks gabriel as something he doesn't want to be anymore, but it's still a part of him so he doesn't want to just discard it; giving it to her is a devotional sacrifice that is huge but is no hardship for him at all. there's a kind of freedom in entrusting someone new with his angelicness, even though (or maybe because) she doesn't know that that's what he's giving her — to an extend it binds him to her, but that's better than being bound to heaven — and he has proven to himself already that being halo-bound isn't enough to keep him tied to something he doesn't want to be tied to, if he changes his mind.

he disguises it as a marigold partly because it fit my rhyme scheme and partly because they have relevant symbolic meaning. they're associated with the sun, which idk feels like a gabriel sort of symbolism to go with, and they represent joy, which is very much how he feels about all this. my understanding is that they are popular flowers to have at hindu weddings, and this poem is like...not quite that exactly, but is certainly an expression of some sort of commitment that is at least similar in tone to a wedding (at least from one of their perspectives lol). they ALSO have associations with lost love, which is inevitable for gabriel when thinking about things he might miss about everyone he left behind when he left heaven, but that loss was deliberate, and the sadness of it is small in comparison to the new love and excitement he has found.

also since it is a structured poem: the rhyme scheme was honestly a bitch but was fun as well...aba bcb cdc ded, etc. it's sort of a braided rhyme, i guess? every line ending word flows into a new rhyme, so things that seem to stand out when they're introduce become the central structure of the rhyme of the next trio of lines — a bit how many of the aspects of what gabriel admires about kali flow back into aspects of himself, which in turn flow back again into aspects of her.

#ty!!#replies #artoodeeblue #ask games #spn thots

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davidmann95 · 3 years

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How about those JL storyboards?

In case you haven’t heard, Zack Snyder is putting on display the ‘storyboards’ - i.e. a rough plot summary accompanied by some Jim Lee sketches - for what would have been Justice League 2 and 3, or as this puts it 2 and ‘2A’. You can see them here (I imagine better-quality versions will soon be released), and read a transcript here. This is evidently a very early version: this was apparently pitched prior to the release of BvS and Justice League being rewritten in the wake of it, with numerous plot details that now don’t line up with what we know about the Snyder Cut, plus it outright mentions it builds on the originally planned versions of the Batman and Flash movies. But it’s a broad outline of what was gonna go down, and while I initially thought it was Snyder throwing in the towel, the timing - paired with the ambiguity left by the necessity for changes, including that this doesn’t factor whatever that “massive cliffhanger” at the end of the Cut is - says to me he’s hoping this’ll be a force multiplier behind efforts to will sequel/s into existence. He’s probably right.

I’ll be discussing spoilers below, but in short: with this Zack Snyder has finally lived up to Alan Moore, in that like Twilight of the Superheroes I wouldn’t believe this was real as opposed to a shockingly on-point parody if not for direct, irrefutable evidence.

Doing some rapid-fire bullet points for this baby to kick us off:

* Folks who know the subject say a lot of this is a yet further continuation of Snyder doing Arthuriana fanfic with the League reskinned over those major players, and I’ll take their word for it.

* I don’t know whether I love or hate that in Justice League 2 the Justice League are only an extant thing for the first scene, and then it’s Snyder giving everybody their own mini-movies. It’s compressing the entire MCU “loosely interconnected solo stories leading to a single big movie later” strategy into a single movie!

* Funniest line in the whole thing: "Even Lantern has heard of the Kryptonian, worried that he's under the control of Darkseid. He heard his spirit was unbreakable." Hal what fuckin' Superman movie did YOU watch? Second funniest being “IT WILL GIVE HIM POWER OVER ALL LIVING LIFE”

* 90% of the plot I have nothing to say about, it’s generic stage-setting crap. That to be clear is the ‘shocked it’s Snyder’ element, it feels so crassly commercial in a way I can’t believe is coming from the BvS guy.

* Most of what I have to say is unsurprisingly gonna be about a handful of characters but Cyborg’s happy ending being “he isn’t visibly disabled anymore!” is not great!

* The Goddess of War battle with Superman...never pays off? No clue why it’s there.

* What I’d originally heard was that the Codex in Superman’s blood was the last key to the Anti-Life Equation and that’s why Darkseid was coming to Earth. It’s not like all of this wouldn’t have already been averted by Kal-El’s pod smacking into an asteroid on the way to Earth so it’s not as if this makes it any more Superman’s fault, and it would have at least tied all this back to the beginning of the movies, but I suppose that was either fake or from a later draft.

* I have NO idea how this was reimagined without the ‘love triangle’, it’s the central character thing and the entire climax flows directly out of it!

* Darkseid’s kinda a chump in this, huh

Anonymous said: So: Does Zack Snyder hate Superman?

Look: the hilarity of this when Cuck Kent has been a go-to Snyder cult insult towards ‘inferior’ takes on Superman for years cannot be understated, yet at the same time I can almost wrap my brain around where Snyder’s coming from with that as the end for his take on the character. He talked in that Variety piece on how his interest in Superman is informed by having adopted children himself, and Deborah Snyder is the stepmother to his kids by previous relationships, so I can see where he’d be coming from, and I can even imagine how he’d see this as ‘rhyming’ in the sense of “the series begins with Kal-El being adopted by Earth, it ends with him adopting a child of Earth!” In the same way as MARTHA, I can envision how he would put these pieces together in his head thematically without registering or caring what the end result would actually look like. In this case, Superman raising the kid of the man who beat the shit out of him who Batman had with Clark’s wife, who earlier told Bruce she was staying with Clark because he ‘needed her’, suggesting if inadvertently that this really honest to god was a “she’s only staying with Superman out of pity, she really loved Batman more” thing.

But Clark is nothing in this. He’s sad and existential because of coming back from the dead I guess, then he’s corrupted, then time’s undone and he woo-rah rallies the collective armies of the world (interesting angle for the ‘anti-military/anti-establishment’ Superman he’s talked up as) as his big heroic moment in the finale, and then he stops being sad because he’s adopting a kid. So his big much-ballyhooed, extremely necessary five-movie character arc towards truly becoming Superman was:

Sad weird kid -> sad weird kid learns he’s an alien, is still weird and sad, maybe he shouldn’t save people because things could go really wrong? -> his dad is so convinced it could go wrong he lets himself die -> ????? -> Clark is saving people anyway -> learns his origin, gets an inspiring speech about being a bridge between worlds and a costume -> becomes superman (not Superman, that’s later) to save the world, albeit a very property-damagey version, rejects his heritage he just learned about and space dad’s bridge idea -> folks hate him being superman and that sucks though at least he’s got a girlfriend now -> things go so wrong he considers not being superman but his ghost dad reminds him shit always goes wrong so he should be good anyway, which sorta feels like it contradicts his previous advice -> immediate renewed goodness is out the window as he’s blackmailed into having to try and kill a dude but the dude happens to coincidentally have some things in common so they don’t kill each other after all -> big monster now but superman keeps supermaning at it because he loves his girlfriend and he dies -> he’s brought back, wears black which apparently means now he likes Krypton again? -> he has work friends now but he’s still sad because he was dead -> evil now! -> wait nevermind time travel -> rallies the troops -> his wife’s having a kid so he’s not sad anymore -> Superman! Who gives way to more Batman.

Do I think Zack Snyder is lying when he says he likes Superman? No. I think he sincerely finds much of the basic conceits and imagery engaging. But I don’t think he meaningfully gives shit about Clark as a character, just a vessel for Big Iconic Beats he wants to hit. Whereas while for instance he’s critical of Batman as an idea (at least up to a point), he’s much more passionately, directly enamored with him as a presence and personality. So while Superman may be the character whose ostensible myth cycle or arc or however it’s spun might be propelling a lot of events here, it’s a distant appreciation - of course the other guy takes over and subsumes him into his own narrative. Of course Batman is the savior, the past and the future (though if he’s supposed to be Batman’s kid raised by Superman there’s no excuse for him not to be Nightwing), the tragic martyr to our potential. Admittedly the implication here is also that Batman can apparently only REALLY with his whole heart be willing to sacrifice his life to save an innocent, for that matter apparently his great love, once said innocent is a receptacle for his Bat-brood, but he and Clark are both already irredeemable pieces of shit by the end of BvS so it’s not like this even registers by comparison.

Anonymous said: That “plan” Snyder had was utter dogshit. Picture proof that DC & WB hate Superman. Also I love how you’re like Jor-El: Every single idealistic take you had about Snyder, his fandom, and BvS was wrong. Snyder’s an edgy hack, his fanbase just wants to jerk off to their edgy self-insert Batgod as he screams FUCK while mowing people down with machine guns, and the idea that BvS said Superman was better than Bats was completely wrong. You know what comes next SuperMann: Either you die or I do.

In the final analysis, beyond that mother of god is there sure no conceivable excuse for the treatment of Lois in this? The temptation is to join that anon and say as I originally tweeted that these were “built entirely to disabuse every single redemptive reading of the previous work and any notion of these movies as nuanced, artistic, self-reflective, or meaningful”.

...

...yeah, okay, that’s mostly right. Zack Snyder’s vision really was the vision of an edgelord idiot with bad ideas who was never going to build up to anything that would reframe it all as a sensible whole. He’s a sincere edgelord genuinely trying really hard with his bad ideas who put some of them together quite cleverly! But they’re fucking bad and the endgame was never anything more than ramping up into smashing the action figures together as big as he could, the political overtones and moral sketchiness of BvS while trying to say something in that movie reverberated through the grand scheme of his pentalogy in no way beyond giving his boys a big sad pit to rise out of so when they kicked ass later it’d rule harder, and all the gods among men questions and horror and trappings were only that: trappings. Apparently he’s really pleasant and well-meaning in person, but at his core his art as embodied in a couple weeks in his 4-hour R-rated Justice League movie meant to be seen in black-and-white all comes down to that time he yelled at someone on Twitter that he couldn’t appreciate Snyder’s work because it’s for grown-ups. He made half-clever, occasionally exciting shit cape movies for a bunch of corny pseudo-intellectual douchebags, folks latching onto and justifying blockbusters that at least acknowledge how horrifying the world is right now even if the superheroes are basically useless in the face of it if not outright part of the problem until a convenient alien invasion shows up to justify them, and a handful of non-asshole smart people who vibe with it but...well. ‘Suckered’ is a harsh word, and definitely doesn’t apply to all of them re: what they’ve gotten out of it up to this point and would (somehow) get out of this. But it doesn’t apply to none of them, either.

#Justice League #Zack Snyder #Superman #Batman #DCEU #Opinion

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freckledmountain · 3 years

Text

Lulling comfort

By @freckledmountain for @romeoandjulietyouwish

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

"Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between. … He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again."

Or, an AU where you hear whatever your platonic soulmate sings or hums! :D

For the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1: Change

Some-

BODY ONCE TOLD ME

the WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME

I AIN´T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE sHE-ED

Peter´s endearing screech and dramatics at the starting notes startles a fond laugh out of Tony, making DUM-E beep in curious surprise.

The bot has a screwdriver in his grasp and usually Tony´d chastise him for grabbing tools without permission (he has not forgotten the last lab incident, thank you) but right now he´s much too preoccupied resisting the urge to join in the kid´s slumber party via his own singing.

God bless karaoke.

Peter had looked sheepish when he´d mentioned it to him, the little get-together his scary girlfriend and Ned had planned this weekend at the latter´s place after a ridiculously long week of exams. Tony had absolutely no problem listening to his kid´s voice in his head, but it was still sweet of Peter to ask beforehand.

“You know I work best with music anyway.” He´d said, remembering all the times he´d listened to Peter perform dramatically to songs on the radio.

Peter´d hunched his shoulders a bit, smiling. “Yeah, okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure because Ned might ask me to duet to Take on me again, and last time I sang it you were on a meeting and FRIDAY sent me that video of you mouthing the words and Ms. Potts looked like the disappointed dad from that Shawn Mendes vine- “

…even if he had no idea what the kid was talking about sometimes.

He´d gasped and placed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “Have you forgotten the time you had Call me maybe on loopin my head for an entire day?”

“…It was a dare?”

“Hmm” he´d said, raising an eyebrow playfully as Peter dissolved into laughter. “whatever you say, bud.”

His smile softens unconsciously at the memory as he methodically tweaks a few things in his nanotech suit, still listening to Peter belt out lyrics in his head. Truth be told, he misses the kid working alongside him like usual, but he knows how important spending time with his friends is to Peter.

(The parenting books say it´s imperative too, although of course he hasn´t ever read, purchased five on a whim or fret over anything of the sort. Obviously.)

He hopes Ned and Michelle´s respective other halves don´t mind the kids crooning 80´s rock on a Friday evening, but he guesses if they´re anything like them, they probably won´t complain. Soulmates are cool like that.

He remembers all the times Rhodey had told him about his soulmate´s voice inside his own head, how he´d suddenly perk up and grin at whatever melody he could hear, how he´d start humming randomly to join in.

Tony had grown up hearing nothing but his own treacherous thoughts for the longest time, almost losing hope completely at the possibility of having a soulmate right up until adulthood. Heavy metal music blasted over his speakers constantly whenever he was busy in his workshop, but he never joined in. There were moments when he´d thought his love for singing would be soured forever, since apparently the universe or whoever was in charge didn´t have a problem leaving him without someone out there to share it with him in his head.

Thankfully, he always did have Rhodey, and boycould he kick-start the fun in singing again with his flawless Mariah Carey impressions. He´d loved the few times he´d heard Pepper sing too, and there´d even been one memorable instance where he´d surprised Happy vocalizing in an unexpectedly pleasant lilt.

Hearing Peter sing though...simply put, there was nothing else like it.

-and we could aLL use a little changeeeeeeeEEE

…Yes, nothing was quite like it.

Tony shakes his head, smiling, and grabs his phone to text May about the kid´s shenanigans. She´d been more than a little concerned when Peter and him had figured out who the other was, (that was one heck of a superhero fundraiser) but now they´ve become much closer, and Tony can genuinely say they´re friends. He´s glad to have her on his side, because May Parker is, in Peter terms, a very kind powerhouse, and not someone he´d like to mess with.

He´s about to press send when the lights in the room flash red.

Tony´s up and summoning his gauntlet attentively in a second, right as FRIDAY pulls up screens around him, showing footage of the emergency.

“What am I looking at, FRI?”

“Around 30 heavily armed machines have emerged in Midtown Manhattan, boss.” She responds, as the room fills with projections. The robots on screen are huge and ugly as heck, about the width and height of three school buses together. They´re making their way through the streets surprisingly quickly for how heavy they look. People run away, steering clear of their illuminated blasts. “They appear to be releasing high frequency blasts approximately every ten seconds. Local police have just arrived at the scene and are requesting backup, since the blasts are causing structural damage to the surrounding buildings. The source of these machines is unknown.”

“Tell the team to suit up and meet me there.”

“They have already been alerted, boss, but I´ll relay your message as well.”

The rest of his suit materializes around him, and he makes haste to get to the nearest window, half worried and half downright annoyed at whoever was behind this.

“Another one for the robot bingo card on means of world domination.” He says to himself, unimpressed. Just one week without this crap…

He soars above the sky nonetheless, blasting his way towards the fight.

Please stay put kid, he wishes, even as the singing stops.

---

Three blocks.

He´s three blocks away from where Peter is making his way back when it happens.

As big and fast as the robots are, Tony can tell they weren´t exactly made by the finest of the loons who regularly try to take over New York. Not to mention they´re absolutely appalling to look at, whoever designed these things had absolutely no taste, Tony thinks, crushing his twenty-second bot with the suit´s repulsors. It hasn´t exactly been easy, since the wretched machines have no real apparent motive but to blow up everything in their path, but within an hour it seems they´re done with the worst of it.

He can see Nat and Wanda dealing with the remains of one of the last ones below, while a little way away Cap´s talking with a few cops, scoping out the damage. Even though the air is permeated with smoke and there´s rubble in some places, there are no casualties, and they´ve thankfully emptied out the buildings that got wrecked. SHIELD will take care of the rest.

He flies over the skyscrapers, keeping an eye out for any other bots, but it seems like FRIDAY´s finished identifying all of them. He activates a private line on the comms to talk to Peter.

“Done securing the area from whatever that disastrous colour scheme was?”

He can hear Peter´s good-natured groan as his location pops up on Tony´s screen, six blocks away.

“I know, right? I can wear mismatched socks for a week and rock them no problem, but blue with like, eye-melting neon? Yikes.”

“Exactamundo. Couldn´t agree with you more, kid. But hey, it looks like you might actually be able to get back to your sleepover after all. Can´t wait to hear what alarming chorus is going to keep me up until midnight.”

“Oh you just wait, we´re doing ABBA next and it´s gonna be so-“

FRIDAY tears through the conversation with an alarm, but it´s precious seconds too late.

