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obscure-imagines · 4 years

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(smut warning)

-first off, he’s an asshole, and he might be a little nicer to you than other people, but he will always be a dick

-meeting at a big party his family is throwing

-he’s only there because his parents bribed him to be

-he stays more to the sides of the room, lurking and looking for more champagne because his parents have told the bartender to stop serving him, which makes zero sense because he’s a grown ass man

-he sees you and enjoys your face, so he comes over to talk with you

-this man is gorgeous and is used to women throwing themselves at him, so he barely even has to put on any charm

-but there you are, being impervious to his charm, and it makes him want you even more

-he tries a few shitty pick up lines and when you roll your eyes at him and laugh, he gets a little bit angry, because... like... why are you not sucking his dick in the supply closet yet?

-“wanna get out of here?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been drinking-” “then you can drive, come on, it will be fun.”

-he whines until you give in

-you end up at a breakfast place, I-hop or Dennys and this fucker whines about the alcohol selection being sub-par

-he’s kind of hilarious, in a shitty, privileged, way... but he’s also gorgeous so... what are you going to do? not fuck the guy? haha yeah right

-he talks a lot but he’s nice to look at so it’s okay

-spending way too much time at this diner eating and chatting

-but neither of you really want to leave

-he tells you about his family, giving you all the juicy details

-when he mentions hating the dogs you seriously consider dipping on the date... then you realize, is this a date?

-you decide that if he pays for the meal, then it’s probably a date

-the bill comes and he pulls out his wallet and your heart flutters in your chest because... it’s probably a date

-he’s still a little drunk, after all, he managed to convince an employee to give him a mimosa minus the OJ

-so you drive him home

-when you’re sitting in the car outside his place he gets all whiney again, “come inside with me.”

-he’s really not the type someone says no to... especially with his face being 10/10 and everything

-he’s such a charmer

-somehow he sweet talks you into going inside with him

-as soon as the door is closed behind you, he kisses you

-he’s BIG so... if you have a size kink, this guy checks that off

-he loves using his body to pin you against the wall

-he has a complete control kink. hella dom. knows exactly what he wants and expects to get it. he finds a good medium between degradation and praise. hella rough, choking, spanking, marking. gets possessive way too fast- you know, a gReAT gUy

-waking up the next morning with his arms around you

-he’s a clingy sleeper

-buries his face in your neck and refuses to wake up

-like, he doesn’t treat you like a one night hook up which is kind of odd?

-“do you have anywhere to be?” he asks

-”not really.”

-“then I’m making you breakfast.”

-you’re kind of shocked he can cook.

-you put on a dress shirt of his and follow him to the kitchen where he makes some decent scrambled eggs

-he likes looking at the marks he’s left on your skin, but he doesn’t apologize for them

-“so, we should do this again sometime.” he says

-he makes it sound so casual, but like... this man just marked the shit out of you, cuddled you, and made you breakfast...

-you go home and a day passes, then he’s hitting you up again

-his texts relly a lot on emojis? but... as if you’re going to not understand “🍆💦🍑😜”

-honestly, the emojis are just him dicking around with you like an asshole. like, why take the type to type out ‘come over so we can fuck’ when you can just send some emojis?

-he texts you the filthiest things while he’s at family events because he’s a dick

-he kind of loves it though

-a month passes with you spending at least one or two nights a week at his place and he gets progressively more boyfriend-like

-you start to see the deeper side of him, he begins to tell you actual secrets, instead of just the shallow drama that goes around in his family

-he adores cuddling with you? which is a shock to him, but it’s so relaxing to just cuddle and rant

-he likes playing with your hair, which is when he realizes he wants you to be his girlfriend

-he can’t imagine anyone else touching you, you’re his

-“wanna come to a family thing with me?” he asks, out of the blue. “ooh, like as your date?” you tease. “as my girlfriend.”

-you’re shook, because he wants to introduce you to his family as his girlfriend. sometimes this guy shocks you, he has the capacity for sweetness, just prefers to be a dick most of the time

-so you go to the event with him, he gets you a beautiful outfit to wear for it

-“so my family hates me, but you? well, you’re actually a nice person so I think they’ll be welcoming, and if they aren’t, they can eat shit.”

-his family is super nice to you and everyone’s shocked that you’re sweet and gorgeous

-in fact, they’re very vocal about it, “she’s way too pretty for you Ransom.” “is he paying you? blackmailing you to be with him? you can tell us, we can help.” “if you’re some sort of hired actress, tell us and we’ll pay you double what he’s paying you.”

-yeah, they’re assholes too

-Ransom keeps you close to him the entire night

-his arm is around you always, because you’re HIS

-he’ll fight anyone who looks at you the wrong way

-at dinner, his hand is on your thigh under the table and it keeps getting higher and higher because he’s a dick

-he’s way too into exhibitionism, and the thought of fucking you in his grandfather's house is driving him mental

-lots of dirty whispering into your ear

-he’s a bit of a mess

-but you really ground him, especially at family events

-as long as people don’t try to fight you or him, things actually run fairly smoothly

-people can see how much he loves you

-like, he looks at you with such adoration in his eyes it’s insane

-no one ever thought they’d see Ransom-the-asshole fall in love

-he’s kind of whipped for you

-as time passes, he gets more and more calm and nice

-it would be a very sexual relationship, i mean, look at him

-he’d tell you everything, show you the dark side of him

-he’s really smart, which can be kind of scary, but you trust him

-he’d never hurt you

-he has the capacity to hurt people, but he’s so in love with you

-once he tells you he loves you the first time, after that, he says it a lot

-he feels the need to assure you he loves you, and really likes it when you say it back

-his family is so shitty, having someone who truly loves him, unconditionally, well, he’s addicted to you, and he’s never letting you go

-so many cuddles

-he may only be able to cook eggs, but he’s still a hottie while doing it

-stealing his sweaters, even though they dwarf you

-his clothes always smell like him and you love wearing them

-he has a huge kink for fucking you while you wear one of his sweaters cuz he thinks you look adorable in it

-get used to being mostly naked because that’s how he likes it at his house

-he’d pamper you

-getting you lingerie so you can put on a fashion show for him

-biting and marking

-he’s super passionate

-he growls... it’s a nice sound

-loves just cradeling you to his chest, he’s so broad, it’s so nice

-he’s always warm?

-i know he’s like... an asshole, but he’s also baby, and you just need to treat him like one sometimes

-i love him

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lenathogwarts · 3 years

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I’ll see you tomorrow (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: You work as Ransom’s cleaner and have to deal with the outcome of one of his bad days.

A/N: I had quite the week and got inspired by all the shit that went down these last few days - this is the result! 😂 Enjoy! ♥ (if you have any specific story requests or want to be tagged in future fics, just send me a message 😊 Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! ♥)

Warnings: language, description of injuries and blood and Ransom being in a mood - a little bit of angst (maybe?) but it’s intended to be fluffy :)

Word Count: 1526

Ransom Drysdale had hired you as his cleaner almost half a year ago. While it was not the most glamorous job, the generous hourly wage helped in paying your tuition fees and keeping your family afloat. Even Ransom himself had grown on you. Maybe a little too much than you would have liked to admit.

Even though the two of you got along most of the time, he still had these days on which he hated everything and everyone. You included. On such days he had the tendency to turn mean and outright hurtful, trying to provoke everyone around him into playing his stupid little games for dominance.

Today was such a day. You had felt the strange atmosphere the moment you had let yourself in through the back door into the kitchen. So, you fell into the routine you had developed early on: staying out of Ransom's sight and being as quiet as possible, while you made your way around the house. If you were lucky, he wouldn’t even notice you were here. However, Ransom wasn’t the only one, who had a bad day today. This morning you had awoken with terrible back pain and only a cocktail of various painkillers and the impending threat of missing a daily wage kept you on your feet.

As quietly as possible you cleaned the rooms downstairs before tiptoeing past the closed doors to Ransom's study. You were pretty sure that he had locked himself in there, as with his worst days oftentimes came a burst of creativity. Maybe he would finally be able to finish the novel he had been working on these last several months.

As you made your way up the stairs, the stabbing pain in your back became more noticeable once again. The painkillers were probably starting to wear off. Trying to ignore the pain, you tried to focus on the task at hand. You checked the guestrooms, but they were still untouched, so the only rooms left to clean were Ransom's bed- and bathroom. Maybe you could be finished in half an hour and finally go home. Your hopes were shattered the moment you pushed the bedroom door open.

“Holy Shit”, you muttered underneath your breath, stepping into the room.

You didn’t know where to start: the shards of broken glass on the floor, the ripped bedsheets and pillowcases or the innumerable feathers that once had been cushion filling and now covered every single surface in the room. Obviously, you had underestimated Ransom’s mood. Today was not just a bad day, but he was in destruction mode.

Okay, first things first.

There was no way, that you could get anything done if there was shattered glass everywhere. So, you started picking up the pieces, dropping them into the cleaning bucket, steadily working your way further into the room. Every time you bent down and straightened yourself up again, the pain in your back got worse. Cringing, you went on to pick up the last few shards. However, as you bent down again, something else caught your eye. Carefully, you knelt down on the floor, stretching your arm and pulled the item from underneath Ransom’s bed.

Whatever kind of lingerie it originally had been, there wasn’t much left of it. Clearly, Ransom hadn’t been alone last night. And for a reason, you were not quite ready to acknowledge yet, it made your heartache. You threw the lingerie into the cleaning bucket – a little too forceful, as you came to notice the next second as you pulled your hand back, blood covering the inside of your palm.

“Fuck!”, you cursed, pushing yourself to your feet and hurrying into the bathroom. Just as you reached for the sink, you slipped on a discarded piece of clothing, hitting your back on the bathtub as you crashed to the floor. For a moment you couldn’t see anything as you gasped for air. For a couple of seconds, you just sat there, trying to not let the pain overwhelm you.

