#though i was going for the maiming boots this week
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Nobody Has to Know | Chapter Two
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pairings: modern!brother’s best friend!Eddie x fem!Reader
summary: the next morning Eddie is adamant about ignoring you but that only lasts so long
author’s note: I think this is the longest chapter for anything I’ve ever written and I enjoyed writing it so much. There’s just something about Eddie lately. I hope you enjoy sweetness because next chapter will be a little sour 🖤 comments/reblogs and feedback is always so appreciated ! I want to hear from you 🫶🏻
w/c: 9.4k
warnings: cheating (technically not reader or Eddie), smut - oral (reader and Eddie receiving), fingering, discussions of trauma/injuries relating to a car accident
“Oh shit!”
Eddie could hear your worry as he rounded the corner. His heavy boots loud against the plastic tiled floor catching your attention.
The fear was vibrant in your eyes when you turned to him, a quiet cry for help and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.
The kettle in the popcorn machine was overfilled, smoke billowing from behind the glass doors as you stared in horror.
Charred pieces of popcorn fell into the vat, the burnt smell wafted around you and filled the air.
“Way to go Little Lipton,” he laughed and moved around you to turn off the machine.
“Alright,” he sighed heavily, “this one is going to be out of commission for a bit so we’ll need to make sure that one is always prepped with fresh kernels,” he tilted his chin to the only other popcorn machine and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.
“Out of commission?” Your voice rose an octave, face twisted in horror. His words raising alarm.
“Yeah,” he laughed as though his next words were obvious.
“We have to clean this one before we use it or all the other batches are going to taste like shit and that’s not the easiest or fastest task.”
“He’s going to kill me,” you groaned and dropped your head.
He being your manager and a major pain in your ass since the day you started working here. He wanted things a certain way; candies lined in a specific direction, cups displayed for the customers to see, popcorn made to perfection and not burnt until it turned to dust.
“Probably not kill, just maim,” Eddie shrugged with a crooked grin and stared down at you with amusement as you collected your thoughts.
“You never told me what to do if I burnt the kernels,” you abruptly looked up at him and swatted at his arm playfully.
“That’s because I told you not to overfill the kettle and never thought you’d ignore that tidbit,” he sighed dramatically, “guess that’s what I get for thinking.”
Reflexively he moved out of arm’s reach before you could do any serious damage.
Eddie enjoyed the way your lower lip jutted out, the way your forehead creased between your eyebrows when you were mad and fuck, were you pissed.
It had been nearly two weeks since you started working at Hawk Theater, trying to save up for the new camcorder you’d been eying, and Eddie had been assigned to train you.
Or his form of training which was a lot of “this is how they want us to do it but this is what works.”
The problem was that you’d been distracted.
It was the way his smile lifted to the side and the way he tied his long curls into a messy ponytail. And sometimes, the sun would shine through the glass and hit his eyes just right, making them look like molten honey.
You couldn’t help the nervous flutters that sprung when he was near, your childhood crush resurfacing with teeth and taking hold of you.
It made it hard to listen, to remember the instructions he told you like not to fill the kernels past the very obvious line or else.
He never expounded on the or else but negative consequences were heavily implied.
“You’re such a jerk,” you rebutted but the venom fell flat, the insult sounding endearing to Eddie’s ears.
“You already knew I was, sweetheart. Don’t know why you expected anything different now that you work with me,” he began cleaning out the popcorn machine. Dumping the burnt kernels into the trash can before adding the cleaning solution to the kettle.
Your heart was still fluttering, replaying the single pet name over and over again.
“Guess that’s what I get for thinking,” you mimicked him and began helping him clean so the two of you would be ready for opening in thirty minutes.
Eddie watched you from the corner of his eye, the way your gaze was lit with mischief as you teased him and he couldn’t help but smile to himself.
“Are you two trying to set this place on fire?” Mark Huntzberger, the manager, bellowed as he came down the stairs from his office eyeing the mess you had made.
He descended with a stern, critical eye that shifted over the concessions stand and back to you.
You couldn’t help the way you shrank under his scrutiny.
“I know this may just be some summer job to you, girl, but this is my livelihood. If you can’t get it together by the end of the week I will make sure this one fires you.” He turned his attention to Eddie whose face had gone flat, eyebrows set in a straight line. Jaw tensed.
“It was an honest mistake,” Eddie interjected.