A gasp. An abrupt thud resounding through the comms. A scream. Peter´s.

Tony´s blood freezes in his veins.

“Peter? Peter!?”

He gets there in less than a minute and sees one of the bots with its blaster pointed at Peter, still smoking from the shot.

He obliterates it without a second thought, his mind swirling with fear and rejection at FRIDAY´s next words as he runs towards Spiderman´s crumbled figure.

“No heartbeat detected, boss”.

Chapter 2

The first time he´d ever heard Peter´s voice, he´d been running on three hours of sleep, a frankly heart-attack inducing dose of caffeine, and no motivation whatsoever to sit down with stuffy board members for five hours.

It didn´t exactly come as a surprise that for the first few milliseconds of the “Itsy bitsy spider” chant in his head he´d thought, confusingly, that it might just have been his mind finally resorting to the resurface of old nursery rhymes as a way to tell him to go the frick to sleep.

His heart however, was another matter.

As ridiculous and improbable as it sounded, a new something in his chest rose even before he knew what was happening. He might not have been a machine, but something slowly and irrevocably clicked into place the more he heard that gentle voice go on about water spouts and suns.

He´d stopped short in realization. Blinked.

And then smiled wide enough to lose himself in the mirth of it.

He´d run back to his workshop right after that, laughing like mad with the absolute mayhem of emotions coursing through his whole being, almost crashing into Pepper in the process. She´d looked back at him in concern, questions already forming in her lips, before Tony had frantically mimed at her to keep quiet, wanting to listen to the soft voice´s final notes.

Once the song finished, Tony may or may not have let out a loud shriek of sheer joy and told an increasingly delighted Pepper all about it, practically bursting with excitement.

“Pep! Wait, what do I do now!? Do I- Do I sing it back to him? Do I sing another- crap I don´t even know any children´s songs, JARVIS, JARVIS!”

In the end he´d had to phone Rhodey to yell the news ecstatically to him, because he´d just found maybe the universe hadn´t wanted to screw him over after all, and he felt like screaming it from the rooftops. The little voice was sweet and shy and boyish and happy, and about the best thing Tony had heard in his damn life. He couldn´t have contained himself if he´d tried, and heck if he was going to any time soon.

(“Tones, what- “

“Rhodey!”

“…was that you or a screech owl.”

“It happened! There´s- a little kid! Somewhere! Spiders! My soulmate!”

“The- wait what-? “)

Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between.

…

He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again.

Burning.

He´s burning all over.

Screaming in pain, he tries to escape from the scorching heat, but it´s everywhere, it´s everything, he´s the pain, he´s the fire, everything hurts-

And then as soon as it appears, the pain is gone.

He opens his eyes, blinking woozily.

“Oh, thank God.”

His vision blurs all over for a minute. There´s dampness in the corners, left over from tears.

Tears?

He makes an attempt to sit up, but there´s a hand holding his shoulder gently. He blinks again.

Tries to decipher his surroundings.

He´s laying down in a mostly deserted, grubby looking street. A figure kneels close to him, some sort of red and gold robot type thing. He narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure out why it feels so familiar…but finds, to a detached kind of surprise, that he can´t.

He has no idea what happened.

The robot seems to be very relieved for some reason, just staring up at the sky for a couple of seconds, taking a deep, wheezy breath.

Even with his head feeling like wet cotton, he looks at him with concern. The robot sounds seconds away from fainting. Is he…alright?

When the robot´s face opens and a man´s head peeps out (cool!), he almost jumps back in surprise.

And then…

Well. He still doesn´t have a clue who this person is, but as soon as he sees the man´s expression of utter joy and relief, something inside him settles. Safe.

He blinks in confusion at the feeling. He knows this person. He does.

But who is he?

“Pete? You´re back bud. Do you feel okay?” The man´s (man? robot? man-robot? cyborg? figment of his imagination?) smile fades slightly, looking at him in worry. “FRIDAY” Friday? Who on earth is he talking to? “didn´t you say the CPR made his vitals-“

“I´m- I´m fine” he says, because enormous confusion aside, he is. Maybe his head is scrambled, and he feels exhausted, but he has a feeling he´s been in worse shape before.

A feeling.

The man (he´s decided on man) starts going on about robots, and getting him to a tower with someone called Dr. Cho, but all he can do is blink back, his confusion increasing.

“I´m really sorry” he interrupts, knowing he´s probably going to disappoint the man, but needing to push forward even so, “who- who are you? Are you-? “

He tries to put a word on the feeling seeing the man´s face had evoked in him before, tries to remember who he is or what he has to do with the man or why he feels so…safe. So safe. With him there, even with all the questions going round and round inside his head.

“Are you my dad?”

The man´s face stills. For a second, it looks like his brain short-circuits.

Mood, a thought rings out in his head, unbidden.

That´s when he hears it.

A huge metallic…thing coming through the street towards them, and he doesn´t know why but it makes his heart thump like a rabbit´s in a cage, and suddenly he gets a flash of remembering pain, and he knows these machines, these machines are dangerous, and what if the man gets hurt too-

He pushes the man behind him as he desperately tries to look for somewhere they can hide-

-but the man grabs his hand first and hurries them both towards the sturdiest-looking car on the street, crouching so they´re out of sight.

“Uh, alright. I- this must be really weird for you, but it´ll be okay. Just stay here for now, ´kay? I´ll- We´ll figure this out. You with me?” The man holds his gaze for a second, and it´s so sincere, he finds himself nodding.

The man smiles. “Okay. Give me a sec.” And then he gets up and turns towards the robot.

What the-what´s he doing!?

He reaches out clumsily to drag him back, but the man´s face gets obscured by his robot mask once more and he…

Flies?

The frick? He thinks in bewilderment, as he sees the man lift off and attack the robot with blasts coming from his hands. My maybe-dad can fly!?

Either he lives in a sci-fi novel, or he´s going absolutely nuts.

Could be both at this point, frankly.

The whiz of gold and red fighting the robot is almost quicker than his sight can keep up with, but he persists, looking out anxiously for any opening the robot might have to take the man down so he can try to warn him about it. There is none though, the robot might be exceedingly fast, but the man remains unyielding. He takes another look at the giant machine and sees it´s blaster-

And then it´s like someone takes his brain and shakes it around everywhere, and the throbbing is so sudden he kneels and clutches his head tightly to keep it from falling apart. His thoughts feel shattered and tampered with, and the pain-

He cries out in agony, and tears fill his eyes again.

The man! I have to look out for him!

He tries to listen to the fight again, but just as he tries to focus in on it it´s like a tsunami of yells and police sirens and voices washes over him, and noise, why is there so much noise-

Overwhelmed, he kneels until his forehead touches the grainy concrete, and wishes he would just pass out.

He doesn´t, though.

Among the oversaturated ocean of noise, one adds to the mix.

Except this one isn´t grating. This one doesn´t make everything seem like too much.

Because it feels like it´s coming from within himself.

He´s at a loss for what´s happening, but the voice slowly and lightly blocks out all the other noise, grounding him in a gentle tune. In a flash, he recognizes the song. He knows where he heard it last.

Mr Stark.

And he remembers.

“Kid? What are you doing up?”

He shrugs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Baby Tarzan laughs onscreen.

He half expects Mr Stark to push him for more details, but he seems to understand Peter´s not in a talking mood and walks up to him solemnly.

“Scoot.”

He does, and Mr Stark plops down next to him, wordlessly extending his arms out in invitation. Peter falls into the hug gratefully and sighs. Exhaustion pulls down on his bones, but he´d rather not get back to the nightmare he woke up from. Mr Stark snorts softly at something in the movie, and then they both jump a bit at the sudden loud gorilla roar. They keep watching the movie, and Peter´s curls are brushed back gently in a soothing motion.

He wants to sleep. But he can´t.

But he´s safe here, isn´t he?

His chest grows heavier as he thinks of the dream, and when he blinks, his eyelids dampen. He hasn´t shed a tear yet, but Mr Stark must sense something again because his hand at Peter´s hair stills.

And then he starts singing.

It´s a lulling comfort, and Peter melts into the embrace, allowing his tired eyes some rest.

He´s safe.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

He´s safe.

With a final shot from Iron man´s repulsors, the robot powers down, and Peter runs out to meet Mr Stark, almost crushing his ribs in a hug.

“Woah, woah!” The helmet´s visor pulls up, revealing a grinning Tony. “Did that actually work? FRIDAY told me you were freaking out and I thought it might help calm you down.” He says, hugging him back. “But it did more than that, didn´t it?”

Peter´s too relieved to do anything but nod happily into his shoulder, but he gets the point across.

They stay there for a full minute, just holding on to each other. Until Tony grumbles out a “and I can´t believe you remembered Phil Collins before Iron man, seriously.” and Peter bursts out laughing, lightening the mood.

“The man didn´t sing that soundtrack in five languages for nothing, Mr Stark. It slaps.”

Tony hides his smile in Peter´s curls, and hugs him close.

#Writing #The friendly neighborhood exchange #WHOOO #irondad and spiderson #I love them #platonic soulmates

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

From the Mouths of Fools

Belphegor has a habit of forcing his brothers into trouble, mostly with you. There’s nothing more satisfying than the look of horror on their face when they think they must have dashed their chances with you and that they’re digging the hole deeper. Each time, you reach out a hand and ease their worries, and Belphegor’s stomach twists as you tell them with kind eyes not to worry, that they’re very sweet. Why did you have to be such a spoilsport?

(also posted on ao3 @ treetunkdaddy)

Poems: A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns, I Carry Your Heart With Me by E. E. Cummings, I Love You by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Love Sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda

Leviathan: I love you. Leviathan: I love you more than anyone else in this world. You: Thanks! Leviathan: Happy now? Leviathan: As I thought, this was the right thing to say.

You stared at your phone screen for a moment longer with one eyebrow raised. Something here wasn’t right. Though you weren’t some grand detective, you could tell that the texts didn’t sound like Levi at all Even beyond the sudden boldness, if you pictured Levi texting those messages you could only imagine him with a rain cloud over his head as he hunched over his phone in sorrow. The somber tone didn’t match his usual excitement. Maybe he was trying to get into character for some sort of cosplay…? Biting the inside of your cheek, you tried to figure out if he had mentioned getting into character for something. Still, there was no way he wouldn’t know all the lines of a character he was trying to embody, and it seemed far-fetched that he’d choose something so...overt, let alone practice it with you.

Before you could distract yourself too much from the tasks you were supposed to be working on, a solid oof a few feet away from your door caught your attention. You could just barely hear a half-hearted grumble barely covering the low boyish giggles of a scheming Belphegor as Levi freaked out in a jumble of words that sounded more like a keysmash than an argument. A moment later, you got another slew of texts that seemed much more like the demon you knew.

Leviathan: AAAEWAGVNAFBPEABD Leviathan: WAAAAAIT! Leviathan: I take that back! Leviathan: AARGH, no, that’s not what I meant! Leviathan: I left my D.D.D. on the couch and Belphie ran off with it!

Ah. That made sense. It also explained the nervous energy you could practically feel radiating from where the two demons undoubtedly still lay in a heap. With a devious look on your face, you tapped away at your phone.

You: I took a screenshot of it!

You were right about one of them being outside your door. You could hear Levi’s startled yelp, followed shortly by frantic footsteps running down the hall to his door. The three dots danced on your screen as the sound got quieter, the message reaching you just as the door to Levi’s room slammed shut.

Leviathan: No, you can’t! Delete that ASAP! DELETEIIIITTTTT!

Snickering to yourself, you hefted yourself out of your seat and opened your door to peer out into the hallway. A little ways to your left, Belphie lay sprawled out on the carpet with a half-dazed expression on his face. Taking care to keep your footsteps quiet in case he actually was asleep, you bent over his face to look at his half-lidded eyes. After a moment of shifting into focus, Belphie gave you a lazy smile and patted the floor next to him.

“You should join me,” He offered. “The carpet is surprisingly soft.”

“Yeah, and surprisingly dirty,” You added, gently toeing at his shoulder as if that would spur him to move.

“If you stare at the pattern on the ceiling and let your eyes get unfocused, it’s real easy to fall asleep,” He suggested. You turned your head to look at the ceiling, seeing nothing but a boring, dark texture above you. If you squinted, you could almost make out swirls in the paint. Maybe demons had a better time seeing details in the dark.

Beneath you, Belphie hummed contentedly, folding his hands at his stomach. He almost looked like he was sunbathing in a meadow, surrounded by fragrant flowers - the image made your heart jump the slightest bit. Maybe, if that was the case, you would have joined him. Lying next to him as a gentle breeze danced over your skin and the tall grass kissed your skin...that didn’t seem like a bad way to spend an afternoon.

“Hey,” Belphie asked suddenly, holding you in a serious stare. It was one he didn’t bother to give you often, saving it only for when you trespassed him so greatly he needed to make it known (more often than not when he told you how lame Lucifer was if you mentioned how he’s helped you with some administrative details for the exchange program). “What did you feel when Levi sent you that message?”

“What?” You asked, shaken by the jarring change in his voice. He sounded much more stern, and though it was hard to tell while looking at him upside down, you were pretty sure he was holding you in a glare, albeit a very gentle one.

“Did it make you happy?” He asked. “That he might love you?”

Your face flushed at the personal question and you averted your gaze, missing the way Belphie’s gaze hardened at your reaction. “I-I knew they weren’t from Levi,” You answered, shaking your head and looking back at Belphie. “They sounded way too suave for him. I thought maybe he was playing a character, or something. I didn’t think they meant anything.”

“You thought they didn’t mean anything…” Nodding, Belphie’s mouth twisted in thought as he looked just past your shoulder blankly. Suddenly his arms shot up and he grabbed at the air a few times, shutting off any gateway to questions you might have. “Help me up. I wanna nap somewhere softer than this where I won’t get trampled.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned the idea of leaving him there around once before shifting to his side and pulling him up. He took the chance to stumble into you, jamming his chin into your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled into your neck. Instead of feeling his breath tickle your skin, however, you felt his hair brush against you as he adjusted, eventually stopping once he was satisfied. You realized for a moment he was listening for your pulse, and your breathing shallowed on instinct, as if you wanted him to hear it. He didn’t tell you what he was listening for, only groaning when you started to ask him to let go so you could resume your day.

“Mmmm….maybe I should nap here? So comfy….” He murmured. Though he made no move to let go, he also didn’t fight you when you finally separated him from your body. Giving him a farewell smile, you turned your back to leave, not seeing his face fall in displeasure.

---

A few days later, there was a book on your bed that you were positive wasn’t there when you left that morning.

Dropping your backpack unceremoniously by your door, you peered at the worn cover to see it was an old collection of romantic poems. There was no suspicious Latin on the cover, now jewels (or missing jewels) to indicate it was a spellbook or otherwise enchanted, so you picked it up. Upon closer inspection, you saw it was a collection of human poems, many of which you read in your early school days. There were a few multicolored tabs stuck in it, no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement. Though it looked to be Satan’s book, you couldn’t imagine him risking getting adhesive on the worn pages. Curious, you flipped to the first marked page and scanned it, face flushing almost immediately.

O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune.

Flipping to the next marked page, your face turned an even deeper red as they scanned the page.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Each page you turned to gave you smooth velvet words that someone very clearly wanted to direct at you, each getting more intimate than the last. Every poem you read sent more blush to your face until you were positive another word would have you passing out.

I love your lips when they’re wet with wine And red with a wild desire; I love your eyes when the lovelight lies Lit with a passionate fire. I love your arms when the warm white flesh Touches mine in a fond embrace; I love your hair when the strands enmesh Your kisses against my face.

Honeyed words of Shakespeare and Dickinson forced your heart to pump faster in your chest than you ever thought possible. Though your body really did feel like it might collapse under the affection the poems held, you couldn’t stop yourself from flipping through. Even though it was clear these poems weren’t written for you, the slightest implication that someone could think so highly of you had your head spinning. Before long, you were skimming the last marked page, barely able to catch your breath.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

A loud roar of Belphegor’s name shook you out of your love-stricken trance. Slamming the book shut as if you’d been caught doing something wrong, you listened to the hasty, angry footsteps of Satan right outside your door. The closer he got, you could hear his heavy breathing as he fought to contain his anger. “Where is that book? I know you were the last person in my room!”

Though the thought of being on the receiving end of Satan’s anger was enough to send you running, you slowly cracked open your door and peered out. Satan immediately whipped his head around to look at you, softening just a bit in an effort to let you know that you weren’t what he was after.

In a timid voice, you asked, “Which book would you happen to be looking for?”

“It was a collection of poems. You wouldn’t have happened to see it, would you?”

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door all the way and held the book out to him. Snatching it out of your hands, Satan widened his eyes at the tabs. “Did you-”

“It was like that!” You defended. Satan realized you were jumpy and slowly inhaled, willing himself to calm down before you continued. “It was on my bed when I came home.”