Then you tried to get up. But the moment you even made a slight movement fire seemed to erupt all the way down your spine. Clumsily you reached for the piece of clothing that had caused this whole situation in the first place and wrapped it around your bleeding hand. This way, you wouldn’t have to clean up your own blood additionally to Ransom’s entire mess afterwards.

Tears started welling in your eyes – you weren’t quite sure if they were purely caused by pain or if your growing frustration played a part of it as well. You felt completely helpless – and it made you furious. And even though you hated the thought, there was no way in hell, that you could get out of this alone. So, the realisation of what you had to do slowly started to settle in.

You swallowed all your pride, feelings and pain and tried your best to find your poker face, before doing the only thing that could be done.

“Ransom!”

You called his name from the top of your lungs. Hopefully, he was still in his study and wasn’t listening to music while he was writing. Otherwise, you could be sitting here for hours.

A minute passed by, but – no response. You shouted his name once again.

After the third time, you could hear a door being slammed shut, followed by loud steps on the staircase. He was pissed – but Ransom’s mood wasn’t your priority right now. You braced yourself for what was to come.

“In the bathroom”, you shouted and a moment later Ransom appeared in the doorframe, towering over you like the God of Rage.

“What?!” Ransom snarled, looking down at you, a storm brewing in his eyes and you swallowed hard. Even though you were sure that there had been no other possibility of getting up on your own, his intimidating appearance made you doubt yourself. Maybe you should have tried harder. Not able to withhold his cold gaze, your eyes flickered to the side.

“I can’t get up”, you whispered, embarrassed and unsure of yourself.

“You look perfectly fine to me.”

“I fell and – I – my back, my hand”, you began to stammer, stumbling over your own words, hating how stupid it sounded even to your own ears.

Why was Ransom the only one who could make you feel insecure about the littlest things? It wasn’t as if you were bothering him unnecessarily. You sat bleeding on his bathroom floor in which he did God knows what, with God knows whom. It was all his fault, not yours.

You took a quick look at him, testing the waters. He would help you, wouldn’t he? Yes, he was in a mood, but even Ransom couldn’t-

“I really have to do everything around here.”

With these words, he made his way over to you and he crouched down in front of you, bringing his face unexpectedly close to your own.

“On three, okay?”

“Okay”, you whispered, bracing yourself.

“One.”

Ransom started counting, putting one of his arms around your back and the other underneath your legs.

“Two.” You could feel how he strengthened his grip.

“Three.”

He lifted you with ease, holding you close against him as he carried you out of his chaotic rooms bridal style.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

“Do you think you can stand?”, Ransom asked, as he reached the hallway, ending the moment even sooner than it began. You quickly nodded, feeling your cheeks starting to burn.

Careful, as if trying not to hurt you further, he set you down.

As soon as you were standing, the pain was back again, and you couldn’t help but grimace.

“Shit, sorry”, he said, holding out his hands in case you needed help.

“No, it’s okay”, you replied, taking a few steps, hoping you could walk the pain off a bit. However, after a few seconds, you had to realise that this was probably not going to work.

Ransom stood there, his expression unreadable, but never taking his eyes off you. After a moment of silence, he asked: “Do you need a doctor?”

“No!”, you replied far too quickly. The thought of the medicals made you force yourself to stand up a little straighter. You attempted to give him a reassuring smile while hiding the true extent of pain in your eyes. “I’m totally fine!”

“Yeah. Sure, seems like it.”

“All I need is a heating blanket and maybe a bandage for this thing”, you raised your insured end, his shirt still tightly wrapped around the wound. And maybe an entire pack of painkillers, you added silently in your mind.

Ransoms brows furrowed. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off you and deep down you had the feeling that he could tell that you were lying.

“You should go home, (Y/N).”

Under normal circumstances, you would have refused, but today had not been normal.

“What about the remaining mess?”

“I have three other bedrooms. I’ll find a place to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”, you asked again, just in case.

“Go. Home!”, he urged, coming closer until he towered over you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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syntaxeme · 4 years

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Nowhere to Go But Up ch. 1

Chapter word count: 3859 Rating: T Pairing: Angel/Val Read on AO3: [x] Next chapter: [coming soon!] Story summary: Angel's history of drugs, gangs, and porn isn't quite as glamorous as most people think. This is the story of how a scrawny, lonely dead boy named Anthony moved up (or down) in the world and became Hell's #1 sex symbol, Angel Dust. The only way to the top is to claw your way up from the bottom.

— — –

When Anthony got to Hell, it didn’t surprise him to find that his old man was already there. Where the fuck else would he have gone? As ‘religious’ as their Catholic family had always been, his father was a piece of shit by all accounts, a sinner through and through. It took a couple weeks for him to figure it out, since people called him ‘Henroin’ down here—but even that made sense. Smack was always his drug of choice in life, so why should death be any different?

It took some doing, some seducing of guards and general sexual favors for his advisors (even though Anthony’s body wasn’t exactly how he remembered it, he still got used to it quickly), but Anthony eventually got an audience with him. And again, unsurprisingly, Henroin wasn’t happy to see him.

“Shit, Anton, you died even faster than I expected,” the boss—even a boss in Hell, apparently—growled, unimpressed. He looked every bit as spidery as Anthony had become, maybe even more so. “Just when I thought you couldn’t disappoint me more.”

“Thanks, Pop, good to see you too,” Anthony said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well? What do you want?” Henroin asked flatly.

“What do you fucking think? I’m your son. Shouldn’t I be involved in your business down here?”

His father let out a cold laugh. “When have you ever been useful to my business? If your brother was here, or even Molly, they might be useful. You? You’re worthless. Always have been. I dunno what you expected to change now you’re dead.”

That was a fair point. His father had never appreciated anything about who he was or how he felt, and vice-versa. Why would he care what happened to Anthony’s soul for the rest of his immortal life? It was Hell. Nobody cared about anybody, as Anthony was soon to learn.

He spent his next few months (assuming he was even perceiving time right in this weird, fucked-up realm) on the streets, whoring around, doing whatever it took to survive. He got ripped off more than once, some demon fucking him all night then beating the shit out of him when he mentioned payment. He figured out pretty quick that drugs were every bit as big in Hell as they were on Earth, so that was where most of his money went. Just to not be conscious. Just to forget for a minute.

It was supposed to be a punishment, wasn’t it? What little he remembered of church was that Hell was where Bad People went because they’d done Bad Things and deserved to Feel Bad. Well, he was, he had, and he did. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like anything other than absolute shit. It might’ve stayed that way forever—or at least until the next extermination—if he hadn’t met Cherri.

That morning, he was slumped against a gutted storefront, his eyes clouded, his head foggy as he was still coming off a high from two days ago. Some woman strolled up to him and nudged his leg with a booted foot. “Hey,” she said flatly. “Get off my street, skid, you’re making me look bad.”

“Get out of my face, bitch,” Anthony grumbled, turning away, covering his eyes to hide from the sunrise’s glaring light.

“Ha!” The demoness bent at the waist, grasped a handful of his hair, and forced his head up. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said fuck off!” Anthony snapped, jerking away from her hand. “Are you fucking deaf? Get away from me.”

The girl laughed again and gestured at a couple of big demons standing at her back. “Bring him.” Although he didn’t want to be taken who-knew where for who-knew what reason, Anthony really didn’t have the energy to fight. They took him across Pentagram City in a banged-up towncar driven by the girl-boss herself, then dragged him inside what he recognized as a shitty little gang complex.

“You’re tweaked out of your fucking head, aren’t you?” When she grabbed his hair again and forced him to look at her, his eyes were clear enough to realize that she only had one above her sharp-toothed grin. He sneered and tried to escape her grasp, but she just laughed as she released him. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Put his ass to bed.”

Despite Anthony’s attempts to tempt them with his body—probably pretty sloppy attempts, considering how fucked up he was—the guys working for her ignored him and dragged him off to a sort of cell, a bare room with a bed and a barred window, then locked him up alone. What’s-her-tits appeared in a slot in the cell door and told him once he calmed down, maybe they could try talking again. Considering how bad he was coming down, how miserable and unhinged he was, he screamed, he fought, he clawed at his own skin, but nothing did him any good. He tore the room apart. He shouted until his throat shredded and bled. He dissolved into sobbing and hyperventilating in a corner of the room. God, everything, everything felt so fucking bad, and now that he didn’t have some kind of distraction, drugs or sex or booze, whatever, he was being forced to feel every bit of it.

Sometime while he was passed out, they put water inside the room for him, and he savored every drop on his damaged throat. They delivered food, and he ate for the first time in who-knew how long. There was a period, he didn’t have any idea how long, where he was barely even aware of what was going on around him, too angry and scared and agonized to keep track. This wasn’t any better. He wished he could just fucking die to escape it, like he had on Earth, but that wasn’t an option here. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he had done enough wrong in life to belong in this shithole for the rest of eternity.

Days, maybe weeks passed in this cycle of misery and pain and eventual, merciful oblivion once he passed out. Finally, the girl-boss came back by his room and opened the door to stroll inside, apparently not worried about him trying to escape. Which he didn’t. Dropping to sit in front of the mattress that had been serving as his bed, she rested her chin in one hand. “So?” she prompted. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” Anthony said quietly, having gotten past all his anger and violence to the point that he was just exhausted and depressed now.

The demoness, his captor, rolled her eye. “Anyway, I’m Cherri. And you are…?”

Despite his reluctance, he huffed out, “Anthony.”

“Great. I’m gonna call you Tony,” she said with a grin, leaning forward to watch him curiously. “What’s your story? How’d you end up on my side of town?”

“What do you care? You saw me before. You’ve seen how pathetic I am all this time,” he muttered, unable to even look at her. “I’m nothing. I’m nobody. If you’re gonna kill me or whatever, just fucking do it.”

“God, you’re depressing,” she said. “Well if you ain’t gonna tell me, you got anybody you know down here? Friends? Family? Some gang I can get you back to?”

“No. I mean, there’s my dad, but he doesn’t give a shit about me. People call him Henroin.”