“Clean it up,” Huntzberger ordered and disappeared into the ticket booth.
“Why did I think this was going to be easy or fun?” You questioned more to yourself than to Eddie, shoulders tensed.
You tied the trash bag containing the kernels and pulled it from the can.
“Because the town fuck up works here, how hard can it be?” He nudged you with a wink.
“Move over, Eddie. Someone’s about to take your place,” you giggled and walked towards the exit doors that led to the alley behind the cinema.
“Don’t do that, it’s the only thing I got going for me,” his grin grew wider as he followed behind you.
He was all self-deprecation all the time and you began to wonder how much of it he really believed. A pang of sadness twisted in your gut.
The summer air was suffocating with its humidity and the stench of spoiled food wafting from the dumpsters.
You began to lift the bag over your head when Eddie took it from you and hoisted it in the metal canister.
“Y’know it’s not true, Ed’s,” you began, looking up at him. Eyes squinted from the intensity of the sun.
“What’s not?” He questioned, leaning against the brick wall that hid the dumpsters from the rest of the alley.
“That you don’t have anything else going for you,” you cleared your throat, “you have lots of talents-“
“Ah, yes, I am known for my natural ability to annoy and antagonize,” he interrupted and you rolled your eyes.
“I’m being serious! I mean, I don’t know many people who can learn a new song on the guitar half as fast as you. Didn’t you learn Master of Puppets in like a week?”
You remembered that?
“And what about all the stuff you know about cars? Or the random tidbits about pop culture and music? You’re like an encyclopedia britannica,” you continued.
“For all things useless,” he corrected and you poked his side causing him to flinch away from your touch.
“I mean it!” You insisted, eyes wide. Endearing. The same look you got when you were excited about something and Eddie laughed, ears turning a shade of red from the attention you gave him.
“You’re just trying to flatter me so I don’t fire you,” he joked and you continued to look up at him with a dramatic bat of your eyes, inching closer.
“Is it working?” You retorted, exaggerating the breathiness of your voice.
“Flattery always works with me, sweetheart,” he winked and turned back to the building.
There it was again.
Your heart stopped, skipped, and started again as you willed your legs to move. You watched his retreating frame, eyes boring into the back of his head.
“You coming?” He didn’t stop walking and you took wide steps to catch up with him, walking in stride back to the theater.
Before you went back through the door you grabbed his arm, eyes pouring with sincerity.
“I meant what I said, Eds,” he looked at you with a questioning perk of his eyebrow.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” you swallowed hard and squeezed his arm before pulling open the door, the cold cinema air greeting you.
Eddie watched your retreating frame for a moment, a little taken aback, before following you to the concession stand.
The two of you fell into an easy silence as you worked.
You wiped the counters and finished cleaning the popcorn maker as instructed by Eddie while he set up the rope dividers in between each register, making sure things were organized just as Mark liked before the doors opened.
You were ready for the day; doors unlocked and fresh edible popcorn ready for the masses. A mass of moviegoers already lined up at the ticket booth.
The two of you rested against the counter waiting for the first customer to approach when he leaned over to you, warm breath fanning your ear.
“Thanks, (Y/N).”
It was the first time he said your name. Acknowledged you as something other than Little Lipton.
The first time Eddie saw you as more than just his best friend’s little sister.
Eddie clamored into his trailer, heavy boots dragging across the worn carpet as he trudged to the kitchen and swung open the fridge, grabbing a six-pack that was nearly gone.
He spread out on the couch and chugged one can before reaching for another, eyes darting around his home. Eddie had it to himself for the week, Uncle Wayne out on another cross-country drop-off, and now the silence engulfed him.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly as the seconds passed and his thoughts clashed with each other.
Eddie tried to keep his attention on the TV as you entered the room for the fourth time that afternoon and Rick shook his head.
“Dude, I think my sister might like you,” your brother laughed as you disappeared back into your room.
Eddie scoffed at his words but the thrum of his heart would’ve given him away if Rick could hear it.
“I’d never date your sister,” Eddie nudged his arm against Rick’s, eyes trained on the video game as he sniped an enemy target.
“Like I’d let you,” he chuckled.
Eddie’s brow twisted in confusion and it wasn’t lost on Rick when he turned to him to emphasize his point.
“Oh come on, I love you man but there’s no way in hell I’d let my sister date a guy like you.”