With a gruff hum, Satan nodded at your explanation before flipping through the marked pages. “It’s alright, (Y/n). It’s not your fault. I’m positive Belphie was the one who took it since he was-”

Stopping mid-sentence, Satan flushed a deep red once he read which poems were marked to be read. “O-oh,” He murmured, pulling at his sweater collar and clearing his throat. “This is...these are pretty romantic, huh?”

“Well, it is a love poem collection,” You offered helpfully with a shrug. As if he didn’t believe you, Satan looked at the cover himself.

“I hope you didn’t mistake my intent. I didn’t mean for this book to end up in your care.”

“Ouch,” You hissed through your teeth. “Aren’t you a heartbreaker?”

Satan’s eyes widened before he furrowed his brows and backed a few steps away. “No, that’s not what I- I didn’t mean it like that.” Heaving a sigh, he placed a hand on his chest and shut his eyes as he scowled. “Thank you for returning it to me. Have a good day.”

Satan turned on his heel and walked briskly away, leaving you to chuckle at the empty space before retreating back to your room. On your bed, beneath where the book was, lay a green sticky note you had missed in the excitement. Picking it up, you saw a note scrawled in messy handwriting that made you question just how genuine these advances were.

I’m not the best at expressing myself with words. Maybe if I borrow the words of others, you can finally know how I feel.

---

The pattern continued for a few days, with each brother falling victim to one of Belphie’s tricks. Each time, they managed to fluster themselves to impossible standards, aside from Asmo who insisted he never sent you that love letter and don’t you know how beautiful his handwriting is like the rest of him? Oh, but if a love letter was what you were after, he’d send mountains and mountains until you just couldn’t resist him anymore-

By that time, you had gently shut the door in his face and jogged back to your room, just as red as the rest of the brothers were when it was their time to be the victim. Belphegor even managed to send you an email with a fake account with a name so similar to Lucifer’s you almost didn’t catch the differences. By that time, you saw through his jokes and simply asked:

You: Really? An email? [email protected]: What? He’s such a loser that I wouldn’t put it past him.

Even now, over a week since the last incident, Mammon was shouting in the hall as he kept running circles around himself, demanding Belphie to stop making advances on his human and to stop making him look like a fool. Without fail, Belphie always asked, “Oh? Is it foolish to think highly of the human?” Mammon was sent into a new frenzy every time.

By the time they were finished, you were exhausted just from listening to their incessant bickering. Mammon had scurried off, desperate to hide his embarrassment, while Belphie slumped down on the couch next to you and gave you a lazy grin. This time, you couldn’t bring yourself to return it. The antics had to stop.

“I think you should stop using me as a tool to mess with your brothers,” You said, not yet unpausing the show you were watching before the fighting started. Belphie scrunched his face and looked at you without moving his head.

“No can do. It’s too fun to see how desperately they try to save your honor from themselves. Idiots.”

Cringing at the insult, you continued, “Okay, but can you stop with the love advances? It’s a bit...much.”

Finally moving, Belphie turned his head to give you a scrutinizing look you didn’t understand before relaxing back into the couch. “Sure,” He answered humorlessly, tone dry and brittle with what was, to you, misplaced disgust. “It was losing its charm anyway.”

Now he was sulking, and you had half a mind to press play and just ignore his bitter mood. Still, you didn’t mean to make him pout, even if you had no idea where it came from and therefore weren’t exactly responsible for the shift. Sighing, you turned your back on him and leaned back, moving so your head was resting on his slumped chest. Without sparing you a look, Belphie reached his slim finger up and slowly carded them through your hair, making no effort to comb any tangles and deciding to ruffle it instead.

“I would like to know what’s got you in such a sour mood,” You said bluntly, turning your head to watch Belphegor stare at the ceiling blankly. Other than the occasional slow blink, you would have thought he had fallen asleep with how long it took him to respond. You knew better than to think he was ignoring you - he was either thinking of an answer he was satisfied to give or teasing you, seeing how long you’d wait for him and then pointing out how much you must value what he has to say if you’d wait that long.

“You enjoyed it too much,” He finally said, keeping his gaze from yours.

“I enjoyed it?” You repeated, narrowing your eyes. “I can assure you, I enjoyed none of what happened.”

“The fighting, maybe,” He agreed. “But I heard you tell Levi you thought it’d be sweet if he had texted you. I saw your face when you thought the poems were from Satan.”

“You were there?” Trying to remember the scene with Satan, you ran a hand partially through your hair and rested your palm on your forehead.

“The love letter, the gift basket, everything- you enjoyed it before you realized it was fake.”

“Belphegor, where were you?” You asked, knowing he would ignore your question. How many other times had he been secretly watching you without your knowledge? The thought made you shiver.

Clearly disgruntled, Belphegor growled at your questions before rolling his eyes. “At first I was just messing with you, but I never would have guessed you would sooner take sweet nothings from the mouths of fools before you’d ever take the real deal from me when I offer it out to you.”

Blinking rapidly, you felt your face warm and your heartbeat stutter for the thousandth time this week. “You...you never offered me anything,” you answered dumbly. Displeasure flickered across Belphie’s face before he sighed again and slumped further down, forcing your head down with him.

“Of course I didn’t. The others did, but not me,” He replied in such a way that barely hid the frustration in his tone, but the irony he was lamenting was lost on you. Sitting up, you shifted to sit on your knees and bent over Belphie to look at him.

“What are you talking about?” You asked. Belphie turned his head away, but you grabbed his cheeks and gently pulled them towards you so he could face you directly. “Belphie, tell me what you were trying to do.”

For a moment, Belphie wondered if he could just slump out of your grasp and lock himself back in the attic, clear by the pondering expression he wore on his face. You squished his face a little tighter, just enough to keep him in place and speak up. “I guess...I was hoping you would think the love letters and everything were from them and you’d reject them.” He looked to the side to avoid the pity you couldn’t hide on your face, his gaze unintentionally hardening. “Why didn’t you reject them? You should have rejected them.”

“I knew it wasn’t real! I was just trying to make them feel better,” You defended. Swiping your hand away from him, Belphie lifted himself up so he was sitting straight and crossed his arms, the image of a petulant child. “Is this...is this your version of a confession?”

Though he did his best to maintain his glare, Belphie couldn’t fight the light pink that tinted his cheeks. “So what if it is?”

Thoroughly pleased with yourself, you sat back on your heels and pretended you needed to mull things over. His hair was covering his eye and he kept his head turned away from you, but you could feel Belphie’s pensive gaze on you as you made your decision. Grinning and leaning closer, you asked, “Is this another prank?”

You felt his cold hands on either side of your face before you even saw him move. He glowered at you with no heat, putting on an upset show. If anything, he was more upset that you insisted on teasing him when you were so nice to the others. “If you can look at me and say you think I’m pranking you right now, you really are just a stupid human.”

Your grin widened. “A stupid human you’d have no qualms about kissing, though, right?”

There was no need to answer you with words when showing you was much more enjoyable.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #swd belphegor #obey me swd #belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x mc #belphegor fluff #obey me imagines #long post #my fics #belphegor writing #satan writing #mine

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littlelovelyspiderling · 4 years

Text

Weaknesses

I watched Avatar: The Last Airbender and my hand slipped oops, I promise I have more spidey stuff coming soon!

Zuko is captured while pursuing the avatar gang. They want to know what he knows about the Fire Lord, but they don’t want to hurt him to get him to talk. A hungry Momo enlightens them on how to do just that.

word count: 6,236

_________________________________

This was not the outcome Zuko had been anticipating. Bond to a chair made of earth, arms pinned behind his back, legs cemented in place, hands and feet encased in rock no amount of wrenching or fire bending could loosen. Caught and subdued by the avatar and his gang when he was certain he’d had the drop on them. Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph stood around him, arms crossed and eyes steely. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t move.

After his uncle had fallen asleep, Zuko had spotted the avatar’s bison flying overhead, and snuck away in the night to track them. When he found their campsite, he moved in to try to capture Aang, being as silent and stealthy as possible. But, much to his surprise, hardly a step and a half into his scheme, an earth bending girl rose from one of the tents and captured him instead, trapping him in his current position. Now, instead of the avatar being in his custody, the banished prince of the Fire Nation was in the avatar’s custody. And he was not happy about it.

“Let me go!” Zuko hissed, pulling at his restraints even though he knew it was pointless. Sokka scoffed.

“We’ll pass, thanks.” He and the others stood a few paces back from Zuko so that he couldn’t reach them with any breath-related fire moves—a threat they had deduced rather quickly.

“Good work, Toph,” Katara said, patting the smaller girl on the back. “That could’ve been really bad.”

Toph shrugged and grinned at Zuko. “You should really learn how to pick up your feet there, princess. You’ve got the gait of a pregnant sloth bear.”

Zuko fumed with frustration, hating the fact he’d been caught so easily. Now he was at the mercy of his enemies instead of the other way around. Meaning they were free to taunt him to his face with zero repercussions. For now, he thought bitterly.

Aang looked at his friends. “Now what do we do? We can’t just leave him here.”

“But we can’t just let him go, either,” Sokka added. “He’s too dangerous.”

“We could knock him out and leave him in a bush,” Katara proposed.

“Or hog-tie him to a porcupig and send it running into the woods,” Toph offered, pounding her fist into her palm.

Aang shook his head. “Come on, guys. We’re not doing any of those things.”

“Wait a minute,” Sokka said, brightening. “He’s the son of the Fire Lord, right? I bet he has insight into his weaknesses, and how Aang can defeat him!”

Zuko clenched his teeth. Aang grimaced.

“What are you suggesting, Sokka?”

“I’m saying, we should interrogate him! Find out what he knows!” Sokka snagged his boomerang from his bag and approached Zuko from behind. Zuko winced in surprise when the edge of Sokka’s weapon dug into his throat, pinning his head to the back of the chair. “Tell us everything you know about the Fire Lord, Fire Nation scum!”

His tone wasn’t intimidating in the slightest, but the feeling of the blade pressed against his neck was enough to send chills down Zuko’s spine. Fortunately, Aang stepped forward, jabbing his staff against the ground.

“Sokka, stop! This isn’t how we do things!”

Sokka griped and grumbled, but eventually stepped away, withdrawing the weapon from Zuko’s throat. “Fine,” he said, pouting. “But think of all the juicy secrets he must know about the Fire Nation—secrets that could help us win the war and put an end to their tyranny! We may never get a chance like this again!”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Zuko growled.

Katara motioned for everyone to step out of Zuko’s earshot. The group huddled together beside Appa’s slumbering form.

“Aang, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think Sokka might be right.”

Aang and Sokka gaped at her simultaneously. “Seriously?” they said in unison.

“We have to get him to tell us what he knows about the Fire Lord. Knowledge like that could help us save countless lives!”

“We didn’t even know he was in the same area as us three minutes ago!” Aang exclaimed. “Since when is wringing information out of our enemies a top priority?”

“It’s an opportunity we’ve never been presented with until now,” Toph said. “We should take advantage of it while we can.”

Aang scowled between his friends, shocked by their sweeping consensus on the matter. He peered around Sokka’s shoulder, eyeing Zuko as he struggled pitifully against Toph’s restraints, then bowed his head.

“No. We’re not torturing someone for information. It’s not right.”

“No one ever said torture,” Sokka said cooly. “Think of it more as...highly effective persuasion.”

“Maybe we could do something really annoying,” Katara suggested. “Like blow your bison whistle in his ear, or have Sokka sing a bunch of Southern Water Tribe nursery rhymes.”

Toph shuddered. “But that would be torture for all of us. Not just him.”

“Hey! I thought everyone loved it when I sang those!” Sokka sulked. “At least, that’s what Gran-Gran always said...”

Aang swallowed and stared at his feet. “I don’t know. I don’t like this at all. Even if he’s our enemy, it feels wrong—hurting someone who can’t fight back so they’ll tell us something they don’t want to.”

Katara could see the weight of the morality at stake clouding over Aang’s eyes. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe there’s a way we can do it without hurting him. We could negotiate, or try trading something, or—”

“Hey! G-get off!”

Alarmed, the gang spun back toward Zuko. In the midst of their discussion, Momo had pounced on the fettered prince and was eagerly sniffing his midsection.

“Momo!” Aang cried. “Get away from him! He’s dangerous!”

“Get your stupid pet off me!” Zuko snapped. He moved as much as he could to try to shoo the lemur away, but it continued to snuffle around his torso, its nose prodding his stomach. The feeling took him by surprise, making his breath hitch and his muscles seize. He fought not to react, fought to keep his expression cold and his demeanor colder, but the insufferable little creature would not let up. It was after something underneath his shirt.

Uncle’s lychee nuts! he realized. Iroh had a habit of stuffing his nephew’s pockets with the things in case the teen ever found himself lost, alone, and without another source of food. Although Zuko would never admit it, he appreciated the gesture—his uncle’s intuition had saved him from starvation in more pinches than one.

But now was not one of those times.

Zuko’s face began to burn as the corners of his lips twitched, threatening to turn upward if the lemur didn’t stop. He had to get it off!

“Agh! S-scram, flea-bag, before I fry you to a—AH!”

To his horror, Momo pulled back his collar and darted down the neck-hole of his shirt. Paws scurried across his torso, a wet nose poked and nuzzled his belly, and a long, fuzzy body wriggled between his skin and the fabric of his clothes. Zuko yelped and sputtered, the heat in his face turning to fire, the laughter he’d been battling back suddenly barreling up his throat like a volcanic eruption. To his dismay, high-pitched giggles started slipping from his lips faster than he could stop them.

“Wha—ahack! Hehey! Get out! Gehet out!” He tugged harder than ever on his bonds, twisting and shifting to try to scare the varmint away, but all it did was make Momo weasel faster and wilder inside his shirt. The lemur’s long tail brushed under Zuko’s arms and wiggled against his neck and ears, sending goosebumps shooting across his skin. He squirmed and thrashed, shaking his head from side to side.

“Gehet it off me!” he squealed.

The four friends blinked as they watched the bizarre scene unfold.

“Uh…” Sokka said, glancing between the prisoner and his team. “Should we do something?”

A few moments later, Momo crawled out of Zuko’s collar and perched on his shoulder, purring as he nibbled on a handful of nuts. The flustered prince puffed out his cheeks with a shudder, breathless and wide-eyed, his face tinted pink. He could feel his enemies staring at him, digesting what they had just witnessed, and he started to sweat.

“I—I’m gonna k-kill this thing if you don’t get it away from me,” he stammered, trying to feign some semblance of composure. But Momo’s tail continued to swish against the side of his neck as he spoke, making the task exceedingly difficult. He pursed his lips while straining to evade the feathery touch.

The gang looked at Zuko, then each other, then back at Zuko. The realization dawned on all of them at once.

“Were you laughing just now?” Toph asked.

Zuko cringed, averting his gaze. “W-what? What are you talking about?”

“Oh man! You were!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before,” Katara said with a snort. “I didn’t think it was possible. And even if it was, I expected it to sound more…I don’t know. Evil?”

“Right? It’s so cute and squeaky!” Sokka snickered.

“I was not laughing!” Zuko shouted. Then Momo’s tail brushed his ear, making him wince and crack a smile.

Aang’s face lit up with delight. “It’s Momo! He’s tickling him and making him laugh!”

In unison, the gang turned on him with wide grins. Zuko bristled.

“What?”

“No way! Prince Zu-Zu is ticklish?” Toph cupped her hands over her heart and tilted her head to the side. “Awww. That’s adorable!”

“Quit patronizing me!” he roared. He tried to knock Momo off his shoulder with his head, but only managed to lightly nudge him. Momo responded by nuzzling into Zuko’s neck, purring loudly as he tucked under his chin and whisked his tail along his collarbone. The prince squawked, hiking his shoulders to his ears.

“Ehaha! No! G-get away!”

Toph crossed her arms smugly. “That’s what you get for trying to capture our friend.”

“Zuko: ticklish,” Aang giggled, as if his brain was having trouble comprehending the idea. “It just seems so out of character for him, you know? It’s funny.”

Katara chuckled in agreement. “I think Momo likes him.”

“No—Momo likes food,” Sokka corrected her. A sly smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Which gives me an idea.”

He marched across the opening to stand at Zuko’s side. The banished prince didn’t notice him; he was too busy biting his lip in attempt to stay quiet, but couldn’t wipe the silly smile and embarrassing blush off his face. Sokka placed his hands on his hips.

“Zuko, tell us how to sneak into your father’s evil lair, or else!”

The request hardly made sense—his father lived in a giant palace, not some secret underground wolf bat cave. Even if he wanted to offer some kind of answer, he doubted he could speak more than a sentence or two before bubbles of laughter swallowed up his words. Still, he had to try to look unfazed.