“Holy fuck!” Cherri crowed, her eye growing wide. “You’re Henroin’s kid? I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said he doesn’t care,” Anthony snapped. “It’s not like you can ransom me to him or whatever, because he won’t pay.” He knew that for a fact, having experienced something similar in life.

“Huh. Can’t really say I’m surprised. I’ve always heard he’s an asshole.” Refusing to let the subject go, refusing to leave him to suffer alone, she suggested, “So answer me yourself.”

“What’s the point?”

“The point is I wanna know. Look, I know you’re in the middle of some bad withdrawal right now. Like, I can tell, I’ve been there, I see it on you. It fucking sucks. Makes you wish you were deader than you already are. But this place ain’t something you get out of by losing your will to live, and eternity is a long time to keep feeling like that or drugging yourself stupid, you know?” She started bouncing one leg, apparently a little restless but keeping her attention on him. “If you quit being so mopey about it, I bet I can help.”

“Why? Why bother with my mopey ass?” Anthony demanded, and Cherri grinned back.

“I dunno, you were kind of a bitch that first time we talked, and I kind of liked it,” she confessed. “Plus, most everybody around here knows better than to fuck with me, so maybe I like the change of pace.”

“Look, if you think I’m gonna be all grateful you ‘saved my life’ and we’re gonna be best pals, you’ve got another thing coming,” Anthony argued, finally managing to muster a little irritation. “I ain’t here to entertain you, and I ain’t fucking you either. If that’s what you—”

Cherri dropped her head back and let out a loud, grating laugh. “I’m not into dudes, you stuck-up prick,” she snickered, though she sounded more amused than offended. “So ditto. How about you take a few more days to chill the fuck out and then we’ll talk about you maybe joining my crew?”

***

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t easy, but Anthony eventually got used to his role at Cherri’s place. Every day or so, maybe a couple times a day, she would come by his room and they would chat about whatever—his life before all this, her life, her new life, and the shitty excuse for ‘living’ he’d been doing ever since his dad kicked him out. After all, he had nothing better to do with his time, and he found talking with her worked to distract him from all the shit his body was still going through.

She told him more about the gang and her role in it, about how satisfying it was to kick some douchey demon’s ass when he was trying to horn in on her turf. She was shocked that he was a mobster’s son in life and still didn’t know how to use a damn gun, which she said was a crime in itself. When he mentioned the demons who had taken advantage of him before they met, Cherri was absolutely livid and swore on the spot that she was going to teach him how to defend himself.

“You can’t let them get away with that shit,” she growled. “If they think you’re too weak to stop them, fuckers down here will eat you alive. You gotta show ‘em you ain’t somebody they want to mess with.”

Considering how totally opposed it was to the rest of his experience in Hell so far, it kind of threw him off to be around someone who gave a shit about other people again. Maybe not all other people, but Cherri took care of her own gang, at least, and now she was asking him to be part of it. It wasn’t like he had any better options to pursue. So once he had finally gotten all the crystal and cravings out of his system, once he was himself enough to care where his future was going, he left his cell (which hadn’t been locked for some time) and found Cherri to accept her offer.

It turned out that when you weren’t trying to take on everything by yourself, Hell really wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t 24/7 misery, at least, now that Anthony wasn’t completely alone and struggling for life on the street. True to her word, Cherri trained him with guns. And knives. And bombs. And poisons. She even helped him figure out how to use his own spindly, lanky body to his advantage in a fight; it turned out he was a lot more flexible and agile than he’d realized. The inherent violence of Hell was obviously her favorite part of the whole deal, and with her encouragement, Anthony started enjoying it too. It was nice to not feel powerless for once. And even in the moments when he was overwhelmed, it was nice to know there were people on his side. Cherri’s gang was made up of junkies and criminals, but this group of sinners stuck together and looked out for each other. Good to have a family that actually wanted him for once.

***

About ten years after his death, there was a big turf war between their gang and some bird-looking asshole who took himself way too seriously. Called himself Bedlam. If he had been upfront about his whole hostile takeover bullshit, Cherri’s gang would’ve wiped his, easy. But he decided to come at them sideways with a ‘sneak attack’ and took out a third of their guys overnight. Cherri was furious but a little panicked over the sudden decrease in their forces. As far as Anthony could tell, she’d never been in a fight this big, this serious, and it was really getting to her.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, more laidback than her, as usual. “It’s not like we don’t have way more muscle regardless. He can throw his ‘cultured’ fuckwads at us all day and we’ll gut every one of ‘em.”

“Muscle ain’t gonna win a fucking war, Tony,” she argued, holed up in her ‘office’ and trying to figure out how to approach this. “If he’s smart enough and he pulls another sneaky trick like this, we can kiss our cozy setup here good-bye. Goddamn it!” She grabbed up her desk chair and slung it out the window behind her, not flinching in the slightest at the sound of shattering glass. She had a point Anthony couldn’t argue with; he’d seen enough of his dad’s business to know brains beat brawn nine times out of ten.

“We need guys who are a little bit of both,” he mused, tapping his foot idly from his seat by the wall. “Like, you got your baseline soldiers and your advisors. You got your bruisers and your assassins. You need more of those guys. Specialists, you know? Precision killers. Right?”

“Yeah,” Cherri said thoughtfully, nodding slowly as she considered what he was saying. “Yeah, I think you’re right, babe. But people like that don’t come cheap. I’d have to…I might have to… Ah, fuck.” With a defeated growl, she shoved away from her desk and marched toward the door.

“Hey, where we going?” Anthony asked, hopping up to follow after her.

“Not we. Just me. I’m going to get some help. I don’t wanna do it, but we ain’t got much choice,” she told him as she strode through the complex without once looking back.

“Hey, why can’t I help? You know I can be persuasive, bitch. Let me—”

“Tony.” She rounded on him, her sneer less vicious and more nervous. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll be back and I’ll talk the whole deal out with you. The only way I’m gonna get this done is if I do it on my own. Okay?”

Seeing how shaken up she was and not wanting to make it worse, he heaved a sigh and threw his hands up. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Try not to die.”

He watched her car drive off, both pairs of arms crossed in irritation. But Cherri had been doing this boss thing for a while. He had to trust she knew how to do it. But getting excluded from the plan like this, being told “just stay at home and trust me to take care of it”? It was too reminiscent of his father and brother excluding him from family work. He hated that shit.

It took hours for Cherri to get back. Anthony stalked around the complex, waiting for a call, a sign, the sound of the car’s engine, anything. It was past midnight when she finally trudged inside, dragging her feet, looking exhausted. Anthony was lounging in her room, half-asleep in her bed when the door slammed open.

“Hey,” he said groggily, forcing himself up to look her in the face. “You look like shit. Where you been?”

“Not now.” She wandered unsteadily over to the bed and collapsed, dropping her face against her pillow. “Just. Lemme sleep. I’ll explain tomorrow.” Anthony watched her for a few seconds, realizing she was already mostly unconscious, and let out a defeated sigh. Dragging a blanket over her still form, he lay down and draped one arm over her shoulders.

“All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow came, and he didn’t get his explanation. The next few days were so busy that he and Cherri hardly had time to sit down and talk; they spent too much time fighting or planning to fight or getting ambushed and then defending themselves. And even though Anthony wasn’t sure how she’d pulled it off, the boss had definitely brought in some skilled help, the kind of vicious, calculating bastards who kept cool in a fight but each did just as much damage as a team of ten amateur muscleheads.

“Shit, Cherri!” Anthony laughed during another street brawl, watching wave after wave of Bedlam’s henchmen get cut down by their reinforcements. “Where’d you find these guys? They’re brutal!”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of it?” she asked with a grin, lobbing another bomb and cackling gleefully as it went off. “Nobody fucks with my people and walks away from it.”

After that point, the ‘war’ didn’t last much longer; with the new demons she’d brought in, Cherri’s gang was pretty much unstoppable, even spreading out further to take over the opposing gang’s turf. When she cornered Bedlam, it turned out he wasn’t much of a fighter himself and had to rely on his bodyguards—who had all abandoned ship when they realized they were on the losing side. Loyalty was a foreign concept to most demons, after all.

Cherri beat the absolute shit out of the guy, even shoved a bomb down his throat in her blind fury. The whole thing was real messy, and nobody walked away from it smiling. But at least it was over.

Sort of.

Sometime later in the week, as things were getting back to normal and Cherri was figuring out how to run shit now that her territory was twice as big, Anthony came to meet her in her office, only to find the door locked.

“Look, I don’t have the time right now,” he heard from inside. Cherri’s voice. He got closer and pressed his ear to the door to listen. What kind of conversation could she be having that she’d lock him out of it? “My gang still needs me directing them while we clean up this fucking mess. Tell him I’ll be there when I’m ready.”

“You better not keep him waiting too long, sweetheart,” an unfamiliar voice responded. “Val ain’t the most patient guy, and you wouldn’t want him having to collect your debt by force.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, coming into my place and making threats? I don’t care who your boss is; if you don’t get—” Her voice cut off with what was unmistakably a slap and a cry of pain, sending Anthony’s heart rate through the roof. Without thinking, he took a step back and broke the door in with a single powerful kick, already drawing three different guns to aim at whoever was hurting his friend.

Cherri struggled to her feet behind her desk, jaws clenched in an unyielding snarl. The guy she was arguing with was huge and dressed in a suit, totally out of place among their ragtag gang. “Get the fuck away from her,” Anthony hissed. The guy looked him coldly up and down, then turned away to speak to Cherri again.

“You’ve got a week to get your ass to the studio and hold up your end of the deal. After that, there’ll be consequences.” He left the room without another glance in Anthony’s direction.

“You broke my door, you bitch,” Cherri muttered once he was gone.