Eddie chuckled along with Rick to conceal the sting of his friend’s words
He knew all the things that people didn’t like about him. His hair, his tattoos. The bad reputation he’d more than earned but to hear it from his best friend made it sting more.
He wondered if you saw him that way; a loser with no future. Just the town freak and he promised he’d never put himself out there to know.
Eddie pressed his palm to his eye, Rick’s words reverberated off his skull as he grappled with the feelings he’d long ignored.
The feelings that had sprouted and made a home of him since the summer he worked with you.
Eddie could still feel your lips against his, the electricity that hummed in his veins and he wished it had lasted a moment longer.
He made a mistake, a huge mistake, and winced every time he thought about the look on your face when he pushed you back into the passenger seat.
Eddie knew if it went further you’d only regret it once the sun came up and you’d sobered up. Once the realization hit that you’d slept with the pariah of Hawkins and he couldn’t live with you seeing him that way, with you regretting him.
Not when he already saw it in so many eyes around town.
He wasn’t exactly someone you could take home, someone you could brag about or show off a picture of. He knew that much, had been told that much so he accepted it to be true.
When girls got with Eddie they expected fun, they expected drugs, and a quick hookup.
Some of them never talked to him again, pretended they didn’t know him when they ran into him and others told him that being with him made them realize they’d hit rock bottom.
God, he couldn’t handle you telling him that he was your rock bottom.
Eddie decided it was better to ignore it, to ignore you. Better to pretend it didn’t happen despite the way he felt to spare himself from the regret he knew you’d feel.
It was a rainy day, fat drops bouncing off the windshield as your father drove. Faster than usual. In a hurry but you didn’t know where to.
The air conditioner was off creating a layer of condensation on the windows, making your legs stick to the leather seats of your family’s beat-up station wagon.
You drew butterflies on the glass, finger tracing against the cool pane. Grin wide as your drawings exposed the gray of the sky, the way the dark clouds rolled against its expanse.
The low hum of Strawberry Fields Forever played over the radio but your parent’s voices were louder.
Angrier.
Your mom sniffled and you leaned up in your seat to see if she was crying, the length of her hair concealing her face from view.
“Mama,” you pushed against her seat with your sneakered foot but she didn’t respond.
“Jude, please pull over. I can drive.” Your mom insisted, tugging at your father’s arm but he shoved her off.
You unbuckled your seat belt and pulled at your mom’s shirt trying to get her attention.
“Mom.”
But your voice was cut off, muffled below the volume of the radio as your dad’s hand reached for the dial turning it until your ears rang.
You shrank back into your seat, lower lip jutted as you looked at them. No longer able to understand what your parents were saying, the scene in front of you a mix of gestures and twisted faces leaving you confused.
Your mother pulled on your dad’s arm again and he shoved her off, turning his head to look at her. Mouth wide as he spoke but you still couldn’t understand what he said.
Everything else became a blur of lights and pain.
Endless pain shooting from your leg and throughout your body.
Your cries wracked your body but were silent to your own ears.
The scene around you a mix of broken glass and lifeless eyes.
Then darkness.
You woke in a cold sweat, tank top clinging to your body uncomfortably.
Behind your eyes, your head pounded in a steady rhythm, one that matched the way your heart was racing. Bile began to rise to your throat, the nausea that always accompanied the nightmare.
The sting of your leg a reminder of the accident, of the pain from that day.
You pressed your palms into the skin of your thigh massaging the muscle marred by a thick scar that was a shade lighter than the rest of your flesh.
It ached like it just happened, like you were ten years old again trapped in that car and you groaned trying to bring yourself back to the present. Tried to ground yourself with the distant sound of the coffee maker and the smell of burnt toast.
Slowly you came back to the present, heart settling into a steady rhythm as you glanced around your room.
Sunlight streamed through your sheer curtains in brilliant rays, yellow hues painting your walls and highlighting the dust that danced through the air.
You threw your head back against the pillow, not ready to face the day. Images of the night before flooding your vision.
Simon and Rachel, her mouth pressed to his. The way she smiled up at him, held his hand.
The scene too familiar for a random drunken hook-up.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, rubbing until you saw swirls. Until you were reminded of Eddie’s stunned face as you sat in his lap, hands on his chest. The way he bucked into you.
The way he pushed you back into the passenger seat.
“Fucking idiot,” you groaned with embarrassment, pulling your pillow over your face as you let out a scream.
