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mandoalorian · 3 years

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I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Three: Beauty

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person’s relationship with his son. You’ve heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You’ve felt his pain and anguish and you’ve never been able to relate to anything more. But things don’t come easy for you, and they certainly don’t come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: 18+ description of male masturbation, descriptions of blood and injury, mention of childhood trauma as well as legal battle of custody over a child.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Maxwell had to stifle back laughter from your comment. A hero? There wasn't a chance he was a hero. You didn't know what he had done. How he'd almost destroyed the entire planet without even realising. The guilt was eating him alive, it was all he could think about at any given second of silence. How could he have let himself become so power corrupt— to the extent he'd forgotten what really mattered? Alistair might have forgiven him, but there wasn't a chance the rest of the world would. It had only been a day and Maxwell didn't know how he could possibly live with himself.

"I need help." you announced, breaking the silence. Maxwell looked at you momentarily in curiosity but then looked away, sighing with discontentment.

"Look, whatever it is, I'm sure you don't want my help." Maxwell told you with a frown. You admired the deep shade of brown that was his eyes. It was so easy to get lost in them, they were hypnotic.

"You're the only person I know," you explained to the businessman sheepishly. "You and Alistair. And Raquel too, who is lovely, but I sense that she doesn't like me very much," Maxwell raised an eyebrow. You had wandered into Black Gold Cooperative wearing a crazy brown tunic, and you were covered in mud saying words like Themyscira, Hestia, hearth… jargon that not even Maxwell could understand. It didn't surprise him one bit if Raquel was a little put off by you. Until he learned the truth, he was borderline about to call you crazy and run ten mile. He believed you now. He had no reason not to. "I'm looking for someone." you told the man as you nervously bit your lower lip.

"Yeah, the thing is, I'm not going to be able to help you look for him, if that's what you're suggesting," Maxwell hummed. He wanted to get out of here. It wasn't your fault— you weren't doing anything wrong, but since seeing the lasso and remembering what had happened in the bunker just a day ago… a mixture of guilt, anger and hurt consumed him. "I have to go." Maxwell gasped feeling the desperate urge to get some air.

Of course, you chased after him. "I shouldn't really need any help finding him, I shouldn't really ask anyone for help either…" you mumbled, fumbling with your fingers as you shimmied through the revolving doors that led out of his office. "As the goddess of home and hearth, it would be my duty to see the man, and his child, myself."

"So you're looking for a man and his kid?" Maxwell asked, relishing the feeling of relief washing over him as the cool air hit his skin. He wasn't a smoker, he hadn't been since before he moved to the U.S., but in this moment of pure stress and anxiety, he had never craved a cigarette more. He turned to you for comfort. "I'm afraid ‘the world of man’ is full of those."

"That's what I was afraid of," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "There's not a single man on Themyscira, we are all children of Zeus, sculpted in his image only,"

Every time you mentioned your homeland of Themyscira, or one of the Olympian Gods, Maxwell's curiosity piqued greatly. He had so many questions— so much he wanted to learn about you. He wondered if you'd even give him the time of day to answer them.

The delay in a response from Maxwell prompted you to speak up again. “As I was saying… I don't know anyone in D.C., I don’t have a place to stay… so I was wondering...”

Maxwell’s head snapped to face you, his eyes going comically wide. “I don’t know.” he said quickly and almost defensively. Yes your beauty was unimaginable and he had so much he wanted to ask you, but was now really the right time? What would happen once you learned about the terrible things he had done, how he was an awful father? And why did he care so much about what you thought of him when you were merely just a stranger? You looked down at your feet, your toes beginning to feel fuzzy as the evening grew colder. He couldn’t just let you stay out on the street, alone. Without any further prompting for you, he pulled out his car keys and tilted his head in gesture for you to follow him. Unlocking the car, he slid into the driver's seat as you waited outside. “Are you coming or not?” Maxwell huffed.

“What is this?” you asked after sliding into the passenger's seat. You were completely awe inspired by your surroundings.

“It’s a car,” Maxwell said hesitantly. “Wait, let me guess. You don’t have cars on Themascream, you have unicorns.”

“It’s Themyscira,” you corrected again, feeling only mildly irritated and wondering if he was deliberately just being that obnoxious. “And no, don’t be silly, unicorns don’t exist. We ride horses.” you sighed, shaking your head. Maxwell almost had to stifle back an incredulous laugh. Everything he once believed to be mythological was turning out to be true, he wouldn’t even be surprised if you had a license in Pegasus flight.

As he turned on the engine and began to reverse out of his parking space, you gasped, clutching onto the gear stick. The same gear stick that Maxwell was holding as he pushed the car into reverse. Your hand grazed his, and the skin on skin contact practically took Maxwell’s breath away. You grabbed onto his hand in fear as the car moved, and you stared out of the window. Of course, this was your first time in a car. Maxwell’s eyes flicked between the road, the frightened delight on your face and the way your soft hand enveloped his. He wanted to curse at the feeling of your touch and how it went straight to his manhood - this was the second time you had him feeling things he shouldn’t. Was there something in the air? It’s not like he wasn’t that touch starved. He shouldn’t have been reacting to you like this, but he was, and he didn’t know why. Swallowing the lump in his throat he gently removed his hand from yours and placed it back on the wheel. He wondered if the sexual tension was one side, if only he could feel it. He saw the innocence in your pretty eyes. You were just an oblivious girl trapped in a new world, seeking guidance from Maxwell, out of all people.

“Is this car… dangerous?” You asked nervously, the palm of your hand resting against the window.

“Not as dangerous as a horse,” Maxwell chuckled, taking his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “I once knew a girl back home who fell off a horse and broke her leg. Couldn’t walk for a month. But, she deserved it.”

You gasped in horror at his statement, your eyes widening as your lips parted into a perfect ‘O’ shape. “How could she deserve it?” you asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“She wasn’t a nice person,” you watched as Maxwell’s face hardened at the memory.

You frowned but chose not to question him further. “So, you aren’t from here?”

“Wh- what makes you say that?” Maxwell asked, feeling a well of familiar anxiety.

“You said ‘back home’.” You acknowledged and Maxwell’s grip on the steering wheel tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. You were certainly right about that. You’d caught him out.

“Yeah uh, that’s just something we say over here. In the ‘world of man’.” Maxwell muttered, hoping you wouldn’t question him further. And thankfully, you didn’t.

“I think there’s a lot you can teach me about the world of man,” you smile pleasantly at the businessman who is doing his utmost to keep his concentration on the road ahead, rather than getting lost in your divine beauty. “Mr Lord?” You asked when he didn’t reply.

“You- you don’t have to call me Mr Lord,” Maxwell said awkwardly, turning at a junction.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” you quizzed.

“My name is Max Lord.” he was a little taken aback upon realising he hadn’t yet introduced himself to you. He’d just made the assumption you already knew exactly who he was, just like the rest of the world did. He’d come to think that maybe that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well then who is Mr?” “I’m Mr,” Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows. “Mr Max Lord.” “Why does Raquel call you Mr Lord?” you quizzed further, and Maxwell could feel an onsetting migraine. He actually hated talking about himself.

“She- because- I-” Maxwell stammered out, before shaking his head profusely. “Doesn’t matter okay? Just call me Max.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being annoying.” You admitted timidly after another silence.

Max sighed. “You’re not annoying. Look, we’re almost home.”

The final five minutes of the journey were sat in complete silence. You spent most of the time looking out the window, trying to find clues and wondering how you were planning to find Lorenzano. There must be a way. You contemplated asking Maxwell for help, but you knew, as the daughter of Zeus and the goddess of home and hearth, it was your duty to find him and help him yourself. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. Of course, it was hard to ignore your mother’s word’s before you left Themyscira, regarding Romulus and Dolos. The God of Lies. You looked over at Maxwell who was staring dead ahead. You wondered if you could poke his brain about that… or even about the two dreamstones. Might he know something?

While you were thinking about your objective, Maxwell simply couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashamed to admit it, but his cock was still semi hard and it was becoming difficult to ignore when he couldn’t help glancing at your reflection in the rear view mirror. He’d known you for barely an hour and he could already feel himself growing attached. Maybe it was the glitter in your eye or the way you spoke every word like it was your last. You had such joy and passion in your soul. Maxwell didn’t have any of that. All he had was his deep, dark secret as well as the anxiety and guilt which was eating him alive. There was something so perfect about you. Maxwell had sworn that nobody could be perfect, but he had also sworn that places like Themyscira, magical lassos and Gods and Goddesses weren’t real. He could be wrong about one more thing.

You followed Max as he slipped out of the car, and you found yourself absolutely astonished by his large D.C. home. Like everything else you had seen so far, it was beautiful. It seemed extensive in size, especially for just one man and possibly Alistair, but you refrained from making a comment. The exterior of the house was framed with beautiful greenery, tall trees, blooming bushes, and flowers that you only assumed could be native to the world of man. You knelt by a bush, admiring a red flower, as Maxwell fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door.

“What is this?” You asked, unpicking the flower from the bush.

“Be careful.” Maxwell gasped, his eyes widening when you hissed and saw blood trickle slowly down your finger. “It’s a rose, and they have thorns and if they prick you it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. Are you okay?” He grabbed your hand and pulled it to his face. You swiped your thumb over the wound, cutting off the bloodstream and healing yourself within seconds.

“I’m okay.” you confirmed, pulling your hand away from Maxwell’s. His vision crossed you in bewilderment.

“How did you?” He stammered, rubbing his eyes. “You just-”

When Maxwell saw you shiver from the cold, he ushered you inside his home and shut the front door behind him. He walked behind you, taking in your every step as you looked around his home. You admired all the little things, like the oil paintings that were hung upon the cream coloured walls and the ornaments scattered around on every surface. He supposed he could tell you to make yourself at home, but as you bent over and let your fingers grace the softness of the living room carpet, he figured maybe you already had. You stood up again, taking a deep breath before turning to face Maxwell.

“Us Amazons aren’t like humans,” you began, your eyes still scattering around his spacious living room. The sofa, although not as big as the one in the lobby of Black Gold Cooperative, was still extensive in size and made from the same plush velvet, this time in a coppery colour. It seemed he had a television too, which just so happened to be the biggest one you had seen yet. He had so much stuff, but his home was so big it still felt kind of empty. You found the mismatched patterns and colours endearing and you wondered if he had decorated himself.

“I’ll say,” Maxwell mumbled, walking over to the mini bar in the corner of the living room and pouring out a glass of whiskey. “Can I get you anything?” Max offered.

“No thank you,” you hummed, looking at all the paintings on the walls. “We’re immortal.”

“Immor- so you mean, you can’t die?” Maxwell looked at you dumbfounded.

“Immortal not invincible,” you laughed, and Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up slightly. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed, this was all extremely new to him, and yet, he didn’t want you to think any less of him. He wanted you to believe he was smart and knowledgeable. “We don’t age. We’ve lived on Themyscira for centuries. We have enhanced strength, coordination, agility, stamina…” Max listened intently as you educated him about your kind. “If the injury isn’t too bad… I can heal.” you explained nonchalantly but then frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, putting his glass of whiskey down on the grand piano and walking over to you.

“My powers aren’t as refined as the other Amazonians,” you said weakly. You had been so used to being made feel inadequate by the warriors around you. They'd judge you and call you for being the goddess of home and hearth— telling you your powers were pointless and would never lead to greatness. Maybe not their greatness, but you had truly found your calling and maybe this time, just for once, things could be different. With a sudden bolt of confidence, you felt Maxwell take your hands. You looked up at him with a doe-eyed expression. "Are you judging me?" you couldn't help but ask him. It wouldn't surprise you. Everyone else judged you.

"No," Maxwell replied almost breathlessly. He was too lost in your eyes, too enamoured with every word you spoke. "I think you're… sensational."

And with that, your lips curved into a small smile. He was so entranced by your beauty. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to lean in and kiss you. He tried to shake away the feeling, like it wasn't all he'd imagined since the moment he laid his eyes on you. It was wrong of him. Besides you had only just met, and once again, he was swarmed with guilt. If you found out about what he'd done, you'd want nothing to do with him— nobody would— he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time before even Alistair walked out for him. Alistair. That's when Maxwell remembered the letter Theodore had given him, which was sitting on the kitchen cabinet.

"Zeus brought me to D.C, he will bring me to the man from my dreams. And with the lasso of Hestia to aid me, it shouldn't take me long at all," you told Max. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Maxwell wanted to tell you to stay. He didn't want you to hurry. He'd come incredibly lonely over the years and he was really beginning to value your company.

"Zeus is your father… right?" Maxwell asked, trying to recall the way you spoke about him earlier.

"Yes."

"What's he like?" Maxwell prodded further with genuine furiosity.

"Oh, I've never met him," you replied, rubbing your eyes.

So he's a deadbeat— Maxwell thought. Max knew exactly how that felt. "But he's king of the Olympian Gods, the ruler of the skies. He crafted us all in his own image and gave us a purpose."

"And your purpose is to find this man?" Maxwell quirked an eyebrow.

You nodded in affirmation. "It may seem simple and unimportant, but I assure you, it isn't. This man is special. He's unlike any other man and Zeus will bring me to him for a reason. Before I left, my mother Hestia told me of two Gods, Romulus and Dolos… they were the God of Lies,"

Maxwell's eyes widened. He had heard of them, very little, but he'd heard their names through researching the dreamstone. "They were deceiving and created a darkness amongst the world. They harnessed the power of wish-granting and were responsible for death and destruction… the world of man had to be rebuilt from scratch." you explained, a horrified look on your face as you recalled the events that your mother, Hestia had educated on.

For Maxwell, this was hitting far too hard. Things weren't adding up but he did deem it to be more than a mere coincidence that you had shown up just a day after the world had gone to hell. He didn't understand— he couldn't fathom the connection he had to you, or that laying on his sofa was a beautiful Amazonian goddess. He hoped that he could figure it out soon enough, but for now, he had his own troubles. He has to focus on fixing things with Alistair.

"I'm tired," you announced with a yawn, breaking Maxwell out of his thoughts. You raised your hand and cupped Maxwell's cheek, mirroring his own actions to you back at the office. "Your home is beautiful." you whispered lovingly.

You found the crinkles in the corner of his eyes so handsome, and you even pondered if the perfect curve in his nose had been sculpted by Zeus too. He wasn't like the Themysciran depictions of 'man', he was worn and slightly miserable, but there was no denying the connection you felt to him. For a second, you wondered if he was your reason. If he was your purpose. You'd grown so attached to him in just a matter of hours, you'd even grown attached to Alistair without even realising. Alistair was the first person you had met upon waking up in the world of man. But there was no way, you were looking for Lorenzano. Lorenzano…

You slipped your hand away from Max and sat on the soft couch, relishing the same feeling you loved so much back in the office. You took off your tiara, placing it on the coffee table, and unbuckled your sandals. You went to remove your tunic and skirt, but were cut off by a yelp from Max as he diverted his eyes.

"What- what are you doing?" Maxwell gasped, looking away.

"I'm undressing," you replied simply. "Amazonian clothes are so uncomfortable to sleep in."

"I- I'm sure," Maxwell nodded his head, feeling himself become flustered. "But uh- you can't just- I mean, I don't know what it's like in the Themy place-"

"Themyscira." you deadpanned.

"-Right, well I just think. You know. Maybe don't get naked, right now. Not yet anyway," Maxwell wanted to curse out loud. Not yet anyway? What was he saying? "Let me find something for you to sleep in okay? Something comfortable."

"You don't sleep naked?" you asked, tilting your head and readjusting your skirt so you were covered up again. Maxwell turned back to you.

"I- I do, sometimes." Shit, Max was definitely blushing.

"So why can't I sleep naked?" you shrugged your shoulders.

"I just… don't want you to be uncomfortable." Max trailed off.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" you questioned further.

No, it didn't, but the thought of you laying naked on his couch went straight to his cock. "Let me get you a shirt." he said, avoiding your question.

While he was gone, you turned to the small side table to the left of the sofa. There, in a small frame, was a man who, although younger, was very clearly Max. He was sitting in a chair, smiling holding a newborn baby in his arms. You picked up the photo and analysed it, admiring every part. You guessed the baby was Alistair. It was hard to see the child's face, being that the photograph had aged and was slightly blurry. It dated ’1978 in the corner. Six years ago. That would make Alistair only six years old.

Maxwell was back in no time with a folded pinstripe button down. You took it and muttered a thank you before going to undress yourself again. Seeing this, Maxwell turned back around and figured he could grab you some soft blankets from the guest bedroom. When he returned, you were already sleeping peacefully on the sofa, wearing his shirt.

Maxwell thought he could've spent hours just watching you sleep. You were so peaceful. He watched as the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, he admired your little snores and the way you stirred slightly now and again. He'd never been so entranced with anyone in his entire life. Not even Julianna.

And shit— he was still semi-hard. He was going to shower, he'd decided. He'd shower away all these feelings, all this anxiety and he was going to be okay. He'd wash his hair, brush his teeth— he'd make an effort. He couldn't keep sulking around. He had to try for his son.

Maxwell gasped as he stepped in the shower. His hunched up shoulders became relaxed and he was able to unclench his fists as he let the hot water envelop his body. His eyes fluttered closed as the image of you scattered his thoughts. He tried to shrug it off, but he couldn't. Just knowing you were laying on his sofa in one of his dress shirts stirred something primal within him. He dropped his hand down to his cock and began to jerk himself off, his fingers rubbing against the small slit in his tip as he wiped the precum down his length. The hot water felt so good, and Max had forgotten to open a window so the steam from the shower made the air foggy and moist.

He dragged his fist down his throbbing length, his movements becoming fast and erratic as he squeezed his eyes tight shut, trying to hold out moans. He couldn't let you hear. He couldn't let you know. He hadn't done this in so long. He'd always had his assistants at his beck and call, he never needed to relieve himself in the shower since his and Julianna's marriage broke down.

You consumed his every thought. He imagined your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, he imagined you giving him sweet kitten licks as you massaged his balls. He imagined you gagging around him as you took his long, thick length to the back of your throat. He imagined fucking your mouth. The thought of him being able to get a literal goddess to choke and whimper really urged his power complex enough to throw him over the edge. In only a matter of minutes, Maxwell spilled his milky white seed over the tiled bathroom walls, gasping your name as he came.

And when it was over, he felt a familiar remorse. A familiar guilt. He knew he did not deserve you.

Maxwell had to force himself to get washed, using his apple scented shampoo and even conditioning his hair. He was satisfied with his minty fresh breath as he walked into his bedroom in only a towel that was wrapped loosely around his waist. Since it was approaching night, and fast, he picked out a pair of light grey sweats and a wooly sweater before combing through his unnatural dark blonde hair which just so happened to be naturally wavy.

He sighed, padding into the kitchen quietly being careful not to wake you. He knew what he had to do next, what he'd been putting off since he received the damn letter. The envelope was staring at him on the cabinet. He picked it up, an anger engulfing him as he read the name ‘Maxwell Lorenzano’ on the paper. He ripped it open furiously and opened up the letter.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano

I, Theodore Thomas IV, attorney of Miss Julianna Grey, present you with a civil lawsuit case regarding full custody of Alistair Lorenzano in favour of my client, Miss Grey.

-—- please see proceedings below -—-

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano's divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

-—- proceedings concurred -—-

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Sincerely,

Ted

Maxwell screamed as his face turned bright red with astonishing rage. He crumpled up the letter into a ball, throwing across the kitchen. Tears fell from his eyes in complete and utter disbelief. No, this was the worst thing that could ever happen to Maxwell. He'd rather die than not be able to see Alistair. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces.

It was ridiculous and down right unfair. Max began to laugh manic as he swept the plates and glasses that were standing by the sink into the floor. He'd forgotten about you, sleeping in the other room. He didn't care. He was done being considerate.

Maxwell had made a lot of mistakes in his life— a lot, but he loved Alistair so much and Alistair loved him. He couldn't let Julianna and her stupid lawyer boyfriend rip him away from his son. If that happened, he'd be no better than his own father. Maxwell let out another scream of frustration, clenching his fist until his knuckles were white. This was nobody's fault but his own. He was too much like his own dad— too much like his own fucking deadbeat, abusive dad. Max had tried his whole life to make Alistair proud, to be different, a good different. But he wasn't a Lord, he was a Lorenzano, and maybe blood was thicker than water. He was nothing but a low life conman who had almost singlehandedly destroyed the entire world and now, he was about to lose his son.

How was he ever going to win this case? Julianna literally had one of the best family lawyers in the state on her side, and Maxwell wasn't even sure if he could afford a lawyer given the circumstances. What he had failed to think about, was the fact he had a literal goddess sleeping on his sofa. A goddess who’s purpose was to reconcile families.