“Forget that. What the fuck just happened?” Anthony demanded, putting his guns away and coming over to her desk to check on her. Her head was down, but he could still see a red mark growing on her swollen cheek. He tried to reach out, to see if there was anything he could do to help, but she swatted his hands away.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you kidding? That guy just knocked you on your ass. You wouldn’t’ve let him walk away without a good reason.” What was the name he had used? “Val. Who’s Val?”

Cherri was silent for a few more seconds, curling her hands into tight fists and pressing them against the desktop. Eventually, quietly, she explained, “His name’s Valentino. He’s a bigshot Overlord from the North Side. Tons of money, tons of people, tons of ‘friends in high places.’ He loaned me a bunch of his guys for the turf war, so now I…owe him.”

“Owe him what?” Anthony asked despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely Cherri wouldn’t agree to what he was imagining. The longer she waited to answer, though, the worse his fears got.

“He runs Porn Studios. He’s been trying to get me to shoot with him for years, so I told him if he helped us out with Bedlam…” She trailed off with a shrug, unwilling to even say the words out loud. “We were out of options, babe. I couldn’t let the whole gang get murdered because I couldn’t lead them right. So it is what it is. I’ll go do whatever gross shit Val wants from me and we’ll move on like it didn’t happen.” Even as she was saying it, though, she seemed unsure, which was a very rare state to see her in.

Anthony wasn’t sure how to respond. Whatever Valentino was asking her to do, it was obviously something she was dreading, and he’d seen plenty of times how heated she got about anyone being pressured or forced into sex. Him, on the other hand… Well, sex just wasn’t that big a deal to him. Never had been.

Cherri had done so much for him. She was always the one backing him up in a fight, always the one who made him talk about the shit that bothered him. If it weren’t for her taking him in all those years ago, he would almost definitely be double-dead already, totally wiped from existence. There was really no way to pay her back for all that. But if she was finally in a position she couldn’t handle alone, if this was something that genuinely scared her or made her nervous, he was going to do whatever it took to help her out of it.

He would just have to convince Valentino to let him pay her debt instead.

#Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Valentino #Angel Dust x Valentino #do they have a proper pairing name? abusive ships don't really get that I guess. >.>#Hazbin Cherri Bomb #to those of you looking for ch. 5 of One Good Turn: I'm sorry but I swear it's in the works!#my writing #fanfiction #NtGBU #ValAngel #ValxAngel

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pikelanette · 5 years

Text

A Pirate’s Life For Me (chapter 4)

Finally, another chapter! On Pikelan day!

Pairing: pikelan Words: 2620 Rated: M (for language) Link: ao3 Chapter 1: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 2: tumblr / ao3 Chapter 3: tumblr / ao3

a multi-chapter pikelan pirate AU - chapter 4

The next few weeks turned into a comfortable routine. They woke up whenever was convenient – usually to the sound (or sensation) of food being thrown into their cell. Then Pike cleaned them up, they had something to eat and Scanlan continued the glyph while Pike stood on look-out.

The longer their little charade lasted, the more attentive Pike had to be. Although they took care to be quiet and inconspicuous, it seemed that the pirates had caught on something was going on belowdecks. They started checking up on the prisoners more often, and more irregularly, as if trying to catch them in the act. One pirate in particular was always on their tail, stomping down at the most inconvenient moments and sometimes waking them up at night to surprise the secret out of them. He became visibly more frustrated as the days passed, but he could never catch them.

Meanwhile, the glyph was steadily growing more powerful under Scanlan’s hands. After a week of working on it, Pike started to see a soft glow emanating from the floor at all times. It was faint enough not to be noticeable to anyone who didn’t know to look for it, but it was still there. The light reminded her of her own magic, but it still felt different – the arcane arts were definitely something else.

She’d never really understood the arcane. All of her magic was divine – even the spells that arcane casters could master as well. Once, she and a friend of hers, Allura, had put their magics beside each other and checked for differences when casting the same spells. It was subtle, and non-magic users probably wouldn’t be able to pick up on it, but to them it was a marvellous sort of game. Watching Scanlan sometimes made her want to spell the ship as well, just to see what it would look like.

But she saved her spells for healing, in case their friends on the upper deck decided to kick their secrets out of them. She was glad that Prestidigitation didn’t cost her any energy – if they would have had to live in the dirt, she wasn’t sure she could have kept her cool. For Scanlan, Prestidigitation seemed to be sort of luxurious. He revelled in the cleanliness, and it made her wonder what kind of conditions he was used to living in. And why’d never thought to learn the cantrip himself. Then again, cantrips were the first thing a caster learned – his life might have been very different when he learned how to cast those spells.

As it was, each morning, Scanlan waited patiently for her to clean up their meagre chamber pot, the floor of their cell, their faces, their hair. Although most of him was obscured behind a veil of illusion, Pike took her time to seek out what was really him and keep him clean. His illusion never looked anything but a little scruffy, but Scanlan had no scruples telling her that the rest of him was a different story.

He was very particular about his hair, she realised early on. Every morning he’d grumble about knots and tangles and run his hands through hair she could not see. She learned to sit him down and untie his ponytail. She learned how quiet Scanlan became when she sat behind him on her knees, gently combing her fingers though his hair, casting Prestidigitation while she brushed out the knots and snarls. During these moments, Scanlan was putty in her hands.

She hadn’t been able to put her finger on what age Scanlan was probably at, but at these moments she felt like she could almost zone in on it – she almost knew how young he still was. Just a big child, really. Just like her.

After they’d gone through these motions, they dragged the blanket away from the glyph and got into position. Pike usually stood to the side of the cell’s door, her eyes on the hatch that led up to the deck. Scanlan sat with his back to her, leaned over the lines and traces on the floor. He took out his flute and, softly, began to play.

After over a week of listening to his music, Pike had started to pick up on certain patterns and themes. He liked throwing in a high note at an unexpected moment, and playing around with the steady beat – or maybe that was just what the spell needed. She wasn’t sure how bardic magic worked, and for some reason she didn’t think to ask him. She just watched, and listened, and tried to figure it out on her own.

Every time he finished a full tracing of the glyph, there was a moment where Pike could hear more than just a flute. It was different every time – sometimes a soft drum, sometimes a harp, sometimes a violin. She looked forward to those moments, when Scanlan momentarily became an entire orchestra, and the cell felt like it was full of people. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they weren’t on the ship anymore, but at an inn, somewhere, or at a theatre even.

That was her favourite dream. When the music hit, she would close her eyes and see musicians on a stage, bent over their work, enrapturing her, and she would look beside her and find Scanlan sitting there, smiling at her. Sometimes the image bled into her real dreams, at night. Those days she woke up feeling like she was going to choke on want – wanting to be out of here; wanting this to be over.

And thankfulness, for Scanlan’s arrival. For his arm, heavy around her waist, or his back, solid against her chest. Thankful that she wasn’t alone.

Those days, she vowed to herself that whatever may happen on this ship, she would protect him. After a long week of working on the glyph, he sure looked like he needed it.

Scanlan made sure to keep his illusion impeccable, never letting her see underneath again. He recharged it before it ran out, and smiled at her when she asked about it. But Pike could feel what he was hiding.

Pallid skin. Thinning hair. Bloodshot eyes. If she looked very closely, she could almost see it. This spell wasn’t easy on him. She was worried he was overextending himself – using a spell that was just out of his reach. She didn’t want to think about what that could mean for him in the long run. So, instead, she quietly cast Lesser Restoration on him after he fell asleep, and hoped it would do.

But no matter how tired Scanlan became, there was one thing that he never failed at – steering the pirates away from the truth.

Ten days after Scanlan started the glyph, they had their closest call yet. Coincidentally, Scanlan had stopped chanting early because he could no longer work through the pain of his cramping fingers. They were sitting in the middle of the cell. Pike was trying to rub some warmth into Scanlan’s hands, and he kept wincing, his fingers refusing to do anything but curl in on themselves. He tried to brush it off with a smile, but she could see a sheen of tears in his eyes and his jaw was tense from how hard he was grinding his teeth together.

This time, their pirate friend was trying to be stealthy, and for some godsforsaken reason he succeeded. He crept up on them slowly, until suddenly he was at the bars to their cell, staring down at them on the floor. Immediately, Pike realised their mistake. With Scanlan’s pain, and her own hurry to rectify it, they had failed to pull the blanket over the glyph completely – part of it was still exposed, and although it wasn’t glowing, it was right there. Almost impossible to miss.

Pike felt her heart stop. She could only imagine how panicked she looked when she locked eyes with Scanlan and froze in her tracks. She knew that acting nervous would only give them away faster, but she could feel the danger in the air, and she was terrified that they would be discovered. Scanlan had said that if they failed the glyph, there was no second try – and as soon as the pirates found out that Scanlan didn’t have a ransom pay waiting for him, they would throw him overboard faster than she could say Prestidigitation. She had no way of protecting him from that. Besides, who knew what they might do to them if they found out they were casting magic. There might not be a second chance for anything.

Scanlan noticed the panic in her eyes, but she could tell from the puzzled look on his face that he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, and Pike refused to give them away by glancing at the glyph again. But while they wordlessly trying to communicate – and failing miserably – their pirate friend was looking around their cell.

Pike could feel the moment he saw the glyph. She could hear it in the small gasp he let out, see it in the smug smile that appeared on his face instantly.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “What do we have here hm? What have you two roaches been up to?”

Scanlan followed the pirate’s gaze to the floor, while Pike closed her eyes in defeat. She felt so exhausted all of a sudden. She didn’t know what to do.

She didn’t see the incredulous expression Scanlan mustered when the pirate looked back at them.

Scanlan arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Pike opened an eye in surprise and watched how confusion hit the pirate at Scanlan’s confidence and, frankly, his tone of voice; as though the answer was so obvious.

Scanlan took advantage of the pirate’s momentary imbalance to scoff at him. “Are you kidding me? Do you know nothing about clerics? You’ve been living on the same ship as one for the past month.”

“Shut up,” the pirate snapped, but he couldn’t fake away the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

Scanlan rolled his eyes. “Let me enlighten you, my friend. A cleric is a magic user who follows a god. They have divine magic. And when the cleric sleeps, their god protects them with magic. Enough clues?”