You stayed concealed under the pillow, contemplating jumping into the lake and disappearing altogether. Not ready to face Simon and Rachel. Or Eddie.
You flailed your body as another wave of embarrassment rolled through you, causing your pillow to fall from your face.
The incessant buzz of your phone caught your attention and you looked at its illuminated face. The screen full of notifications that you could see without grabbing it.
Hesitantly you reached for it, eyes pouring over all the texts.
11:55PM
Simon: Guess you decided not to come tonight?
12:00AM
Simon: helloooo?
12:23AM
Simon: so you’re just going to ignore me now cos I asked you to go out?
Simon: not like we can’t do date night another time, wanted to go have some fun for once
1:03AM
Simon: so you did show up
Simon: you left with MUNSON?
2:30AM
Simon: you’re really just going to ignore me?
2:33AM
Rachel: (Y/N)?
Rachel: Simon is really worried about you
7:49AM
Simon: We need to talk
8:36AM
Rachel: Text me when you’re awake
You swallowed the emotion that arose and wondered if their guilt had kept them awake, if it had eaten at them or settled into their chest. Felt whenever they breathed.
Were they even capable of that?
Slowly you pushed the sheets off the bed and forced your legs over the edge one by one until your feet were planted firmly in the plush carpet, your back still pressed against the mattress. Your phone forgotten, lost somewhere in your bedding.
You willed yourself off the mattress and clamored out your door, mind focused on getting a glass of water to cure your dry mouth.
The throb of your head returned and fuck, why did you drink so much last night?
The smell of burnt toast grew stronger as you stumbled down the hall causing your stomach to twist into knots and you could only assume it was your brother’s fault.
“Is it really that hard to cook toast, Rick?” You complained loudly as you reached for a glass on the top shelf and turned to the sink.
Blissfully unaware that there was a set of eyes on you, watching as you whistled and filled your glass to the brim. Foot tapping to a song that only you could hear.
Eddie watched you, a little petrified like a deer caught in the headlights.
He knew he’d see you, it was your house after all, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he’d see.
His eyes traced over your legs, focusing on the swell of your ass. Watching as you leaned over the sink to get a better view of the lake from the window, exposing just a glimpse of your ass cheeks.
And it’s like you knew what you were doing, knew that he was watching and driving him just a little bit insane.
He swallowed harshly, refocusing his attention back on his breakfast. Doing his best to ignore you like he planned.
“If it isn’t little miss sunshine,” your brother greeted, words dripping with sarcasm.
You turned around to mock him but stopped in your tracks, eyes practically bulging out of your skull when you noticed Eddie and you gripped your cup harder.
Had he been sitting there the whole time?
He quietly nibbled on a piece of bacon. Avoiding your eye contact entirely.
Your embarrassment flared and god, you wanted to crawl into a hole to disappear entirely.
Blinking rapidly, you shifted your gaze from his frame to Rick.
He situated himself at the table, grabbing a plate and shoveling food onto its surface. Eggs, bacon, and the incredibly burnt toast.
“Have work today?”
“Like I do every Saturday,” you shrugged, tone bored and doing your best not to glance at the metalhead out of the corner of your eye.
You took a sip of your water, focusing on the way its cool temperature slipped across your tongue. Focusing on anything else.
“I’m not going to be able to take you to work. Mrs. Wheeler needs me to take a look at her car and then I’m picking up some extra hours at the shop.”
You had yet to overcome your fear of driving, already having a hard time being a passenger in a car.
“Can’t mom take me?” you questioned but Rick’s head was already shaking as you spoke.
“The transmission is acting up in her car, need to look at it,” he stated around a mouth full of food.
“Then how is she getting to work?” You set your cup onto the counter sharper than you intended and folded your arms over your chest.
“She’s not, has one of her headaches again,” he gestured to his own head and shoveled more food into his mouth.
“That’s why I need the overtime and for you to go to work, we need the cash. Next deal isn’t coming in before the light bill is due.”
Your shoulders sagged, the constant stress of bills weighing heavy on you.
“I can just walk or get an uber,” you suggested with a tight smile, reaching over to grab a piece of bacon. The walk wasn’t that long.
“Your uber is already here,” he pointed to Eddie and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.
Not happening.
“I can just walk,” you reaffirmed quickly causing Eddie’s eyebrow to quirk.
“Why are you acting like such a brat?” You rolled your eyes.