A shatter of broken glass awoke you from your nap. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, lifting up onto your elbows before hearing a thud and a crash. Alerted, your eyes snapped open and you swung your body out of the big warm bed, bolting into the kitchen where you had heard the noise. Fragments of a broken vase were scattered over the tile floor, soil spilled everywhere and some daffodils that looked like they had been dead for at least a month already. The sound of gushing water drew your attention to Maxwell, who was standing at the sink. Stepping over the broken glass, you padded over to him and placed a hand into the small of his back. He jumped slightly at your touch. You peered over his shoulder and saw a really deep cut in his hand, blood dripping into the sink. Not even the water coming from the faucet was enough to wash it away. It trickled down his arm and you looked up at him, noticing he was pale in colour.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, your voice smaller than it intended to be. Your gaze trailed along the kitchen surface tops until you spotted a roll of kitchen paper. Taking plenty, you ripped it and gently wrapped your fingers around Max’s wrist, maneuvering his still bleeding hand away from the sink. A few drops of blood fell to the tiled floor, but you quickly wrapped the paper around his wound and applied pressure. “That looks really deep.” you hummed, looking up at your friend with concern.

“It’ll be fine.” Maxwell mumbled, watching you intently as you cared for his injury. It was a strange feeling. No one had ever looked out for him the way you did, and you’d only known him for a few hours. Your soft was gentle, he even noticed the way you subconsciously began to rub comforting circles into his skin, like it was just natural for you.

You frowned, slowly lifting up the soaked tissue paper and discarding it in the waste bin. The bleeding had settled down, but it still looked incredibly sore. Dampening another paper towel, you tried to clean around the edges of his cut. He hissed in pain as your finger accidentally grazed over the wound and you shot him an apologetic look. Maxwell was like putty in your hands. He let you do whatever you needed to - and he absolutely wasn’t like that with anyone else. “You might need stitches,” you sighed, taking a closer look. “If only we were on Themyscira, I have a friend who could heal you in a matter of seconds.” Themyscira - there it was again, the mystical place Maxwell had never even heard of. “What happened?” you asked eventually, your gaze meeting Maxwell’s.

“Uhm-” his eyes flicked around the room, searching for something that would fuel the white lie. "Was changing the flowers and dropped the vase."

His lie didn't account for the broken glasses and plates that were also on the floor. You looked at him in bewilderment, knowing he wasn't being entirely truthful to you. He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay with you right now. He had to go see Alistair. "I- I gotta go." Maxwell said quickly before bolting out the house.

He left you standing alone in the kitchen amongst all the mess. As you began to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, you noticed the scrumpled up ball of paper in the corner. Picking it up, you slowly unravelled it in hope it would give you a clue regarding Maxwell's behaviour.

Your heart practically sank when you read the first three words.

Dear Maxwell Lorenzano,

Lorenzano. He was Lorenzano.

-----

Taglists - let me know if you wish to be added: I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat @thebloodrobin @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @biharryjames @thwiso @pedrolorian @julieteagk @starsandmando @kishie8 @supernaturalcat7 @depressedchillipepper @galaxypox @cocastyle @welcometothepedroverse @galactic-rhi @honestlystop @walkerchick007 @winchesterxxl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @why-cant-i-hold-all-my-husbanda @criminalmind1927 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @lola-max-sugar @thesadvampire @wonder-jedi @eternallyvenus @way-too-addicted-to-anime @spacedaddydinn @mack4676 @vonschweetz @tanyaherondale @thisis-theway

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #maxwell lord smut

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starktonyx · 5 years

Text

Let me show you I’m sorry - Peter Parker x reader (smut)

Word count: 3.2k

Request: Peter Parker imagine with some angst and smut? You can put some fluff if you want to. I don't have any specific idea. I totally trust you.

Description: After a heavy and painful fight with Peter, he tries to make it up to you with some reconciliation sex.

Note: I believe I went a little bit hard on the angst part but I really hope it´s what you wanted. I’m just going to say half of this is pain and the other half is filth, so enjoy this rollercoaster of feelings!

Masterlist

Things weren't the same anymore.

Peter was not the same anymore.

Ever since Tony Stark's funeral he had acted distant and cold, ignoring the world around him. You supposed it was normal, he had just lost another father figure and he just needed time to mourn.

Except, it wasn't at all how you thought it would be.

You expected to see him fragile and breaking down, because that's how most people mourn, but not him. You were scared when you saw no hint of sadness in him, just anger.

He was irritated all the time, talking back to May, not caring about school or his friends, not even talking to you, his girlfriend, even after you both came back from being vanished for five years.

All he seemed to care about nowadays was his damn spiderman patrol.

You tried to be supportive at first, everyone did, you knew how important being spiderman was for Peter, and you knew it was his way of disconnecting from his problems. But weeks went by and Peter kept ditching everyone for the patrol, getting home late and bruised, barely sleeping afterwards.

He stopped visiting your room after his patrols and rarely texted you back anymore. The days he went to school he avoided everyone, including you. You really tried to be there for him, but he always found an excuse to cancel your dates.

And it hurt like a motherfucker.

Because all you could do was watch how Peter slipped from your hands, how his love for you seemed to vanish more everyday.

You were loosing him.

So you had enough of putting up with his abnormal behavior, and prepared yourself to confront him about it. You went to his place at night, May had warmly welcomed you with a hug, and you could see the pain in her eyes caused by his nephew's actions.

You patiently waited in his room, sitting in his bed as hours went by. Your eyes focused on a trail of polaroids on Peter's wall, and you remembered all of the photos as if they were taken yesterday, yet the happy memories seemed painfully distant now.

Tears threatened to fall as you admired every single photo, they happened a long time ago yet you could still see Peter's love for you in them, and you wished you could feel it again.

Before you broke down you tried to distract yourself with something else in the room, and your eyes landed on his school backpack. It was thrown on the floor, totally untouched as you knew Peter had been ditching his homework lately. You sighed deeply when a noise startled you, and you saw Peter carefully crawling through his window without noticing you in the room.

2:34 am, and Peter was just getting back from his patrol.

"Hi" You whispered standing up, yet it was enough to alarm the boy's senses, and you saw his mask's eyes getting wide when he realized you were there.

"H-hey what ... what are you doing here?" He asked as he silently landed on the floor and took off his mask.

His messy curls almost distracting you, but you were still able to see his nervousness, as he fiddled his mask in his hands and awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to another. It didn't take a genius to know he didn't want you there.

Like I said, it hurt like a motherfucker.

"I wanted to know if you were okay" You nervously started, taking a deep breaths. "I just ... I think you've been way too focused on your spiderman duties"

He just shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

"You never had a problem with it before" His indifferent voice hit you harder than you expected, and in that moment you lost all nervousness.

Now you were just angry.

"Because you didn't act like an idiot before Peter! you didn't ignore my texts and calls like you do now, you didn't avoid me as if I had the fucking plague. This is not how a relationship works" You painfully ranted, hoping to get a reaction from him, but he just sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair.

"I've just been busy with my patrol Y/N, you know that's important for me" He protested harshly and you bitterly huffed in response.

"And I'm not? I hate to be that girl but are you so blind to see how much this is hurting me? You barely acknowledge me anymore Peter and you don't even seem to give a damn about it!" You barked, pointing a finger accusingly at him.

"Y/N you don't understand this is not about you! I'm literally saving lives out there, I need you t–"

"No, you don't understand I need you!" You finally spat interrupting him, your voice threatening to break. "Two months ago half of the world was gone. We were gone. For five fucking years Peter"

"I understand tha–"

"No you don't" You interrupted him once again, shaking your head. "You don't understand how lucky we are to have a second chance, to be back here. How dare you throw that opportunity away acting like this?" Your voice was harsh, as you choked the lump in your throat.

"Yeah? At what cost did we get that chance Y/N?" He angrily questioned with a bright red face, not controlling his loud voice. "Because he sacrificed himself for this"

You knew all of this had to do with him.

"No, he didn't sacrifice himself for this. He saved the world for you to move forward with your life and be happy. He did it for you Peter and you pay him like this? Obsessing over your stupid patrol and ignoring the people who care the most about you? For god's sake, May is worried about you, Pepper has called in to check in, even Happy is concerned! Tony wouldn't have wanted this" You desperately cried, your brittle voice softening in the last sentence.

Your begging voice didn't seem to phase him, as he turned his back on you, resting his hands on the windowsill as he inhaled sharply.

"Don't you ever say his name again" Peter grunted, clenching tightly his jaw.

His dark voice scared you, he never spoke so hostile towards you. This is when you couldn't contain the tears anymore.

"Then I don't know what else to say to you" You mumbled choking a sob, hugging yourself with your arms. "I can't keep doing this Peter I ... I can't"

Peter's breath hitched when he heard your silent cries. He knew this was the part where he turned around and apologized, but his mind was so clouded by the anger that he just continued looking through the window, his knuckles turning white from how tight he was gripping the windowsill.

And then he said something he knew he would regret later.

"Then leave" The words left his mouth so bluntly that even he was surprised by the lack of emotion in them.

The next thing he heard was a loud sob you couldn't keep to yourself, as you hurriedly scurried out of his room. The windowsill couldn't resist his strength anymore, breaking under the pressure of his hands.

"Peter why ... why did you do that?" May disappointingly asked standing on the door, she had heard all the loud argument and saw you leave crying.

Peter just half turned his body to close the door on her face with a web, and put back his mask on, ready to get out on the streets again and forget about everything.

•

He made a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Peter repeated himself as he paced back and forth on your apartment building's roof, after he realized how big of an asshole he was with you and he needed to apologize immediately. Three days had passed since he stupidly let go one the most important people in his life.

It took him three days to finally snap out of his mourning act, his mind just processing how he had fucked up with everyone around him.

Especially with you.

He mentally cursed himself, as he took the courage to finally swing outside of your window, standing nervously on the emergency stairs. Your window was closed and covered by your curtains and Peter gulped harshly, you always had them open for him.

Well not anymore.

He noticed the dim light coming from the inside, signaling you were still awake. He took off his mask before softly knocking on the glass, breathing deeply when he heard your footsteps moving across the room.

You were paralyzed on your feet when you opened the curtains to find Peter outside your window, not that you expected anyone else knocking at it really, but you still didn't expect him.

After what he did.

Peter's breath hitched when he saw your face, pale but at the same time red from what appeared to be hours of crying. Peter mentally slapped himself, how could he allow himself to hurt you this bad?

He also noticed you were wearing only one of his shirts as a pajama, and almost smiled at it, it had to mean you didn't totally hate him. He watched you hesitantly open the window, the cold air of the night hitting your puffy face.

"What are you doing here" Your voice came out harsher than you thought and Peter was lightly taken aback by it.

But let's be honest, you both knew he deserved it.

"I ... I–I'm ..." Peter shut himself as he struggled to find the right words, suddenly realizing he didn't exactly have a plan of action for his apology. "Can ... can I come in?"

You stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, his bloodshot eyes begging you to let him in. You inhaled sharply, moving to the side to let him in the room.

"Alright what now" You bluntly said, stranding in front of him with your arms crossed and hitting your foot repeatedly on the ground.

Peter tried to ignore your defensive position, he ran a hand through his messy curls to try to ease his anxiety, and decided it was best to just go straight to the point.

"I'm sorry" He blurted out, looking straight into your eyes.

You could see his eyes glistening in regret, you breathed deeply breaking the eye contact and looking to the floor, you were not going to give in so easily.

"Sorry about what" You insisted, you needed to hear if he finally realized how much he hurt everyone.

Peter shifted his weight on his feet, scratching the back of his neck.

"About everything" He started, sighing. "I'm sorry for acting like an asshole I just– I was so angry after Tony died because I should've done better, I couldn't stop thinking about it and I couldn't focus on anything else" He said, his brittle voice announcing he would start crying in any moment.

You suddenly forgot about your anger and left your stance, walking towards the breaking boy and cupping his cheeks on your hands.

"Peter you know his death wasn't your fault" You softly said. "You can't blame yourself for what happened"

Peter just gently rested his forehead on yours, closing his eyes.

"But I can blame myself for acting the way I did" The boy mumbled. "I pushed everyone away, I even made May cry Y/n! and I made you cry, I've never done that before what is wrong with me?" Peter cried and you could only embrace him in your arms, hugging him tightly.

"Shh it's okay now Peter, we cried because we care about you. We just wanted to help you" You consoled the boy, softly caressing the back of his head to calm him down.

"I'm so sorry Y/n, please forgive me" His begging voice made a few tears fall from your eyes from seeing him so hurt.

"I do, I forgive you Pete" You breathed deeply.

You stood there holding your embrace for a few minutes, having missed each other's arms. When you finally separated, it only lasted a few seconds before Peter eagerly attacked your lips. You immediately corresponded, melting into the kiss. It was salty, from the tears falling from your eyes. You felt him grab your waist, and you cupped his cheeks again.

The desperate kiss was heating up quickly, when Peter slipped his hands under your shirt, suddenly his suit becoming a barrier between his fingers and your body. He stepped away from the kiss for a second to press the spider symbol in the middle of his suit, loosening the fabric from his body and watching it fall to the ground. You took this as his chance to undress too, quickly lifting your shirt to take it off.

Peter bit his bottom lip when he noticed you weren't wearing a bra under the shirt, your panties were the only thing covering your body. This time he collided his warm body against yours, feeling your hard nipples on his chest and began kissing your neck. You let out silent whimpers as you ran your hands through his torso, yelping when he suddenly lifted you in the air. He climbed your bed, laying you gently in it hovering over your body and placing himself between your legs. "Peter–"

"Shh baby, let me show you how sorry I am" He mumbled hushing you, as he returned his mouth to your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin to give you some lovely marks. "Let me remind you how much I love you"

He began trailing the kisses down your chest, until he reached your boobs and began lightly nibbling on your hard nipples. You couldn't help gently tucking his hair, arching your back to give him a deeper access to your chest.

"Fuck Peter ... I–l missed you" You confessed, your quivering voice under his touch just boosted his ego.

"I missed my sweet girl too ..." He huskily said lowering his kisses to your abdomen, slowly getting to your wet core. "... and the way you taste Y/n"

He put his cold fingers over the fabric of your panties, hurriedly taking them off your body to finally have you laying naked in front of him.

"Oh baby" You finally slipped a pet name out of your lips, throwing your head back when his mouth vigorously attacked your pussy.

"Baby girl you always taste so good" He praised as his tongue worked magic on your clit, sending shivers through your whole body.

He lifted one of his free hands to massage your boobs as his face buried in your throbbing pussy, sucking hard on your sensible clit. You tangled your legs around his head, as they started to shake from the pleasure building up.

"Don't stop baby boy, please" You squirmed under him, he could only smirk between your folds.

He then used his other hand to shove two fingers on your pussy, making you gasp in pleasure when he began thrusting them in and out quickly.

"Fuck fuck fuck" You could only curse between moans, absolutely loving the feeling of Peter's tongue in your clit and his long fingers pumping inside you.

You started feeling the pleasure build up in your whole body, and you could only push Peter's head deeper between your thighs. He fastened the pace of his fingers, knowing you were close to getting off.

He was loving the way you moaned and squirmed under his touch.

And you were enjoying way too much the sounds Peter's lips made on your wet pussy, that it was enough to send you over the edge.

"Baby I'm ... I'm comin– oh" you couldn't finish your sentence as your orgasm ripped harshly through your body with a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Peter's mouth left your pussy with a 'pop', after proudly sucking on your juices when you orgasmed. You tried to recover your breath, as you felt him take out his fingers out of you and you immediately grabbed his hand to suck on his wet fingers.

"Damn babygirl, you're so beautiful when you come" He lowly said, feeling hypnotized as you kept the eye contact while cleaning his fingers.

You left his fingers to push his head closer to yours, his body straddling yours as you desperately kissed him.

"I need you" You begged into his lips, feeling his hard member still covered by his boxers, hard over your stomach. "Please fuck me Peter" You said one last time, playing with the hem of his boxers.

Peter smirked and separated from you to take his briefs off, sending them flying through the room. He took your arms and placed them over your head, holding them still with one hand as he lined up his twitching cock with your entrance with the other.

"Umm yes baby" You loudly moaned when he slammed into you, squeezing your eyes shut when he stretched your walls just right.

"Fuck, how I love your tight pussy" Peter grunted as he began picking up a pace, enjoying the view of your lovely tits starting to bounce with every thrust.

In this moment you both forgot about your your problems, enjoying the feeling of each other. The room was soon filled with your moans and Peter's groans, the sound of your skin clashing together joining the headboard banging on the wall.

You were so grateful your parents were out on an event tonight.

Peter let go of the grip on your arms still above your head, and with one hand grabbed tightly your waist, putting the other on the headboard to help him thrust into you. You took this as your chance to roam your hands through his chiseled torso, never getting tired of the feeling of his hard abs under your touch.

"Right there Pete– fuck keep going" You panted, throwing your head back when he began hitting your spot, already feeling the way your body asked for a release.

"You look so stunning when I fuck you" Peter whispered. "You feel so good Y/n" He continued praising as shivers went down his spine every time your walls squeezed around his dick.

Peter's words managed to send you over the edge, you arched your back when you came harder this time, your whole body shaking with Peter still slamming into you. He smirked when he felt you orgasm under him, his thrusts becoming sloppier when he felt his orgasm run through his body.

"Fuck Y/n baby" He grunted pushing his dick a few more times into you, until his cum completely filled you up.

You bit your lip feeling the warm liquid inside you, loving the way you felt it slowly fall from your sore pussy. Peter enjoyed the stunning view for a moment, until he finally laid down next to you.

The room smelled like sex now, your heavy chests going up and down with harsh breaths were the only sounds as you recovered from your highs.

"I'm sorry" Peter apologized once again after a few minutes of silence. You just sighed, moving your body closer to him to lay on his chest.

"I know" You mumbled as he gently caressed your hair. "Just promise me you'll talk to me next time, no matter what it is I'll be there okay"

"Fuck, I love you so much"

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crusherthedoctor · 3 years

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Can we have some unpopular Sonic opinions?

I tried to cram in a lot, so I hope this satisfies you. :P I tried to stick to the ones that I haven't brought up quite as often, since by this point, we all know that I think IDW's storytelling is dire, SA2's story is overrated, X Eggman is an embarrassing portrayal (at least from season 2 onwards), Blaze shouldn't be handcuffed to Silver, Shadow's backstory had issues with or without the Black Arms, Neo Metal Sonic looks silly, etc. But anyway, here we go:

- Knuckles may be tricky to incorporate into plots that don't relate to Angel Island, but making him obsessed with his duties is no better than having him forget about Angel Island entirely.

- I like Marine, and never found her annoying. Oh, I understood what they were trying to do with her, but I honestly wasn't put off by her, and found her Aussie lingo more endearing if anything. Since her debut was during the period in my life where where I couldn't stand Sonic himself, I instead thought he was irritating (and hypocritical) for getting annoyed with her for doing shit he would often be guilty of.

- Silver is just as guilty of being shoehorned into games and plots as the Deadly Six are. Having more fans than the latter is irrelevant, since we're still talking about a character who constantly has to time travel in order to be present.

- Speaking of Silver, if he has to stick around, please do something different with him. They've pulled the doomed future routine multiple times now, and it's been boring every single time. I wasn't interested when it involved Iblis. I wasn't interested when it involved Knuckles drinking the edgy Kool Aid. I wasn't interested when it involved a council of dumbasses... give it a rest already.

- The Tails Doll can work as a mildly creepy thing, with maybe more to it than meets the eye when it's time for a boss fight or what have you. But the memes about him stealing your soul are just dumb, and I thought it was dumb even back in my teenage youth.

- “Eggman is supposed to be clownish!” Yeah, well he's also meant to be a genuine villain with a 300 IQ. These qualities don't have to be mutually exclusive.

- “Sonic is supposed to have attitude!” Yeah, well that's not the same thing as being an absolute cunt. Sonic was only ever meant to come off as having an edge compared to Mario. He was never meant to be a GTA-tier protagonist.

- Rouge is not a villain, and never was a villain. Literally the whole point of her role in SA2 was to reveal that she was working against Eggman and Shadow the whole time, albeit using sneakier tactics to do so. You'd think all those people who exult SA2's story would remember this, but apparently not. She barely even qualifies as an anti-hero, since aside from stealing the Master Emerald, she rarely does anything morally questionable otherwise. She's got a lot more good in her than people give her credit for.

- Captain Whisker is a better Eggman Nega than the actual Eggman Nega. And as far as robot characters in this franchise go, Johnny's design is pretty underrated.

- I don't like Iblis or Mephiles, but I DO like Solaris, and it annoys me that it was out of focus for most of the story due to all the time spent on its less interesting halves. Had they kept the backstory with the Duke and his experiments, and worked from there, I think they could have provided an interesting contrast with Chaos (since Solaris can also qualify as a monster with a sympathetic backstory) instead of recycling the surface level schtick.

- Black Doom may technically be just as bad as Mephiles, Nega, Scourge, Mimic, etc, since he's yet another villain with one-note characterization and fucked over Eggman. But because he never gained a disproportionate fandom, he doesn't annoy me to the same extent. It's easier to ignore him by comparison, and his Dr. Claw voice and face shaped like a lady's delicate part make him enjoyable to mock.

- Likewise, while Lyric is also on the same level as these other villains, it's easier to dismiss him because I was never invested in the Boom games anyway, and being an obvious alternate universe (compared to Sonic X or IDW, which retain the Modern designs and plot elements), it never had an effect on the main series. I also unironically like his design, and if nothing else, at least this snake didn't start a hypnotism fetish across the internet.