Pike was looking at him slack-jawed. The pirate, meanwhile, sputtered something unintelligible and shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

Scanlan looked positively scandalised by this much ignorance. “It’s the cleric’s sleeping reliquary, you dipshit. The sign that appears where they sleep? To protect their unconscious bodies? By the hells, who educated you?”

The pirate made one more attempt. “I’ve never heard of that,” he said briskly, “And I think you’re full of shit.”

“Clearly,” Scanlan deadpanned. And, finally, he let go of Pike’s hands – she felt the absence immediately – and clenched his hands to fists to stop the shaking of his fingers. “But, well, we have an expert right here. Am I full of shit, Pike?”

Both men looked at her expectantly. “Um,” Pike stuttered, “Nope. Not at all.”

“There you go,” Scanlan said, clearly satisfied, “Cleric confirms it. Now could you please leave us alone? We were kind of in the middle of something, Chad.”

The pirate got halfway through a nod before he bristled. “Fuck you! I don’t take orders from you!”

Pike couldn’t blame his initial acquiescence. Scanlan had something undeniably authoritative about him right now. It was as unsettling as it was… natural.

“And what was she doing to you anyway?” the pirate pressed on.

Scanlan narrowed his eyes at him. “I have arthritis, which means, and I’m sure this will delight you, Chad, that I am constantly in excruciating pain. Now would you leave a man to his pain in peace? There’s nothing you can do to me that’s worse than this.”

That made the pirate laugh, a cruel, hearty sound that sent a chill down Pike’s spine. Chad laughed as he turned his back on them. He laughed as he got back to the ship’s deck. She had the distinct feeling that by the time he saw the sea again, he would have forgotten about the glyph altogether.

As soon as he was gone, Scanlan sagged. Pike could only look at him, speechless, because how the hell had he done that?

Scanlan didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at her.

“Wow,” she said eventually. It took her a moment to find more words than that. “That was… pretty incredible.”

Scanlan glanced up at her through his long hair and sent her a lop-sided smile. “Thanks.”

“I can’t believe he bought that.”

Scanlan shrugged.

“You were really believable.”

“What can I say? I’m a decent liar. And a storyteller.”

It was the word ‘liar’ that made her aware of the seed of discomfort in her chest area.

“I’m… actually not sure how I feel about that,” she said with a frown. She wasn’t upset with him, of course. It was just… He convinced that pirate of an absolute lie within seconds, and with seemingly no effort at all. It was disconcerting.

He was far more than a decent liar.

Scanlan flexed his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was aiming for nonchalance, but it carried a little bit of tension with it that she didn’t recognise. “I told you that you’d change your mind about me.”

Pike sat down on top of their meagre blanket.

Scanlan glanced at her, and he could tell that she was considering what had just happened, and what it might mean.

They were quiet for two very uncomfortable minutes. Then Pike asked: “Have you lied to me?”

So he gave her the answer she deserved. “Yes.”

He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see what her expression looked like now.

“Did you lie about your mother?”

This time, he looked at her before he even thought about it, surprised. “My mother?”

She was inspecting him very carefully. He knew she had a penchant for guessing people’s thoughts, so he figured that was what she was attempting here.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t.”

Pike nodded solemnly, and he could see the tension leave her shoulders. That was that, it seemed.

“You’re…”

He hesitated long enough for Pike to glance up at him and arch an eyebrow. He was really glad she couldn’t see him blush.

“Are we good?”

She smiled at him, her expression softening at his worry.

“Of course, Scanlan. Everyone deserves a few secrets. As long a you didn’t lie about the important stuff.”

He felt guilty, and then he felt relieved, and then he felt guilty for feeling relieved.

Well, if there was still any question as to whether he deserved her, this definitely answered it.

Pike stretched out her hands towards him. “Come here, now. I wasn’t done with your hands.”

Scanlan walked over to her, feeling almost shy, and placed his hands back in hers. This was his favourite place to be. And he was a selfish man.

“Thanks,” he told her softly, looking at their clasped hands, and it was for more than just the healing.

Pike looked at him as though she knew, and gently squeezed his hands with hers. “You’re welcome.”

There was a part of him that wanted to stay here, locked in this brig with her. He would take the gross food. He’d take the insults and even the debilitating magic he was using. Anything to keep her a little longer.

There was another part of him, far smaller, that had the tiniest bit of hope that leaving this ship did not have to be the end.

But the larger part of him was bracing himself for the inevitable collision with reality.

#critical role #cr fanfic #cr fic #pikelan #pikelansource #tameila #cr: pikelan #a pirate's life for me #original

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traveller-lover-dreamer · 6 years

Text

Daughter of the Sea, chapter 7

Yo guys I wrote the next DOTS chapter today and I kinda like it a lot even though it is a lot shorter than the usual chapters. Enjoy your reading!

Pairing: Royal!Tom Holland X Royal!Reader

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Death, blood, kinda smut too but it isn’t like a normal full on described smut I guess?? But they still have sex and it’s explicit, I tried to find every typo but english isn’t my first language so it’s kinda hard for me

Author’s note: Hey guys I’m happy to tell you that the prologue is in this chapter! The only thing is that I’ve changed it a little bit for it to fit the story better but it’s almost practically the same!

The fishmongers’ shouting was getting overwhelming as you spent another day in the port, looking for a galley that would accept to cross the Mermaid Sea. It had been almost a week. Seven days of getting told that you were crazy to want to cross the Mermaid Sea. Especially at this time of the year. Autumn was coming and the gods knew storms were more frequent in autumn.

“There aren’t any new ships”, you stated.

The prince sighed. “We’re losing time.”

Words hadn’t even reached Meryndel yet though. Perhaps your father had declared war already but he hadn’t called for the banners just yet. You hoped this was a good sign.

“What about this galley?” asked Lord Pettyfer.

“I don’t trust them”, Tom said.

Their banner was a black skull on a bloody background. Bloody because you swore the fabric wasn’t supposed to be that shade. It looked like dried blood and just to look at it sent shivers down your spine.

“They’re our only hope”, Carlson stated. “All the others have refused more than once to give us safe passage to the North.”

You grabbed Tom by the arm and pulled him aside.

“Tom, we don’t have a choice”, you told him. “I don’t like them either but by the look of them, they are pirates. And only pirates will accept to sail the Mermaid Sea, you know it.”

“I have a bad feeling about them”, Tom explained. “Their ship looks half broken if I’m being honest and that banner of theirs is a frightful thing. We’re not boarding this ship.”

“What could happen?” you asked.

“For instance they could decide that murdering the prince of the North and the princess of the South is a good idea”, Tom said. “Or they could keep us both alive and sell us as slaves in the Golden Islands. They could also ask for a ransom to the kings. With the war coming they won’t be able to spare the gold to save us.”

“Listen, Tom”, you softly said. “I’m scared too. But if we pay them enough, I don’t see what could go wrong. We could offer them the Windy Isle.”

“The Windy Isle is a desolated place”, Tom stated.

“Desolated because pirates sacked it years ago”, you told him. “They could rebuild something on the island and make the place their den.”

“Y/N, this is even a worse idea”, Tom refused.

“We could tell them that if they stay in our grace they will receive gold each year”, you continued. “No need to plunder anymore.”

“Pirates always want more.”

“Then we’ll give them more”, you assured. “We can’t stay here any longer and you know it.”

“If we die…” Tom started.

“That’s on me”, you finished. “But if we don’t, we’ll save both of our kingdoms.” You walked back to the other men. “We’re going on the pirate galley.”

The men followed you as you leaded the way toward the galley. The docks were crowded and more than once you had to step aside to let a litter or a fishmonger’s cart pass. Tom quickly joined you at the head of the men, a hand on the hilt of his sword to scare thieves away.

“You know people could attack you, princess”, he stated.

“They won’t”, you affirmed.

“And why is that?” the prince asked.

“I have six armed men behind me”, you explained. “And a dagger up my sleeve.”

Tom had given you the dagger the day after you had arrived in Meryndel. He said that it was to make sure you were always safe. And it helped you to feel safer if you were being honest. Even though you had no clue how to use it.

“Most of thieves also have a dagger up their sleeves”, Tom said. “And most of them know how to use it.”

“I’m tired of depending on people, Tom”, you confessed. “I don’t want to always have to wait for people to protect me. The world can’t be so bad. Not everyone wants to kill or steal or rape.”

“That’s not what I’m saying”, Tom interjected. “You just have this way of moving that shows you are rich. I don’t know. It’s something in the way you walk with your head held high.”

“Are you saying people would attack me because I look rich?” you asked.

“Sums it up, yeah.”

“Then I’m lucky I have four knights, a lord and a prince with me”, you said as you stopped next to the galley.

You scanned the docks in search of the captain of the ship. Your eyes stopped on a fat man all clad in dark blue silk.

“That’s our man”, you whispered to Tom.

“Let me do the talking”, Tom said.

He walked toward the captain. He was just far enough to be out of earshot, so you watched the whole exchange, hoping that the captain was going to accept.

A moment later, Tom walked back towards you.

“We have our ship”, he said. “Thing is, only me and the princess can get in.”

“No, that is not happening, prince Thomas”, Lord Pettyfer said. “We’ve all sworn to protect you when we left Londir. We have to be with you if we want to be able to protect you.”

“I know, I know”, Tom said. “But the captain doesn’t have the place for more than two people.”

“I don’t like it”, Lord Pettyfer said.

“It’s going to be just fine”, Tom reassured. “We’ll pay them with gold and precious stones. The captain asks for a lot but at least we know we’ll be fine.”

“You know he’ll probably only take the gold and kill you afterwards?” Carlson interjected.

“I told them that the payment will be awaiting us on the other side of the sea”, Tom said.

“There isn’t any payment on the other side”, Lord Pettyfer doubtfully said. “Don’t you think they’ll kill you for this?”