“Or ehelse what?” he shot back. His voice came out shrill and brittle, causing his blush to deepen. The stupid lemur would not give his neck a break!

Sokka cocked a threatening eyebrow. Then he extended his arm.

“Momo, look! I think you missed some!”

He opened his hand, revealing another pile of lychee nuts. Before Momo could snatch them out of his palm, Sokka dumped them down the neck-hole of Zuko’s shirt, making him leap.

“Ah! What’re you—w-wait!”

Instantly, the lemur dove back into his shirt, writhing and scampering all over his tummy. Try as he might to fight it, the sensation tickled too much to bear.

“Nohoho!” he giggled, twisting and bucking in protest. Whatever dwindling scraps were left of his facade fell away within seconds. In his hunt for the lychee nuts, the fuzzy little beast pawed and nibbled at Zuko’s bare skin while his ears and tail tickled him like feathers, leaving the poor prince in stitches. His cheeks flushed a shade pinker as he realized how ridiculous and pathetic he must’ve looked at that moment—and in front of his enemies, no less. Zuko’s current disposition was a far cry from his usual grumpy, scowling self, and there was nothing he could do to shake it. The smile spread across his face at that moment was so uncharacteristically bright, the gang couldn’t help but mirror it.

“That’s what, fire boy!” Sokka replied fiendishly. “Get him, Momo! Do your worst!”

“Ahaha!” Zuko cackled. “I’ll—tohorch you!”

Aang laughed along with him, turning to Katara. “I guess this way isn’t so bad.”

Katara smiled fondly. “This is probably the happiest I’ve ever seen him. But I guess that depends on how you define ‘happy.’”

After circling his torso a couple more times in his lychee nut scavenger hunt, Momo must’ve gotten sick of being inside the twitchy teenager’s shirt. With a shriek and a warble, he shot out of Zuko’s sleeve and landed on Aang’s head, gorging himself on his findings.

“Good lemur,” Aang said, giving his ear a scratch. Momo trilled contentedly.

“Don’t let up now! We almost had him!” Sokka dashed toward Aang and tugged on Momo’s tail. “Come on! Do your duty! Your fuzziness is the key to bringing the Fire Nation to its knees!”

Momo hissed at him and took to the skies, winding through the air before disappearing into the woods.

“I think Momo’s had enough,” Katara declared with a grin. The group turned back to Zuko, who was panting and smiling and flushed to his core.

“How about you?” Sokka asked wryly. “Had enough yet?”

Even though he was still blushing, Zuko’s eyes flashed with rage. “Let me go!” he demanded again. “You can’t make me talk!”

“Alright, Appa! Your turn!” Sokka pulled on the flying bison’s foot, grunting with effort. “Go! Get him! Lick him into submission!”

“You know we can do this without animals, right?” Toph said, smirking. She strode toward Zuko, her steps pointedly slow and leisurely. The group exchanged a look.

“Careful, Toph,” Katara called after her. “He can still shoot fire from his mouth.”

“Oh, I bet he can,” Toph said. She stopped a few paces back from him with her hands on her hips, grinning smugly. Zuko glared daggers through the girl even though she couldn’t see him. In the blink of an eye, the earth bender disappeared under the ground then emerged behind him, making the prince start, her icy voice sending a shiver down his spine.

“But I bet it’s hard to control your breathing enough to do so when you’re laughing.”

Zuko’s throat tightened. He hated to admit it, but she was probably right. He could barely perform the move when he was fully concentrated and not strapped to a rock chair.

He almost wished they were hurting him to get him to talk. That would be a far more honorable defeat than succumbing to the childish threat they were making against him now. If he was broken by a bunch of kids sicing lemurs on him, he doubted he would ever live it down. But Toph seemed to have a different plan in mind.

“G-get away from me!” Zuko shouted. He didn’t know what else to do. He hated not being able to see where she was. “Whatever you’re insinuating isn’t going to work! You don’t scare me!”

Toph clicked her tongue. “Insinuating? I thought I was being obvious!” She pounded her heel against the ground, and a stool made of earth rose underneath her, giving her a place to sit right behind the restrained prince. She plopped down with a smile. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Zuko stiffened. She was talking loudly, so the whole group could hear.

“Does that not scare you? Are our assumptions wrong? Are you not ticklish?”

Zuko looked down at his torso. Toph’s hands were hovering a couple inches away from his exposed sides, her fingers spidering threateningly through the air.

“And in case you weren’t aware, I can tell when you’re lying.”

The heat in Zuko’s neck bled into his ears. “IhI’m—” he stammered, nervous laughter already creeping into his voice. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No! I’m not!”

The other three approached, the devious delight in their eyes goading his anxiety further.

“You sure about that, Zu-Zu?” Katara asked. “For someone who’s not ticklish, you were laughing an awful lot before.”

“And blushing like crazy!” Aang added cheerfully.

The teasing was enough to blow his top. Zuko strained against his bonds.

“Y-you’re all insane!” he yelled. “As soon as I’m out of here, I’ll roast every last one of you like a chicken cow on a spi—AGH!”

Mid-sentence, Toph’s fingers started crawling up his sides, dancing delicately along the skin beneath his ribcage. Zuko gasped, his words cut short, an explosion of giggles already amassing behind his lips.

“No, go ahead, Mister ‘I’m Not Ticklish.’ Finish it. You’ll roast us how? Like a chicken cow on a what?”

Zuko couldn’t even try to act poised. He’d always been exceptionally sensitive—a fact that irritated him to no end, one his mother used to take advantage of to cheer him up when he was little. Growing up, she was the only person in his immediate family who had ever been physically affectionate with him. His father barely even looked at him; the most attention he’d ever paid his son was when he’d scorched his face in front of the entire royal court. And Azula would never do anything to intentionally make her brother smile.

After his disgraceful banishment, Iroh had been cautious about showing his headstrong nephew too much affection. He didn’t want to smother him or scare him away. Now, three years into their search for the avatar, he’d thrown almost all that caution to the wind. It didn’t take him long to discover his nephew’s sensitivity, the way he sputtered and flinched when his torso was touched in certain places.

Iroh was kind enough not to exploit his findings in front of Zuko’s crew; the boy already had a hard enough time commanding their respect as it was, being a moody, exiled sixteen-year-old. But that didn’t stop him from tweaking his ribs or tasering him from behind whenever they were alone. The smiles and laughter these actions elicited were always worth it, despite the loud, long-winded protests that inevitably followed.

It embarrassed him how easy and often his uncle poked fun at his weakness. But he never imagined anyone using it against him as a weapon; a torture method to get him to talk.

Yet here he sat, bound and helpless, giggling hysterically as Toph’s fingers scoured the lengths of his sides, already desperate for the tickling to stop.

“Hahaha! Quihit it!”

“But you said you weren’t ticklish,” Toph reminded him, scuttling her hands up and down the prince’s twitchy torso. “If you aren’t ticklish, then this shouldn’t bother you one bit.”

Katara, Aang, and Sokka watched in amusement as the once strong and fearsome Zuko dissolved into a squirmy, laughing mess beneath Toph’s wiggly fingers. The color of his face was beginning to resemble the dark red of his shirt.

“Yohou’re—y-you—” Zuko sputtered, grasping for something scathing to say. Toph didn’t give him a chance to find one. Her hands suddenly curled into claws, and she switched from the soft, gentle tickling to kneading mercilessly into both sides of his tummy, driving her fingers deep into his flesh with all the endurance and ferocity indicative of earth benders. Zuko jolted and shrieked, arching his spine to try to get away, his laughter jumping in both octave and volume.

“AHAHAGH! Wahait—no—s-stohop! I cahan’t—eheeheehaha!”

“Come on, guys!” Toph called, waving them forward. “He won’t bite.”

Grinning, the three friends walked to stand directly in front of Zuko, who was floundering as much as his restraints would allow and smiling as wide as the sun.

“Not so mean and scary when he’s laughing his butt off, is he?” Katara chuckled. Zuko’s laughter was shrill and happy—two characteristics that completely contradicted his usual demeanor. It was also outrageously contagious; she had to cover her mouth to try to contain her own flood of giggles.

“I never knew the guy who’s been hunting me all this time could look so cute!” Aang concurred. Watching the Fire Nation prince crumble so spectacularly from such a kiddy tactic was strangely endearing.

Sokka poked Zuko’s bouncy chest with his boomerang. “Now talk! Answer my question, or Toph will tickle you to death!”

To be honest, Zuko barely remembered what the original question was. Something about fire? And an evil lair? An evil fire lair? His head was too preoccupied with the hands pinching and squeezing his belly to think straight. He couldn’t recall another instance where he’d been tickled this intensely. Being unable to guard himself made the sensation a thousand times worse.

“Goho jump in a lahahake!” he laughed, cursing the cracks and squeaks in his voice. Toph cooed.

“Aw! Fire Lord Zu-Zu’s trying to be tough!” She drilled into the soft spot underneath his ribs, making the poor prince thrash and squeal. No matter how much he squirmed or what way he angled his body, Toph’s hands stayed glued to his frame, exploring every ticklish inch of his defenseless midsection, targeting the spots that yielded the most frenzied reactions. She noticed the higher her tickle attack climbed up his torso, the shriller his laughter became, coupled with increasingly wilder attempts to escape. Moving maliciously slow, she began scaling Zuko’s ribcage with her hands, her fingers ascending each bone like a rung on a ladder, needling on top and around and in between.

“Ahahaha! Cut it ahahout!” Zuko cackled. She was terrifyingly good at this.

“How long you think you can stand it, tough guy? Five minutes? An hour? I could do this all night!” Her fingers were drawing closer and closer to his underarms, teasing and tickling every rib in between. His shirt did almost nothing to dull the increasingly unbearable sensation.

Sokka yawned. “As fun as this is, I’d rather not stay up all night, waiting for him to break.”

Toph shrugged, smiling deviously. “I don’t mind. I’m having fun.” She cracked her knuckles and resumed her conquest, her hands inching higher, higher, higher. “Coochie-coochie-coo! Your laugh is so cute I could barf!”

“Stahahahap it!” Zuko giggled. His whole body sizzled with embarrassment; his face hurt from smiling so big for so long.

“Maybe we could help speed up the process,” Katara said, smirking. “If all of us worked together, I’m sure we could get him talking in no time.”

Zuko was already splitting at the seams from just one person tickling him. If all four of them ganged up on him at once, he would most certainly die on the spot.

“Ooh, good idea,” Sokka said, wiggling his fingers eagerly.

“Plus, it’d be a fun, benign way for each of us to get him back for all the times he’s personally slighted us.” Katara turned to Aang with a grin. “What do you think?”

At that moment, Toph’s hands reached his armpits. She dug in relentlessly, poking and scratching and prodding, her touch sending shocks through Zuko’s entire skeleton. He jerked and sputtered for a couple of seconds, reeling from how intensely it tickled, before exploding into a whole new caliber of laughter.

“AHANOHOHAHA!” he cried. “GAHA—STAHAHAP—IHI CAHAN’T—AAHAHAHAAAA!”

“Uh oh,” Toph said mockingly, kneading diabolical circles into his underarms. “Did I find your weak point? Prince Zu-Zu’s little tickle spot? You’re in for it now, your highness.”

Sharp, squeaky hiccups began punctuating Zuko’s laughing fit. Aang watched the giggly teen squirm and shriek and smiled sympathetically.

“Let’s give him a break first. He looks like he’s about to burst.”

Sokka huffed, letting his arms fall to his sides. “You suck all the fun out of interrogating war prisoners,” he muttered. He pointed his boomerang at Toph. “Don’t let up completely, though. If he’s able to focus on his breathing, he might spew another fireball in my face. And I do not enjoy having fireballs spewed in my face.”

“You got it,” Toph said exuberantly. She moved her hands back down to his belly and started tickling his sides with just her index fingers, changing location and technique every few seconds: wiggling one into his hip while the other poked at his ribs, then swirling one across his tummy while the other fluttered against his midriff, then tasering both into the full length of his torso, lingering in the areas that made him most jumpy, and on and on.

It was much more tolerable than the previous torture, but still enough to keep him twitchy and giggly. He could never predict where her fingers would tickle him next, trapping him in a constant state of jittery nervousness. As soon as he got close to forcing the smile from his lips, another perfectly calculated poke would slap it right across his face again, paired with a yelp of surprise.

As he fidgeted restlessly in place, breathless giggles bubbling in his throat, the three kids in front of him stepped closer, looking smug.

“You ready to tell us how to defeat the Fire Lord?” Sokka asked.

Zuko wheezed. He had to stall long enough to think of a way out of this. Or at least to catch his breath—as much as he could in his current position.

“Whahat...does that even...mehean?” he panted.

“Don’t play dumb!” Sokka snapped. “Your father has a weakness—in his army, his hideout, somewhere. You know what it is. Tell us.”

Toph laughed. “We should try tickling him, too,” she said, giving Zuko’s side a squeeze. “Maybe being super ticklish runs in the family.”

Zuko jolted. “Quihit it! Why would I knohow anything like that?”

“Because you’re his son!” Sokka poked him repeatedly in the ribs. “Evil, Fire Nation, devil spawn!”

“He doesn’t look evil to me,” Katara cooed. “How could someone evil have such a cute laugh?”

Zuko wasn’t sure which was worse: the constant teasing making him blush tomato-red, or the two stiff fingers endlessly probing his ticklish torso. He hung his head to hide his dumb, smiley face. “Sh-shuhut up!”

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Toph asked. “You don’t like being called cute?”

“Who doesn’t like being called cute?” Aang said, boasting a goofy grin.

“Stop wasting our time!” Sokka exclaimed. “If you don’t start talking, you’re going to regret it.”

Just then, amidst her tickling spree, Toph’s hands found the hem of Zuko’s shirt. A smirk touched her lips as she reached underneath the fabric and started scuttling her fingers against his bare sides. The moment her nails made contact with his skin, Zuko yelped.

“Waha! Hehey!”

“You heard the man,” Toph said smugly. “Answer the question.”

She dragged her fingertips up and down his sides, letting her nails skate across his skin. Goosebumps flared along his arms and neck, spreading like wildfire. It was a gentler kind of tickling, but just as maddening in its own right. She started climbing toward his underarms again, this time with no clothing to dull the sensation. He didn’t think he’d survive if she reached her final destination.

“Ahahastahahap!” Zuko giggled. “I dohon’t know, okay? Yohour guess is as good as mihihine!”

“Liar,” Sokka hissed, looking over the prince’s shoulder. “Toph?”

The earth bender laid her palm against the back of the chair and snorted. “It’s kinda hard to tell whether or not he’s lying like this. His heart’s been hammering the entire time.” She clawed at his ribcage with her other hand, making him squirm helplessly. “But from what I can detect, it seems like he’s telling the truth.”

“No way,” Sokka spat. “He has to know something.”

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Aang ventured to say.

Toph’s hand slowed to a stop on either side of his ribcage. All ten of her fingers rested against his skin without moving. Even though she wasn’t currently tickling him, the imminent threat of her nails pressed into his defenseless torso kept him on edge.

“I dohon’t,” Zuko whimpered. He dropped his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, smiling listlessly. “The only weakness he has is one you already knohow about.”

The gang looked at each other blankly. “Which is…?” Sokka began.

Zuko scoffed, nodding towards Aang. “Him, of course. The avatar. Why do you think my family has been searching for him for the past three generations? Why do you think my father has had me hunting him down since I was thirteen?”

The three kids in front of him exchanged frowns. Toph’s hands slipped out of his shirt.

“He was definitely telling the truth that time.”

Sokka palmed his forehead. “Aw, man! So we got nothing from all this? No new information?” He stuck his finger in the prince’s chest. “What’s the point of you being the Fire Lord’s son if you don’t know anything about him that helps us?”

“At least it confirms what we already know,” Katara said, wrapping an arm around Aang’s shoulders. “Aang needs to master all the elements and defeat the Fire Lord to end the war.”

Aang smiled and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Fantastic,” Zuko grumbled. “Now would you let me out of this stupid chair? My feet are going numb.”

Katara hinted a grin. “I think I like you better when you’re all giggly and smiley.”

Zuko blushed and stared sideways. “I don’t.”

“If we let him go, how are we going to keep him from attacking or chasing us?” Aang asked.

Sokka tapped his chin, then cracked into a smirk. “Maybe we should give him a taste of what we’ll do to him if he does,” he suggested. “Avatar gang style.”

The four kids turned on Zuko with a mischievous gleam in their eyes. A fresh rush of heat washed over Zuko’s body.

“W-what?” he stammered, his gaze darting between them rapidly. Dread seized his throat as they approached him from four different sides, making him squirm with anticipation. “But—but you heard Toph! I told the truth! You’re not supposed to punish me for that! You’re supposed to let me go!”

“Don’t think of it as a punishment,” Sokka said innocently, rubbing his hands together. “Think of it as...I don’t know...a warning?”