- Sally - and the rest of the Freedom Fighters for that matter - have had their importance in the franchise severely inflated. They may have been lucky to be the face of popular media (SatAM and Archie), but they're not these magnificent entities that the game characters are but a speck of dust in comparison to. Having a “legacy” doesn't make them more entitled to shit than any other character, old or new.

- Conceptually, the treasure hunting gameplay is one of the better alternate gameplay styles IMO. But it was let down in SA2 by its one track minded radar (the levels may have been big, but I don't think that would have been an issue on its own if the radar was better). If they brought it back and made it more like SA1's treasure hunting, I'd be all for it, although it would probably be better suited for a spinoff title.

- This goes for a lot of games, but when it comes to 2D, I prefer sprites over models. Not that the Rush models are bad (though the ones in Chronicles sure as fuck are), but the sprites in Mania and the Advance trilogy are just so charming and full of character.

- I actually like Marble Zone. Yeah, the level design is a bit blocky, but I love the concept of an underground temple prison, mixed with lava elements in a zone that otherwise isn't a traditional volcano level.

- I also like Sandopolis Zone. Again, completely understand why it's not the most popular zone around, but I've been a sucker for the Ancient Egyptian aesthetic since childhood (you can thank Crash 3 for that), and Act 1 is visually stunning.

- I prefer the JP soundtrack for Sonic CD over the US version overall... but I also prefer Sonic Boom over You Can Do Anything.

- SA2's soundtrack isn't bad by any means - I love Rouge's tracks, and The Last Scene is one of my favourite pieces of music - but as far as variety goes, it's a step down from SA1's soundtrack.

- If Sonic X-Treme had been released, it probably would have been unenjoyable and confusing. Whatever your thoughts on SA1, it was probably the better option between the two as far as Sonic's first legitimate translation into 3D goes.

- I have no qualms with Modern Sonic and the other Modern designs and characters, but I also fully acknowledge that changing gears from Adventure onwards - and doing it with a great amount of fanfare - was always going to create one of the biggest divides in the fandom, and fans shouldn't act surprised that this happened. The fact that they felt the need to hype up a new design and direction in the first place (compared to Mario, who has mostly been the same since the beginning, with only the occasional minor change with little fanfare) also indicates that they weren't confident enough in Sonic and his universe being the way it was, which often gets ignored by all the “SEGA have no confidence!!!” complaints you see with their recent games.

- Unleashed did not deserve the incredibly harsh reviews it received back in the day... but it doesn't deserve its current sacred cow status either. It had more effort put into it than '06 to be sure, and I can respect that, but much of it was misguided effort, and even if you like the Werehog, you have to admit that the idea came at the absolute worst time. The intro cutscene may be awesome, as is the Egg Dragoon fight, but 2% doesn't make up the entire game. Chip was also quite annoying, and I wasn't particularly sad when he pressed F in the chat at the end.

- On the other hand, while Colours definitely has its shortcomings, and people have every right to criticse those shortcomings, a lot of its most vocal detractors tend to have a stick up their arse about the game because people actually enjoyed it, and it had a gimmick that people actually liked. Yes, it may have been the first game to have those writers everyone hates, but then SA1 was the first game to give the characters alternate gameplay styles and have other villains upstage Eggman, so...

- Forces is absolutely not on the level of '06. It's nowhere close. A game being flawed does not make it the next '06, clickbait YouTubers. Or should I say, the game they want to retroactively apply '06's reception to, since they've been trying hard to magically retcon '06's own quality...

- To echo @beevean, ALL of the 3D stories have their issues. SA1 is probably the most well-rounded of them on the whole, but even that one isn't perfect.

- To echo another opinion, although I do love SA1, I'm not crazy over the idea of a remake, and would prefer them to just take Sonic's gameplay from SA1 and work from there. Because with a remake, you're stuck in a hard spot: Do you keep it the way it is bar the expected graphical upgrades, and risk accusations of not doing anything to actually improve the experience? Or do you try to address past criticisms, and risk the wrath of the fans who will inevitably go on a #NotMyAdventure crusade about it? What people fail to consider is that the Crash and Spyro remakes were accepted gracefully because their original iterations were still unanimously beloved for the most part, whereas SA1 - and especially SA2 - have always been divisive, and have only gotten moreso over the years.

- People take their preferences for the character's voice actors too seriously. I have my own favourites like anyone else, but I don't make a big deal out of it.

- And with fandom voice actors, they usually focus too much on doing a basic impression of their preferred official voice actor, and not enough on the acting. So you end up getting a lot of fan voices who sound like decent impressions of Ryan Drummond or Jason Griffith on the surface, but they sound utterly empty beyond that impression, because there's no oomph or depth to the actual emotions. They think about the actor rather than the character, when it should really be the other way around.

- The thing with Ian Flynn is that he is capable of telling a decent story, and he can portray some characters well. But he's proven time and time again that everything will go off the rails if he's given too much freedom (ironic, given how quick he is to point the finger at mandates when something goes wrong).

- Ian Flynn and Shiro Maekawa are not the only people in the world who are allowed to write for Sonic. I understand that one should be cautious when seeking out new writing talent, but for all the fandom's accusations of playing it safe, they sure aren't in a rush to experiment outside of their own comfort zone.

- And of course, the big one: You don't fix the franchise's current problems by crawling back to its previous problems. It's much more helpful and constructive to discuss the good and bad alike with each of the games. Less “THIS GOOD, MODERN BAD”, and more “This could work, but maybe without that part...”

#Crusher's Asks #Opinion #Sonic the Hedgehog

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foretoldblood · 3 years

Note

five times kissed 💕

y'shtola is sharp as a tack, one of the most intelligent people he'd ever had the fortune to meet, and he's utterly captivated by her. they get along like fire and oil, catching from the very second they're left alone in the room together.

but urianger is quiet and speaks in riddles and y'shtola is loud and speaks with action. he composes unwritten symphonies of words and she manifests results with her own might. they spend hours upon hours together, arguing, debating, researching, and it all feels like mere moments.

the day after he receives the mark, near to the end of their time in sharlayan, he walks into louisoix's foyer, his head and eyes uncovered as his face is still far too tender to wear his usual attire. his heart soaring with accomplishment, a smile breaking through his stoic demeanor. she's the only one there, and so it seems little surprise that she takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss right to the sore skin.

"so you would be beautiful were it that you were not so secretive, urianger," she says, tapping the tip of his nose with the pad of her finger. there's mirth in her eyes, mingled with pride and affection. and she lingers a moment longer, the opportunity is there.

he wants to kiss her, but he doesn't. just as he wants to kiss moenbryda but doesn't. urianger freezes instead, stiff as a board, and she lets go with an understanding that somehow makes him feel worse.

they don't talk about it afterwards.

the next time is years later, days after prophecy comes to life. they've hunted through the battlefield for hours now, trying to find bodies but there's nothing. simply nothing. nothing but bahamut's rage, frozen flame twisting around the landscape and the memory of a man haunting them.

louisoix is gone.

they are lost.

but there is still a mission to accomplish. the world does not stop because the greatest among them are gone.

urianger allows himself this moment to mourn - but only that moment, remembering all that is still left to do. the empire is on the borders of a broken realm and the threat of primal summoning upon them.

y'shtola finds him sitting against one of the frozen spires, his head in his hands. he looks up as she kneels, and she bends and presses her forehead to his, their grief unspoken and shared.

butterfly kisses he thinks as damp eyelashes brush together.

they rebuild.

but perhaps the foundation is cracked.

their methodologies had always differed - that was why they had been brought together, but louisoix had been the cement that bridged their gaps.

urianger retreats further into himself. he keeps secrets and she knows. the rift is subtle at first. y'shtola goes from nearly always at his side, reading over his shoulder, to across the room.

they don't acknowledge it. they feign normalcy, trying oh so hard to pretend like everything is fine.

in the quiet moments after he's rescued, all goes back to normal. she sits at his bedside and calls him a fool, how worried she was. he smiles ever so faintly and lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm where her nails have worried the skin.

loss ruins their victory.

they're all gone in one fell swoop. urianger regrets being reclusive, regrets staying behind for if he'd gone perhaps he could have changed it. the warrior and alphinaud seek to solve ishgard's problems and he throws himself into finding them.

they pull her from the lifestream and he sits at her bedside, trading shifts with y'mitra until she wakes.

and oh, the price she's paid.

y'mitra tells him when she wakes, of her condition, and he feels ill with guilt.

she can't see the tearstains on his face. can't see the bags underneath his eyes. the toll that this has taken on him. the cowl and goggles are abandoned and he is simply exhausted.

but relieved beyond measure.

his fingers entwine tightly with her own.

"do not," he rasps softly, "frighten me like that again."

this time she presses lips to his knuckles, a laugh on her lips.

"i don't think i've ever heard you use so few words. have i lost the favor of your verbosity?"

"thine most recent reckless stunt hath left mine soul bereft of poem," he folds his free arm under his chin, letting his eyes shut. their hands stay entertwined. "when we see the dawn of peace once more, 'tis thine duty and thine alone to see it replenished."

she laughs. and he decides he would die a happy man should that be the last thing he ever heard.

it happens in the crystarium. after years of avoiding each other, months of travelling together and pretending all is well in front of others.

but it isn't.

she's furious at him for keeping secret after secret. for minfilia before this, for siding with the exarch after that, for the warrior of light now. they argue in private where they can't be overheard.

"do we mean nothing to you?" she spits. "have you so little trust in us?"

"this is not about trust or meaning," he says, his voice scarcely raising but the fire is burning. his lack of reaction always infuriates her more than were he to give a human reaction, to crack and yell.

she knows he's capable of it. she better than most.

"no, no i suppose not. it's about your godsdadmned need for control," she hisses.

"nor is it about control," his voices rises. a theory is confirmed.

"it is, urianger, and no one else is willing to take you to task. you've spent so much time in the shadows you shrink from the light even now," she snarls. "and yet you throw yourself upon the sword the moment it presents itself! you blame yourself for things beyond your control, and you think cartineau would have been different if you had kept a tighter grip on -"

"y'shtola."

she's wrong, but not wrong. her words strike home and lay him bare. the words hang between them, regret so thick in the air it has them both choking. he looks away from her, towards the gift of the night sky given back to this world.

slowly he turns back to her. to the silver glow of her eyes that he blames himself for. to the grief they've both wrapped themselves with. to the mark fewer and fewer of them still wear.

he crosses the room.

gathers her hands in his. his head lowers - his eyes burning. it's killing him that they fight like this, that he has this secret. all he can do is squeeze her hands gently in his.

"this is the last time," he says, his voice terribly raw. "i do not expect forgiveness for this, nor do i deserve it. but i believe i have earned enough goodwill for you to trust my judgement."

his leans down, pressing his lips to her forehead. lingering for a moment, feeling himself tremble ever so slightly. trying to convey all he can.

"regardless of what follows, i shall not keep anything more from you... should you still find yourself willing to have me."

they wake in mor duna, losing years in the span of seconds. their muscles are weak and their bodies tired from the act of simply opening their eyes, but they are delighted to be alive and that's all that matters.

she sits on his bed. a vision of loveliness even in the darkness of the rising stones.

he telegraphs his intent. she reads him like a book. he wants her to know his heart, his secrets lain bare. no more, no more, and she trusts him enough to allow that chance, leaning against him.

he touches a hand to her chin and tips it up, her eyes flutter shut.

their lips meet in the middle.

#ask answered.#oh no that was LONG

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harmonyindark245 · 4 years

Text

Secrets [3]

Summary: King's Archeron's kingdom is made up of secrets, which include both betrayal and treason. When the Prince of Velaris and his Inner Circle visit the kingdom, these secrets start revealing themselves. How will these affect the 3 Archeron Princesses, who themselves have a very deadly secret?

AN: All characters belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Warnings: Slight Mature Language, Alcohol Consumption

Word Count - 2.6k

Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

Cassian had been correct when he had said that the kingdom was a colorful drab. There wasn’t a single surface in the corridors that hadn’t been painted on, however, the life around him seemed extremely boring. He had gone to Rhys and Az’s room to see if they would join him on his meaningless stroll through the palace but Rhys’ room was empty and Az had not even bothered to open the door. So that's how Cassian found himself loitering the corridors of the massive palace.

For a kingdom that is known to hide many secrets, there was very little restriction and boundaries for outsiders. He could have robbed the treasury and probably would’ve been welcomed inside. Not that Cassian would do that. Maybe.

Cassian stopped in front of massive doors that were painted on. There were various designs but the most common were of books. Cassian guessed it must have been the library. He also remembered Princess Nesta saying that she might be in the library. He smiled to himself as he thought about their interaction. He had never enjoyed troubling someone that much. The thought of having another spat with Nesta was more appealing than grilling Az regarding the loving looks Elain was giving him.

Cassian rubbed his palms together just before he opened the doors. He looked around and found that he was right, it was a library. There were candles lit. Mother above they were so laid back.

He saw Nesta looking up at him with a scowl. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” She asked him with a sour voice.

“Haven’t you heard of electricity? Lamps are much better than those wax candles. More efficient for visibility as well.” Cassian said as he strode towards where Nesta was seated and plunked down beside her.

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him, a scowl still present on her face. “Yes I have. Father thought it was a waste of time to install them where they are not required.” Cassian looked at her stormy blue-gray eyes. They appeared to be hiding something big. Nesta noticed how he was looking into her eyes and she turned her head away from him.

“The King, right? Whom we haven’t met yet. What should we expect, huh?” He nudged Nesta with his elbow, which caused Nesta to jump out of her chair. She glowered at him and Cassian stood up as well, towering over her.

“You’ll be meeting him at dinner. Now, please move away so that i can leave.” She told him in a cold voice and started moving past him. Without thinking about it, Cassian caught hold of her hand.

“But, I just came.” He said, trying not to sound desperate.

Nesta looked him over once and scoffed at him. “And, I am leaving.” She left him standing in the library, without looking back, once again.

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

Feyre didn’t want to go to dinner, but she had no other option as her father would also be present there. Feyre thought that the prince was extremely handsome and she really wanted to make a portrait of him. Unfortunately, he was an arrogant asshole. Feyre was wearing one of her best gowns laid out by Elain.

She stripped down and stood in front of the mirror. There were bruises and scars all over from sparring accidents or whenever Tamlin was not in a good mood and would often hurt Feyre. Initially, she had not minded, but afterwards when she did protest, Tamlin had told her that she was overacting and was just weak. After that, Feyre had not said anything about it, no matter how much she hated it.

She scrubbed herself and wore the gown. She noticed she had lost weight, also the courtesy of Tamlin. Feyre wondered how she had let herself get dictated. She had also started drifting away from her sisters. They disapproved of Tamlin and Feyre was too damn stubborn. It was that which had caused Feyre to end up in such a colossal mess.

There was a knock on her door followed by Elain’s soft voice. “Feyre, are you ready?” She quickly tied her dress and told Elain to come in.

Elain entered and gave Feyre a concerned look. “Feyre, are you okay?”

Feyre just shook her head and said, “I need some help with my hair.” Elain gave her a sad smile.

“I would love to help you, Feyre.”

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

Azriel was early. It wasn’t much of a shock to him. He never paid attention to looking good. He just appeared. And it wasn’t as if he needed to do anything to look good.

After his encounter with Princess Elain, he had walked back to his room and replayed every single moment in his mind. He too deserved a reprieve and officially, he wasn’t on duty till the next day. And Cauldron only knew what he had stored for him. He waited nearby the entrance, not wanting to walk in alone.

From behind he heard footsteps approach him. He turned to see Princess Nesta striding towards him. She held her head high as she regarded him.

“Azriel. I believe we weren’t properly introduced in the afternoon.” He said as a greeting. She gave him a calculated look. “And I would also like to apologise for whatever Cassian said to you and will probably say in the future.”

She smiled at him as she said, “Then I would like to apologise for whatever ways my sisters find to torment you. They tend to get a bit out of hand.”

Azriel smiled back and held the doors open for her. From behind he saw Princess Elain walking hand in hand with another lady who could only be Princess Feyre, considering the similarities between her and Princess Nesta.

He bowed his head towards them. “Princess Feyre, Elain.” Elain’s eyes gleamed as she smiled. “Azriel. As you already know, this is my sister Feyre.” She turned towards Feyre who was looking at him with curious eyes. “Feyre, this is Azriel, one of the Prince’s companions.”

Princess Feyre smiled back at him. She then glanced at Elain and then back at him. “I better go inside to check if everything is proper. Elain, why don’t you stay here and wait for the other’s to arrive?” Before Elain could respond, Feyre rushed inside, leaving both Azriel and Elain alone.

“So,” Elain started, swinging her hands. “Here we are, alone. Again.” Azriel hid his smile from her. “Apparently, this time I cannot trick you into taking a stroll.” She said, while smiling.

“Well, there is always after dinner.” Azriel offered softly. Elain looked up at him. “If you would like to.” Azriel added immediately, not wanting to overstep his boundaries.

She smiled up at him. “I would love to.”

“Princess Elain, good evening!” A voice came from behind and Elain instantly stiffened. Lucien Vanserra came up behind her. Elain turned around to face him. Azriel couldn’t see her expression but he could guess she had a fake smile plastered on. “You were so busy the entire day, I couldn’t catch hold of you!”

“And you never will.” Az heard her mumble under her breath and Az disguised his laugh into a cough. Lucien looked up at him.

“I’m sorry did you say something?” He asked.

Az pointed towards himself. “Me? No, I don't think so. You must be hearing things, Vanserra.” Az could see Rhys and everyone else walk towards them with one question lingering in their eyes. Why the hell are you talking to Vanserra?

Lucien looked at Elain. “I wanted to talk to you about the question I asked you yesterday. If we could go somewhere…”

Elain flinched at his words and thankfully, Rhys came up beside her and said, “Aah, Elain. I apologise for keeping you waiting. Let’s go inside now shall we.” Elain nodded her head absentmindedly and shot an apologetic look towards Lucien.

Lucien just glared at Rhys which caused Az to smirk. He wondered why he felt happy that Lucien couldn’t talk to Elain all alone. Maybe because he had found her to be a good friend.

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

Nesta had been greeted by Elain's mystery man, Azriel outside the door. He seemed good enough. In the small greeting she had also gotten the other man's name, Cassian.

She had been seated by a servant who told her that Elain had fixed seats for everyone. Her seat appeared to be the nearest to the head of the table where her father always sat. Feyre was sitting on the left side of Nesta with a seat empty in the middle, presumably for Elain.

Soon, Elain entered the dining hall with Prince Rhysand at her side and his companions behind him. Behind all of them, Prince Lucien had also entered.

Nesta had completely forgotten about him and Elain. From her side Feyre whispered, “I had completely forgotten that Prince Lucien was to be joining us as well.”

Elain came and sat in between them as the others were led to their seats. “This dinner is already a nightmare.” she said as she took hold of a fork in her hand. She held it so tightly, her knuckles started turning white. From across her, Azriel saw and he smiled softly. Nesta saw that from far away in his seat, Lucien was also looking at Elain, however unaware that she was probably plotting his murder.

Suddenly, Elain gasped. Both Feyre and Nesta looked at her while the others didn’t notice. Before Elain could tell them what happened, the King’s arrival was announced. They all stood up as the King entered the dining hall. Nesta saw that he was wearing one of his most elegant clothes. His jewel studded crown was atop his head, each jewel polished and cut to perfection. However, he was not smiling. He had stopped being pleasant after their mother’s death, 15 years ago. There were times when he would not even acknowledge any of them. He sat down on his throne-like seat at the head of the table and motioned for everyone else to be seated as well.

Everyone was talking amongst themselves while dinner and wine was being served. After the servants left the hall, the King clinked his spoon to his glass, attracting everyone’s attention.

“I would like to welcome Prince Rhysand and his Inner Circle, Amren, Morrigan, Cassian and Azriel, to our beloved Kingdom.” He announced. Nesta took a sip of wine and sorted. “There is a motive behind this visit.” Nesta tensed. “The Mortal Kingdom and the Kingdom of Night will be forming a marriage alliance.” The sound of a spoon dropping came and they all looked towards Feyre, who was looking at the Prince with wide eyes. The King ignored her and continued, “The Prince may choose whom he wants to get married to. I hope you all enjoy your stay.” With that final statement the King sat down. Nesta let out a breath of relief. At least now, she could ensure that the Prince didn’t choose her.

From the other side, Prince Lucien stood up, “Your Majesty, even I have an announcement that I would like to make.” The King regarded him carefully and then said, “Very well, go ahead.”

“Oh no.” Elain whispered from beside her. Then Nesta understood what was about to happen. But Lucien wouldn’t do such a thing right after the King had made that announcement, would he?

“After spending time here, I have come to enjoy this kingdom and it’s company.” Then he looked towards Elain who fidgeted nervously under his gaze. “And there is one person who has become very dear to me.” He then glanced towards the King and Elain was once again clutching her fork. “Your Majesty, I would like to ask you for Princess Elain’s hand in marriage.”