“We’ll figure something out”, Tom reassured. “He said it should take somewhere between a fortnight or a month to get there. Plenty of time to figure something out.”

“We’d just have to send a bird to Londir”, you suggested. “The king would most certainly send an envoy with the gold.”

“Perhaps you’re right”, Tom admitted. “We’ll give it a try.” He paused, glancing at the two sailors who were staring at you from the deck. “We’re boarding at first light tomorrow.”

On that note the prince spun around, walking towards the other side of the docks where the inn in which you were staying was.

You shot a look to your right as sailors hollered. You noticed their eyes were on you but they spoke a weird language. They were shirtless, but their skin were covered in dark tattoos which almost looked like spirals.

“Gods are good…” you whispered.

“You know them?” Carlson asked.

“No”, you said. “I’ve only heard stories of their people. What are they doing here?”

“Islanders”, Tom said. “They even trade with the North, princess.”

“I’m betrothed to their prince”, you stated. “Or was betrothed. Don’t they know about the war?”

One of the sailors whistled and jumped on the dock. Another man whose skin was as dark as a moonless night followed him. Their hands were on the hilts of their scimitars and the looks on their faces were nothing good.

“Why are they coming our way?” you asked as Tom stood in front of you.

“Valas satharnas prinketh”, the first sailor spat.

The sailors stopped a couple of feet away. The knights stood around you, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Tom asked.

The men laughed. “Dakhas nakhornah kloddeth”, the second man said. “Dunh kahlleas.”

“Does one of you speak Islandish?” you asked.

The Northerners didn’t have the time to answer. The two sailors launched forward, unsheathing their scimitars at the same time. Carlson was killed as he jumped in front of the prince to protect him from the attack. You stood in shock as the fight unfolded around you. Well, the fight wasn’t so long. Tom slayed the man who had killed Carlson and Lord Pettyfer decapitated the other one with a single blow of his long sword.

“Best get out of here”, Tom said through ragged breath.

“What should we do with Carlson?” you asked.

“We leave the body here, princess”, Lord Pettyfer said. “We can’t risk getting caught by the guards.”

“But…” you started.

“Y/N, there’s nothing we can do”, Tom softly said.

You shot a glance to the body lying in a pool of blood before looking back to the prince.

“Okay”, you whispered.

You followed the men to the Red Horse Inn, keeping your head low. All you could picture was Carlson’s dead body and the fact that it could have been Tom. It could have been Tom. That single thought was one of the scariest you had ever had.

When you got to the inn, the knights decided to stay in the common room but you felt sick and needed to be alone for a moment. Tom followed you up the wooden stairs.

“Princess”, he called you as you unlocked the door to your room.

“Thomas”, you said as you opened the door and walked in, the prince following after you.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that”, he apologized.

“It wasn’t your fault”, you stated.

You exchanged a long look with the prince as you again thought Tom could have died.

“If it wasn’t for Carlson…” you started.

“It would have been me, I know”, the prince carefully said.

You sat down on the bed after having put your dagger down on the night table. You hid your face in your hands as the adrenaline left you. You sighed shakily as tears formed in your eyes.

“Hey, it’s fine, princess”, Tom gently said as he sat down next to you.

“Nothing’s fine, Thomas”, you cried. “A month ago I was still home and everything was alright. Now the world has gone mad.”

“No, it hasn’t”, the prince insisted. “We’re on our way to stop a war.”

“And we’re risking to get killed every day”, you added.

“But that’s part of life”, Tom stated. “Everybody dies someday. You just have to make it all worthwhile while you’re still here. Remember, we’re doing this for our kingdoms.”

“I know”, you sighed. “I’m just scared. If you would have died today… nothing would have been able to stop the war.”

“But I didn’t”, Tom reminded you. “And tomorrow we will sail with the pirate ship and hopefully a month from now we will be wed in the White Church in Londir.”

You weren’t really sure about this but you hoped the prince was right. If he wasn’t… then you didn’t know what would happen. Well, in fact you knew. You knew you were going to die in a helpless attempt to save your kingdom from a meaningless war.

“If things go wrong…” you started.

“They won’t”, Tom insisted. “The gods are on our side.”

“Are they really?” you asked, glancing at Tom.

He reached up to dry your cheek with one of his thumb. “They are, princess.”

His hand lingered on your cheek as you got lost into the golden specks in his eyes. He slowly leaned in, barely pressing his lips against yours before pulling away. You put your hand over his before he moved it, your other hand finding the back of his neck to pull him closer. You kissed him as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. He could have died.

The kiss got more heated as your lips moved together, the fire inside of you being awakened yet again. Because that’s what Tom was: a raging fire. And kissing him like that made the fire so much brighter.

You lied down on the bed, pulling Tom closer. The prince hovered over you as you bit his lower lip. He pulled away and resisted when you tried to kiss him again.

“Princess”, he said with a low husky voice. “We can’t do this.”

“We can’t kiss?” you asked. “In a month we shall be wedded. Husband and wife can kiss all they want.”

“But we aren’t yet”, he insisted.

“You could have died”, you whispered.

“I didn’t, I’m still here.”

You held his gaze for a moment and this time he didn’t resist as you pulled him closer. He kissed you, carefully, but the fire in you wasn’t one to be tamed. Your tongue danced on his lower lip before it found his.

Suddenly, it was as if Tom had been struck by lightning. He was electrified by the way your lips moved against his and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. So he kissed you back, the electricity flowing freely in his bloodstream.

The prince left your mouth to leave a trail of hot kisses along your jawline. He kissed your neck, sucking on the skin. Your hand tugged at his curls and he raised his head as you crashed your lips against his.

Tom put one of his hand behind your knee to wrap your leg around his waist as his hips grinded against yours. You could feel his arousal against you and that’s when you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop. Not this time. You had wanted this to happen ever since that night in the woods and now it was too late to stop.

Tom sat in bed, his hands fumbling with his breeches. You sat up too, helping him to unlace his breeches. He took off his linen shirt and then got up to take his trousers off after having undone his sword belt. Suddenly, he was standing right there in front of you, naked, and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I’ll need your help to get this dress off”, you said.

Tom nodded his head as you got up. He unlaced your dress, kissing your neck as he did so. He took the dress off of your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. His lips connected with the skin of your shoulder and he sucked on it. You moaned softly.

Tom made you turn around, taking in the sight of your naked body. You felt shy under his stare but when his eyes got back to yours you knew you had no reason to worry.

“You are beautiful”, he whispered.

You blushed as he pulled you towards the bed. You lied down on the mattress as he climbed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you kissed him with all the passion in your heart.

Although you should have been scared, you felt at peace right now. You were going to lose your maidenhead, but you would lose it to someone you loved. And although it mattered that you keep your maidenhead until the wedding, nothing could stop you right now.

Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as the prince thrusted in and pain shot through your body. Tom raised his head from the crook of your neck.

“Are you alright?” he gently asked.

“I am”, you answered through ragged breath. “More painful than I expected it to be.”

“We can stop”, the prince whispered.

“Don’t”, you refused. “Just go slow.”

And he did. Eventually the pain died down and you were able to actually enjoy the moment. Tom started moving faster and you let out a moan. His lips found yours again and he kissed you gently.

“I won’t last long”, Tom whispered against your lips.

You only kissed him with all the fire in your heart in response. Soon enough, Tom stopped moving as he let out a breath and spilled his seed inside of you. You kissed him for a long time before Tom rolled over to lie beside you.

You felt more alive than you had ever been in your life. You looked around you and although the room hadn’t changed, the light seemed brighter. The colors were more beautiful. But what was truly beautiful was the man lying next to you.

You rolled on your side to put your head in Tom’s shoulder. He put his arm around you and you laid there for a long time before moving. The sun was getting low on the horizon when you did, painting the room in gold.

“Should we get something to eat?” the prince asked.

“That sounds like a great idea”, you answered as your stomach grumbled.

The prince chuckled as you sat down in bed, smiling a lazy smile.

“I’m starving, actually”, you stated.

“I could tell”, he laughed.

You both got dressed, Tom helping you to lace your dress, before walking down to the common room.

You ate in the men’s company, washing the food down with ale. All along you watched the prince and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. He seemed to be glowing although his hair was a mess. Which is my fault. Just that thought made you blush.

The men’s mood wasn’t really cheerful, especially not since Carlson had died. But everyone knew he had died doing his duty, which seemed to be the best death for knights.

Later that evening you walked back to your room along with the prince. You made love again as the silver rays of the moon bathed you in its glow and then fell asleep in the prince’s arms.

Morning came faster than you had wanted it to. You had to get dressed quickly to get to the ship on which you were going to make your way across the sea. Again, Tom helped you to put on your dress and he softly kissed you before you left your room.

“Do you think we will be fine?” you asked.

“Together we will”, he replied.

Tom stopped in the kitchen to ask for a loaf of bread along with berries to break your fast and then you made your way out to the docks. Surprisingly, the docks were pretty empty at that time and you were able to walk to the ship without being stopped by anyone.

You shot a look to the spot where Carlson had been killed yesterday. The body was nowhere to be seen but there was dried blood. You looked to the dock where the Islander ship had been but it was gone. You looked away, concentrating on the ship you were going to board. Its red sails were lowered, hanging loosely from the mast. The black skull on their banner was flapping in the wind and it looked even more dreadful in the rising sun.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked Tom.

“Yes”, Tom reassured. “I’ve offered them all the gold in Huller Town and the Windy Isle.”

For a moment you didn’t understand what Tom was talking about but then you remembered that Huller Town was probably the richest city in the North.

“I hope that’ll be enough”, you said.

The captain saw you from the deck and he jumped down from the ship.

“Climb on boat”, he said with a thick accent.

According to what you knew about accents, you suspected that this man was from the east. He smiled to you and you noticed most of his teeth were rotten. It took everything in you not to throw up in his face.

“Lady follows not”, he added when he noticed you following the prince.

“What?” you said.