“Plus, only Toph got to tickle you,” Aang added, forming his own rock stool next to Zuko’s right side. “I want a turn!”

Katara joined Toph behind the chair, leaving over the back rest. “And this is probably our last chance to hear your adorable little laugh,” Katara said. “You know, before you go back to being a moody grouch bent on chasing us to the ends of the earth.”

Zuko burned inside and out. There were four of them and one completely restrained him. He didn’t think he could take it. “W-what if I promise to leave you alone tonight? I’ll go back to my campsite and not bother you until morning. That’ll give you a big head start!”

“I thought that was a given,” Toph said, snaking her hands back under his shirt, her fingernails grazing his tummy. Zuko bristled from her delicate touch. It was already too much to bear. What remained of his fiery resolve crumbled away.

“Aha! A week then! I wohon’t mess with you for a weeheek!”

“Aww. He’s trying so hard to negotiate his way out of this.” Katara’s fingers brushed both sides of his neck, making him cringe. “Sorry, Zuko. But this is too much fun!”

“Here, Sokka,” Toph said, retracting the earth up his ankles so that his feet were exposed. “Maybe you should try tickling some feeling back into his feet.”

Sokka grinned and sat on the ground, pulling off the prince’s shoes. “Good idea!”

“Noho!” Zuko yelped. He pulled at his bonds and curled his toes in protest. “Thihis isn’t fair! Guhuys—wait—AHAHAGH!”

Aang started poking around his torso, testing and teasing different spots with his soft but frenetic touch. This cued Toph to jump back to his underarms, her fingers fluttering lightly against the hollows. At the same moment, Sokka began gliding two fingers up and down his arches. All of them were tickling him relatively gently, aware of the fact that if they each gave it their all, Zuko might explode. Regardless, having eight hands prod and stroke the most sensitive areas of his body all at once was absolutely maddening, launching him into a hysterical giggle fit.

“Ahahahaheehee!” He threw his head back, twisting and bucking frantically. “Guhuhuys!”

“This is what we’ll do to you every time you try to capture Aang,” Toph told him, giggling as she tickled the undersides of his upper arms. “Think about that the next time you’re feeling kidnappy.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able take regular ‘ol grumpy-pants Zuko seriously ever again,” Sokka chuckled. “Even when he’s back to shooting fire at us, all I’ll be thinking about is his silly little laugh and goofy smile!”

Hiccups started puncturing his giggles again. So many places on his body were being tickled at once, his brain couldn’t decide which one to focus on. Zuko didn’t care about trying to feign toughness anymore; he just needed this to end.

“Stahahap! No mohohore! Pleeheehease!”

Katara spidered her nails against the back of his neck, making him shrink into himself with a squeak. “He did say please,” she pointed out.

Just then, a twig broke in the woods, followed by a figure emerging from the tree line. The four friends ceased their attack and glanced up fearfully.

Although he was still dizzy from the onslaught of tickling, Zuko lifted his head and spotted the silhouette as well. The person’s shape was oddly familiar. He realized who it was before the telltale voice rang across the clearing.

“Prince Zuko?” Iroh called, stepping out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. “Is that you?”

“Uncle!” Zuko cried, relief rushing through him. He thrashed in place. “Hehelp me! I’m trapped!”

“What are you kids doing to my nephew?” Iroh asked, stopping in front of the five of them, although his tone wasn’t particularly angry or concerned. It was more intrigued.

“We haven’t hurt him,” Katara insisted. “Toph caught him sneaking into our camp and restrained him. We were going to let him go, but then we thought he might have some information on the Fire Lord. So, uh…”

She felt weird about explaining the rest. Fortunately, Aang jumped in for her.

“So then we tickled him!” Aang said, giving Zuko’s side a couple pinches. The prince flinched and giggled. “We wanted to get him to talk without harming him.”

Iroh smiled at the sound of Zuko's laughter and the happy expression on his face, neither of which had made an appearance in a very long time. They reminded him just how young the banished son of the crown truly was. He shook his head amusedly. “Poor Prince Zuko. It would seem your friends have discovered your weakness.”

“Thehey are nohot my friends!” Zuko cackled. “Just help me, Uncle! Gehet me out of here!”

“He has a very cute laugh, does he not?” Iroh chortled.

“Disgustingly cute,” Toph agreed, poking his armpit. Zuko squirmed and squealed.

“And an even cuter smile,” Iroh observed. “It’s a shame I don’t get to witness both more often.”

“Uhuncle!” Zuko pleaded, spiraling into giggly shambles. Iroh smiled at Toph.

“Would you please consider sparing my nephew and handing him over to me? I promise he will not cause you any more trouble this evening.”

Toph turned toward the others, waiting for any objections. When none came, she offered Iroh a nod.

“All right. Stand back, everyone.”

The rest of the group did as they were told. Once they had moved a safe distance away, she punched her fists toward the ground, and the chair fell apart, along with the rock cuffs on Zuko’s hands and feet. He hit the earth with a grunt, flustered and panting.

Iroh approached him and helped him stand. Zuko hugged his midsection with a moan.

“Uhugh...my sides,” he whined. His skin felt tingly and his belly still bubbled with hundreds of giggly butterflies, making it difficult to keep from smiling. He wanted to snarl at the group, to swear they were going to pay for what they’d done to him, but he was too exhausted and embarrassed by the whole situation to summon the energy. Iroh wrapped an arm under his shoulders to support him.

“Thank you for not harming my nephew,” Iroh said to the four kids. “I owe you all a great debt.”

“Don’t...th-thank them,” Zuko huffed.

“But I must,” Iroh retorted. He tweaked the young prince’s side. “They reminded me how to brighten you up whenever you’re being a downer.”

Zuko flinched away, trying to look angry but betrayed by a giggly grin. “Ahagh! Ehenough already!” He whirled around. “You’re all crazy! I’m leaving!”

Zuko stomped toward the woods, smoke hissing from his fists, blush burning through his face and ears. The group laughed.

“This was fun, Prince Zu-Zu. Let’s do it again sometime.”

Sokka waved. “Visit again soon! Next time, we’ll have Appa join the fun!”

Zuko did not like the sound of that. Although part of him found some tiny flicker of release in laughing authentically for the first time in almost three years, he was perfectly fine with waiting another three years for the next instance to occur. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

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wickedgamesoyaoya · 3 years

Note

Me again! For your 900 event! Let’s go fluff-ish! And we both know I’m going to pick Makki because I am obsessed with the way you write him! And let’s go for the quote “I am a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle this. Have a nice day.” And whichever format fits better for what you imagine!! Thanks friend! Congrats again!! Can’t wait to read them all!

A plastic bag containing a dozen cans of spaghetti-o’s was wrapped around your palms as you dragged your feet forward, demanding your body to continue without complaint. The unequal weight distribution marked your palms in deep slashes, yet you refused to request help. Squinting at the familiar figure ahead of you, a bitter grunt clawed at your throat.

How the hell was he carrying four times your load with such ease?

Despite the softness of the sound, your boyfriend’s ear twitched, instantly catching notice of your struggle. A teasing grin crept onto his features as he paused and adjusted his stance to face you.

“Oh, miss damsel, do you need a hand?” After transferring the weight of one of the bags to his forearm, a hand was extended in your direction. What boiled the liquid in your veins, however, was the little wiggle he provided to his fingers.

“I am a damsel, who is right now very stressed. And if you keep making fun of me, I’m gonna kick you in the chest.” A low growl accompanied your words, yet instead of receiving a startled response from your boyfriend, you were met with adoration.

“You are so cute when you’re angry rhyming.” The volleyball player faked a sniffle, while artificial tears brewed on demand.

“Just go please.” Lowering your head in defeat, an elongated sigh brought your chest to rise and drop.

“Alright, alright!” After issuing a teasing salute, he returned his attention to the dimly lit pathway.

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you tightened your grip around the plastic handle and inhaled a deep breath, aiming to increase your resolve. Like hell you would be his damsel in distress.

“Are you sure the cameras are off?”

Only a single light remained on inside of the building, casting an eerie aura onto the empty hallways. Truthfully even if the cameras were functioning, it was unlikely they would register your presence considering the limited lighting. However, as the rational one in the relationship, it was your duty to inquire into whether the basics were covered by the mastermind behind the prank. Hanamaki snickered in response, knowing the sound would have earned him a flick if your hands were not occupied.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head. The broadcasting club bugged the cams for us.” The explanation held a hint of arrogance, prompting your eyelids to fall into slits.

“Don’t talk to me like we’re playing among us. I don’t care if I’m holding things. I will hit you.” Irritation weaved through your features as you readjusted the plastic straps for the sixth time. “Can we just get this over with?” The pain was bordering unbearable, and naturally as your ache increased, your mood plummeted.

“We’re here. The main hallway, miss grumpy pants.” The joy that was once circling inside the male had deflated upon hearing your impatience. Usually you found humour in his mischievous behaviour, yet today it seemed that your tolerance for him was extremely low. After removing the grocery bags snug against his wrists onto the ground, he planned on inquiring into what was on your mind. But before he could begin his interrogation, the sigh of disgust exiting your lips silenced him.

“You picked the one lit hallway for this prank? Really?” Once aligning your bag with his on the floor, you began massaging your palms to restore the blood circulation. With the weight no longer straining your muscles, a little relief was bestowed upon you.

“It was lit on purpose, y/n.” The snappiness of your comment only confirmed his belief that his presence today was merely a nuisance. He didn’t want to think it…but what if you became bored with him? Perhaps you were planning on leaving him tomorrow? Many couples break up on graduation day, could that be it? “Why are you so down today?”

Unaware of the insecurity your actions had planted in the male, you shook off his comments with a wave of your hand. “I’m not down. Let’s just do this and go home.”

There was so much he desired to say, words that hung at the tip of his tongue. Why are you acting like this? Didn’t you want to make memories with him?

Did you not love him anymore?

Instead of vocalizing his concerns, he nodded, then settled onto the ground, removing the can opener from his pocket. While he began opening each of the containers, neither one of you chose to eliminate the silence. The only sounds that echoed down the hallway was from the crunching metal that Hanamaki was tossing aside.

At first you sat beside him, your cheek resting in your palm as you stared at the opened containers lined up ahead. A piece of you knew that your behaviour was uncalled for. This was typical behaviour from him – so why the hell were you so angry?

Well, because of graduation. What would the future look like? Were you truly ready to let go of your youth? And most importantly… would he stay with you?

“Should I start pouring them out?” Guilt clouded over you, commanding that you mend the tension that developed because of your sour remarks. It was your final night as high schoolers; it should be memorable. The last thing you would want is to ruin it with an argument. Leaning forward, the tips of your fingers brushed against his cheek tenderly.

“Yeah. If you want.” Butterflies sprouted to life inside of his stomach at your touch, which he tried to playoff by pursing his lips.

“Mmkay.” As you redirected your attention to the spaghetti-o’s, a thought struck you. If tonight was the last time you would be able to act like children, then you should do it right. At first, you simply got up, spilling the contents of the container over the laminated flooring. Hanamaki observed your movements with a grin soon twitching onto his mouth. However, when you got to the seventh can, instead of adding it to the collection painting the ground, you proceeded closer to your boyfriend.

“Y/n? Baby??” A string of awkward laughter was emitted by the male. The devilish glint in your eyes screamed danger, and Hanamaki Takahiro would not go down without a fight. When you took your last step towards him, he jumped at you, swinging his arms around your knees. The action forced you to fall, though he was quick to soften the blow, sliding an arm to support your back. “You can’t trick the king of pranksters, milady. If you try to take me down, I will take you with me.”

“Amazing. We’re like Romeo and Juliet, but covered in canned pasta.” Tiny pieces of pasta were now stuck against your backside – how wonderful.

“I don’t remember how that one goes. Do they kiss?” The cheeky beam showcased indicated that he was scheming once more. Though, this time you graced him with a receptive laugh.

“No, they don’t. At least not like this.”

“Ehh, lame.” Despite the dejection implicated by his response, he remained cheerful and cunning. Sinking down to close the distance between your face and his, he paused just a few centimetres away from your lips. “Well, I guess now they do. Let’s rewrite the classics, baby.”

Your breath instantly hitched in your throat at his proclamation, as your eyelids fluttered naturally shut. The second his lips found yours, every insecurity melted away from your thoughts. Despite his comical personality, Hanamaki was a serious kisser, his strong mouth guiding yours in an allaying manner. Inside of your chest, your heart completed cartwheels, the thrill of the situation only adding to the pleasure you were currently drowning in. Your fingers subconsciously caressed the back of his neck, as you pushed yourself up, desiring to prolong the exchange for a little longer. The athlete complied contently, keeping you pressed against him.

While you both failed to acknowledge it with words – in your hearts you knew the truth, the type of love you shared wasn’t something one could simply get over. It was the type of love to last forever.

It took an hour to finish the supposed masterpiece, it would have taken less time if you two did not spend fifteen minutes making snow angels in the pasta. Nevertheless, the task was done. A new memory was created, one that you would certainly cherish for the rest of your life.

“Hey, hold on a second. You have Elsa stuck to you.” The pasta piece was one of many that clung to the male’s hair. As you plucked them out of his hair piece by piece, Hanamaki observed you, studying your movements.

“Well, what can I say? I just attract all the ladies.” A little wiggle was given to his brows, earning him a scoff. “So, did you have fun today, miss damsel? You worry too much for my liking. You need some fun in your life.” In an effort to seize your full attention, he caught your wrist, tugging you closer to him before encompassing an arm around your waist.

A low hum sounded in your throat, indicating your agreement on the subject. But you weren’t about to stop there.

“So, will you stay in my life?”

Astonishment crossed his features as he attempted to mimic the pikachu meme. “That was smooth, I’m proud.” Embarrassment flooded your skin at the compliment, his response made you regret your question immediately. But then he squished you against him and said the words you oh so desperately needed to hear.

“Come here, you little sap. Don’t worry. I was never planning on leaving.”

A/N: AAAH, I hope you like this, Jen-Jen!!!

General taglist: @haikyuufairy @chocolaterumble @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @graykageyama @bloody-bella @amberalisa @yourstarvic @swoonhui @rajablast @chaichai-the-weeb @dreamstormings @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @volleybloop @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut

#hanamaki x you #hanamaki x y/n #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki fluff #hanamaki fic #hanamaki smau #haikyuu imagines #storytime with jan ❤️

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mytwilightimagines13 · 3 years

Text

Amnesia (Book Two)(Part Fifteen)(Alec Volturi)