A long duration of silence followed. Then finally, Nesta’s father said, “I would be glad to offer you her hand.” Prince Lucien had a triumphant smile on his face. “However, she will decide and tell you within two days if she accepts or not.” He continued. Elain looked up at her father in shock. “Sit down Prince Lucien.” He then clapped his hands and smiled. “Let’s start feasting.”

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

After the worst dinner ever, Elain was pacing in her room.

Elain had left dinner as soon as possible. She had lost all sense in the afternoon while she was with Azriel. She knew she had made a mistake by being a bit too straightforward. But Elain couldn’t help it. Somehow, she felt as if she could truly be herself around Azriel, even though she barely knew him. Now she feared that she might have scared him off. He had barely looked towards her after Prince Lucien announced his intentions.

And then there was Prince Lucien. Why did he have to make a gesture in front of everyone? In front of her father? Now they all were expecting an answer from her in two day’s time. She had begun spiralling in her thoughts when suddenly there was a knock on her door. She marched towards the door and swung it open. “What is it?!” She shouted before she could even see who it was.

“It is us, your saviours, Princess Elain!” She looked up to see both her sisters at the threshold. Nesta had an amused smile playing on her face as Feyre was bowing down in accordance with her previous comment. Elain couldn’t help but giggle.

Nesta moved forward. “And we come bearing gifts.” She held up her hand to show Elain an entire bottle filled with whiskey. Elain gasped with awe. She held out her hand and cradled the bottle close to her chest. Feyre held up her hand which also had a bottle of whiskey. “That’s all for you. Nesta and I will share this one.” Elain laughed this time and let them into her room. Nesta sat down on a wooden chair while Feyre dropped down on the plush sofa. Elain sat on the carpet leaning against Nesta’s legs.

Elain opened her bottle and took a huge gulp of it, the whiskey burning down her throat. “Mmmm. Mother above, it’s been so long since I had a proper drink.”

Feyre had opened her bottle as well. “I believe the last time was when we took Prince Lucien to our beloved tavern.” She took a sip and passed the botte to Nesta. Nesta graciously accepted it and took a sip herself.

Elain groaned. “Ugh. I tried so hard to be nice, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be nice to befriend him.”

Nesta snorted. “What did you expect from little Tamilin’s best friend?” Both Elain and Nesta laughed while Feyre shifted uncomfortably. Nesta saw and bluntly asked, “What did he do now?”

Feyre reached out and grabbed the bottle from Nesta’s hand and simply shrugged as she said, “Tamlin wants me to get married to him.” She started chugging whiskey from the bottle. Both Elain and Nesta looked at her with their jaws on the floor and eyes wide open. Nesta got up and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with another bottle in her hand.

“We’re all going to hell anyway.”

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

“Your Majesty.” Two voices came from behind. The King turned to look at the two men standing in front of him.

“I believe there were three of you, weren’t there?” He said as he started moving towards them. The one with long hair smiled and said, “He decided to stay a bit longer and handle things over there.”

The King smiled at them. “So both of you failed.” He shook his head at them.

The other man just replied, “Your Majesty we haven’t failed. We are nearer to success than we ever have been.”

The King turned around and clasped his hands together. “Then soon, we shall strike the Mortal Kingdom. And then, my child,” he pointed towards the tall one, “You shall be named King.”

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

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Tag list: @devilorfling @sleepyyhead21 @b00kworm

#feysand #elriel #nessian #feyre archeron #rhysand #nesta archeron #cassian #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas

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marjansmarwani · 4 years

Text

Adding Scars to My Heart

Read on Ao3

Time brings changes. Some are good, some are bad. There's nothing else to do but hold on to the ones you love, and catch them when they fall.

@911lonestarweek Day 5 - Future Canon

“Hey, Kid!”

TK paused at the top of the stairs and rolled his eyes before turning around, “Judd, you really shouldn’t keep calling me kid. I’m not that young anymore.”

Judd shrugged, “You’re still younger than me, so I don’t see why not.”

“And thank God for that.” It came out sharper than their usual banter, and at Judd’s raised eyebrow TK seemed to wilt.

Judd continued, “I just wanted to check in with you. This has been a big change for all of us, but you more than anyone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about you still.”

TK leaned over the balcony and surveyed the engine bay, “It’s been a month Judd,” he said softly.

Judd joined him at the railing, “A month is nothing and you know it. You’ve--”

TK cut him off, “I mean it, Judd. I’m fine; I swear. I’m still going to meetings and everything.”

Judd shook his head, “I didn’t doubt that.”

TK continued as if the other man hadn’t even spoken, “I wouldn’t do that, Judd. After everything he did for me, I couldn’t disappoint him like that. Not ever again.”

“I know,” Judd murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “He’d be proud of you, you know.”

TK scoffed, “Yeah, I didn’t immediately unravel and managed to keep myself together and act like a normal human being and not relapse. What a feat.” His words were thick with vicious sarcasm.

“It was, kid; whether you want to admit it or not.”

“We all are hurting Judd, I don’t know why you are taking the time to check up on me. I’m sure Mateo and Marjan are torn up, but I don’t see you chasing them down.”

“We all lost our Captain, TK; but you lost your father.”

TK looks down, hands tightening their grip on the railing. His knuckles shine in stark contrast to his hands. Even after all this time, he could feel the tears threatening to fall. I’m fine. He wondered how much longer it would be before he could say that phrase and actually mean it.

He was hurting; that was no secret. He missed his dad so much. His father had been his hero, his rock, his friend. His absence felt like a gaping wound, a hole that ached to be filled. Even being back in the firehouse felt like standing at the edge of his grave. There were memories of him everywhere he looked; his personality was infused in every inch of this building.

He took a deep, steadying breath and looked up to meet Judd’s gaze. It was compassionate and understanding. He knew Judd would be there for him no matter what. The whole 126 would be. He had so many people on his side right now; so many people in this crazy family that he and his dad had built when they had moved to Austin 3 years ago. He couldn’t do this alone, but he wouldn’t have to.

“I’m not fine, but I will be,” he amended and Judd finally looked satisfied.

The two men stood in companionable silence for another few moments before TK summoned some of his old bravado, “But hey, this is supposed to be a happy occasion, right? Congrats man, I really can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you; my dad would have been proud.” He punctuated his words with an arm on Judd’s shoulder, fingering the new insignia that marked him as captain.

Captain Ryder, the new leader of the 126.

TK slowly slid his hand off of Judd’s shoulder and turned his gaze back to the engine bay. He wasn’t lying; he was truly thrilled that Judd had gotten the position. He deserved it more than anyone else TK knew and he was sure that Judd would do right by Owen and keep the 126 to the standards that his father had always strived for. Judd smiled at him, his face lighting up with pride and joy.

“Thanks, Brother, that means a lot. I asked the Chief is we could postpone the ceremony, but he insisted.”

TK shook his head, “No, this was right. Everyone needed something to celebrate and you deserve it. Plus,” he added with a grin, “my dad was never one to say no to a good party, he would have enjoyed it too. He would have been proud of you,” he added, his voice going softer again.

Judd clapped him on the shoulder, “You too kid.”

They watched the antics of the crew as they began the daily routines of checking inventory and cleaning the equipment. TK rolled his eyes as he watched Mateo order around the probie, a badly contained grin stretching across his face. He was enjoying himself far too much.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

TK looked at Judd incredulously, “What has ever stopped you before?”

“Fair point,” Judd acknowledged. “Fine, why the hell aren’t you engaged to that boyfriend of yours? It’s been three years kid, and you two have been grossly in love from day one. What gives? Is he not the marrying type?”

TK stared at Judd for a long moment. This is not where he thought this conversation was heading in the slightest, “Where is this coming from?”

Judd shrugged sheepishly, “Grace and I got talking last night and it came up and I was curious.”

TK raised an eyebrow, “You and Grace talk about my love life in your free time?”

“It came up,” Judd said defensively. “Plus, you know she loves you. She just wants to make sure you’re happy - we both do.” His tone suddenly turned sharper, “If he doesn’t want to I can have a talk with him, make him see sense.”

“What makes you think I’m not the one that doesn’t want to?”

Judd gave him a pointed look and TK relented, “Okay, I get your point. The answer is, I really don’t know. We had talked about it and I think Carlos was ready to actually ask, but then, well, you know.” He trailed off and Judd nodded solemnly.

“We haven’t really talked about it since. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to rush me, which is sweet.”

Judd examined him, “Are you ready?” he asked.

TK considered; but only for a moment, “Yeah, I am.”

“Then ask him your damn self! Lord almighty, what are you waiting for; an engraved invitation? You love him, he loves you - seems pretty simple to me.”

TK burst out laughing. “You make an excellent point,” he conceded.

“I know I do,” Judd replied, shaking his head.

“You know,” TK quipped, “The wedding will never be the same without my dad there to tell all my embarrassing stories.”

“I feel the need to inform you that as your big brother it is my solemn duty to complete this mission, so you had best prepare yourself.”

TK groaned, “Remind me to elope.”

“Not a chance little brother, not a chance.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsweek #TK Strand #Judd Ryder #my writing

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fade-and-loathing-in-thedas · 4 years

Text

Okay so replaying da awakening and got struck with an idea so I wrote a thing. I'm still obsessing over my OC Aurelia Cousland and Nathaniel’s romance, so here's how their reunion and Nathaniel's recruitment to the Grey went.

Aurelia was still wiping the darkspawn blood from her face when she was approached by one of her soldiers.

"Warden Commander… M'lady… we have a problem that needs your attention"

Sodding hell!

"What?" She growled.

If the soldier detected the spark of impatience in her laconic response, she gave no outward indication.

"It's a prisoner M'lady. He's awaiting judgement. The Wardens captured him breaking into the keep several days ago." The soldier chuckled "It took four of em to restrain him, but they was joking and saying he'd make a good recruit"

"Fine! Let's make it quick" sheathing her sword Aurelia turned to follow.

The soldier led Aurelia from the great hall, taking her along a series of corridors and down a stone stairwell. They went further and further down, their steps echoing off the walls in the eerie silence. When they finally reached the dungeon Aurelia had to suppress a shudder. The place stunk of misery and death... Howe's legacy.

The prisoner was obscured in the shadows. He had positioned himself away from view, sitting on the floor with his back to the guards.

"Stand prisoner" Aurelia commanded.

He slowly uncoiled himself from his position and stood, seeming unconcerned about his fate. When he turned, and his face became visible, Aurelia froze.

The prisoner pinned her in place with his cold, hard stare. With his lean physique and long black locks, he had the look of a dark angel, only given his blood she suspects he possesses a soul black enough to rival Maferath.

She raised her chin and held his flinty gaze, detesting the faint tremble of her fingers.

If children were guilty of the crimes of their fathers, this man was going to spend eternity wandering in the desolation of the void. At this exact moment Aurelia was contemplating whether she should send him there sooner rather than later.

She curled her fingers into tight balls. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms, but she welcomed the pain. It grounded her. In this moment she is the Warden Commander and Arl of Amaranthine, not that hurt little girl.

Taking a step closer to the bars she greeted her prisoner "Long time, no see Nate"

Nathaniel’s lips turned up in a sneer. “If it isn't the great hero, my father's murderer. Enjoying the spoils of war princess?” he said. The gray of his irises glimmered, like a wild animal’s, full of the need for retribution.

She gritted her teeth in thinly veiled hatred. Princess. He had called her that when they were younger. At first it had made her blush, eventually the mockery in his tone had made her scowl in annoyance, but now… now it made her want to slam her shield into his traitorous face. How dare he! After everything his family has done.

"What are you doing here? Last I heard you were in the Free Marches." She refused to allow Nathaniel to bate her.

"I came here to kill you."

Aurelia laughed "Your father tried the same, you know how that worked out for him"

"You murdered him!" Nathaniel snarled, his hands that were gripping the bars knuckle white.

"He was a monster. I witnessed, first hand, the lengths he would go to achieve his goals. He deserved his fate." Aurelia resented the waver of emotion in her voice. She had thought she had managed to bury every last vestige of her grief beneath duty. It angered her that he had dug it back up.

"Look, I don't know what happened to your family. But from what I hear, it was horrible. The entire war was. But my father deserved a trial, not to be summarily executed by a… by a spoiled princess throwing a tantrum. My whole family should not have to suffer because of your grudge"

The guard slammed his shield into the bars, causing Nathaniel to jump back lest he have his fingers broken, and said “Watch your tongue! That’s the Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden”

Nathaniel spat on the floor and glared at them both.

“If that’s all you have to say… I know exactly what I will do with you.” Aurelia said.

“Finally! Let’s get on with it then.”

The dimly lit room and the ten feet of space separating them did nothing to diminish the sparkle of wariness in his slate gray gaze.

“I invoke the right of conscription”

Shocked gasps could be heard from her soldiers, while Nathaniel rushed the bars and roared “No! Absolutely not! Hang me first!”

Aurelia smiled and said “Did I say I was giving you a choice... Your father didn't give me one” then turned to walk out.

“Lia! You can’t do this! Lia!”

Aurelia simply responded “I'll see you at your joining”. She didn’t turn or acknowledge his pleas. There is nothing left of her that cared.

Cause I used to believe in justice

A place where there was better judgment

But now I'm feeling so disgusted

By the "have its" and the "have nots"

- Killer In The Mirror by Set It Off

#Cousland x Nathaniel #Aurelia Cousland x Nathaniel Howe #nathaniel x cousland #nathaniel howe #aurelia cousland #da awakening #da origins #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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chchanging · 4 years

Text

This isn’t the one I talked about writing-- that’s still a wip--but this is the one that comes before it so yay more content

Mc: Rossi Mayhew, Queen of Big Dumbass Energy

Rossi knows Jax’s hand is pressed against her back, but she doesn’t feel it. She knows the others are offering Lily their final goodbyes, but she doesn’t hear them.

There’s an aching chasm deep in her chest and as much as it hurts, focusing on it helps her block out their words. It helps her shut out the world in which Lily is no longer present. It’s not a world she’s sure she can live in—certainly not one she wants to.

Lily hadn’t just been her friend—she’d been her sister. Finding her wounded and bleeding out on their apartment floor had remained the worst feeling Rossi had ever experienced. The fear, the helplessness. Her only hope had been Adrian, and the blood that ran through his veins. The only thing that could’ve saved her. The waiting, the worrying, had been the worst thing she’d ever had to do.

The worst...until now.

There is no hope now; no coming back from the dead a second time. Rossi’s heart cries out for its other half once more, and now it always will. The only thing she can do is retreat into herself and hope when she comes to everything will have blown over.

“—ossi...Rossi!”

Jax’s gentle voice eases her back into reality. Everyone is looking at her. It seems they have all said their piece. It is her turn.

“You were closer to her than any of us could’ve hoped to be...would you like to say some words?”

Rossi lets herself meet Kamilah’s eyes. She realizes that tears are streaming down her cheeks, even though her breathing is even and no sobs accompany them like one might expect. It’s like her body mourns even when her mind is numb—a passive act that she truly has no power over.

“What does it matter?” She asks softly, voice clear. “What could I say? She isn’t here to hear it.”

“Rossi...” Jax murmurs again.

“I can’t...” she whispers, eyes falling closed as she attempts to stop the flow for at least a moment. Just a tiny reprieve. “I just...I can’t right now. If I try—“

She almost chokes on her words, and takes it as a sign to stop while she’s ahead. Kamilah nods solemnly, understanding.

“We won’t force you,” She reassures, with a single hand reaching to squeeze the young woman’s shoulder. “She would understand.”

Rossi presses a palm to her lips, squeezing her eyes tight as she fights for composure. With a nod, she breathes a shuddering breath. Jax takes her free hand and squeezes it, and she returns the gesture gratefully.

When she opens her eyes again, they are wet but no more tears fall. She clears her throat.

“There’s still one more thing left to do, and then we can all rest.” Adrian assures her softly. Everyone turns to the entrance of the ruins, their eyes coming to rest on a lone figure who hangs a good ways back.

Gaius looks mournful, truly, and when his eyes meet Rossi’s she can see that there is something he wishes to say.

“What happens now?” She wonders aloud.

“We discussed it.” Kamilah replies, eyes still locked on Gaius. “We think you should be the one to have the final say.”

“Me?” Rossi turns to look at her incredulously.

“You know where Jax and I stand.” She gives a little humorless smirk. “Adrian, however...”

“Many have died tonight.” Adrian continues for her, drawing Rossi’s attention to himself again. “It might have been unavoidable, but...well, I tell myself that they meant to do harm. Once, I would’ve said the same of Gaius.”

“But, now?” Rossi prompts.

“Now, I’m not so sure...” He frowns thoughtfully, gazing off into the distance. “I think I would be...willing to see what the future holds. But I can’t be the only one to feel that way. We’ve decided to trust your judgement. Kamilah and I may know who Gaius was, but, Rossi, you’ve been inside his mind. I think you know better than anyone what should be done with him.”

Rossi feels her chest swell.

After everything that had gone down, tonight—it meant the world to know they still trusted her.

And Adrian was right. She knows what she has to do.

Slowly, almost tentatively, her feet carry her across the room and to his side. Gaius tracks her every movement with his gaze, intense as ever. She feels the familiar tingle it sends through her. It should unsettle her, how he always studies her so closely. She wonders absently why it never has.

His eyes linger on the tear-tracks she’d neglected to wipe away.

“I had hoped the circumstances would be a touch more favorable.” He speaks lowly, sincerely. “I am...truly sorry about your friend. If I had moved faster...if I hadn’t let Rheya get the best of me...”

Surprising both of them, she reaches out to take one of his hands in her own.

“There’s only one person I blame for this, and he’s already dead.”

His skin is soft and warm against her own. She feels his thumb glide fleetingly over her knuckles.

“Lula’s okay because of you.” She adds softly, “I can’t thank you for that enough.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, his hand falls from hers. “It isn’t much compared to all The harm I’ve done. But I’m glad.” He tacks it on the end like an afterthought, and she finds herself almost smiling when he looks off to the side.

“One of these days you’ll learn to just say ‘you’re welcome’.”

His lips twitch upward, but the smile fades fast. They stand in heavy silence. Everyone is waiting for her to pass judgment. Everyone wants to know what punishment she feels befits his crimes.

“You better, like...write my a postcard or something from wherever it is you go after this, Y’know.” She reaches out and makes a show of straightening that terrible cape of his, ignoring the look of surprise on his face. “If you drop off the face of the earth after all this I’mma be pissed.”

Gaius blinks. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure.

His eyes flick back towards the group of friends she’d left behind, gauging their reactions, visibly wondering if they’d really let him walk out of here just because she said so. He breathes a shuddering sigh, somewhere close to a laugh but not quite.

“Are you a touch insane?”

Even with the gaping hole in her chest still fresh, she finds it in her to give him a wide, genuine smile.

“Jury’s still out.”

Swallowing hard, Gaius watches her as if waiting for her to change her mind. When she doesn’t, there’s a strange look deep in his eyes. Like she’s given him a gift he couldn’t possibly repay.

“There’s not a chance in hell I deserve this.” Is all he says.

“Yeah, well, ‘deserve’ is a shitty word people throw around when they want to justify how they treat someone. If you don’t think you deserve a second chance,” She steps closer, almost challengingly, “then go out there and work on becoming someone who does. You do more good making up for what you’ve done than as a pile of ashes. Fuck what you ‘deserve’.”

For a moment, he drops his head and stares at the ground. He’s contemplating what she said, but there’s something in the way he does it that makes it seem almost as if he is bowing it in respect. When he looks up again, his eyes are clearer than she’s ever seen them and they sparkle with amusement. He’s smiling ever-so slightly.

“Eloquent as ever.”

“I do my best.”

He gives her one last meaningful look before turning away. Towards Kamilah.

“You said back in Japan...that one good deed doesn’t undo all the horror I’ve caused.” He pauses, jaw working. “How many do you think it would take...to call me friend.”

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything. She stands, impassive, with a hand on her hip, and gazes at him like a goddess passing judgment. Her face doesn’t change when she speaks—save for a nearly microscopic quirk of her painted lips, and the even less noticeable softening of her eyes. “Find me again in a thousand years. We’ll talk about it then.”

The tension Gaius wears like armor slowly seeps out of his shoulders. He chuckles, lowly, under his breath. “A thousand years,” He says in an easy tone, “I suppose I can give that a try.”

Jax steps forward before anyone can say anything else. His eyes are hard as stone, jaw set. “You saved Lula—I won’t forget that.” They lock eyes and Gaius waits as if he knows what comes next. “That being said: make sure we never cross paths again.”

“With pleasure.”

They nod once, in understanding.

Jax turns to leave, then, with his back straight and his eyes ahead. When he passes Rossi, he makes sure to give her shoulder one last squeeze. She smiles sadly after him.

Adrian clears his throat. This seems difficult for him—for a moment Rossi can see how deep his regret runs. How much he wishes things could be different. “I’ll take it upon myself to scour the edges of the world for you if necessary.” He says, tone dutiful, but there’s a pleading look deeper in his eyes. “See that it doesn’t come to that.”

Gaius’ lips twitch upward, only for a moment, before he nods. “You have my word.”

There’s a moment of stillness, of heavy silence. The goodbye doesn’t require a verbal acknowledgment. Rossi looks on as Gaius exchanges looks with the two of them for what she’s sure is the last time for a very long while.