“Sir, I told you yesterday that we both had to sail to the North”, Tom reminded the captain.

“Lady on boat bad”, the man said. “Gods mad.”

“They won’t be”, Tom reassured. “Remember, we will pay you all the gold in Huller Town.”

“Yes, prince Thomas”, the man said before climbing on deck.

Tom stood still, clearly not understanding how the man knew who he was.

“This is bad, Tom”, you whispered in his ear.

“We don’t have the choice”, he repeated. “Come.”

He grabbed your hand to help you to climb on board. The captain had made his way to the back of the boat and was shouting orders to the crew. You noticed how every man seemed to be of a different origin. You noticed a Sandazi from the desert tribes, recognisable thanks to the scars on his cheeks. There was some Islanders too and one or two men from the east. The Dragon people… you wondered what could have brought them to this ship.

There were also a few Southerners and a few Northerners on board, but they kept a careful distance with you. You didn’t know what the captain had told them but you were glad for it.

The cog set sails as the sun rose in the sky. The wind was blowing hard which was a good sign for the crossing. You watched as you exited the docks, zigzagging through bigger ships. Eventually, the cog left the bay of the city to finally sail on the Mermaid Sea.

You watched the seagulls following the ship, listening to their cries. Thomas was sitting somewhere on your left. The moment he had set foot on the ship you had known that the crossing was going to be hard for him. Although the sea was not really agitated at the moment, you could tell he was already sea-sick.

You walked to him as you took in the smell of the sea air. It smelled of fish and salt and of something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Tom shot you a look as you stopped next to him and then rested his gaze back on the city that was already disappearing in the distance.

“First time on a boat?” you asked.

“We don’t sail on boats in the North”, Tom stated.

You laughed. “Well, I’m sure there are fishers in the North too, Tom.”

“Yeah there are”, Tom replied. “We actually have this thing we call fish and chips. It’s really good. Although the thought of food is making me sick right now.”

He got up and walked to the rail of the boat. He retched the food he had eaten for breakfast before taking a step back.

“This is going to be awful”, he complained.

“I’m personally feeling quite alright”, you admitted, a playful smile on your lips.

Tom squinted at you. “This is unfair.”

“You”, the captain suddenly said, making you jump. “Give me sword.”

Tom seemed alarmed for a moment but he nonetheless unbuckled his sword belt and gave it to the sailor who was accompanying the captain.

“Have weapons?” the captain asked you.

You sighed before pulling your dagger from your sleeve.

“Good”, the captain said. “Now, go in cabin. You prisoners.”

This was bad. You shot a look to Tom, who seemed to be about to retch again. Which he did before two sailors dragged him to the cabin. You walked behind them, knowing that resisting was completely aimless.

The cabin stank of burned oil but it was cozier than expected. There was a bed nailed to the floor, along with a desk and a chair, both nailed to the floor too. On the desk there was an oil lamp, which was currently not lit up. Another one was hanging from the ceiling. Each time the cog climbed a wave, the lamp moved which made its flame flicker.

You sat on the bed, along with Tom, who seemed about to throw up yet again. The captain stood with his hands on his hips next to the door.

“Bucket for prince”, he said before leaving the room.

Tom took a deep breath and you put a reassuring hand on his knee.

“You’re going to be alright”, you gently said. “It’s just like if we were on the ground.”

“Except the ground’s moving”, he complained.

“It barely is”, you remarked.

“I hope it won’t get worse”, Tom whispered.

“It won’t”, you affirmed although you knew there was no chance the sea would be so calm all along.

The captain came back with a bucket that he gave to Tom.

“Meals at sunset”, he told you before leaving again.

You heard him lock the door behind him and you sighed. You would have much rather spend the journey on deck.

The first days were the worst for Tom. He threw everything he ate up and even when he hadn’t eaten anything his stomach heaved. You never were sick, although the smell in the cabin grew awful with Tom’s vomit. At least the captain sent a boy to clean everything up every day.

The meals consisted of fish and algae, sometimes accompanied with salt beef. Most of the time it was only fish though. That didn’t help Tom and the first days he didn’t even take a single bite of the fish. He eventually got used to it though and were able to eat a little by the beginning of the second week.

You knew it was the second week because you had received seven meals by then. If you had understood correctly, the captain had said that you were going to get a single meal per day, at sunset. So this was your only way of keeping track with the time that was passing by outside of the cabin.

You had tried talking with the boy who cleaned the room but you had eventually realized that he couldn’t speak. At first you had thought he just didn’t know your language but then you understood that his tongue had been torn out.

You took a sip of the flagon of wine the boy had brought you the last time he had come for the supper. Tom was currently sleeping and you were left listening to the sound of his soft snores. You tried to listen to the sounds outside of the cabin but they were too indistinct for you to understand something. You heard shouting outside of the cabin and suddenly the door flew open. Tom was woken up immediately.

“What is going on?” he asked.

You shrugged your shoulders as the captain walked in.

“Serpent”, he explained. “See.”

He motioned for you to follow him and you shot a questioning look to Tom. Tom decided to follow the captain because he needed fresh air and you followed them because you couldn’t help but to wonder what the captain had meant with “serpent”.

You quickly understood what he was talking about when you saw the glimmer of the sun on the blue and purple scales of the monster swimming next to the ship. It was approximatively twenty meters long, which meant it was longer than the cog itself. The ship crew were all looking at it, dreading the moment it was going to attack. But it didn’t.

The creature disappeared under the sea after having swam next to the boat for about an hour. From that day you were granted access to the deck, as long as you stayed on the side and weren’t in the way of the ship crew. Tom didn’t seem to appreciate being on deck as much as you. Not seeing ground around made him feel sick and he wasn’t able to stay on deck for more than five minutes at the time. But you could and you did.

Your favourite moment was at night. Especially when the wind stopped and it felt like there were stars in the sea too. Everywhere you looked they shone and you had never seen so much stars at the same time. It was beautiful, really, and you felt as if you were the smallest grain of sand in an infinity of black.

The captain seemed to take a liking to you because every night he stood with you under the stars, showing you how to use them to guide yourself across the sea. He showed you the Star of the Sailor, a bright star that indicated where the North was and he taught you how to use a sextant. You were pretty good at it and you even helped him to use it when the night sky was cloudless.

You felt lucky. If it wasn’t for the captain liking you, you knew the crew wouldn’t be treating you with respect. You could see how some of them looked at you and you knew they wouldn’t want to drink tea with you. Their gazes were undressing you and it made you feel uneasy. But none of them ever approached you.

To say the captain appreciated you was probably an overstatement. He only talked to you at night, when most of the crew was sleeping under deck. Still, nobody dared approach you in broad daylight so you were thankful for it.

Somewhere in the middle of the third week, the wind died down. The cog stayed unmoving for days, which was making you feel uneasy. It was of ill omen. The provisions were running low and although there was a fisher net with which the sailors could catch some fish, you were forced to start rationing the food. Water was running low too and the North was still nowhere to be seen.

The cog stayed motionless for five days. By the fifth day Tom was feeling almost well, as if he was back on the ground. Unfortunately, by the end of the day, the sky in the west turned black as night and the wind came back. You noticed how the clouds seemed rolling towards you. A storm was coming.

The captain ordered to you and Tom to go back in the cabin and to stay there until the storm had passed. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the bed, your hands in Tom’s, as the boat crashed down waves after waves. At this point you almost felt sick too, because you were scared to die. But you didn’t retch like Tom was, so one could say you were almost doing well.

The wind was howling outside of the cabin and the sea was raging. It felt as if Poseidon was determined to take down that small ship who dared sail his waters in the middle of a storm. The light from the oil lantern kept flickering and you were convinced it was soon going to give out. Your grip on Tom’s hands got a little tighter as the ship crashed down yet another wave. From the inside, it felt as if a giant was holding you in the palm of his hands, shaking you up and down, like one would shake an hourglass in an attempt to stop the course of time.

Your thoughts went to the ship crew that were all out in the madness. A month ago you would have never dared to think that, but now you were afraid they were going to die. Them dying meant you dying, drowning in the salt water of the Mermaid Sea. You had always been afraid of this sea in particular. Ever since you had sighted the serpent you had been afraid. Although the sailors had taken it as a good omen, somewhere in the back of your mind you had known it wasn’t.

Few were the sailors that dared sail the Mermaid Sea and you understood why as the ship crashed down another wave. You had angered Poseidon when you had chosen to sail on his sea and he was going to make you pay for it.

There was a loud noise outside of the cabin, the noise of wood breaking. You hoped with all your heart that it wasn’t the mast. Without it, you weren’t going to be able to move forward as fast as you had did up to now. And you had to reach Tom’s kingdom before your father’s army did. For the sake of both of your kingdoms, you had to.

You watched as Tom’s face seemed paler and paler by the minute. He didn’t like the sea. He had never did. His people were a horse people. They rode their stallions in battles and around the world. That was the way of the Northerners. You were a Southerner, your people sailed the seas on carracks and long ships. Well, you had never been on a ship before, only men were allowed to sail the seas, but you still had it in your blood.

“That storm is going to be the end of us”, he whispered.

You barely heard him under the sound of the wind and the rain.

“Tom, those pirates know the sea, they’ve sailed it a hundred times before”, you reassured him. “We are going to be just fine.”

He shook his head.

“You heard what they said.” His voice was stronger now. “It’s of ill omen to let a woman board on a ship. They said it was going to anger Poseidon, they said…”

You put your finger on his mouth to silence him.

“Tom, the captain doesn’t believe in Poseidon”, you stated. “Only the Northerners and Southerners of the crew do.”

There were voices outside the door. Tom’s eyes were round with fear.

“They are only superstitions”, you added, trying to convince yourself, as the captain and two pirates burst into the cabin.

They were drippling with water and the ropes around their waists hung heavy. The captain said something in a foreign language, but you recognized the words “woman” and “sacrifice”.