The final witness

Then Alice danced into the clearing from the southwest, Jasper was only inches behind her, his sharp eyes fierce. Close after them ran three strangers; the first was a tall, muscular female with wild dark hair - obviously Kachiri. She had the same elongated limbs and features as the other Amazons, even more pronounced in her case. The next was a small olive-toned female vampire with a long braid of black hair bobbing against her back. Her deep burgundy eyes flitted nervously around the confrontation before her. And the last was a young man... not quite as fast nor quite as fluid in his run. His skin was an impossible rich, dark brown. His wary eyes flashed across the gathering, and they were the color of warm teak. His hair was black and braided, too, like the woman's, though not as long. He was beautiful. As he neared the vampires in the meadow, a new sound sent shock waves through the watching crowd - the sound of another heartbeat, accelerated with exertion. Alice leaped lightly over the edges of the dissipating mist that lapped at Bella’s shield and came to a sinuous stop at Edward's side. Bella reached out to touch her arm, and so did Edward, Esme, Carlisle. There wasn't time for any other welcome. Jasper and the others followed her through the shield. All the guard watched, speculation in their eyes, as the latecomers crossed the invisible border without difficulty. The brawny ones, Felix and the others like him, focused their suddenly hopeful eyes on Bella. They had not been sure of what her shield repelled, but it was clear now that it would not stop a physical attack. As soon as Aro gave the order, the blitz would ensue her. Edward, despite his absorption in the coup he was directing, stiffened furiously in response to their thoughts. He controlled himself and spoke to Aro again. "Alice has been searching for her own witnesses these last weeks," he said to the ancient. "And she does not come back empty-handed. Alice, why don't you introduce the witnesses you've brought?" Caius snarled. "The time for witnesses is past! Cast your vote, Aro!" Aro raised one finger to silence his brother, his eyes glued to Alice's face. Alice stepped forward lightly and introduced the strangers. "This is Huilen and her nephew, Nahuel." Caius's eyes tightened as Alice named the relationship between the newcomers. The Volturi witnesses hissed amongst themselves, including Jane and Alec, but Maeryn did not join them once again. She felt intrigued by the newcomers. So there were more male vampires impregnating female humans. The vampire world was changing, and everyone could feel it. "Speak, Huilen," Aro commanded. "Give us the witness you were brought to bear." The slight woman looked to Alice nervously. Alice nodded in encouragement, and Kachiri put her long hand on the little vampire's shoulder. "I am Huilen," the woman announced in clear but strangely accented English. As she continued, it was apparent she had prepared herself to tell this story, that she had practiced. It flowed like a well-known nursery rhyme. "A century and a half ago, I lived with my people, the Mapuche. My sister was Pire. Our parents named her after the snow on the mountains because of her fair skin. And she was very beautiful - too beautiful. She came to me one day in secret and told me of the angel that found her in the woods, that visited her by night. I warned her." Huilen shook her head mournfully. "As if the bruises on her skin were not warning enough. I knew it was the Libishomen of our legends, but she would not listen. She was bewitched. "She told me when she was sure her dark angel's child was growing inside her. I didn't try to discourage her from her plan to run away - I knew even our father and mother would agree that the child must be destroyed, Pire with it. I went with her into the deepest parts of the forest. She searched for her demon angel but found nothing. I cared for her, hunted for her when her strength failed. She ate the animals raw, drinking their blood. I needed no more confirmation of what she carried in her womb. I hoped to

save her life before I killed the monster. But she loved the child inside her. She called him Nahuel, after the jungle cat, when he grew strong and broke her bones - and loved him still. I could not save her. The child ripped his way free of her, and she died quickly, begging all the while that I would care for her Nahuel. Her dying wish - and I agreed. He bit me, though, when I tried to lift him from her body. I crawled away into the jungle to die. I didn't get far - the pain was too much. But he found me; the newborn child struggled through the underbrush to my side and waited for me. When the pain ended, he was curled against my side, sleeping. I cared for him until he was able to hunt for himself. We hunted the villages around our forest, staying to ourselves. We have never come so far from our home, but Nahuel wished to see the child here." Huilen bowed her head when she was finished and moved back so she was partially hidden behind Kachiri. Aro's lips were pursed. He stared at the dark-skinned youth. "Nahuel, you are one hundred and fifty years old?" he questioned. "Give or take a decade," he answered in a clear, beautifully warm voice. His accent was barely noticeable. "We don't keep track." "And you reached maturity at what age?" "About seven years after my birth, more or less, I was full grown." "You have not changed since then?" Nahuel shrugged. "Not that I've noticed." "And your diet?" Aro pressed, seeming interested in spite of himself. "Mostly blood, but some human food, too. I can survive on either." "You were able to create an immortal?" As Aro gestured to Huilen, his voice was abruptly intense. Bella refocused on her shield, but Maeryn no longer paid attention. This was something new to her kind, something interesting. And she wanted to know every last bit of it. "Yes, but none of the rest can." A shocked murmur ran through all three groups. Aro's eyebrows shot up. "The rest?" "My sisters." Nahuel shrugged again. Aro stared wildly for a moment before composing his face. "Perhaps you would tell us the rest of your story, for there seems to be more." Nahuel frowned. "My father came looking for me a few years after my mother's death." His handsome face distorted slightly. "He was pleased to find me." Nahuel's tone suggested the feeling was not mutual. "He had two daughters, but no sons. He expected me to join him, as my sisters had. He was surprised I was not alone. My sisters are not venomous, but whether that's due to gender or a random chance... who knows? I already had my family with Huilen, and I was not interested" - he twisted the word - "in making a change. I see him from time to time. I have a new sister; she reached maturity about ten years back." "Your father's name?" Caius asked through gritted teeth. "Joham," Nahuel answered. "He considers himself a scientist. He thinks he's creating a new super-race." He made no attempt to disguise the disgust in his tone. Maeryn shared this feeling. It indeed was disgusting. Caius looked at Bella. "Your daughter, is she venomous?" he demanded harshly. "No," Bella responded. Nahuel's head snapped up at Aro's question, and his teak eyes turned to bore into Bella’s face. Caius looked to Aro for confirmation, but Aro was absorbed in his own thoughts. He pursed his lips and stared at Carlisle, and then Edward, and at last his eyes rested on Bella. Caius growled. "We take care of the aberration here, and then follow it south," he urged Aro. Aro stared into Bella’s eyes for a long, tense moment. Maeryn had no idea what he was searching for in Bella’s eyes, or what he found, but after he had measured her for that moment, something in his face changed, a faint shift in the set of his mouth and eyes, and Maeryn knew that Aro had made his decision. "Brother," he said softly to Caius. "There appears to be no danger. This is an unusual development, but I see no threat. These half-vampire children are much like us, it appears." "Is that your vote?" Caius demanded. "It is." Caius scowled. "And this Joham? This immortal so fond of experimentation?" "Perhaps we

should speak with him," Aro agreed. "Stop Joham if you will," Nahuel said flatly. "But leave my sisters be. They are innocent." Aro nodded, his expression solemn. And then he turned back to his guard with a warm smile. "Dear ones," he called. "We do not fight today." The guard nodded in unison and straightened out of their ready positions. The mist dissipated swiftly, but Bella held her shield in place. She analyzed their expressions as Aro turned back to them. His face was as benign as ever, but unlike before, there could be a strange blankness sensed behind the facade. As if his scheming was over. Caius was clearly incensed, but his rage was turned inward now; he was resigned. Marcus looked... bored; there really was no other word for it. The guard was impassive and disciplined again; there were no individuals among them, just the whole. They were in formation, ready to depart. Once Alec’s mist had returned to himself, Maeryn took off the glove of her right hand, showing her porcelain skin to the sun. Alec did the same to the glove on his left hand and grabbed Maeryn’s hand tightly. It felt good to feel each other’s skin touch one another. Now they could feel their connection much better than before. The Volturi witnesses were still wary; one after another, they departed, scattering into the woods. As their numbers dwindled, the remaining sped up. Soon they were all gone. Aro held his hands out to the foes, almost apologetic. Behind him, the larger part of the guard, along with Caius, Marcus, and the silent, mysterious wives, were already drifting quickly away, their formation precise once again. Only the three that seemed to be his personal guardians lingered with him. "I'm so glad this could be resolved without violence," he said sweetly. "My friend, Carlisle - how pleased I am to call you friend again! I hope there are no hard feelings. I know you understand the strict burden that our duty places on our shoulders." "Leave in peace, Aro," Carlisle said stiffly. "Please remember that we still have our anonymity to protect here, and keep your guard from hunting in this region." "Of course, Carlisle," Aro assured him. "I am sorry to earn your disapproval, my dear friend. Perhaps, in time, you will forgive me." "Perhaps, in time, if you prove a friend to us again." Aro bowed his head, the picture of remorse, and drifted backward for a moment before he turned around. The foes watched in silence as the last four Volturi disappeared into the trees.

Once back in the castle, Jane, Alec and Maeryn made their way towards Jane’s room. Jane was boiling with anger and she threw some expensive vases against the wall on their way to her room. Maeryn and Alec skillfully avoided the porcelain shatters and followed their sister to her room. Once inside, Jane grabbed her pillow and ripped it in half. Alec let go of Maeryn’s hand and pulled his sister in a tight embrace. Jane used her gift on him, but Alec kept on holding her, not once making a sound of agony. Soon enough Jane calmed down, and as soon as Alec released her, she fell onto her bed that was now covered in feathers. She picked one up and studied its form with her magnified sight, seeing every little detail. “Don’t fret sister, there will be a day we can defeat them.” Alec said. “At a moment when they least expect it.” Jane said, slowly grinning again. "We got all eternity to plan it ." Maeryn said to Alec and Jane. Both the twins grinned. Maeryn grinned along, though she could not shake off the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

#alec volturi #volturi #volturi imagine #athenodora volturi #twilight imagine #twilight

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skybiome · 4 years

Text

And when the sun comes up, you’ll find a brand new god.

Chapter 1

Beginning | Previous | Next

ao3 tws! alcohol mentions, non bibilcal deities

Wilbur sat on a barstool inside a damp pub. Everything in the town was damp. Set on the very edge of a swamp, it rained every other day and Wilbur would be surprised if the locals bathed more often than once a fortnight. Still, it was a rather homey and down to earth kind of down.

A bard was playing a set in the corner, getting the drunken townsfolk riled into a joyful frenzy. Wilbur smiled and sipped at his drink. Rural people always partied better than cityfolk.

He was pulled out of his meandering thoughts as the performer yelled something that made the crowd yell even louder.

“It’s time for a new local favorite, The Ballad Of Technoblade!”

A few chords later, the lyrics started up, and Wilbur couldn’t even hear the bard over the drunken mass. They were something about the hero in question killing 3 griffons at once, and then slaying a wyvern without pause. How he never needed food and no one had even seen him sleep. They called him, “A man to rival the gods of the land/always found with a sword in his hand/ Working hard to fight through the fray/never knowing his own true way.”

Wilbur querked a smile at that first line.

The final stanza had a rhyme scheme than the rest of the song. Something this bard in particular had appended onto the song, Wilbur assumed. But the intoxicated crowd only roared louder. Something about a fight with a manticore.

Knocking on the wooden bartop, Wilbur vied for the bartender’s attention. Once she was looking firmly in his direction, he pointed towards the crowd. “Do you know what that song was about?” He asked.

“The Ballad of Technoblade? Sure! It’s a collection of stories about a monsterslayer. He’s gotten pretty popular in the last couple of years.” She set the glass that she had been drying down, freeing her hands to gesture as she spoke.

“There’s actually quite a few songs about him, but that’s the first one that has it name on it. I’m fairly certain that the first song I ever heard when I was about yay high was about him.” She held her hand at about waist height. The bartender looked to be in her early twenties.

Wilbur’s eyebrows raised toward his hairline. “Really? I didn’t think monster hunters had a long life expectancy.”

The bartender hummed to herself coyly. She turned around and reorganized a shelf behind her as she continued the conversation. “They do say that Technoblade never dies. He passed through here a few days ago and dealt with a manticore that was killing cattle and sheep.” She gestured around the pub without looking back. “He drank everyone in here under the table and walked out into the rain without stumbling.”

“Well, then,” Wilbur said. “I think I may just need to find this Technoblade. What’d he look like?”

“White shirt with a red cloak, black pants and boots, red sash around his waist, and he always had a crystal sword on his left hip. He left town heading south, probably towards Crosstown.”

Wilbur digested the new info for a moment. He slammed down the rest of his drink, and set the mug on the table. “Thanks for the information. Have a good night and may the gods be with you.”

He slid off the bartop stool and started through the crowd. He got a few steps before the bartender yelled one more thing at him.

“Oh! And he had pink hair!”

Had it not been for Wilbur’s perfect hearing, he’d of thought she said something else.

Once he was outside of the rowdy pub, the god took a moment to formulate a plan. The pink hair would probably be the best way to identify the elusive man. Wilbur didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it had been a good few centuries since a new god had been found.

The deity took a moment to stretch, before transforming into a finch, and heading south towards Crosstown. He could have traveled there instantly, but the god had always loved the feeling of wind under his wings.

Crosstown was a few day’s walk from the swampy village. Unless Technoblade really didn’t sleep, then he would still be on his way to the city.

After a night of flying uncomfortably close to the ground, Wilbur had yet to spot someone in a red cloak, and the city was in sight. Technoblade have had to walk for over a day without stopping to reach Crosstown. The deity added a mark to his mental “is Technoblade is a god?” list. Landing in an alleyway, he transformed back into a person.

Legally, nothing was stopping him from transforming in public, but not everyone had the highest opinions on public displays of magic. Wilbur had more important things than deal with bigots. Mainly, locating the famous monster hunter.

The only lights in the city came from the crescent moon overhead, and the occasional houses that still had candles burning in their windows. The god had perfect vision though, so the low light wasn’t an issue.

There was a lack of obvious bustle on the street due to the late hour of the night. The city never truly slept, but anyone in their right minds probably would be. Technoblade probably bought a night in an inn. Wilbur decided that searching for him at night would be useless. He’d have to wait until morning to look for the monster hunter.

The god came to stop at the outskirts of a park near the edge of Crosstown. A few trees were scattered around the grassy area. His attention was drawn to the only other person in eyeshot. Someone in a red cloak sat on the damp ground, leading back against a tree. A crystalline sword sat across their lap, and a few tufts of pink hair stuck out of their hood. Smiling, Wilbur stepped closer.

Technoblade was sound asleep and in desperate need of some personal care. His hair looked roughly cut, like the monster hunter had done it himself. He was caked in mud up to his knees. Tears and large blood splatters covered his clothes, but Technoblade seemed uninjured.

The only belongings that Wilbur could see besides the sword in his lap were a scabbard, presumably for the sword, a smaller burlap sack, and a blood soaked cloth bag tied to his belt.

A piece of his pink bangs were moving along with the man’s even, slow breaths. Reaching down, Wilbur nudged the monster hunter’s shoulder. The next thing he knew, the deity was pinned to the ground. Technoblade had a knee pressed between his ribs and a sword pressed to his neck.

The hunter’s eyes were looking through Wilbur. A second later, Technoblade blinked, and the glaze left the hunter’s vision. He swore softly, and muttered an apology, tossing his sword away.

The knee was removed from Wilbur’s ribs, and the man climbed off of the god. The deity rolled onto his side, feigning discomfort and groaning softly.

Technoblade got to his feet, still looking down at the person he’d just attacked. After a moment, Wilbur uncurled from his ball on the ground. The two made eye contact, and the monster hunter spoke first.

“What do you want?” His tone was somewhere between aggressive and wary. Defensive, is how Wilbur would describe it.

Wilbur took a moment to center himself before speaking. “I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Technoblade. And I want to see if they’re really true.”

A pause.

“If you’re going to try and kill me, you won’t.” The monster hunter was taking this encounter a lot more seriously than the god.

“It’s nothing like that, I promise.” Wilbur waved his hands in front of him appeasingly. The man seemed very anxious and getting stabbed was not on the god’s to-do-list for the day. “Just a trial or two.”

Technoblade still stood in a defensive stance, with his center of mass lower to the ground. Wilbur didn’t know the first thing about fighting, but the monster hunter seemed more ready to react from an attack by Wilbur, than make the first move.

His hands were away from the sheath at his hip, and instead raised like he was ready to grapple an attacker.

The man glanced around before speaking. “Can it wait ‘til morning? I still have a bounty I need to turn in and the sheriff’s office doesn’t open until daylight.” He gestured towards the bloody bag hanging from his hip.

“Alright.” Wilbur nodded. “I’ll find you when you’re done.”

When Technoblade blinked, Wilbur vanished from where he had been sitting on the ground. The man jumped backwards in surprise, hand instinctively gripping his sword handle. Hackles raised, Technoblade kept a hand on his sword, and did a patrol of the grassy park.

Wilbur laughed internally at the man’s paranoia. He was sitting in the tree as a robin. Instantaneous teleportation made it fun to mess with people. Being a god made it fun to mess with people.

Technoblade did one more sweep on the area before settling back down against the tree with his sword drawn and settled across his lap. It didn’t look like the monster hunter was going to fall back asleep. The god took off after watching him for a few minutes. A pub a few streets down was calling his name. It would need a substitute bard if the crowd wanted to party until the sun dawned.

The god of music walked back out of the alcohol soaked building at day break. The drunken party was still roaring behind him. With the god’s blessing, the festivities would continue until noon.

Crosstown was alive with business now. The namesake intersection of the north-south and east-west trade road ran through the center of town and the deity had to transform into a sparrow to avoid the caravans and reckless horse riders. In the crowded streets, no one would notice a quiet act of magic. And if they did there were too many people for them to know who had done it.

When he returned to the park, Technoblade had disappeared from beneath his tree. A few children were playing knights with fallen sticks. Wilbur asked, and they pointed him to the sheriff’s office. It was a fair distance away from the main intersections.

Wilbur transformed into a lark, and flew away to the sounds of the children shouting in amazement. He caught up with the monster hunter as the cloak wearing man turned the last corner on the way to the law office. Technoblade jumped when the bird landed on his shoulder and spun around, trying to knock his apparently attacker off his shoulder. Once he realized it was just a bird, the adrenaline seemed to drain out of him. The fighter took a moment to get his heart rate back under control, then started to shoo the animal away.

The deity in disguise simply fluttered to the man’s other shoulder, undeterred. After the lark hopped between his shoulders a few more times, the monster hunter seemed to accept that the bird wasn’t going anywhere and stopped trying to spook it away. He then continued to walk towards his destination.

Technoblade pushed the door to the sheriff’s office and made a beeline for a bulletin board. From his shoulder, Wilbur could read that the papers plastering the cork surface were bounties or wanted posters, whether for people or monsters. The cloaked man pulled down his hood, and tore one of the papers off the wall. He set it on the front desk of the office.

A bell attached to the door had rung when they’d first walked in. A man in a sheriff’s uniform emerged from the back as the monster hunter freed the bloody bag from his belt and set it on the table beside the bounty poster.