He looks...proud.

And then he turns, taking one deep breath before looking at her once more.

She wants to say something, but she isn’t sure what. Thinking back to that night on the boat—the way he’d made her stomach flutter strangely—it wouldn’t feel right to leave him with nothing. She opens her mouth, but no words come. So she closes it.

It shouldn’t be this hard, she tells herself.

He watches the uncertainty ripple across her face and a tenderness catches hold of him. It’s something he hasn’t felt in quite some time.

“Don’t forget about me, out there.”

It seems with those words she has even surprised herself. She gives an awkward little smile and casts her eyes downward.

“I doubt there’s anyone in the world who has forgotten meeting you.” He chuckles. And then he steps forward...and brushes his lips against her forehead. “I don’t take this lightly. I’ll do you proud.”

He’d thought so little of her when they’d first met. Just some air headed tart his progeny had grown too attached to. Strange, now, to realize she’d become something of a guiding light.

Rossi, struck speechless for perhaps the first time in her life, flounders for something clever to say and comes up blank.

A bit of payback for a night he won’t soon forget, he thinks, and strides towards the door.

He doesn’t see the tear that rolls down her cheek as she watches him leave, but maybe that’s for the best.

#bloodbound #gaius x mc #fic #my fic

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thefragileblackdahlia · 4 years

Text

The Beginning (Prologue)

A/N: I decided to write a fanfiction about an Archangel. There aren’t many fanfictions with angels and I’m sorry it isn't an x reader. Also, I am sorry if my writing isn't the best and that some characters seem OOC. I try, I try

Chapter Summary: Ariel is created and Lucifer falls.

Character(s): Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, Castiel, Gadreel, Ariel

Warnings: Third Person POV, Angst, fluff if you squint hard enough.

Word count: 2,521

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“Boys, Come to my throne room, I have an important announcement,” God commanded, his voice booming all throughout heaven and the universe.

Lucifer and Gabriel glanced at one another, unsure of what could be so important at this exact moment. Lucifer and Gabriel stood up from their seats in the lounge room, walking past the observation room. The observation room allowed the Archangels as well as God to watch black holes and galaxies. It was deemed “Michael’s thinking space.” In his opinion, it was quiet, undisturbed and all of the colors were extraordinary. Michael stayed seated, watching a comet tear through a cloudburst of gas.

“Hey bro, let’s go. Y’know how he gets when we are late.” Lucifer nudged his brother, pulling him back into reality. Gabriel offered his older brothers a soft smile, before flying to his father’s throne room. Gabriel’s true form was as bright as the sun, his wings golden. He stood proudly in his designated spot, wings unfurled.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

“Hello, Father.”

One by One all of the boys were standing in front of their creator, wings unfurled. God’s white light overshone the boys’, creating a soft blue glow of ambiance. “Hello, Lucifer.” He greeted his favorite with a smile before turning to the others. “Michael, Raphael.” He nodded as he said their names.

“What is wrong father?” Michael asked, genuinely concerned.

A burst of red light flashed through God’s throne room, casting an eerie glow. It hovered in front of his throne before another burst of light came, wings unfurling revealing three sets of big beautiful red wings.

The boys all stared in confusion. Did he seriously create another archangel? Was four not enough? Maybe he wanted something different. Michael’s brows furrowed as he stared into the light but soon his face relaxed as his eyes were met with cold blue ones. Michael white-knuckled his lance, unsure of how he felt about a female archangel. Things would certainly change and he didn’t know if it was for the better or worse.

“Say hello to the Archangel Ariel. She will be your sister. Treat her with respect.” God commanded, and with that, he left to work on his new ‘Project’.

The four stared at the new addition, all wary of her true form. She was small but powerful for certain but soft in her own way. What should they even say? ‘Hey welcome to the family? He’s never around’ No that was stupid. ‘Hey come here often?’ No that was dumb. The tension in the air grew thick before finally, Lucifer cut it.

“Hello, Ariel. Your wings are… uhh, beautiful I am-” Lucifer spoke slowly, his older brother interrupting him. “I am Michael,” He puffed his chest, flapping his strong, white wings while flashing her his grace charged irises. Lucifer rolled his eyes and stepped down from his pedestal, walking slowly toward his new sibling.

“Ignore his flexing, I am Lucifer...” He bowed as he spoke, his wings draping at his sides, mimicking his motions. “He likes to show off. ” He whispered shouted, purposely wanting Michael to hear.

The other boys stayed put on their pedestals, watching their second eldest brother interact with their youngest sibling. They were intrigued but not enough to move, in fear of how she might react to all of them bombarding her with introductions. They let Lucifer take the lead.

“That’s Raphael, He keeps to himself but overall will warm up to you. Don't worry.” He gestured toward the figure with dark gray wings.

“And… that’s Gabriel. He likes to joke around so watch your wings!” Lucifer snickered, casting Michael a side-eye as he remembered the time Gabriel made Michael’s wings purple. He adjusted himself, giving his pale pink wings one good flap before turning to face all his male siblings.

“Michael will show you around, Father needs me,” Lucifer spoke with a deep tone, one with uncertainty. He disappeared with the sound of flapping wings.

“Michael…” She spoke softly, his name rolling off her tongue. The sound of her voice was intoxicating, it reminded Michael of stars being born, the beauty in supernovas. He gazed intently with furrowed brows, anticipating her next words.

The female brought her hand to her chest, “Ariel…” She said with a breathy tone, uncertainty in her tone. She seemed confused, flustered and overwhelmed. She glanced behind her watching as she stretched her red and white wings, flexing. Ariel closed her eyes, blinking hard before opening them again. Her soft, pink, grace charged irises burrowing deep into Michael’s skull.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Several billion years later, Ariel laid in the garden, watching as the clouds passed by. ‘Ariel’ A gruff voice echoed in her head, someone must be praying. ‘Ariel, come home.’ His words were spoken with urgency, meaning something horrible was happening. “Castiel…” She prayed, acknowledging his prayer whilst bringing herself to her feet.

Ariel avoided heaven as much as she could, trying to avoid her brothers arguing, the hate and jealousy, it was too much for her. When she could, she came to earth tending to the dying trees and flowers, watching the animals that were until she was needed.

When Castiel was created, her view changed. He was more awkward than other angels but was tough when needed to be. He was feared, respected, a soldier but he also held a tiny bit of compassion in him. When life first came into being, the gray fish heaving itself up on the beach, she stood next to him, him occasionally glancing at her

with a warm smile.

With a strong flap of her wings, she appeared next to her younger brother, observing what has unraveled in front of them. All of the angels stood in rows, by rank. The Archangels, Seraphim then soldier angels and so on. Ariel took her place beside her three brothers, specifically next to Lucifer. Her wings twitched as she watched Michael take ahold of Gadreel, the gatekeeper of The Garden.

“Gadreel?” Ariel spoke with soft tenderness, concern laced in her voice. “Brother, why are you arresting him? What has he done? Nothing. Let him be.” She snapped at her eldest brother, cutting in front of him. She glanced at Gadreel with weary eyes, trying to read his eyes but they were full of guilt.

Ariel slowly stepped back as she saw the wrath in Michael’s eyes, bringing her hand to her chest. Of course, she was furious also, but Michael was older, stronger.

“Step aside, little one.” Michael sneered, trying his best to not knock her aside as he rushed past her with a weakened Gadreel.

Gadreel kept his eyes on the ground as he couldn’t look at her, the Guardian Angel of Nature in the eyes. He shouldn’t have trusted Lucifer, not after the last fight Lucifer and Michael had, but his words were so convincing.

Michael made his way in front of God’s throne, awaiting his orders.

“Gadreel,” God spoke, his voice boomed all throughout heaven, fear arising in all of the angels.

“You have failed your duties in Guarding the Garden of Eden. You defied my direct orders in not only letting one Archangel sneak in but two! One of the two Angels have not harmed my creation but the other… I have no choice but to imprison you for the rest of eternity for your…mistake as you’d like to call it.” God spoke with hate laced in his voice, it wasn’t at all subtle.

Michael grabbed Gadreel by his throat before dragging him off to prison. But that was just the beginning of everything. All the Angels stood before their creator, shaken to their core at his wrath.

Ariel looked at the scene before her with wide eyes, her wings close to her back. She knew what was next, she had to face punishment.

Michael returned, standing next to the Creator’s throne with his lance in hand. He gripped the wood tight, his eyes fixed on his little sister and younger brother.

“Ariel, Lucifer!” God shouted, causing Ariel to flinch at her name. She glanced up at her older brother, fear painting her face. Lucifer slightly glanced at his little sister, watching her freeze with fear. It wasn’t like Ariel to freeze, she was a fearsome warrior, a vengeful guardian angel that could smite anyone with a thought. Lucifer felt sorry for her, she wasn’t the one in trouble, he was.

His fingers softly brushed against hers, gaining her attention. Ariel quickly intertwined their fingers, tightly holding onto her elder brother. Together, they walked forward and stood before the Lord.

“Ariel, do not touch him. I will not allow him to corrupt anything else.” God glared at their hands. His once most favorited son is now his most despised. “NOW.” He commanded and with a wave of his hand, he sent Lucifer crashing to the ground.

“How dare you? How dare you stand before me, holding hands with your sister as if you hold any compassion? You were to love my creation…” God stared at the floor, troubled.

“Ariel, next time I command, listen. Come stand next to Michael and your brothers.” He spoke.

Lucifer pleaded, looking up at his father with wide eyes, “"Father, I can't. These human beings are flawed. Murderous!" he bellowed, looking over to his sister for assistance. “Ariel, Little one, Join me, please. Tell father how flawed they are, they murder, rape, pillage. They do not deserve such love!” He gripped Ariel’s satin dress, preventing her from leaving his side.

Michael took a step forward with his hand out before he stopped himself from continuing any further. He furrowed his eyebrows, guilt written on his face. His wings were tight against his back as he heard his brother plead. What Lucifer said was true, but father’s rules came before everything else...even family.

“Micah! Tell him, Join me! Stand by my side. Brother!” Lucifer shouted, pulling him out of his shaken state. Michael’s eyes met his little brother’s. He didn’t want to watch any further, he couldn’t. He closed his eyes, blinking hard before opening them again.

Gabriel stood beside Raphael, his eyes filled with sadness. A brother he once loved now corrupted. He closed his eyes as he couldn’t watch any longer. Raphael stood on the left side of the throne, face stoic.

“Enough!” God shouted, waving his hand once more, sending his son flying towards the opposite end of the room. He snapped his fingers, Ariel appearing beside Michael and before anything else could happen she took Michael’s hand in hers.

“You rebel against me, grow jealous of my creation. You leave me no choice, Lucifer. You will be cast out of heaven.” God commanded, standing up from his throne and making his way towards the center of the mass room. He snapped his fingers a swirling hole appearing in the white tile, growing in size.

Gusts of wind blew past Ariel’s face, sending her dress flapping in the wind. She furrowed her brows, tears forming in her eyes.

“Luci…” She prayed silently, pleading for him to listen. “Luci, I love you…” She closed her eyes as she prayed, gripping Michael’s hand tighter.

Lucifer looked up to see her holding hands with Michael but praying to him. A smile crept across his face as he heard her say I love you. He stood proudly, knowing what was bound to happen now. He kept the smile on his face as he walked toward his father, proud to show the other Angels the man they are worshipping. Someone who would cast out their own son because he couldn’t worship and serve puny hairless apes.

“Let this be an example of what could happen to you…” God spoke slowly as he made his way to his throne. “Michael, cast him out.” He commanded.

Ariel’s eyes shot open at his words. “No…” She whispered but it was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Not Michael…that is not right, Father please be reasonable-” Her words were cut off, her voice gone. She looked up at her father, his hand in a fist.

Silently, Michael prayed to her, ‘It will be alright.’ He let go of her hand, making his way to his fallen brother. Michael with his lance swirled it in his hands before aiming it at his young brother. He lunged at Lucifer, not to hurt him but to put fear into him and so he did.

Lucifer slowly walked around his brother, making his way to the giant whirlpool of darkness. “Remember me..” He muttered, looking at Ariel then at his father. He sneered as he turned to face his ‘brother’.

Michael raised his hand, the sky opening up to reveal a bright, white light. “I, Archangel Michael, on behalf of the Lord...cast the Archangel Lucifer out of heaven!” He immediately brought his hand down, smiting his brother and sending him careening down the hole.

“Lucifer has fallen!” He bellowed, his voice cracking as he said his brother’s name.

After Lucifer’s fall, things changed.

Soon after Lucifer’s fall, horrible things followed. The corruption of man.

She stood with Castiel when the Tower of Babel fell, Cain & Abel, Sodom, and Gomorrah, Demons, Lilith, Knights of Hell. God had no choice but to create The Cage with over 600 seals.

Millions of years later, Gabriel had disappeared, he went to earth one day and then vanished. That left Ariel alone with a now hardened Michael and a power-driven Raphael.

Then after Gabriel, God left. He claimed that heaven had the three of them to command the host, that they didn’t need him. He was wrong.

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There was a prophecy written eons ago. A tale of two boys, two vessels who would start the apocalypse and bring on the end of God’s creation. Most angels were trying to prevent the end, but others like the Seraphim Zachariah, they wanted the world to end. Ariel would be sent down to hell, along with Castiel to save Dean Winchester and stop the apocalypse.

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x ofc #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn #spnfamliy #supernatural archangel #sam and dean #sam winchester #castiel

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

I see you - Ch. 7

Pairing: still promised Heimdal x fem!reader Warnings: fluff and pining. Little bit of tension. Then some fluff and pining. A/N: I guess I’m a sucker for slow burns ;)

Ch. 7 – Unwritten

At first, things were happening in a fog, obscuring facts and swallowing memories. More than once, you were told, you had insisted that your sister must be told that you were alive, and just as often you’d be comforted by Heimdal or Frigga telling you that it was sorted, and all you should worry about was getting better.

You spend more time asleep than you first had expected. Of course, it will take a lot of energy for your body to recover, not to mention that the Asgardian healers aren’t stingy with the painkillers that make you drowsy, but there’s something else that you can’t quite identify to begin with, and whatever it is, it makes you drift off mid-conversation without much warning.

As a result, it has taken you and Heimdal to get through the recent events back home (when you finally heard that it was Loki behind the attacks and that he was awaiting sentence in a prison, you tried to get out of bed to go and tell him off and possibly punch him – for obvious reasons that didn’t work out), and learning about the Asgardian culture was turning into a multi-chapter saga of it’s own.

“No but wait!” You were protesting to Heimdal’s heritage. “So, you really do have just one mom?”

“Yes…” catching the way you tilt your head, he continues curiously, “is this not common in Midgard?”

Of course, there are various family constellations depending on culture and personal preferences, so two dads and a mom isn’t that strange. The reason it makes you hesitate has to do with the myths in which it’s claimed that the Bridge-Keeper should have no fathers at all but eleven mothers. Does it make sense? No. But neither does a rainbow bridge or an eight-legged horse. Meeting Heimdal’s eyes, you feel your cheeks heat and you try not to focus on the growing smile as you stammering attempt to explain. His deep, rolling laughter when you’ve finished is contagious. It sweeps you up and carries you along on a great sea of warm comfort where ships with doubt and shyness sink, leaving room for an unconcerned happiness even when you end up laughing too much and the pain returns with a vengeance, silencing you and stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry, my lady –“

“[Y/N]!” You’re trying to get him to use your first name only, but he’s reluctant.

Smiling crookedly, the god nods. “[Y/N].” The way he pronounces it, makes it sound like it has a deeper, richer meaning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by laughing,” he explains, “yet…that particular story was born as a prank by a pair of young, mischievous princes. They stole their father’s horse and went to Midgard, this would’ve been nigh a thousand of your years ago, and those that recognized them as who they were…” A flicker of sadness crosses the handsome face, distancing the golden eyes.

For a moment the only sounds are from the world outside the windows. Out there, the sun’s getting low and its radiant colours are reflected off the snow on the mountain tops. I wonder if I’ll get to see more of Asgard before they send me home? Squinting, you find where the last trees on the steep, jagged sides and where a ravine has cleared a broad path across the lower growths above the treeline.

Turning back, you find Heimdal still lost in memory with his large hands clasped loosely between the knees and the urge to reach out overwhelms you. Your hand is small as your fingers close gently around his, startling him at first before returning the gesture and allowing your thumb to rub gentle patterns around his knuckles.

…

“Father, I must say that I agree with both Heimdal and mother on this matter.”

Looking towards Thor, it strikes the Keeper of Bifrost that the young prince has still to smile since his return to Asgard. What does he have to smile about? True, the battle has been won, however he lost his brother in the symbolic sense in the process, and to the older brother Loki was as a close friend and trustworthy companion once. Someone who was always there. The reasonable and calmer of the two. Now the adopted relative sits in a cell, refusing to see anyone or acknowledge the relations formerly shared, while Thor has acquired a wisdom vastly superior to the boy that he was a few years ago.

“You would grant her haven? For how long, my son?” Despite the kind moniker, Odin’s voice is cold, carrying the disinterest in the Midgardians whom he thinks of as lesser. “Until she’s well enough to be moved or maybe until she has healed completely? She will be a burden to us although we carry no responsibility for her or her realm.”

“Loki’s our responsibility, whether you want it or not.” Sighing deeply, there’s no challenge or anger in Thor. “The people of Midgard have been thrust into an infinitely larger reality than they were prepared for. They are frightened…lost. Without guidance, they will stumble and fall in their foolish naivety unless we show them a better way than they would choose on their own. Father, if we do not grant this girl the same honours as we would a hero, then we are no better than they are, and we do not deserve Midgard’s respect.”

Although Frigga doesn’t say a word, the troublemaker who has brought the foreigner in question to the Asgard can sense the queens pride and excitement at the direction the discussion is moving. A twinkle of a smile is in her eye even as she looks down to hide it, and it causes Heimdal to feel as though they are two children smirking over a well-played prank that a parent is defending, just as it had been once.

“Fine!” Tossing his hands in the air, Odin finally gives in. “She can stay for now and we will take up the matter once she has recovered.” A clear blue eye bores into a pair of amber. “I hold you responsible for her and any action of hers while she’s here. You will not return to your duties before she’s gone! Your only task is to make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Bowing deeply, Heimdal radiates calm. “Yes, your highness.”

…

The day arrives where you can move your feet and the good arm without paling from the agony. That’s the day where you ask what is going to happen, when you will be told to leave. Valhalla isn’t your home, as Odin so clearly had pointed out, and you know that you’re going to have to face the facts and leave even if you don’t really want to.

Frigga and a few healers are fluffing the pillows and adding more to guarantee enough support to sit up against them after they’ve helped wash and turn you to prevent bed sores.

“Queen Frigga,” you begin nervously, fiddling with the clean linen, “I’m very, very grateful for the kindness you’ve all shown me…for saving my life…”

When you don’t continue right away, she sinks down on the edge of the bed and takes your hands. “You can speak openly. Don’t worry, dear child.”

“I know, I’m not supposed to be here…what I mean to say is,” watching her slender hands rest effortlessly on the fur calms you enough to finish, “when will I have to leave?”

Don’t I want to leave? New York is your home. The first place you’ve felt free and safe after leaving your then-boyfriend. So what, if you’d only been there a few months, there were people you cared about and who, hopefully, cared about you. Like your new colleagues. And the old widower that always had his little folding chair out and sat by the corner to watch people walk by. The curious kid next door. Too often you wonder how they’re doing, until you remind yourself that there neither was nor is anything you can do about them right now, and that their lives will go on easily. Afterall…it was just three months since you moved to the city.

“If you wish, then we can bring you back to Midgard now…” the queen admits, “however, you’re welcome to stay as long as needed for your recovery.”

The smile on your face is not simply from the light feeling after a worry has been lifted of your shoulders, rather it’s from a warm glow within you at the thought of getting to spend more time with – Oh! Stop it! Scolding yourself doesn’t erase the visage in your mind of a man with eyes like liquid gold and skin the vibrant richness as mother earth would have.

“I trust you have found good company, but don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

The slight smirk and playful glimmer in her eyes makes you suspect that she knows more than she says openly, which shouldn’t surprise you as that is exactly what the myths you used to read had said.

But what’s real and what’s just stories?

There’s so much still to figure out.

#I see you #mcu fanfiction #heimdal x reader #writing #heimdal #avengers #thor #frigga #odin #asgard #I see you ch.7 #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #loki

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10kiaoi · 6 years

Photo

For the 007 Fest Anon prompt: The Hour AU (Q as Freddie, Bond as the handsome new anchor; they start off hating each other, but is their hatred really something more? :D) Notes: Unbetaed, this one exploded well beyond my usual word count and several segments did give me a bit of grief.

The first time Bond was made aware of Q’s existence was a gorgeous, bespectacled young man splashing his tea all over Bond’s only suit. Bond’s disposition had whiplashed from casual appreciation to downright indignation. Any thought of potential connection promptly flew out the window off a high speed train and fell down three hundred feet into a raging river where it died a cold, hard death.

On hindsight, it had been the precursor to the eventual state of their relationship.