“Don’t you dare”, you said as the two sailors walked towards you. “My father will pay you whatever you want if you bring me on the other side alive.”

“Silence”, said the captain with his deep accent. “Men say woman on ship dangerous. Want sacrifice to Poseidon. Calm the god.”

“No”, shouted Tom as his hands went to the pommel of his sword. Only to be met with emptiness.

The two sailors pushed him roughly and you lost your grip on his hands. They grabbed you by the arms and dragged you out of the cabin, where two other men were waiting.

Utter chaos was the outside world. You caught a glimpse of dark clouds before a wave crashed in, the salty water making your eyes burn.

Maybe you should have been scared. You were going to die. Simple as that. The sailors were following the rules of the universe. Maybe it had been your faith since the day you were born. To be the sacrifice that was going to stop a war. As long as Tom reached the shore, the war could be stopped. But you were just a woman and Poseidon was asking for his price.

You were lucky the men had been holding you because, when another wave rolled in, you lost your footing and fell. You swallowed some salty water and your throat started to burn. It tasted like fish. What a weird observation for someone that was going to die.

They brought you toward the front of the boat, toward the bow, which was sculpted like a mermaid, as it plunged down another wave. They were going to throw you overboard, to sacrifice you to the raging waters. You considered fighting, but you knew it was meaningless. They were pirates, they knew how to fight, you had no chance against them.

You reached the bow as the ship reached the crest of a wave. The world laid there in front of your eyes, but soon enough the tip of the boat leaned down the wave and it started to plunge down. You closed your eyes in time to stop the water from getting into them, but the pirates’ grip on your arms went loose and the wave caught you. You lost your footing and as you were about to scream, water got into your mouth, drowning the sound.

You got tossed around by the wave, you didn’t even know if you were still on the boat or if you had already been thrown overboard. Your head hit something and your body went limp as you felt your life drain from you. Maybe you were dreaming but you heard some voices. Singing. It was melodious and if you hadn’t been on the verge of dying you would have cried because of the beauty of it all. But your strength was leaving you and your lungs were burning for air. But down where you were, there was no oxygen.

You felt a hand grab your wrist ever so gently and just when you were about to lose consciousness, you heard a voice in your mind. It said a simple word. Sister.

Read chapter eight here!

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#daughter of the sea #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tomaholic #thomas holland #thomas stanley holland #fanfic #fanfiction #Smut #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you

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cyrelia-j · 5 years

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[fic preview] Wheel Cage (original)

Based off of Tim Ransom’s John Dunn character [super loosely since it’s only a 5 minute scene] the following is a preview prologue of a 2nd person POV story I couldn’t resist starting. You may recall a story idea I mentioned from the spotlight on that character so this is that fleshed out!

Title: Wheel Cage

Genre: Drama/Suspense/Romance/Horror

Summary: With the world well on its way to a zombie filled hell, retired ATF agent Ed Miller is cashing out early. That is, with a little help from his son Isaac, the two of them figure on securing a little safety net he and his old team stashed away. Under the guise of an accidental [non zombie related] death, Ed cashes out his insurance policy, knowing that his last living team mate, John Dunham wouldn’t waste time in going to grab the hidden stash.

And that leaves Izzy to catch that same armored Greyhound from El Paso to NYC to seduce the old bugger and filch his key to the lock boxes along with the rest. Easy enough, right?

Notes: in the prologue a warning for offensive language (swearing and homophobic/sexist) but no other warnings. 2nd person POV and a trans male character. Big 80s references and aesthetic and age gap. Any feedback super welcome :)

---

“John huh? I like that. They call me Izzy. You ready to take a trip around the world with me?...”

For as long as you can remember it’s always been you and your old man against everyone. Ever since his old lady (you haven’t called her “mom” since you were five) served him up the divorce papers with a slice of birthday cake and you said you weren’t leaving your cousins and your collection of baseball cards, it’s just been the two of you. She hightailed it with your older sister - who you haven’t spoken to either since she refused to stop calling you “Jenny” some seven years back - and so the both of you just up and said fuck everyone else.

So when your old man made the proposition, you didn’t think twice before agreeing.

Here’s the situation. You found out your old man wasn’t as Dudley Do Right as he’d have led you to believe. Seems he and his old narc buddies made some big bust back in the day, back before the strung out zombies were actual fucking zombies and they didn’t exactly tell the Feds and the rest the whole of their haul. Got his picture in the paper like a real hero and all ‘cept Mr. All American Hero made it with a cool couple million and disappeared it like Houdini.

Course you didn’t exactly grow up in luxury and he sure as shit didn’t lose it in the divorce like he did the house. Trying to make off with all that dough woulda set off every agent in the country asking questions so the four of them made a gentleman’s agreement: they stashed it away in some series of lockers up north ‘til enough time passed and sure enough old Dan and Bill kicked it getting caught in Atlanta leaving just your old man and John Dunham. Dunham being an old desk jockey who’d probably live forever and while your old man never had a bad thing to say about “good old John”, your old man didn’t figure on splitting the pot when he was so close to taking the whole kit n caboodle for himself.

He also figured with the whole world well on its way to some Romero zombie hell better now than never while south of the border was free and clear.

You didn’t exactly blame him either and the both of you figured it’d be easy enough to live like kings south of the border. Course he couldn’t exactly walk into the fucker’s office and whack him. Well… seeing as how as of today, April 1st 1987, the whole world thinks your old man died in a car accident six months ago, he probably could. But while your old man may be a lot of things, a killer ain’t one of them. Thief? Sure. Liar? What man isn’t? (And if his ex old lady’s to be believed a wife beater too, but the only time you ever seen him raise a hand was to block her throwing a lamp at his head when he said your sister “Miss Priss” Priscilla might be going with her - likely not being his anyway - but he’d be damned if she made off with his Izzy.)

Well maybe he didn’t call you Izzy back then but your memory, your rules.

And here’s where you come into the whole scheme.

You’re not a killer neither but you also may be just a bit of a thief yourself, and more than that you’ve got a certain charm about you that your old man says you inherited from him. Your old man also says he doesn’t know why he paid all that money for you to lop your tits off and change your name to Isaac if you’re still gonna prance around wearing makeup like a “goddamn fairy”. You like to remind him that’s exactly what you are loud and proud and if makeup is good enough for Alice Cooper and all the hot new glam bands he can just shut his hole or find himself a new honeypot.

Course you’re not exactly the traditional va va voom vamp but that’s only gonna keep the suspicion off you a hell of a lot better than coming on like some boozy lot lizard, and if your old man hadn’t fallen asleep ten minutes into Murphy’s Law then maybe he’d know that those middle aged straight lace types seem to have a thing for cute and lovable punks half their age. He conceded (as big a Bronson fan that he is) you might be onto something and that settled the matter there, you hanging up the payphone outside the shithole apartment where you’ve been crashing, tucking the number back into your wallet.

You’d been crashing on your pal Stevie's couch, helping out with the rent from a few “odd jobs”, and while you hated lying to her, you sure couldn’t tell her the real reason you were headed up north where they got shit locked down a hell of a lot harder cause of the “mess”. So far as she knew, you took your old man’s “death” hard and on top of that come to find his half a mil insurance policy was a bust to boot leaving you with a big fat nothing and in need of a place to stay. Wasn’t a far stretch seeing as how the insurance companies were finding it all too easy nowadays to call any claim they didn’t’ want to pay “ineligible” living dead shit. It wasn’t a lie exactly anyway, seeing as how you’d followed your old man’s instructions to the letter and made sure he got every untraceable dollar coming to him.

Alright, so you kept a couple thousand for necessary expenses helping out Stevie (and getting your ticket and some new kicks) but it wasn’t like you pissed it away at the arcade.

Stevie refused to buy your ticket though, saying you were crazy to go up north with some guy you met at a bar and chatted up on the phone and she didn’t care how good of a screw he was. Course you couldn’t tell her it was your old man you’d been plotting with so you just packed up when she left for work at Sid’s, left another hundred dollars, and swore in the note sitting next to it that you’d call after you were settled, sure she’d bawl you out a good one but you know the less anyone knows the better. You ended up paying some wino looking about to turn any second twenty bucks to buy your ticket and an extra dose of the anti Z Juice to keep quiet if anyone came ‘round asking any questions on the matter. You promised him you weren’t killing no one, just leaving a shit situation.

It’s simple, you think as you shoulder your duffle bag, ticket out of El Paso ticket in hand. Blow the old fuck ‘til his eyes roll back into his head and swap the four bum keys for his. Nick his wallet once you get to NYC so you get a head start, and meet your old man’s contact in Jersey once you’ve secured the money. You got his old piece, his thirty nine and you can’t say as you’re a shot up to his standard but you don’t know a man to have ever missed jamming the muzzle of a gun into someone’s gut either so you’re none too worried about that part of it.

Bullets don’t work none too well on them other fucking things if you ain’t a crack shot but you got your Dynaco L-Rod for that.

You make sure to smile nice as you approach the benches where everyone’s waiting to start boarding. First impressions and all that and ain’t no need for either piece here between the shock fences and the scans. Nah, you’re rocking your ripped black jeans just tight enough and your favorite half threadbare Dokken shirt neckline stretched out not quite off your shoulder, and your choppy brown hair is streaked with red same as your lips. You look pretty damn dynamite with your black leather boots up to your knees and a swagger in your step sure you catch a few eyes wondering if staring at your ass makes ‘em bent or not when they see the slight bulge of your crotch and your lack of tits.

Yeah, fucking putty, you think with a wink to a straight laced dope in a polo shirt and khakis, strutting over to Mr. Paper Pusher Dunham, counting dollar signs in the whorl of his thick black - has to be a dye job pushing fifty five like that - hair and grey Garanimals button down.

Only one thing you didn’t figure on as you take a seat next to him and get ready to charm…

...And that’s fucking John Dunham.

#writing #creative writing #Drama #lgbt writers #lgbt fiction #cyrelia-j #pov #2nd person pov

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Lesser leaders followed

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