The lawman looked perturbed by the sack, dried blood flaking onto his otherwise clean desk. Technoblade untied the string on the bag, showing the contents to the lawman.

From the perch on the man’s shoulder, Wilbur could see the bloody items inside. A scorpion stinger the size of a human head sat nestled between several claws and two bloody canines. Trophies that Technoblade must have collected from his kill to prove his victory.

“Manticore hiding in the swamp to the south by Willowhill that was killing livestock.” He pushed the bounty paper towards the man on the other side of the desk.

The sheriff froze under Technoblade’s gaze. After a moment, he recollected himself and disappeared into the back. He returned with another piece of paper that had several sentences and phrases printed on it. Technoblade stood patiently as the lawman copied several things from the poster onto the new piece of paper.

The monster hunter was apparently familiar with this process. When the sheriff stopped writing and began looking up, the man simply stated his name as, “Technoblade,” before the officer even asked him anything. The lawman wrote on a line at the bottom of the paper, beside the words, “Bounty collected by”. The second piece of paper looked to be an official record that the bounty had been completed.

Once he was done writing, the man rolled up both the new paper and the bounty poster, setting them somewhere below the desk. Wilbur watched the man go into the back room one final time, and return with a sizable big that jingled as he walked. Technoblade took the reward from the officer. He left without another world, almost throwing the lark off his shoulder with how fast he turned around.

Outside, the monster hunter fastened the sack full of coins to his belt and pulled the hood back over his head. The muddy red cloak didn’t stick out much among the colorful city population, but the pink hair was obscenely eye catching.

Technoblade turned to the lark on his shoulder. With resignation in his eyes, he asked, “You’re not going to leave, are you.”

Wilbur chirped once and fluttered to sit on top of the man’s red hood. Technoblade let out an extended sigh, apparently accepting his fate as a taxi for the songbird.

The deity rode for several minutes. Before long, he realized that the monster hunter was returning to the same park as the night before. The man settled back down against the trunk of the same tree after he looked around the grassy area, only seeing the playing children.

The lark hopped off Technoblade’s shoulder. Wilbur sat in the grass, watching the man. When he’d had his hood down in the sheriff’s office, Wilbur was surprised to see that his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Let down, the pink hair would reach a little past his shoulders.

The monster hunter set both the reward bag, and retrieved the empty, smaller bag from where it was tied to his belt. He moved several fistfuls of the precious coins from the larger bag into the smaller one. Once he was done, Technoblade looped the smaller bag back onto his belt and picked up the larger one.

Getting to his feet, the hunter whistled, grabbing the kids’ attention. He tossed the bag full of money on the ground. He’d left the draw string untied and coins spilled out across the grass. Technoblade turned on his heel, walking away as the children descended on the money like starving vultures. The god fluttered back onto the man’s shoulder.

He stayed there until they were outside of the city. The monster hunter had avoided the main trade routes, instead opting to walk through the alleyways until he reached the forest north-west of Crosstown. Once they were firmly out of eyesight, Wilbur hopped off of Technoblade’s shoulder. The lark hovered in front of the man, before retaking his more human form.

Technoblade blinked slowly, and then cocked his head to the side. “So that was you.”

“What gave it away?” Wilbur felt a grin slip onto his face.

“Well-” the hunter kept his tired gaze locked on the deity, “-if you were a mage sent by the royal guard, you would have already tried to kill me. And most other magicians avoid me like a plague.”

“Why’s that?” The god cocked his head to the side

“Being cursed sucks.”

“Hmmm,” Wilbur rocked from side to side for a moment. “Are you still up to do my trials?”

The man shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Let’s shake on it, then.” He extended a hand.

Technoblade stared at Wilbur’s hand, then lethargically pulled one of his own out of his red cloak. He hesitated for just a moment, but eventually gripped Wilbur’s palm and shook it.

The next moment, he opened his eyes, and was someone entirely different.

The fighter was standing on top of a massive marble pillar. A glance over the edge revealed a drop into darkness. Even with his perfect night vision, Techno couldn’t see the bottom.

“Technoblade!”

He spun around on a dime, pulling his weapon out of its sheath at the same time. A diamond axe now sat heavy in his hand. In front of him, was the man he’d been speaking to. The pillar he was standing on was taller than Techno’s, and too far to try and jump for.

Gone were the street clothes the man had been wearing. Instead, a black wrought crown sat on his head and he was dressed lavishly in a blue and gold. An overhead light shown from somewhere the monster hunter couldn’t identify.

He pointed at Techno as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about you, Technoblade. And from what I’ve heard, I think that I may have some answers for you.”

“Cool.” Techno glanced around the void they were standing in. He’d faced a few magic users, but never one that could make an illusion this convincing.

The magician walked towards the edge of the pillar he stood on. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Technoblade?”

“Not very high on my priority list right now.” The hunter spun around to glance at his surroundings, in case there was anything he could use. Only more darkness.

“I, am Wilbur Soot.” The man dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “God of music and trials.”

Okay, that grabbed Techno’s attention.

The deity gestured towards the nothing around him. “I’ve got a couple of challenges set up for you. And I cannot wait to see how you do with them.”

Techno shifted his grip on his axe.

“I’ll see you in a bit! I really do hope you live up to your legend.”

Wilbur snapped his fingers just as Technoblade released his hatchet. It was aimed directly at the god’s chest. The monster hunter didn’t see if the weapon made contact. The pillar beneath his feet vanished, and he plunged into the darkness below.

#technoblade #wilbur soot #sleepy bois inc #my writing #i plan on there being more of this #plan being the main word #when the sun comes up au

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 42)

“As I said, We’ve got Carol and Maggie. You wanna talk about that?”

The woman’s voice cuts through the device like a fork against a black board. It’s too loud, too clear and all Mila wants to do is yell at the horrible voice to shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Her heart rate has skyrocketed rapidly and beads of sweat are beginning to build up in the back of her neck. Crap, it all went so damn well! No one was injured. Everything was smooth, almost too easy. But she didn’t think of it like that then, mids all commotion. Would she have suspected that something was wrong? Mila’s hands squeeze harder around the wooden rifle handle, tries to calm herself. She can’t lose her grip completely, can’t run away like a crazy person to try and save them just like that. Even though it feels like the ground under her feet is swaying, even though her heart is screaming for her to run to Carol and Maggie’s rescue, rhyme and reason takes over; there’s no way she could run off and free them on her own like some Superwoman without even knowing where to run. Besides, she tries to reason with herself, it’s Maggie and Carol; two of the toughest women she knows. Mila remains in the dry, trampled grass, all while trying to maintain a calm breathing scheme. Breathe in, count to three, breath out, count to three, then repeat. Instinctively, she looks up at Glenn. He’s pale as a sheet, the fear on his face is unmistakable and he shivers slightly.

Without a word, Rick takes the walkie from the ground, Mila glares at the radio, then at the man on the ground. That’s when it boils over for her. She’s had it. Mila pushes herself past Daryl and kneels onto the bleeding, scornfully grinning man, presses her knee against his crotch and grabs onto his stained shirt. She abruptly pulls his head up from the ground so they are just centimeters away from each other and stares him haywire straight in the eyes, while breathing through her nostrils.

“Now you’ll be a good boy and tell me what the fuck is going on here.” It impresses her that she manages to keep her voice calm, threatening, but wow, she’s cool. Inside, however, she’s like a tornado. “It’s a very generous offer, believe me. Because I’m fucking nuts.”

Not an understatement. She is. It’s in the genes apparently, better embrace it while it’s useful. To further show him that she means what she says, she puts more weight onto his balls and grins even more haywire as he grunts in pain; she’s not a fucking quitter, that’s for sure. She would crush them without flinching, she could just as well smile as she did it. One dickhead less in this world.

Once again they’re interrupted by the static hissing from the walkie in Rick’s hand. With joined force Mila and Daryl roughly get the guy up on his feet. Glenn is there in a matter of seconds, eyes boiling with rage, making sure the man doesn’t get the slightest chance to escape while pointing his gun at him; it must take all of his powers to maintain that calm, Mila thinks to herself as she steps away.

“Now we’re gonna work this out right now, and it’s going to go our way.”

Rick looks around at them, then takes the radio and pushes the button.

“You can see we have one of yours.” He says authoritarian, at the same time diplomatic; a cop right down to his bone marrow. “Let’s trade.”

“I’m listening.”

“First I wanna talk to Maggie and Carol, make sure they’re all right.”

A pause follows before the radio cracks again.

“Rick, it’s Carol. I’m- I’m fine, but-”

Carol is abruptly interrupted and cut off by the snappy woman, who gives the radio to Maggie.

“Rick, it’s Maggie. We’re both okay. We’ll figure thi-”

At the sound of Maggie’s voice Mila can feel the air around Glenn rattle; he can’t crack. Not now. She gives him a side look, tries her best to communicate, through eye contact, that everything’s gonna be fine. They’ll get her back. Both of them.

“You have your proof. Let’s talk.” The nasal female voice is back.

“This is the deal right here. Let ‘em go. You can have your guy back and live.” Rick says sternly, shows with all of his being that he won’t back down from that.

“Two for one, that’s not much of a trade.”

“You don’t have another choice or you would’ve done something about it already.” Silence follows. Rick takes the walkie from his mouth and looks around at them. “It’s their only option.” He says while looking at Glenn and Daryl. “They are at a disadvantage.” Once again he takes the radio and pushes the button. “Look, I know you’re talking it over. It’s a fair trade. Just come out, we do this, we walk away.” Pause follows on his attempt to bargain. “We have a deal?” Rick asks into the radio.

Mila swallows, feels how her heart beats harder and harder. Soon it might jump out of her chest. But it doesn’t have to come to that. The radio crackles.

“I’ll get back to you.”

Radio silence, again. This time it’s a permanent dead, white noise. Fuck. Her brain works like a freight train; what are they gonna do? A rescue mission. But how? And where?

“Great.” Abraham mutters and sighs where he stands next to Sasha. “Fucking bastards.”

“There can’t be many left, or at least they’re not a big group.” Aaron says.

“What are we gonna do?” Glenn exclaims. His voice is loud, scared. No wonder. “We can’t just wait? They got Maggie!” The voice cracks. He’s close to panicking. “They got them.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Rick says.

“Yeah well, soon.” Glenn’s reply is something between a plea and an order.

“Why are we even negotiating with them?” Mila looks at Rick. “What proof do we have that they’re green? None!”

“What else can we do?” Rick replies.

“Either way, there’s no use for us to stay around here.” Michonne determines factually. “Chances are this place will be overrun.”

“She’s right.” Rosita nods. “We should get outta’ here.”

“Yeah but where?” Jesus scratches his beanie. “We have no idea where they went.”

“We’ll track ‘em.” Daryl states huskily. “See if there’s a clear direction to follow. Gives us some advantage knowing where the hell they are.”

It’s as if he’s trying to mediate between us, Mila thinks. As if he wants to stand with one foot in each camp. Rick puts his hands on his hips, the cop-pose, and nods, as does Mila. Daryl ties the Savior’s hands behind his back with a piece of cloth, instructs him to be ‘really fuckin’ careful’, otherwise he’ll kill him. Well, if Mila doesn’t get the chance first. It’s as if Rick is able to read her mind where she stands, adjusting the shoulder strap on her AK-74 without taking her eyes from the Savior.

“We need him.” Rick says.

“For what?” Mila replies, eyes still locked on the Savior. “Things could go much faster if he talked.” She tears her eyes from the beaten son of a bitch to meet Rick’s. “I can help with that.”

“We need him alive.” Rick’s voice is hard. “What if they wanna trade?”

“And what if they won’t?” Mila digs her right hand into her tight jeans pocket and takes out a new magazine for her gun. “Besides, torture doesn’t have to end with death. Maybe a finger less, or two. Depends on him entirely, how willing he is to talk.”

“I mean it.” Rick’s gaze intensifies. “You’ll get your chance if I say so. But for now, don’t. We’ll try to settle this peacefully.”

While Daryl, Abraham and Aaron go outside the fence to look for tracks, Mila, in the company of Sasha, returns into the dull satellite outpost building to find the arsenal. They also take the opportunity to put an end to the men they shot down earlier. A bullet through the head or a knife; it would be foolhardy not to do it right away.

“Too bad you didn’t get the chance to do it.” Sasha states as she drags her knife out of the temple of a limp man with a dirty blonde beard.

“Do what?” With a grunt Mila pushes her own knife into the forehead of another soldier, who’s lifeless staring eyes look at her, or past her.

“Crush his nuts.” Sasha replies. “That asshole. Might have made him more cooperative.”

“Yeah.” Mila wipes her forehead on her jacket, then drags the knife out. She leans up against the wall, sighs. She’s suddenly feeling tired. Well, she’s also tired of feeling fatigue just out of the blue like this.

Sasha’s attentive; she looks up just in time to see Mila drag her hands over her face.

“You okay?”

“Tired.” Mila says into the palms of her hand.

“Then there’s two of us.” Sasha continues to put an end to the Saviors, laying scattered around the corridor like fallen dominoes. “You think they’ll make it?”

“Maggie and Carol?” Mila nods. “Yeah.” An unpleasant, well known feeling lately, starts to rise up to her throat. “Yeah. They’ll be okay.” Carol and Maggie will be okay, it’s her own sorry ass she feels sorry for. She feels sick to her stomach, again. “Oh fuck-” She doesn’t have time to say more before she vomits over a, fortunately dead, poor bastard on the concrete floor.

“Ooh, girl-” Sasha whimpers and looks compassionate at her. “Denise should probably check on you when we get back.”

“Nothing to check on.” Mila answers and nods down at the mess. What good would that do? The damage has already been done. “I’m already feeling better.”

“Something you ate?”

“More like a curse.” Mila sighs, this is starting to get damn tiring. “I think I’ve killed a witch-walker. Or a warlock-walker.”

Sasha lets out a laugh, a liberating laughter that makes Mila smile and laugh as well as she spits on the ground. If anyone managed to run into a wizard-walker during the apocalypse and kill it, it would of course have been Mila. No doubt about it.

“You think it’s like with mirrors?” Sasha chuckles. “Seven years of bad luck for killing a wizard walker.”

“Don’t tell Daryl, please. ” Mila appeals. “He’s antsy as it is.”

“Promise.” Sasha nods.

They start to walk down the corridor, in search of the arsenal.

“So, you and Abe?” Mila asks while taking her gun out.

“What?” The black eyebrows go up towards Sasha’s hairline. “Seriously?”

“Not my words.” Mila excuses herself. “Blame Eugene, he’s the one spreading juicy gossip all around. I’m just a good listener.” She turns her head and looks at Sasha. “But honestly though, between us two?”

“Really?” Sasha sighs and stops in front of a door. She feels the handle, notices that it is open, takes charge and throws open the door with a raised weapon. Empty. “Yeah. Okay, maybe. I don’t know.”

“That fresh, huh?” Mila lowers her handgun.

“It’s not like we’ve got other things to worry about right now, right?”

“Apparently I wed 36 hours ago and that went okay.” Mila shrugs a little. “Depends on the timing I suppose.” She continues to say just as Sasha feels another door. It’s locked. From her back pocket Sasha takes a small, sharp metal tool and puts it into the lock. A few, barely noticeable movements and voila; the lock clicks. “As said, blame Eugene.”

They hold their guns out in front of themselves as Sasha tears the door open. The welcome committee doesn’t wait, although it’s certainly small, only one walker makes an appearance; very energetic, perhaps even happy to be released, it staggers towards them with open arms. Sasha’s dark, round eyes meet Mila’s and Mila nods politely, letting Sasha have the pleasure. With a faint grunt Sasha makes the lethal, final act of mercy, or pity, and the walker drops to the floor. Mila steps over the pile of rotten flesh, lifts her flashlight and lights it. The circular light dances over the room. It’s not big, but they’ve hit the jackpot.

“Bingo.” Mila states, moves further into the room while sweeping with the light around the shelves. The storage isn’t as big or well stocked as any of them thought. “Help me get these out to the cars.” She starts lifting drawers from the top shelves.

“Wait-” Sasha hurries over to her. “I’ll do it.”

Mila gives her a look; stubborn, tired.

“I'm fine.”

“You just vomited a tidal wave over a corpse.” Sasha shakes her head so that a black lock of hair that has fallen out of her face dances in her forehead. “I’m not telling anyone.” She continues, as to assure her that it stays between them. She takes the box from Mila and lifts it down, then another. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Russia.”

Mila jerks her head a bit, from side to side. It’s another lifetime now. Another Mila, younger, more naive, a child. How long ago is it really? Eight years maybe, but it feels longer, more like eighty.

”Some of it. Miss my mum, the memories- well…” She huffs. “Not all of them. Mostly my mother, to be fair.” Mila sighs and continues to inspect the shelves. “But memories are always more appealing than reality.” She says quietly, like if it was a whisper only meant for her own ears.