The disgust in M’s face as she berated Bond in her office had cemented his absolute hatred for the skinny twig of an almost-boy, and he found himself fantasizing about retribution as he was sent off to Wardrobe for an emergency change of clothes.

People had stared as he had made his way towards the Wardrobe Department. Complete strangers. His colleagues now, Bond mentally corrected. Some, like his producer Moneypenny, had managed a brief chuckle and sympathetic smile before offering directions to Wardrobe. Others had turned away with their posture screaming derision, unceremoniously writing off the newcomer who could not even turn up for his first day at work without disaster lunging at his heels.

The other man had the gall to not even realise the utterly humiliating gaffe he had subjected Bond to. On Bond’s first day at his new workplace. As the anchor to a prime time news slot.

A brief glimpse of Q with noise cancelling headphones around his slender neck, deep in animated discussion about one thing or another with another employee only served to infuriate Bond even farther. His eyes caught on how the tie was cinched tightly up to Q’s throat, how the soft cardigan hugged his slender frame. A hand reached up to sweep back long wavy locks out of his eyes and Bond’s mouth went dry.

Q looked up momentarily, some sixth sense alerting him to the scrutiny. His eyes swept over Bond, absent of the barest hint of recognition.

It was only by sheer force of will that Bond managed to direct a charming smile in the Head of Wardrobe, Danielle’s, direction despite being half drenched with tea.

The utter ignominy of his situation was an inferno in his chest.

-----

Bond flipped through a thick stack of notes Q had just dumped in his tender care. He scoffed haughtily, and sneered. Then proceeded to point out every minor typo and unrealistic suggestions in the printout.

Anathema was the word of the day and Bond relished the sick sense of satisfaction as an eager smile flattened with every caustic remark, then gained an increasingly annoyed cast.

A stubborn stick of a tongue out past wet pink lips nearly thoroughly derailed Bond’s train of thought, made him gape in disbelief.

The following impudent quip about inflexibility and old dogs and new tricks was met with equal righteous force. The challenge in rebellious hazel eyes couldn’t go unchecked.

-----

“Whatever it is between the both of you, sort it out. With the director threatening a company-wide restructuring, we can’t afford having you two cock this up,” M, delightful M barks, “Get out of my sight and don’t come back until you start acting like the professionals you are!”

“If only old mutts could take instructions as well,” Q muttered mutinously under his breath.

“It would seem professionalism is a tall order for an untried pup,“ Bond drawled in response, posture forcibly relaxed.

M fixed a look of complete disappointment on them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bond caught sight of his barb striking true. He eyed the way knuckles whitened and the corners of eyes tightened. The sheer satisfaction at successfully triggering a rise made his toes curl in his shoes. It almost made up for the dripping tea forming a puddle between the both of them in the middle of M’s office.

M made a cutting gesture, dismissal clear.

Bond gave a sarcastic little salute, holding the door open with his back. Q barged past him wordlessly, a bony shoulder colliding with his own. Bond’s lips curled, something territorial in him raising its hackles in offense at the blatant disrespect. His mood dropped even further when he detected several individuals, both men and women, whose eyes were glued to the way Q’s damp button up had turned translucent and clung to his skin.

A low snarl from deep in his chest had everyone in the bullpen hastily ducking their head. They pretended to be engrossed in their work and not have been utterly captivated by the spectacular row that had just taken place. The grapevine had found their fodder and it would be good for a few weeks of idle chatter over the kettle in the break room.

Q stormed off towards the loo, shoes squelching loudly and leaving the imprints of his soles behind with every step.

When Q was well out of sight or earshot, Moneypenny finally approached with faint disapproval in her eyes. In her hand was a garment bag. She lifted it and declared loftily, “Danielle took the liberty of ensuring a spare suit in your size being on hand at all times.” Her lips twitched, “Word has it you share a rather familiar relationship with tea of all things.”

Bond grunted, disgruntlement surging, “familiar isn’t the word I’d use. And I would hardly call the thing between us a relationship.” He reached for the garment bag.

“I had pegged you as a coffee guy at first, you know,” Moneypenny chuckled, handing the article over easily. “Seems there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Miss Moneypenny,” himself and scandalised were two things he had never considered would ever be in the same sentence.

Moneypenny tutted, “Do try not to pull Q’s pigtails too much. We rather like having him here. You wouldn’t want him to start believing that accepting Max Denbigh’s offer would be an excellent idea, would you?” Then, shaking her head, she made her way back through the throngs. They parted for her like the red sea.

Bond stared after her, outrage warring with a complete loss for words.

Offer?

-----

The sight of Max Denbigh pushing his luck and cornering Q in the break room with slick words and an aggressive body language had Bond seething. Just shy of boiling right over, he swiftly retreated back into the shadows before the room’s occupants caught wind of his attendance in their little tête-à-têt.

The mysterious malfunction in the breakroom sprinklers was just fortuitous timing, really.

A soaked Max Denbigh throwing a hissy fit as he was escorted out by security was the highlight of Bond’s day. Watching from the sidelines, he thought about how it was a crying shame that one could not frame the moment up in gold and glass.

Or maybe not, judging by the number of phones out.

Attention fully on a grinning Moneypenny who was gleefully recording the proceedings for posterity, Bond did not see the furrowed brows and knowing glance thrown his way from behind dripping curls.

-----

The apprehension on Moneypenny’s face informed Bond he hadn’t quite managed to temper his distraction throughout the live broadcast. His eyes repeatedly strayed back to Q who categorically avoided all eye contact with Bond and focused instead on ensuring the audio and visual feeds were free of issues.

A slip of a pink tongue darted out to wet dry lips. Bond barely recovered in time to smile charmingly into the recording camera’s lens. Moneypenny’s frown deepened.

Q? Going to work for Max Denbigh?

It had to be a joke. A dreadful, ghastly joke borne out of a paper pusher’s boredom. The very thought was offensive. No matter how much of a nuisance Q had been, he didn’t deserve being subjected to that dubious character.

A part of Bond, deep down and barely acknowledged, was aggrieved that Q would even entertain the thought of Max Denbigh as any semblance of a respectable choice in his career path.

As loathe as Bond was to admit it… Q could do so much better.

A casual probe around the office readily revealed that the grapevine had even more to say about Max Denbigh than about the quarrel between Bond, James Bond and Q, and that was saying quite the something.

Bond’s heart recoiled in horror the more he heard.

-----

Bond paused at the sound of his name and familiar voices echoing within the lavatory.

“I don’t know what to do, Bill,” the stark distress in Q’s voice would have affected Bond had it come from anyone else. Unfortunately, it came from the one upstart who had consistently picked fights with him since the first moment they came into contact.

Frankly put, the Bond of Before would have been hard pressed to give any fucks. That was, until recollection of the Offer doused him with a cold hard dose of reality. Damn Moneypenny for being nosy and interfering.

Bill Tanner, the chief of staff, chimed in softly, “perhaps you should sit down with Bond and have a chat over a cuppa. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding, clearing it up would do you both good.”

The bitter laugh sent chills down Bond’s spine. Set off something in him curling in utter need to set things right.

“He abhors me,” Q had no right to sound so shattered, so wholly distraught when he had made it his personal mission to ensure that Bond’s work life resembled a private purgatory.

“I don’t want him to despise me,” the broken, sincere admittance was like a punch to Bond’s chest, rudely stealing all his breath.

Bond did the only thing he could- he turned and fled.

He had gotten out of earshot quickly enough that the cut-off sound of pure dismay behind him failed to register.

----

Though only half the day had passed, Bond shirked duty and escaped to the roof. The chilly wind had an effect, clearing his head and allowing him to think. After an hour or so, his mobile started vibrating with urgency. He finally turned it off altogether and abandoned it in his pocket.

Uninterrupted, Bond breathed.

The weak afternoon sun turned into a setting one, until finally it dropped low enough that surrounding buildings obscured it. Lights started going out, as the building’s day occupants left in droves, till only the essential remain lit. When even the sounds of traffic had died down, Bond finally made his way back into the office bullpen.

He located Q’s desk, by reasoning of it being organized chaos. It was littered with cables of all sorts. Thick technical manuals and full folders were slotted between utilitarian metal bookends. And when that filled up, they were stacked haphazardly on top of each other. A familiar set of noise cancelling headphones was hung up carefully on a stand. The desk and corkboard was plastered with notes and reminders. A little ceramic figurine of a tuxedo cat watched Bond with its beady little painted eyes from where it sat next to a keyboard.

A cough had him whipping around, mind illogically jumping from a robber breaking in to Max Denbigh returning for retribution.

Instead, he found Q watching him with a cocked head, clutching a freshly cleaned mug. Droplets ran down the side of it, where they collected on slender fingers.

His mind came up short on excuses for entering Q’s space uninvited.

Q simply looked resigned.

“Bar might still be open,” Bond grunted.

A pregnant pause permeated the air.

“A date, Mr Bond?”

“Take it or leave it,” Bond growled, then winced. “I meant, accept, or don’t. It could hardly do any more damage.” He had a feeling the nonchalance he had aimed for had fallen flat on its face.

Q studied him, gingerly setting his mug down on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t think this was the sort of conversation you’d want taking place three steps away from patrons already hyped up on testosterone.” Q’s lips quirked like an afterthought.

Bond shrugged, unaccountably awkward.

-----

They did end up in a bar. Everywhere else had already started cleanup for the night.

It was a dinky little place. Clean and polished enough and not terribly overpriced for an unexpected trip. The telly was on, a football match playing out and watched by a few avid fans. The drinks were decent, but they weren’t the main attraction of the night. That sat across the table in the booth they had claimed, food and drink barely touched. His was in no better a state.

Q was quiet, unable, or unwilling, to meet his eyes.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Q rose.

The background crowd booed as a penalty goal was a miss.

Bond caught his wrist in a burst of movement.

Q slowly returned to his seat.

“Max Denbigh.” Bond couldn’t help the instinctive hiss. It briefly earned him an amused look. “What did he want with you?”

Q shrugged, “He had an opening. He was looking to fill it. That was a neat little trick, what you did with the sprinklers. Did you hold a lighter to the smoke alarm?”

Bond’s face scrunched. “Are we playing twenty questions now?”

Contrition was sour in his mouth. Q had closed off again. The frustration was rising again. They were getting nowhere.

A sharp piercing whistle from the referee restarted the game.

Miraculously, Q took another gamble. Laid down his own cards face up for the world to see. “Everyone said, this man was hell to work with. He was harsh and expected results. Discarded incompetent people like one gets rids of an old shirt.”

Playing with the edge of a napkin, Q continued, “But, he was good. He was excellent- the best. Was one in a million. To be accepted by him-” Q cut off, choked.

“This amazingly capable man said, within a minute of meeting, to me,” Q took a deep breath, a distinctly wounded cadence woven through his words, “I could only have gotten where I was by trading favours.”

Saw me and judged me unworthy.

A lament went up as the favourite team of the night lost their possession of the soccer ball on the telly.

Bond had never felt such revulsion for himself. For having made such a brilliant person doubt himself.

Regret was unprofessional, M had said.

Bond had never been confronted with his own unprofessionalism more.

He swallowed, held himself tense in anticipation of the fallout of showing his hand. “M- she handpicked me. She chose me when she could have picked anyone else.”

“I didn’t want to- Couldn’t not give it my all.” Bond shrugged casually, at odds with the seriousness of their conversation. “That first day, I showed up in her office with tea all over my clothes.”

Realisation and mortification had crept over Q’s face. The napkin had long been abandoned. It brought Bond no pleasure now.

A loud, excited yell went up when the team managed to retrieve the ball.

Bond smiled, a chagrined little thing, “I thought you had it out for me.”

Bond was startled when Q threw his head back and honest-to-goodness laughed. As he wiped a stray tear away, Q shuddered. “I thought the same of you.” The harrowed, self-deprecating grin hurt. An agonized noise escaped Bond’s throat.

“We’ve been a pair of utter numpties,” Q confessed. His fingers tapped out a nervous beat on the table.

It had turned strangely tense, a quiet taking over the bar patrons and charging the atmosphere with something electric as the favoured team’s forward player made for the goalposts with the package.

Bond rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Speak for yourself,” he grumbled gruffly, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a stylized black namecard, held it out in Q’s direction.

“Bond, James Bond. I can be a twat, but I get my shit together eventually, or so I’ve been told.”

Q fingered the namecard reverently, awe on his face. His mouth opened, but no words came forth, the genius caught off guard and disarmed of his wits.

“If we could start over at the beginning,” softly, Bond promised, “I’m game if you are.”

The bar broke out in raucous cheers as the match ended four to three.

-----

They met right outside the door to M’s office, exchanging a reaffirming examination of each other. A quick, standard crosscheck before they dived off a bridge- before they bit the bullet and pitched their project to the Evil Queen of Numbers. Then they stepped into the Queen’s court.

“This would be utterly-” They could do this, together.

“-perfect. We wouldn’t get another chance like this. We-” They just had to find the right buttons.

“-need to act with all haste. It would just be dreadful-” Failure was a possibility, but they had done their best to mitigate it.

“-Christ knows Max Denbigh would jump at the chance-” The very mention of that name, the could-have-beens that it personified, still brought towering rage and relief in equal orders that was quickly repressed in lieu of their mission.

“And we need to stick it to that son of a bitch,” Bond and Q ended in a chorus. Both fixed M with resolute stares, ready to argue their case in the unlikely event they were refused.

With the both of them as a team, they could achieve anything they set their collective minds to.

“I think I rather preferred when you two were hurling a cuppa at each other,” M remarked dryly, fingers laced primly. Her gaze was piercing, and Bond barely managed to clamp down on the urge to fidget like a schoolboy brought up in front of the principal. Q didn’t quite manage the same level of control.

A firm press of Bond’s thigh to his under the table ended the nervous tick. Q straightened.

Brilliant, brilliant man. The pride welling in Bond was overwhelming.

-----

The door slammed shut behind them. They leaned against the partition, side by side. A peek in the other’s direction revealed matching, blinding grins. Q broke out in a laugh that dazzled Bond and warmed him right down to his toe tips. Moneypenny whistled. Tanner just looked entranced.

“What are you lot staring at!” Bond bellowed irately.

In the bullpen, their colleagues ducked, hastily returning to their work. They were left to contemplate their victory in all things in semi privacy.

They did it. Tonight, they were victorious.

#007 fest #00q #teambondvillains #james bond #quartermaster #007 #007 fest 2018 #art by op #*groans*#this is possibly one of the longest things I've written #not counting drafts and plot bunnies that get nowhere #writing the reconciliation was a nightmare #hms 00q

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sonic-wildfire · 5 years

Text

Aftermath: A Sonic Forces AU Fanfiction - Chapter 2

Six Months After the War

(Reposting because of a colossal grammatical error I made in the chapter heading)

Sonic was sitting in his living room, feeling incredibly melancholy. Ever since the meltdown, Sonic had experienced repeated sudden mood swings, restless sleep, and has been more physically fatigued. He knew he had to remain calm, but he also knew from experience that was an onerous task.

It wasn’t long before the azure rodent heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Sonic invited the unknown guest without so much as looking over his shoulder.

The guest let themselves in; it was Knuckles. The red echidna wordlessly set a coffee mug on the table adjacent to Sonic’s couch before he sat himself down on a couch opposite of Sonic.

“Where are the others?” Sonic asked.

With a moment’s hesitation, Knuckles answered, “They’re running a bit late, but they should be here soon.”

He took a sip of his own drink and slowly put it back down before sloped his shoulders and gazed at the limestone floor beneath his feet. Sonic noticed that Knuckles was enervated; his once brilliant dark orchid eyes had dulled to an uninteresting plum, he was far more pale, and the white streak across his chest had begun to turn grey.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Knux? Someone lay a finger on the Master Emerald?” Sonic jested.

Knuckles suppressed a laugh at the unexpected inquiry. Even in his dire mood, Sonic still had some esprit. That was always something Knuckles could count on, aside from his inordinate amount of hubris.

“We wanted to check in and touch base to see how you’re handling things,” Knuckles told Sonic, brushing aside the hedgehog’s previous question.

“Don’t worry about me, dude,” Sonic quickly riposted, the words coming out harsher than he meant them to be. He hesitated for a moment, feeling bad about how that last sentence came out of his mouth.

With a sigh, Sonic apologized and stated, “It’s just…I’m doing alright. There’s really no need to think about me. I’ll be fine. I think it’s more important that you focus on yourself.”

Knuckles saw right through his falsification. Sonic was smirking, but his legs were trembling as he subtly and impatiently tapped his foot and his pointy ears, once standing on his head as sturdy as oak trees, had now sagged.

“You look bad, man,” the echidna insisted. “You’re anything but fine.”

The accusation vexed Sonic. His forehead corrugated and his eyes narrowed, nearly hissing at the prototherian as he clenched his teeth together.

“I know how you feel,” Knuckles continued slowly. “I’m dealing with the same type of feelings. No need to be bashful about it.”

Sonic felt slightly reassured, but quickly began to wallow in his own thoughts again. ‘I shouldn’t be relying on others for comfort,’ Sonic angrily thought to himself. ‘You know who does that? Cowardly pieces of shit.’

The hedgehog repeated these words under his breath. As he repeated it a fourth time, Knuckles heard it. He began to speak, but Sonic steadily raised his voice and the echidna kept quiet. Eventually, his mumbling turned into yelling. It was at this point Knuckles tried to intervene.

“Sonic, is everything alright?” he asked, truly beginning to worry.

“It’s the same thing with me every day! I have no right to calm down!” Sonic retaliated.

Knuckles tried to say something else—anything else—but Sonic’s rampage was so fierce he couldn’t roll the words off his tongue. He was pissed. At last, Sonic practically went postal.

“What kind of maniac am I?!” Sonic roared, twice slamming his fists onto the table. He immediately looked up and realized that, in his episode of blind rage, he forgot that he had company. The rodent instantly felt shame for his actions and denounced himself harshly. He picked up his coffee mug, drank the rest of the coffee inside, and then furiously hurled the mug at the back wall, splintering it.

All the while, the auburn-quilled monotreme sat motionless trying to process what had just happened. It was then that he heard a knock at the door. It was the others, he had figured.

“Give us just a moment!” Knuckles bellowed. He quickly maneuvered over to the couch Sonic was sitting on, trying to console him.

“It’s okay,” the echidna whispered softly. “You’re okay. It’s all right.”

After a few seconds, Sonic, still slightly ticked, let out a long drawn-out sigh as he rubbed his eyes.

“Alright, you can come in now,” Knuckles yelled to the door.

Tails, Amy, Shadow, and Silver filed into the house. Judging by the looks on their faces, Knuckles thought, they had probably heard the commotion. Sonic turned towards the others and lowered his eyelids in chagrin.

“…I’m… uh… I’m s-sorry…” he managed to stammer.

“For what?” susurrated Amy and Tails simultaneously.

Sonic’s ears drooped and he, without answering the question, lowered his head as he clenched his hands together and rested his forearms on his thighs. In a despondent manner, he stared down at his bright red sneakers.

Silver walked over to the couch where Sonic was sitting, sat himself down next to the blue blur, and put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. Shadow walked over to the couch and stood behind the two, standing akimbo and looking down upon the limestone floor.

“I’ve failed you,” insinuated Sonic.

“Failed? Sonic, what on Earth are you talking about?” exclaimed Amy.

“I’ve lost all motivation to do anything, no matter how much I want to do it. I’ve been missing out on sleep thanks to…”

Sonic faltered as he felt his throat constrict again. He didn’t want to outright say he was experiencing night terrors. ‘What will they think of me if I say that?’ he thought.

“…outlying factors, if you will.” asserted Sonic.

“Sonic, we kn—” Silver began, but was interrupted.

“Fine, I’ll get to the point.” Sonic took a deep breath, trying not to tear up.

“I phrased the answer to the first question wrongly. What I meant to say was that I’m a failure.”

The others were appalled. They had a thousand words swirling in their heads, but neither could choke out a single one.

“Twenty-seven years, guys. Twenty-seven fucking years. That’s how long I’ve been fighting to keep this world safe, but it never stays that way. Every time I defeat Eggman, I should’ve been beating him to death. But, no, I just have to keep him alive for the sheer thrill of stopping him. Now it’s beginning to all catch up with me. Why didn’t I rid him once and for all when I had numerous chances to do so? I’m a fool, guys.”

Sonic began tearing up and he felt a lump growing in his throat. The silence persisted. Nobody knew what to say.

Continuing his rant, Sonic vented. “It’s my own dumb decisions that gets everybody else into trouble. Not putting the fake Chaos Emerald into the Eclipse Cannon before going to save Amy so we could have avoided the entire thing with the giant lizard. Being careless in my super state and getting captured because of it, subsequently tearing the planet into pieces. Nearly losing my closest friend because of my dimwitted ways back on the Lost Hex.”

Everybody was intently listening now. Even Shadow, who had been relatively indifferent up to this point, was now bewildered by the words coming out of the blue hedgehog’s mouth; him, of all people.

“I don’t deserve any of you as friends. I don’t deserve your respect. I don’t deserve anything from you guys. The majority of you all have nearly been killed because of my actions. I am completely selfish.”

Sonic had been rambling for a while, but the others still knew better than to speak up now. Tails sat on the couch next to Sonic and Silver. Amy sat on the opposite couch next to Knuckles. Shadow remained standing behind Sonic’s couch. Sonic knew this and, thanks to his experiences while incarcerated aboard the Death Egg, interpreted this as a threatening move. As Shadow saw Sonic arch his back, however, he stepped out from behind the couch and sat next to Amy and Knuckles.

Sonic continued his emotional tirade for another five minutes before he finally fell silent.

“Why can’t things just go back to normal, like they’ve always been?” Sonic sadly pondered.

The room was now silent enough that you could hear a fly’s wings flap. Everybody was aghast while reflecting on what the cobalt hedgehog had just told them.

Finally, Shadow piped up. “Did you need advice or did you just need to vent?”

“Both,” Sonic whimpered.

There was yet another brief period of silence.

“Sonic…” Knuckles admitted. “If I’m being honest, I can’t truly understand how you’re feeling, but I want to help.”

“…I know exactly how he feels,” Shadow acknowledged. “After the whole incident with the Black Arms, I swore to myself that I’d put the past behind me. But… it still haunts me to this day. No matter how hard I try, I can never seem to elude it.”

Silver echoed the ebony hedgehog’s statements, emphasizing how his constant duty of keeping his future bright was near-impossible to do, with or without massive stress.

“But what’s important to know, Sonic, is that as we’ve done so much for you, you’ve done so much for us. If the world’s not destroyed, then that must mean you’ve succeeded in your efforts.”

“Sonic… you matter to us.” Tails emphasized. “We’re here for you. That’s what friends are for. I know it probably doesn’t help much, but we just wanted you to know that.”

“It’s okay to feel this way,” Amy added. “You make such a great impact on our lives that it would be stupid of us to abandon you now. We know how much your—”

Amy stopped. She didn’t want to mention Sonic’s 6-month hostage crisis to him, fearing he may become paranoid and panic. Clearing her throat, she resumed.

“We know what’s been happening over the past year. You aren’t weak for having feelings you have no control over. We care.”

Those two words pierced Sonic’s heart like an arrow.

‘We care.’

The blue blur wiped away a tear welling in the corner of his eye.

“I don’t know what to say…” Sonic breathed. “…Thank you. You all are too kind.”

Tails embraced Sonic in a brief hug before the blue hedgehog turned back towards Knuckles.

“What were you all coming here for anyway?” he contemplated.

“It’s been a while since we’ve actually seen each other,” Knuckles proclaimed, “so we all thought maybe we’d head on over here and catch up.”

Sonic simpered. “I suppose we’ve already done all that over the past five minutes.”

He guffawed at his own answer and everybody else, save for Shadow, did so too.

[Prelude] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

#sth #Sonic the Hedgehog #Miles Tails Prower #Amy Rose #Shadow the Hedgehog #Silver the Hedgehog #Sonic Forces #Sonic the Hedgehog AU #Sonic Forces AU #Aftermath: A Sonic Forces AU Fanfiction #Sonic Fanfiction #Fanfiction #PTSD TW #Depression TW #Knuckles the Echidna #Repost

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xekstrin · 6 years

Text

The Angel’s Workshop

A/N: Some stress relief Moicy, playing around with headcanons and stretching my writing muscles. Special thanks to @theivorytowercrumbles for the title.

Summary: Sometimes we just want to feel bad. Moira is deeply familiar with the concept, even if Mercy isn’t.

Warning for insinuations, though nothing explicit. Read here on AO3

She'd seen the angel's workshop in many times and many places. They scattered across her memory, each one cast in a different light.

A psychologist once recommended that Angela take up some sort of artistic craft, because of the sense of completion a finished project could bring her.

That made a certain amount of sense to Moira, since they both rarely got to see the final product of their work. A set bone, a list of instructions, and occasional follow ups. Then their patients might as well fade into the abyss, unless they were lucky to get stationed together again, or unlucky enough to be a patient again.

It carried over through the years, ranging from stacks of those cute, kitschy "adult" coloring books to puzzles, painting, music, and for a brief period, wood carving. She blamed Lindholm for that one. There'd been loose shavings all over the floor for months afterward.

It was certainly Angela's adopted father that gave her access and insight into smithing and engineering and how to make metal come alive. That’s how they built Genji. Moira always found it fascinating to watch Angela shift from one mode to the other, stitching flesh and melting steel and forming something new from it all.

Now, decades after they had first met, Moira saw the angel's workshop was a desk in the corner of their shared office. Angela had long strips of paper cut up next to her, soft white with pale pink roses. She folded them into little cranes, ten each evening, and put them into a jar.

Tonight she only did five. Roughly thirty feet away, in the ward across the hall, Hanzo Shimada was in critical condition and there was no way of knowing whether or not he would survive the night.

The two of them were still recovering from the surgery in their own ways, too exhausted to acknowledge the tension that always existed between them outside the operating room. Moira was a traitor to Overwatch and Angela’s ex-wife and she didn't know which part Angela hated more.

"You want a cup?" Moira asked quietly, nursing her own mug of very sweet, very strong coffee. It would keep her up all night but it was one of the few ways Moira knew how to reward herself without dipping into old, unsavory habits. She was curled protectively around it, slouched on an old tattered loveseat they'd shoved into the space. Steam coiled up in the cold room.

"No," Angela said so quick it must have been an impulse. Because then she said, "Yes," and Moira got up to make another cup, when they heard a knock on the door. It must be Genji; nobody else had knuckles that sounded like a drummer on a tin roof.

He opened the door a fraction, poking his head in. "Hello? Doctors?"

"Genji," Moira greeted him with a low voice, warm but not entirely kind. Angela didn't say anything. "Did you get my message?"

Taking it as invitation, Genji stepped inside and lifted up his communicator. "Yes. I was just wondering if now was a good time to see Hanzo?”

The new lenses over his eyes were an attempt to hide the eerie red glow of exposed circuitry and blood vessels. The blue only did so much, washed out by the light. But the violet was preferable, in her opinion. "He's not in stable condition just yet. But yes, you can. Just don't touch anything."

Even with the respirator on, she could see the way his eyes softened in a smile. "Thank you." Then his attention turned to Angela, who was still seated at her desk with a half-folded strip of paper in front of her. "Both of you. Thank you for saving my brother's life."

"Actually," Moira started.

That's when Angela finally moved, sitting up straight. The blood drained from her face, but she remained stoic, if a little wide-eyed.

"I hardly did anything at all," Moira finished. "Dr. Ziegler makes me feel like a glorified nurse at times."

In her confusion, Angela allowed herself to relax, shooting her a glare.

Picking up on the mood, Genji's brow furrowed. He wasn't stupid; he could sense a game was afoot, but had no desire to play. So he bowed his head in thanks and left, his new feet not making a sound against the bare floors.

"Did you enjoy that?" Angela sounded strained, tension making her shoulders straight. "Playing mind games with me?"

"More than you know." In truth she felt nothing more than a brief flash of wicked glee, but pretending was part of the game.

The only way she felt pleasure was when the stakes were much higher. And even then, that rarely justified most of what she did. Working off of impulse and stubbornness, Moira latched onto whatever might further her goals and rode along as far as it would take her.

Angela spun in her chair, eyes narrowed suspiciously at Moira. "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

"Why should I have?"

Why would she tell Genji that when his brother was wheeled in, the impeccable Dr. Ziegler choked? That was a precious gift, something Moira had never seen before. What purpose would there be in sharing that?

No doubt Angela expected her to rub it in, to gloat that their guardian angel played favorites. That if you crossed her, she might let you die. That kind of reputation held no appeal to Angela, which is of course why it presented itself to her most often. Moira was envious of how Angela wielded power, with restraint and purpose. Moira wasn't capable of doing that. She was too hungry for it. Too open in flaunting it.

In any case, no one needed to know that Angela took off her gloves and said, "Moira. Please." without tearing her eyes from the man flatlining in front of them.

It had been two years since the recall. Moira's communicator, the one buried at the bottom of her desk, blipped weakly. The agents of Overwatch were needed, desperately, and Moira responded out of curiosity more than anything else. Did they consider her one of them? Did they forgive her for her part in their dissolution?

Lots of difficult questions. No easy answers. Her favorite kind of chaos.

Two years and Angela finally said her name again. Of course she tackled it all on her own, and Hanzo might live or he might not, but Angela Ziegler played little part in that decision.

"I was merely doing my duty." Moira unwound herself, setting her mug on Angela's desk and propped herself right next to it. "Would you have given him to me if you didn't think I could do it?"

A question with no answer. Angela did her best. "No." She didn't sound like she believed it. Then she rested her face in both her palms, elbows propped on top of her desk. "I don't know. It's been so long, I don't know why..."

Moira waited.

"I spent fourteen hours putting Genji's body back together after what Hanzo did to him," Angela said. "It took ten years for him to heal the damage my scalpel couldn't touch. And I couldn't even help with that."

"And?"

"And?!" Mercy's head snapped up. She got to her feet, shouting suddenly, still not at eye level with the taller woman but trying her best. "And I don't know why Genji even wastes his energy trying to forgive him! He doesn't even deserve to breathe!"

A little tremble rolled up Moira's spine at the viciousness in her words. Rattled, Angela started patting herself down with the desperation of an addict until she found the pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and tried to light it with a shaking hand.

"And you're loving this," she said with a dark mutter. "Aren't you?"

She was. She started laughing, but not for the reasons Angela suspected. "Please. I've seen you treat much worse than Hanzo Shimada. There's no reason you wouldn't have done it again,” Moira said. "But you always were more likely to believe things based off of your emotions rather than fact."

"If you weren't there--"

"But I was. Relax."

Angela refused, scowl deepening. "But--”

Moira leaned in, cutting her short. "You just wanted a moment to pretend you were capable of letting him die and you knew I'd give it to you." She held her hands clasped between her spread knees, smiling serenely down at Angela. “Just like I needed you to beat the demons out of my skin from time to time."

When Angela’s eyes landed on her she swore she felt that righteous fire, set ablaze just under her skin. Blue eyes wide with shock, Angela’s hand froze with the cigarette midway to her lips. She seemed gaunt, and starved, and afraid, the way people get when they’re too accustomed to watching things break and die in their hands. Moira hung there, for the first time nervous that she might have finally pushed Angela too far.

She'd seen the angel's workshop, after all. She knew what Angela was capable of. That she could have killed Hanzo, a million times over, drew the lines over life and death and crossed them every day. Moira had been strapped to that table herself while Angela picked shrapnel from her spine, or beat her until her pale skin was criss-crossed purple and blue and red.

Moira was a "project person" by her own admittance, but one that couldn't ever be completed.

Then the doctor shook her head with an insincere laugh. Another long drag from her cigarette gave her the opportunity and time to compose herself again. “You always were a brat.” “I prefer the term tease, myself.” “Yes,” Angela said. “I’m sure you do.”

The rest of the cigarette went into the ashtray and Angela announced she was going to go check on the patient.

"Still want that coffee?" Moira called out after her.

"Some other time, perhaps. Good night, Dr. O'Deorain."

"Good niiiiight," Moira sang out, grinning as she left.

When she was gone, Moira lingered on top of her desk for a while. The jar of paper cranes was open, and next to it was an old, heavy coin. It was big enough to fit in Moira's palm, faded bronze and white stripes of Overwatch. The call to duty they all received, the one Moira wasn't quite sure she was here to answer yet.

Ten cranes every day for months, exactly. Was Ziegler aiming for a goal, or just seeking to fill the empty space?

When she was sure no one was watching, Moira reached inside and took a crane, tucking it into her pocket.

She finished her coffee and left, feeling lighter than she had in months.

#moicy #overwatch #fanfiction

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redditnosleep · 6 years

Text

Has Anyone Heard of The Left/Right Game?

by NeonTempo

Hi Guys,

Firstly, I want to apologise for not being at my laptop for the past few days. I had to attend a wedding in Scotland for one of my uni friends. They booked it in mid-week and, between you and me, I don’t think it’s going to last which means not only have I neglected you guys, but I’ve also wasted money on a rental suit and a John Lewis tea set.

As always thank you for your help in my ongoing attempt to find Alice. I’m now in full contact with the radio show she was working for, and they’ll be sending over Rob’s submission to the show as soon as they can. I’ve also looked up every town named Jubilation and have contacted residents from each of them. None of them have the particular junction mentioned in the previous log, “Sycamore Row” and “Acer Street”. I even combed google maps to make sure. I’m not sure what town Alice passed through last February but it doesn’t seem to exist on public record.

The guy who promised to retrace the route from the mirror shop came through, and has sent me a few possible addresses for Rob. He also mentioned looking into the game itself more. I’m not sure what he means by that but I want to be clear, please don’t play this game on my behalf. I don’t want that on my conscience.

Ok, without further ado, here’s the following log.

Thanks again.

The Left/Right Game [DRAFT 1] 10/02/2017

(Possible Opening) (I want to address you, the listener, for a moment, with an advance notice concerning the following episode. I’m sure it’s not been lost on you that every installment of the series so far has played host to some strange, unexplainable occurrence, and spanned a great many miles of travel. It goes without saying this has been by design. I’ve been summarising the countless hours of uneventful meandering and taking extra care to document the strange phenomena we’ve encountered along the way. I wanted the story to be fast moving, to have a real feel of progress with every chapter.

If that sense of exploratory intrigue is why you’re listening to this show, I completely understand. I’m certain it’s a primary draw for almost all of you; the twists, the turns, the mysterious, strange encounters along an impossible road.

But if that is the case, I feel it’s my duty to inform you that, apart from a few notable exceptions, there will be almost no ground covered in this segment, and the monsters we encounter will be all too human; stress, divisiveness, discomfort and, as one might imagine, grief.

If you want to read the synopsis of this episode on the website and wait for the next part, then you’ll be all caught up and I’m sure we’ll be back on our way, heading once more into the great unknown. But I feel it’s important to give the aftermath of Ace’s capture its own episode, in part due to the significance of the revelations that are unearthed in its wake, but also as a gesture of deference to the man we lost.

This is the story of our second night on the road.)

As we make the left turn, the horrifying space behind us is quickly replaced by a quiet emptiness ahead. The Wrangler crawls, defeated, toward the waiting convoy. The remaining four cars are parked haphazardly, taking up more than half the road. Rob drifts to the far end of the tarmac, looking to overtake and resume formation. Both of his hands rest on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on some distant point in space. It’s not hard to imagine that behind the focus and the quiet control, there’s a man in turmoil, a man who can’t bring himself to say anything, in fear of saying too much.

AS: This is Bristol to all cars. We’re heading back on the road. Get yourselves in formation and make way for those around you. We’ve got a while to drive before we stop for the night.

LILITH: Bristol where’s Ro… Ferryman?

AS: Ferryman’s here.

APOLLO: Where’s Ace?

AS: Ace is… Ace didn’t make it across.

APOLLO: Uhh what?

LILITH: What the fuck? Bristol where is he?

It would be simple to describe what had taken place, or at least summarise the barest facts; what happened to Ace, where he is now, why he isn’t coming back. But for some reason, I can’t utter a word about what's transpired. Something about the event itself makes it impossible to retell, as if the requisite phrases have been locked behind glass.

AS: We need to get to the stopping point. It isn’t safe to stay here.

Shortly after we’d turned the corner out of Sycamore Row, Rob implied that the rest of the days’ drive would be uneventful. Had he waited just a few minutes longer, he would have been entirely correct. We’re on the road for another four hours, both of us quietly attending to our own preoccupations as the forest gradually thins out. The landscape gives way to rolling cornfields, that stretch out beyond the horizon on both sides.

Nothing notable happens, which is ironic, as I find myself typing up a lot more notes than I need.

With the sun descends through an orange sky as we pull into a clearing, beside a wild grove of apple trees. Rob turns off the ignition and the two of us sit in silence. Rob’s need to concentrate on driving had been a good excuse to stay quiet, a good excuse to not face each other. Now the wheels aren’t turning however, and the true reason for our mutual reticence is all too clear.

AS: Do you think he’s dead?

ROB: I don’t know.

Rob’s response isn’t reassuring, and I’m oddly grateful for that. There are no comforting words he can give me, and any attempt would have seemed horrifically insincere, a mockery of the situation’s onerous gravity. Anyway, given the circumstances of Ace’s capture, I’m not even sure which answer I want to hear.

Lilith appears at my window, rapping her knuckles against the glass with an aggressive impatience. I’d expect nothing less about now. Everyone in the convoy has been made to follow a unilateral order, my order, without explanation. They’ve been travelling for hours accompanied by the glaring absence of another human being. Looking in the wing mirror, I glimpse the rest of the convoy, standing by their cars, watching the Wrangler expectantly.

Rob’s hands still haven’t left the wheel.

With a sharp intake of breath, I push the door open and step out onto the grass. The ground is soft below me as I walk over to the group. There’s recently been rain. I begin to address the rough semicircle, it almost feels like one of Rob’s briefings.

EVE: What’s happening Bristol?

APOLLO: Did Ace turn back?

I meet Apollo’s eye. For the briefest of moments, I consider telling them all exactly that. Maybe it would save them from the slow, heavy ache that’s currently weighing down my chest. Maybe it would just save me from a difficult conversation. Either way, I know I can't lie to them. They deserve the truth, however unpleasant.

AS: No he didn’t turn back; they crippled his car.

LILITH: The tow truck? Did he get out?

The answer doesn't come easily. I’m being pressed to say the words aloud and, in doing so, to fully acknowledge what happened. It feels like I’m being driven to a funeral, like I’m being verbally marched towards an open casket.

EVE: What happened to him?... Bristol…

ROB: He’s dead, Eve.

I hadn’t heard Rob step out of the car when he reaches the group. It’s hard to hide my relief as he takes over proceedings, addressing the group matter-of-factly. Now it really is like one of his briefings.

ROB: Two guys in the tow truck coming outta Jubilation. They got him. They took him back with them to the town. Way they were treatin’ him he won’t last long.

BONNIE: Oh goodness…

EVE: What? Rob what’re they going to do to him?

ROB: I can’t tell you. Nothing like this ever happened before.

LILITH: Well we need to go back.

ROB: That ain’t gonna happen.

LILITH: We’re not going to fucking abandon him.

AS: Lilith…

LILITH: We’re going back!

ROB: No we’re not.

APOLLO: Me and Rob can go. You know the place right Rob?

ROB: The kid’s dead Apollo.

LILITH: But he was alive when you last saw him?

ROB That’s right.

LILITH: So what point did you decide he was dead?

ROB: When I saw him being carried away with a fucking tow hook sticking out his mouth! Goddamn it.

Rob shouldn’t have said that. I understand his reasons of course; he wants to convey an important truth, that nothing can be done, or could have been done, to save Ace. His ghastly choice of words does the job, but it also sends a ripple of disturbance through the crowd, planting in everyone’s minds the gruesome image I’ve been trying all day to uproot.

Bonnie covers her mouth in shock and sorrow. Eve turns noticeably pale, and even Lilith, who is intent on leading the questioning, is taken aback.

LILITH: Did… did you see this Bristol?

I nod solemnly. The group bristles at my affirmation.

AS: I saw enough. I had to close my eyes when it happened, Rob tried to save him until…

Before I can finish my statement, my words are cut off by something truly unexpected. In spontaneous response to my words, a harsh outburst of mocking, sarcastic laughter rings out from within the convoy. One by one, we turn towards its source, until we all find ourselves staring at Bluejay. Her unapologetic chuckling fills the silent night air.

AS: Is something funny, Bluejay?

Bluejay tries to speak through her, all too slowly, waning laughter.

BLUEJAY: It’s just… you call yourself a journalist… Hah you closed your eyes, my god… there it is! There it is.

AS: I’m sorry?

BLUEJAY: Do you close your eyes for magic tricks too?

EVE: What the fuck Bluejay?

APOLLO: Come on, this isn’t the time.

BLUEJAY: Oh the time is well fucking overdue. Seriously are you all morons? The Left/Right Game is a hoax. It’s fake! Rob Guthard’s played you all like fucking children! Ace is fine, he’s probably an actor! Like the hitchhiker was an actor and those towns people too. I mean, come on.

The group is taken aback by Bluejay’s incredulous tirade. She’s clearly been holding her tongue since day one; our reaction to Ace’s capture representing just one step too far.

AS: I saw Rob shoot one of those townspeople with a hunting rifle. I saw the wound. It was real.

BLUEJAY: It was a blood filled squib. The rifle was probably loaded with blanks. You can buy both from any good theatrical retailer. Seriously what the fuck is wrong with you people?

LILITH: Ok firstly, I don’t like your fucking tone. Secondly, have you noticed that we’ve been the only cars on the road for almost two days? And what about Jubilation? Are you suggesting Rob hired out a whole town? That would be fucking impossible.

BLUEJAY: Oh yeah sure, THAT’S impossible, but it’s totally believable that we’re driving on a magic road. Maybe this is the highest budget scam I’ve ever seen but that’s all it is, a scam. And Al Jazeera here is giving him all the publicity he wants. I mean these people are sheep but you, you’re a fucking sycophant.