“What about your dad?” Sasha asks behind her. “Or was it just you and your mum?”

Sasha can’t see it, but Mila grimaces. She knew the questions would come, someday. So far, not many people know about her past, about her father’s true colors and what really happened. Daryl knows, of course. She has told parts of her past, but not everything to the others. She left out the part about her father, the real reason why she ended up in the states and where he went after that. What good would her telling them about that do? Her cold, hard treatment towards the man, the Wolves-man, a few days after she arrived in Alexandria, hadn’t been explained further. No one demanded that of her. She wasn’t the only ruthless killer in the group after all. At this point, everyone had killed someone. At some point, the truth will be inevitable and her past will emerge. But not like this, not here.

“That’s-”

Mila’s interrupted by Aaron’s voice, echoing through the corridor:

“Sasha, Mila?”

“In here.” Sasha calls out, her voice echoes between the concrete walls in the room, and finds its way out in the corridor.

Steps follow on her reply and Aaron appears in the doorway.

“We have contact.”

Mila and Sasha look at each other and run out of the room, following Aaron out of the bunker-like concrete building. The daylight hits them like a laser and Mila feels a strong resemblance to a Vampire walking out in sunlight. They scurry up to Rick and the others just as the radio crackles.

“Talk to me.” Rick says. It seems that there is a period of reflection on the other side, because his voice is slightly sharper, as if it’s the second time he’s asking.

“You weren’t listening.” The voice is back, that nasal female’s voice. She sounds almost agitated, challenging. “I said I’d contact you.”

“Would it make a difference if I said I was sorry about that?”

“What do you think?”

“I think we’re gonna make the trade-” Rick says boldly. “So tell me where.”

“We haven’t agreed to that.”

“Well-” Rick’s gaze wanders around the group, standing in a tight circle around him. “You will.”

“And what if they won’t?” Rosita asks.

“They will.”

The radio clicks.

“You know what, I’m not so sure.” The woman says, now with way too much confidence. “We’d be taking most of the risk, not getting much in the way of a reward.”

“The other option won’t work out for you.”

“We’ll take our chances.”

Radio silence is once again repeated, static noise that rips through the air. A collective sigh rolls over the group. But Rick looks hopeful.

“It’s good.” His voice mode is encouraging and hopeful. “We’ve got contact, that’s good.” He turns to Mila and Sasha. “There’s tracks-” The clear, blue eyes flicker between them and Daryl, standing on the other side of Rick next to Abraham. “Pretty clear ones, leading away from here. We might find ‘em before a trade would be an option.”

“Where?” Mila asks and looks at Daryl.

“North.” Daryl answers. “No tire prints, they must’ve walked. Can’t be far.”

“We found the arsenal.” Sasha informs with her hands on her hips. “Not much, but it’s something.”

Rick nods approvingly, pleased with their efforts. From the other side Mila notices Abraham’s lips turn into a soft grin. Whatever Sasha says or believes there’s at least one of them that can’t hide their feelings, that’s for sure.

“Let’s bring out whatever we can collect and let’s get goin’.” Rick continues and attaches the radio to the belt. “Let’s go.”

Mila doesn’t insist on going back inside again. Instead she lingers, wanting to stay out in the fresh air. Daryl steps up to her, looking at her thorough up and down.

“Ya’ alright?” The question is suspicious, as if he can look straight into her soul and see that something’s up. He’s keen-eyed. Usually she loves that trait, but right now it’s not to her advantage. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mila lies without blinking. “Carol’s gone, Maggie’s gone.”

“Hm.” He’s not convinced, but he can’t say anything; it’s true, they’re all a bit antsy. Maggie and Carol are gone and he’s just as worried as she is, but they hide it well. They must not lose focus on the task. Nevertheless, the gaze that meets her’s is searching. “Jersey?”

“Fine.” Mila pokes with the tip of her toe on a piece of grass, where the underlying, sandy soil has been exposed, feeling guilty about lying. “It happened again.” She says cryptically.

“What? Ya’ were sick?”

“Inside. Threw up on a dead guy.”

The last part makes Daryl grin. It de-dramatizes the whole situation a bit.

“Jersey.”

She’s not warned to be careful, told that he’s worried and that she is...

“Load it in the cars.”

Sasha, Abraham, Rick, Jesus and Aaron are back; walking out of the building, loaded with ammunition, weapons and heavy cardboard boxes with unknown contents.

“Phew!” Abraham sighs when he passes her and Daryl. “Those dead bastards smell hella’ foul, fucking hell.”

Mila’s cheeks flush at his statement. If he only knew what. In passing, Sasha hands her a new package of chewing gum, spearmint this time.

They are getting ready to leave, climbs into the cars and Daryl points out the direction in which the Savior’s must have gone. The old RV takes the lead, Rick revs the weak engine and steers the clumsy vehicle towards the open gate. Next to her Daryl puts pressure on the gas pedal and the car rolls out of the enclosure around the dead quiet satellite outpost. In the back seat, Glenn squeezes the barrel of his assault rifle tightly, clings to hope and his swaying sanity. They gotta find them alive and well, Mila thinks to herself, they have to.

Daryl drives the car, slow but steady, north on small roads that can hardly be counted as roads, just run-down dry grass. The RV in front of them halts after a while, as does Daryl and the car behind them. The RV’s door opens and Rick and the others come out of it. Mila and Daryl open their door simultaneously and all of them get out, gather around the still warm hood.

“We must be close.” Rick says, to answer Daryl’s questioning eyes. “The forest is becoming sparser. It’s safest not to drive closer.” He looks around at them. “Some of us should scout.”

“I’ll go.” Daryl’s voice is determined. He turns and looks at her. As if he wanted her permission to go.

“Be careful.” Mila lets her fingertips run down his jacket arm as he leaves her side and walks north, into the vegetation.

She sighs, feels her stomach twist like a wet towel inside her belly. He’ll be okay, she thinks, of course he will. While waiting for Daryl to return with news on their position, they go through the weapons and boxes they brought with them from the compound. The boxes are filled with a blissful mix of cans, vacuum-packed military food, knives, more ammunition than could fit in the ammunition boxes. Mila quickly picks out a hunting knife with about as long a knife handle as her own and attaches it to her worn out leather belt. As she makes sure it’s secured she reminds herself not to ask Carol to babysit when they’re back, that would be fucking rude after this ordeal. To think that the thought crossed her mind earlier is almost surreal. How fast things can turn, for good and for worse.

“What are you thinking?” Mila lifts her gaze at Michonne, standing in front of her. The sharp swords at her back create reflections in the faint sunlight, bright spots that dance around their feet.

“I’m impressed I didn’t already kill that bastard.” Mila replies, referring to the Savior they might need to use for barter. No, Rick was determined on that point. He wouldn’t be harmed, so they locked him into the RV, tied up. She gives her friend a sharp look. “If he tries to run, I will kill him though.”

“I won’t stop you.” Michonne strolls over to her. “But I meant the compound. It felt-”

“Wrong?” Mila fills in and nods. “Thought about it too.”

“Which one of ‘em was Negan you think?” Michonne squints her eyes.

Mila shakes her head in response, a movement that causes the front strands of her hair to tickle her face. No, she doesn’t know.

At first everything felt victorious, but now, when she’s thought it over both once and twice, there’s something fishy about it all. But she can’t wrap her head around what. It’s more like a gut feeling, maybe the famous and mysterious female intuition that intervenes. In that case, she’s not alone about that feeling at least; Michonne seems to think the same.

They all jump by the sound of the walkie-talkie crackling, declaring that the nasty woman is about to speak. And she does.

“Hey, asshole, are you there?”

“Charming lady.” Abraham scoffs.

“We’ve thought about it. We wanna make the trade.”

A quiet murmur, a unison “yes” followed by a “finally”, rises from the group gathered around Rick.

“That’s good.” Rick nods.

“There’s a large field with a sign that says ‘God is dead’ about two miles down I-66.”

“We’ll meet you there. How ‘bout… 10 minutes?”

Silence. Does that mean yes? Probably, because the radio silence remains. A soft rustling makes them tear their eyes from the radio and turn to look to the right just as Daryl walks out of the greenery, unharmed and well. Something that feels like a mountain-sized stone drops from Mila’s chest at the sight of him.

“Found it.” He says. Rick’s reaction to his proclamation is to tell everyone to gear up. “About five hundred yards that way.” Daryl points when Rick asks about the location. “A slaughterhouse. Saw a few of ‘em leave. I’d say it’s our chance.”

That settles it. Michonne drags the Savior, Primo, out of the RV and pushes him in front of her and they start walking into the green, wild forest, where no cars have managed to drive without getting stuck. Roots and low foliage cover the ground around the trunks and bigger bushes. Daryl leads and Mila has to hurry up to catch up with him.

“Did you see them?” Mila asks when she’s abreast with Daryl, careful not to trip over a protruding tree root. “Carol and Maggie?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, folds a weak branch out of the way for her. “Just two armed guards. Might be another outpost.”

Not a word is said about him thinking she should have stopped by the cars, just in case. He knows very well that such an appeal would never be incorporated when it comes to her, she wouldn’t listen.

They walk about half a mile before Daryl raises his hand, causing them to stop. Through the trees they see a building that looks seemingly completely deserted and run down. The slaughterhouse. No people in sight.

“Okay, so now what?”

A loud bang, like an explosion, makes them all jump at the spot and crouch in the foliage. Did it come from the slaughterhouse? Smoke, seeping out of the building’s vents, gives Mila the answer to that. They run out of the greenery, there’s no time to lose. Straight to the door. They press up against the wall in a neat row, preparing to storm the building. Prepares for another fight. Mila swallows and looks up, meets Daryl’s eyes where he stands pressed against her left shoulder. They’re so close she can feel his scent and the heat from his body through the fabric of his clothes.

While the loud noise rings out of her ears, Mila sees Gabriel and Rosita push the rusty, heavy sliding door open, while Glenn stands ready to go inside. Through the half-open opening two people come crashing out.

“Maggie!” Glenn drops his Heckler & Koch the second Maggie and Carol burst out into the sunlight. “Oh my god-” His voice cracks as he closes his arms around her.

Daryl grabs a hold on Carol just as Gabriel and Rosita disappear into the slaughterhouse, hugs her tightly. Mila lets out a deep sigh, squeezes Carol’s arm as she hurries past her to look inside the door. Nothing. She turns back to Carol and Maggie, who’s seemingly safe and sound, except for some minor bruising. Under the circumstances she’s happy about it, it could have been much worse.

“How’d you find us?” Carol’s voice is unsteady, shaken.

“We got your trail.” Daryl replies. “Ye’ started a fire?”

“Yeah-” Carol nods, seems almost absent. Is it shock? “Yeah.”

“Hey-” Softly Mila takes her hans, squeezes it. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Did they hurt you?” Mila says seriously.

“No-”

“Come ‘ere.” Daryl drags her closer, into a hug and Carol rests her head on his shoulder. “Ye’re safe.”

“They’re dead.” Maggie stutters. “They’re all dead, the ones that took us. They’re all dead.”

Daryl turns around, looks at Glenn.

“We can’t stay here.”

“Let’s go.” Glenn nods, takes Maggie’s hand and they go out. “Come.”

“Time to go.” Mila holler into the smoky entrance while Daryl leads Carol out of the slaughterhouse. “Gabe, Rosita, let’s go.”

She lingers, waits for Gabriel and Rosita, then they run after the others. The adrenaline is still pumping around inside her body, unused. As they make their way back, Carol and Maggie tell them what happened. About Paula, the woman in the radio, the others, how they were separated and their somewhat grand escape.

“Rick, these people-” Carol pauses when she’s done. Her voice is back to its normal state, not shivering. “They’re bad. Really bad.”

“Then we don’t need him anymore.” Abraham states with a chuckle, chewing on the cigar stump.

“Who?” Maggie looks at him. “Wha- you still have him? That Savior?”

Back at the RV Michonne drags Primo out in front of them and pushes him down into the dry grass. As he gets up Rick gets a grip around his shirt. “Your friends are dead.” He explains. “No one’s coming for ya’. So you might as well talk.”

“Let him burn.” Daryl huffs.

The cocky grin he had earlier has disappeared. As if the reality that he’s now alone surrounded by them has caught up with him. His gaze flickers.

“Was Negan in that building last night-” Rick shakes Primo. “Or was he here?” No answer. Just silence. “Was Negan there last night or was he here?”

“Both.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m Negan, Shithead!” The reply is scornful. “There’s a whole world of fun that we can talk about, so let’s have a chat.”

A curtain is drawn before Mila’s eyes. Her patience has run out completely and the cocktail of her Russian and Jerseyite temper, the nausea that has made her vomit every-fucking-where they went, a slight abstinence (she hadn’t touched a vodka bottle in almost twenty hours) and the fact that two of her closest friends were kidnapped right under their eyes haven’t had a mitigating effect either. Mila sees her own arm reach out and grab onto Primo’s shirt and she tears him out of Rick’s firm grip like a seagull grabbing onto an ice cream cone from a happily unknown kid at the beach in Point Pleasant.

“Hey, hey- Mila!”

Mila doesn’t take note of Rick’s commanding voice, just drags Primo away from the group; she’s had it. He’s still laughing, but he won’t be for long. Her fuse is out. Mila pushes Primo down on the grass, straddles him and grabs her knife, the brand new one.

“Last chance, scumbag.” Mila hisses between her teeth. She grabs onto his left ear and places the blade of the brand new, shiny knife towards the root behind it, just as she does when she peels potatoes. “Odin…”

One. Just a continuous laugh in reply. He doesn’t know she’s serious.

“Dva... ”

Two. Behind her Mila hears the others protest.

“Mila!”

“Tri.”

Three. The blade goes through the thin layer of skin, into the cartilage easily as if it was made of wax. Blood pulsates out of the wound as the blade cleaves a blood vessel and flows down into the dry grass. She’s always amazed at how dark red it is, almost black. Primo screams, his mouth wide open and distorted from pain. Eyes somewhere between pain and fury. Mila makes one last, violent movement and the ear separates from the head.

“Yeah yeah, scream all you want-” She yells, to drown out Primo’s cry of pain, without breaking their intense eye contact. Sure as hell it hurts, asshole, she thinks. “You feeling talkative now, podonok.” Mila leans in and places her forearm just above his Adam’s apple, forcing him to bend his head back and expose his neck completely for her. “Now, let’s try again. Negan, who’s Negan!” She holds his own ear in front of his eyes. But Primo doesn’t say a thing, just continues to scream. “Fine-” Mila stabs the knife into the ground next to his head, grabs the screaming man’s mouth in a hard grip. “Open up for the train, big boy.”

He fights well, but unfortunately for him, Mila’s stronger this time. Even though he tries to throw his head from one side to the other, she has such a firm grip around his jaw that he can’t do anything. Especially not when Mila also gets a firm grip on his nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth.

“For chris’sake!”

The moment Mila presses the severed ear into Primo’s wide-open mouth, forcing him to chew by pressing his jaws together, she feels an arm around her waist tearing her up from the ground. It’s Daryl. She looks around through a curtain of her own hair, notices that the others are looking at her with baffled expressions on their faces. Rick, standing closest by her besides Daryl, looks both shocked and angry.

“Enough!” Rick’s voice is loud and he spits as he roars at her. ”That’s enough!”

“What?” Mila makes a sound that’s a mixture of a bark and a laugh. She tries to free herself from Daryl, but his arm won’t let go of her waist. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted answers-”

“Not like this, not by torture!”

“Oh, litsemer!” Hypocrite. It jumps out of her without warning, but luckily Rick doesn’t understand her native tongue. “You think he’s of any importance?” She shouts. “A helper, that’s what he is. A nobody! Christ sake, screw diplomacy, Rick. This is the only language folks such as they, as him-” Mila points to Primo. “-and people like those Wolves understand. Violence! Nothing else. And we’re no different. Don’t pretend you, or any of us are, ‘cause that’s all we got to maintain status Q; violence!”

Rick’s about to open his mouth to say something, but Mila, still flustered with rage, doesn’t let him.

“And don’t come up with empty words about maintaining peace. Peace is not an option in a world of chaos.” She spits in Primo’s direction. “Otvali!”

Silence follows on her rant, except the sound of Primo’s groans. All stands silent and watches the silent staring game as Mila and Rick glares at each other; who will look away first? It’s Rick who shifts focus first. He turns and looks at the man on the ground, walks two steps until he stands over him.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time.” The voice is low, warning. “Who’s Negan?”

“Fuck off!”

“Sorry it had to come to this.” Rick says before raising his gun, pulls back the hammer and shoots Primo, point-blank. The loud bang scares a couple of birds in a nearby tree. The fresh bullethole in the now dead Savior’s head reeks slightly and the blood seeps down his forehead, blends with the blood from the open wound where his ear once was.

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