My mother used to tell me that you can’t strike a person from the high road. Staring down the barrel of Bluejay’s darkly self-satisfied grin, I’m more than tempted to make the descent.

AS: Ok Bluejay fair enough. I’m not going to pretend to know what’s going on here, for all I know you could be right. But why would Rob spend the production budget of a Hollywood film to trick a radio journalist and two vloggers. Trust me, our website does not get enough traffic for-

BLUEJAY: Oh don’t be so self-important. It’s not YOU he’s trying to fool.

Bluejay turns to Rob, fixing him a glare of pure, unadulterated triumph.

BLUEJAY: Admit it Rob. Admit that this is all a fucking farce. Admit that you knew who I was before I even got out of my car.

Rob’s face looks like it’s been carved from granite. The group looks to him for an answer, but he delivers his response directly to Bluejay, his eyes locked with hers.

ROB: It’s true… … I know who you are Denise.

The atmosphere changes, and for a moment, the night erupts into a foray of whispers. Rob’s answer clearly means something to everyone but me.

EVE: Denise?

LILITH: Denise Carver?

APOLLO: No. You serious?

AS: Sorry, who’s Denise Carver?

LILITH: She’s the biggest killjoy in the hobby.

BLUEJAY: Oh fuck you, you fucking air-head.

ROB: Denise here is a member of the Skeptics and Rationalist Institute of America. She likes to get herself invited on ghost hunting expeditions under a false name so she can debunk them publicly. You may've gathered she don’t believe in the supernatural.

BLUEJAY: Actually I do believe in the supernatural. I believe that it’s a billion dollar industry built on selling comfortable lies to the gullible, and it thrives on shitty journalists and attention whore bloggers who are willing to spread whatever shit they think will get them clicks.

AS: That’s why you took so long getting around the pine tree. Even when the truck was coming for Ace. You didn’t think any of it was real.

BLUEJAY: Uhh… did you?

As condescending as her delivery may be, her words spark a sudden realisation. It’s true, that with an unspeakably high budget and a few deft stooges, you could probably replicate most of what we’d seen on the road. Yet, without realising it, I’ve found myself agreeing with Rob’s version of events, personally defending the Left/Right Game’s validity against its decriers. I’d set off on this journey much like Bluejay, as a staunch, confident skeptic, but somewhere between the tunnel and this moment, I’d become a believer.

Bluejay notes my lack of protest, and turns back to Rob.

BLUEJAY: I’m flattered you went to all this trouble. I didn’t know my work was so offensive to you.

ROB: I admire your work Denise. Always have. That’s why I brought you along.

BLUEJAY: That is bullshit. Tell your friend Ace he can’t act for shit.

Bluejay pulls a pack of Marlboros out of her coat, lighting up immediately, and goes to sit on the hood of her nearby car. Her demeanour clearly signals that her part in the conversation is over, though her words leave a bitter aftertaste for everyone involved. To sympathise, it must be exhausting, spending two days with people whose opinions are diametrically opposed to your own, having to listen in silence while they corroborate their own seemingly preposterous views. Having said that however, I’m incredibly glad she’s stopped talking. It reminds me of a time when we got on much better.

The next question comes from Eve, her voice quivering.

EVE: Can… can we die here Rob?

The quiet force of her words turn everyone’s heads back towards Rob. It’s clear that others have been thinking the same thing, and they’re looking to Rob for an answer.

ROB: It’s possible. The road ain’t ever killed no one before. Not so long as everyone followed the rules.

LILITH: But you said in your emails it was dangerous.

ROB: That’s right.

LILITH: But you didn’t feel like telling us that we could die out here?

Rob turns to Lilith, clearly offended by her accusation.

ROB: In the 1920’s Jon Ebenrow killed 36 people and violated their bodies. In one of your videos, you guys went to his home in Virginia looking for the man’s ghost. Bonnie & Clyde once spent $500 to stay at the Iowa Murder House, a place that’s supposed to possess its victims and force’em to kill each other.

ROB: If you all honestly believed in what you were chasing, you should be accepting death as an outcome every time you step out. We are looking for evidence of another world. What we’re doing here has the scientific significance of the moon landings, the cultural significance of Columbus reaching the Americas and a whole lot of people died doing both. If you accepted the risk chasing down the ghost of a two-bit serial killer, you should be willing to accept the risk for this.

Lilith looks like she’s been scolded by a parent. There’s a fire in her eyes as she observes Rob, meeting his criticism with scorn.

LILITH: Oh so it’s Ace’s fault? He should have “accepted the risk”?

ROB: He did accept the risk. Ace made his decisions. He saw the dangers of the road first hand and he kept on goin'. I told you this place could be dangerous, and maybe you didn’t take that seriously. But you are NOT gonna treat me like I lured any of you here under false pretenses.

We stand for a few moments in the uncomfortable void left by Rob’s words. No one’s quite sure where to look.

APOLLO: Well what do we do now Rob? Do we turn around?

ROB: I ain’t gonna make that decision for you. If you want to split off and head back, I suggest you wait till mornin’ and stagger your leavin’ times by an hour or so. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like what happened back there before, but this is the most people I ever played the game with. Maybe that’s doin’ somethin’.

AS: What do you mean by that?

ROB: Well it’s the only thing that’s changed. Truth is, this ain’t our world, by all rights we shouldn’t be here. Even when it's one car the road always tries to discourage you. Maybe it’s like bacteria in a vein. One or two might slip by unnoticed but once it hits a certain point it’s like a uh…

AS: Like an immune response. You think the road’s pushing back on foreign objects?

ROB: And the bigger the group-

AS: The more violent the response…

It makes sense, until Bluejay laughs once more. Hearing her reaction, I reassess what I'm saying and I can’t help but feel a little foolish at the idea.

ROB: Maybe. It’s just a theory... I don’t know.

Rob collects himself, regaining his composure.

ROB: Either way, you all have the morning to decide if you want to keep on the road. Bristol, if you want to go home, you gotta find someone to take you. I ain’t ready to head back yet.

He turns away from the group and marches to the Wrangler. I don’t see him again for the rest of the evening, and I have no intention of bothering him. Eve and Lilith immediately crowd around me, asking if I’m alright and taking it in turns to disparage Rob’s actions. I can’t bring myself to join in. All I can bring myself to say is…

AS: Can I charge my phone in your car?

The group has very little to say for the rest of the night. A deep solemnity hangs in the air, dampening any semblance of good cheer like wet leaves on a dwindling fire. No one offers any conversation, Apollo’s reservoir of quips has run dry. Everyone’s wondering where they’ll be going from here, pondering the sort of person they are in circumstances such as this. Do they press on towards danger, or back towards safe and familiar ground. It’s a question they’ll have to figure out for themselves, ideally before sunrise.

I already have questions of my own.

About an hour after Rob’s departure, bidding fair well to the rest of the group, I walk over to Lilith and Eve’s car. My bag is resting on the front seat, a black wire leading inside from the charging port. I’ve decided not to tell the pair that I’ve been charging the detonator for a military grade explosive less than ten metres away from them. Perhaps it will come out during broadcast. If you’re listening to this, sorry girls.

I pick up my bag and, checking that no one’s looking, make a beeline for the apple grove. I march through the small wood, the air growing still, the sounds of the convoy quickly fading behind me. In the late evening darkness, with the moon shrouded by legion of crooked trees, I’m puzzled that I’m not more afraid. I’ve seen what happens on this road and, as I pass through the grove and into the neighbouring field, intentionally isolating myself from the rest of the group, I'm quite aware that help won’t be coming for me. Even so, as the corn rises up in every direction around me, I find myself almost incapable of fear. The day's events have drained me of emotion, and I'm now with everything else pulled away, I’m left with only one driving directive; an overpowering urge to figure this road out, regardless of what that entails.

Judging the distance I’ve traveled to be acceptably out of range from the convoy, I take the block of C4 out of my bag and place it on the ground. Gritting my teeth, my body cringing with self-inflicted dread, I press the power button on the Nokia and wait for something to happen. My worries of instant disintegration are allayed slightly as the grainy image of two outstretched hands comes into view, swiftly replaced by a menu screen.

I work fast, the words on the brown paper package constantly reminding me of what I’m putting at risk with every passing second.

Firstly, I type my number own number into the phone, assuming, or at least hoping, that the mechanism isn’t activated by outgoing calls. A few seconds later my cell phone rings, giving me the Nokia’s number. Checking the call logs, I find a second, different number, which seems to have made a call to the phone three times in quick succession. If I were a betting woman, which I sometimes am, I’d suggest that this number belongs to whoever built the bomb, the calls representing an attempt to test the trigger prior to its implementation. If I’m right, then this should be the personal number of whoever was driving that crashed car.

My third discovery, is a little bit more puzzling. No texts have been sent from this phone, however there is one solitary message residing in the phone’s inbox. It’s from a third, separate number, and it reads thus:

“Please don't do this Rob.”

I stare at those four words, the new information grating uncomfortably against my already preconceived theories. If this text is to be believed, and my previous deductions are at all accurate, then that means Rob Guthard was driving the car. That the C4 in the trunk had belonged to him. All this time I thought Rob may have been responsible for something terrible, but what if he was run off the road himself? If that is the case, it leads to an entirely new question… who was responsible for his crash?

As I begin to think it over, the air explodes around me.

I’m jolted out of my examination by a powerful, echoing voice which reverberates the very air. The corn is thrown into a frenzy as the noise echoes from every direction, as if spoken by the air itself.

VOICE: I’ve watched you questioning.

Without a second’s hesitation, I turn off the Nokia and throw the block into my bag. I jump to my feet and scan the cornfield for whoever spoke the words, backing away towards the convoy. Suddenly, realising how far I am from my friends, I break into a run, my boots pounding the dirt as I flee back to the woods.

Less than a minute later I burst out through the trees, my bag swinging with the weight of the block. Everyone’s in their cars, seemingly fast asleep. I’m starting to think they’re onto something. With no one to talk to, and a long day ahead of me, I suppose there’s no further recourse but to catch my breath, write up my immediate thoughts and then, finally, get some much needed rest.

I feel a dull pressure behind my eyes as I step towards the Wrangler. Quietly opening the back door next to my sleeping area, I carefully hide the block under my luggage. Then, silently closing the door again, I wander around to the passenger side, where my notes are waiting to be typed.

I reach out and grab the handle, gripping it tightly. I don’t open the door. In fact, after a moment staring through the glass, I let go.

The pressure behind my eyes gives way, and before I know it I’ve slid down to the damp ground, my back against the cool, hard metal of the door. A whine catches in my throat as ugly tears stream down my cheeks. My breath shudders as I inhale, and my attempt to breathe out plays to the world as a quiet, declining sob. The tears take me by surprise but I don’t wipe them away. In a bittersweet way, they’re welcome, necessary even. They carry with them a familiar sense of heartrending release. By the time they’ve run dry, I feel like I might just be able to move on from the events of the day. The sounds in my head are just a little quieter now I’ve paid them their due.

BONNIE: Are you ok honey?

I’m picking myself up when I see Bonnie walking carefully over to the Wrangler. I brush myself off, a little embarrassed at being caught.

AS: I didn’t know you were awake.

BONNIE: I’m a light sleeper, and Martin… Clyde snores. Do you need someone to talk to?

AS: I think I just need to sleep. Thanks Bonnie.

BONNIE: My name’s Linda, if you’re wondering.

AS: … Alice.

BONNIE: That’s a beautiful name. Well Alice, I know I don’t talk much, but I know how to listen… if you ever want me to.

For the first time since the pine fell, I find myself smiling. It’s a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.

AS: Thank you Linda. I might take you up on that. Have a good night.

BONNIE:** Have a good night.

Bonnie starts to walk back to the car, before pausing and turning round. One last piece of comfort to offer.

BONNIE: And remember, everything will all be alright once we get to Wintery Bay.

I frown a little, unsure what Bonnie means. She smiles back blankly, then resumes the path back to her car. She’s mentioned that place before, upon leaving Jubilation, in what seemed like a moment of idle reminiscence. How she mentioned it just now doesn’t seem like reminiscence at all.

After everything that’s gone on, all the suspicion I’ve been directing at Rob, all my worry for Ace. Is something the matter with Bonnie?

Perhaps I’m misunderstanding, perhaps Bonnie misspoke, but all the same, the brief comfort her words afforded me has already faded away, leaving a familiar feeling of confusion and paranoia in its place.

I let myself into the passenger side, type up a few pressing notes and then climb through onto the air mattress. Sleep doesn’t come easily. I close my eyes and try to convince myself that tomorrow will be better than this harrowing day. Yet every time I make that particular argument, a voice in my head responds:

“That may depend on which way you turn.”

#creepy #horror story #series #left right game series #author: NeonTempo

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top-hat-assassin · 7 years

Text

Togetherness (Jacob Frye X Fem!Reader)

Hello Followers, thank you for your patience once again. Here is another one and this time I took 41-year (well, he is 43/44 in this one) old Mr. Frye to the test. I mean, he needs love, too. And he is such a handsome man and had to go through a lot.

I hope you will enjoy this piece of Fiction. I do not have any knowledge about the bathing back in Victorian England. I googled but didn’t find enough or maybe I did not dig deep enough. (I actually just googled again to not look like a complete idiot in front of you and added a few things, heh)

A happy Fryeday to all of you. I hope my english followers are all okay + their families and friends after what had happened.

Title: Togetherness Summary: Reader wants some time for herself but her dear husband thought otherwise Characters: Reader, Jacob Frye Relationships: Jacob Frye x Fem!Reader Warnings: Very slightly NSFW at the end (but really, not much) Words: 1.885

The silence within the walls of the bedroom could almost be grasped and the noises coming from the street outside were ignored. You hummed quietly in the tub in front of the fireplace, visibly enjoying the warmth of the water surrounding your body. Your back was leaning against the tub, the arms placed on the edges while the hot steam coming off the water made you feel more cozy.

You had the house all to yourself and as a crouning conclusion you would give your body the wellness program it deserved. Your two men were out and about somewhere and engaged in a mission whereas your daughter was in India. She wanted to train more with her aunt Evie and of course, Jacob Frye couldn’t say no to his little princess. And yes, he even was a little mad when she insisted on training alone with Evie.

You liked having them around, no doubt about it, but sometimes you wished you had more peace for yourself. The boy and the girl both did inferior their father in a lot of things. However, you had often the presumption that Jacob is more of a child than the actual children in the house.

A smile etched itself onto your lips when your mind showed you the disappointed and worried face of your husband when he came back from escorting Evie and your daughter to the ship which departed to India. He was always very protective over his children - his daughter even more so. But the man knew, that he has to let them go and make their own story. Naturally it wasn’t easy on you as well, your mother instinct always on high alert, but it gave you comfort knowing that Evie is going to be with her and taking care of her.

A sigh escaped you, you closed your eyes and forgot everything around you. The silence was a change, you had much needed. You didn’t know how much time had passed - it could be only ten minutes or far longer. But suddenly you heard a suspicious sound outside the room and your eyes were immediately fixed on the door to the bedroom.

Soon the noise could be recognized as footsteps.

“Jacob?” you called out, hoping secretly that it was indeed your husband. Of course you know the sound of his footsteps, but this time they seem a little bit different - lighter if one would describe it. And you did not have much desire to face an opponent naked. But you were an assassin and you wouldn’t go down without a fight. You grabbed a throwing knife from the pouch you had carried with you from a stool next to the tub.

The steps fell silent in front of the door and then she was opened slightly. In seconds, you raised your prefered arm with the knife and pointed at the door. Somebody put their head through the gap. The knife was thrown and landed with a loud thud (given the silence) into the wooden door. The intruder reacted quickly and shielded himself off with the door before the knife could have hit him. The door was opened again with a creak and Jacob’s head came once more through the gab and turned to the knife. Your eyes widened and you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw it was indeed Jacob. “God dammit, Jacob! At least say it is you. I could have seriously injured you!” thank god the man was fast enough because you didn’t want to wait for an enemy to be quicker than you. You had gotten another knife from the stool but put it down instantly and placed it back to it’s previous place.

“At this rate, I need to replace all doors in the house, darling.” His gaze was at first dumbfounded, being eye to eye with a sharp knife wasn’t his expectation, before looking over at you. As a response you threw him a glare. There was a grin now on his face and he took in the scenery he found you in, completely forgetting the incident that just happened. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, love.”

Maybe it would have been the best to just throw another comment at him, but you weren’t in the mood to even think about a good remark so your anger vanished. “Just a little.”, you teased him. “You’re back early.” “The mission went great and Emmett did his part perfectly.”

You smiled and you could see the expectant face of your husband. He didn’t open the door fully yet, still only his head was seen. “Is there something else, Mr. Frye?” you raised an eyebrow as Jacob didn’t move an inch.

He blinked a few times. “Do you have room for a second person?” There was a bold smile on your face now. “Why, are you planning on joining me?” He hesitated for a moment before speaking up. “Only if you want to. I know you love your baths alone. I just… you look so peaceful and relaxed and I was hoping I could join you.”

His face was even showing his high hopes and the second you saw it you knew; you would not be able to resist him. Otherwise you would feel bad for the rest of the day. “I’ve always got enough space for two persons in here.” As soon as the words left your mouth, his hazel orbs glinted at the idea of sharing a bath with you. Now he opened the door completely and let the door fall into the lock behind him. He approached you slowly, his clothes finding their place scattered on the floor. Your gaze stayed on him the entire time, watching how more of his skin is revealed to you.

It didn’t take long before he was nude in front of you, your eyes raking over his figure, taking in every scar, the trail of chest hair leading down inbetween his legs. Your bodies may not look like how they looked twenty years ago, but that doesn’t mean, that his body can’t excite you anymore. Quite the opposite in fact. You shook your head to yourself. Now is not the time for such thoughts, although it would almost feel like a crime not to acknowledge the body of the handsome man you married. As he made preparations to get into the tub, you moved a little forward so he could sit behind you. You waited patiently for him to find the right position; only then did you get closer and pressed yourself against him. His arms wrapped around you, your head leaning against the shoulder where he had his tattoo.

“As much as I love my baths for myself. I’d always prefer them with you in it.” your whisper broke the silence after seconds of him adjusting. “Is that so?” you heard the smug grin in his voice. In response, he received a gentle flick to one of his arms.

You touched his right thigh with the palm of your right hand and went up and down as far as you were able to without having to move your upper body. It remained silent between the two of you, but the quietness was not unpleasant.

The hike over his thigh soon stopped and you raised your arm to touch his chin. You tapped his stubble with your fingers, feeling the scratchy surface under your fingertips. “You would talk to me if anything bothers you, right?” you asked softly. You remembered the case with Jack like it was yesterday. It had been two years now, but you knew that it was still boiling in him because of everything that happened. He may be a little bit more like himself, but the events changed him. “‘Course.” with his own right hand he took yours, led it to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “I’m alright, really, do not worry about me.” “I’m your wife, it’s one of my duties to do so.” there was a stern tone to your voice mixed with softness.

He gave a breathless short laugh, and you noticed he was bringing you a little closer. He buried his face in your neck, let go of your hand to embrace you with both arms again. The hand he let go of, found it’s way in his hair and began to run through his hair or scratch his scalp gently.

He left little kisses starting with your neck and went up to your chin, where he began to softly nibble. With a small laugh, you turned your face to him and immediately your lips merged into an unhurried kiss. He ran his tongue once along your lips before leaving them. “How did I ever get so lucky, Mrs. Frye?” he whispered the question against your skin of your cheek. You pressed a small kiss to his chin. The hand in his hair went to the small stool placed next to the tub and you took the cloth, which lay on it. You also took the soap and wrapped it around the cloth. “Because you deserve it. Let me finish washing myself and we can get out. What do you want for dinner?” “How about you being my dinner?” he asked mischievous into your ear, licking the earlobe as if to underline his want.

You giggled. “You are an awful man.” Jacob let loose a chuckle and took the washing cloth from your hands. “Let me do that, I’ll do it much better.” Armed with the rag, he began to slowly wander over your back. When he was done with it and washed the soap off your skin, he trailed kisses along your spine. He then pushed you back to his chest so he can also wash your front. Again, he worked slowly over your body and your breasts. Your husband made sure he doesn’t put too much pressure on you and sometimes he would caress your breats with his palms, even pinching your nipples now and then. He wanted to work you up, that much you could read into his actions. “I take it you’re trying to get me into bed.”

“And you can have your way with me, love. Emmett is out with a few friends. I doubt we’ll see him until late in the evening.” he said quietly. “Mh?” “It was his idea his parents needed some time for eachother.” now there was a full grin on his lips. You, on the other hand, began to get a little bit suspicious. “As long as he isn’t like you when you were young. Or else London’s got itself another Jacob Frye out there.” “Oi.” he gave you a offended look you knew he didn’t mean serious. “I wasn’t that bad, love.” “Keep telling yourself that.” you grinned. The next moment you turned around, so you could look at him more easily and leaned over him. A hand cradled his cheek as you kissed him, this time more passionate and deeper. “We should not waste time.” you whispered against his lips and scattered more over his face. “Enjoy.” you began to kiss down his neck and a hand wandered over his wet stomach to sneak underwater and find his waiting manhood.

Jacob was sure that he will do just that.

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