“I’m not, just don’t want to make Eddie go out of his way for me.”
You unfolded your arms and gestured absently towards him.
It was mostly true anyway, you didn’t like the idea of returning to the scene of the crime or spending the twenty minutes it would take for him to drive you to work in awkward silence.
“He’s not, stop being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” you scoffed.
“Besides I can just ask Simon to give me a ride,” you shrugged nonchalantly, taking another bite of bacon. Rick didn’t need to know that you weren’t talking to Simon and definitely wouldn’t be getting a ride from him.
Eddie’s elbow settled against the wooden dining table as he watched you, the way you so easily lied to your brother.
“Jesus, fine, whatever.” Your brother raised his hand up to get you to shut up and chugged his orange juice.
You reached for another piece of bacon but this time off his plate. Rick reached for your hand, shaking the piece out of your grasp, and turned to you, face twisting in disgust when he noticed what you were wearing.
“Go put some clothes on before Eddie gauges his fucking eyes out.” He wiped his mouth and waved a dismissive hand at you, chuckling at his own joke before biting into the piece of bacon that you tried to steal.
Eddie chuckled along with your brother, his pale cheeks blossoming pink and you sneered at him.
“Oh, I’d really hate for him to do that,” your voice dripped with sarcasm as you rolled your eyes and disappeared back down the hall to your room.
You pressed your back against the wooden door, annoyance making a place in your chest and overtaking any embarrassment you’d previously felt.
No, Simon wouldn’t be giving you a ride but neither would Eddie. You’d rather risk showing up a sweaty mess than sit in a car alone with him.
What you hadn’t planned on was for it to start raining. One of Hawkins’ sporadic downpours graced the sky as autumn settled into its foliage.
The maple leaves had already started turning yellow, their brightness a contrast against the gray sky. The air smelled of the evergreens, the sharpness of their leaves mixing with the sweetness of the maple trees.
You took a deep breath as you continued your walk, the road feeling longer in the bad weather.
Your converse trudged through the mud splashing dirt onto the cuffs of your jeans. Your white assistant manager shirt clung to your skin leaving little to the imagination and you crossed your arms over your chest.
There was a small part of you that wished you had just taken the ride but there was a bigger part, the more prideful one, that was glad you hadn’t.
Not after the way he laughed at you, at the thought of even being attracted to you. When you’d just mauled him the night before and this would be the perfect time for lightning to strike you down.
To end your misery, the embarrassment clinging to you once again like your clothes did.
In the distance, you could hear a car approaching and you moved further into the dirt to avoid being hit hoping it wasn’t a creeper or a new serial killer looking for his next victim.
But it was worse.
It was Eddie.
Smiling at you from his rolled-down window, van driving slowly on the road's edge.
“Are you that fucking stubborn?” He asked, although he already knew the answer.
“Go away, Munson.”
You didn’t look at him, eyes focused on the road ahead.
“Simon a no-show, huh?”
You clicked your teeth, trying to appear nonchalant. Like the words didn’t dig at you.
“Doesn’t appear so.”
His shoulders sagged as you continued to ignore him, deciding to appeal to your sensible side instead.
“You’re going to get sick.”
“So?”
And why did he think you could be sensible?
He groaned and sped up only to stop the car just in front of you to block your path. You stopped in your tracks, listening as he climbed out of the driver’s seat and rounded the car.
“Are we really going to do this again?,” he questioned as he trudged toward you. Boots slamming into the mud. Curls a little wild when he looked at you.
“Do what?” You gave him an innocent smile, eyelashes batting dramatically.
Eddie closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Just get in the fucking car,” he stated through gritted teeth, his annoyance only making your grin widen.
“Sure you wouldn’t rather gauge your eyes out?” Your voice dropped low, mocking Rick’s tone. You dropped your smile, gaze a little cold as it met his before and you pushed past Eddie.
He threw his head back, face to the sky. Of course, you were pissed about that.
“I’m sorry, okay?” He turned to you, watching as you continued to walk away from him.
“For driving me home last night and making out with me or for laughing at me this morning?” You turned around and began to walk backward, arms lifting from your side. A little tired, a little defeated and you stopped beside his van waiting for his answer. Concealed from the rest of the road.
“Laughing at you,” his voice was earnest, “I didn’t mean it.”
You nodded, his words a salve to that wound but still, there was the mortifying way he pushed you away from him.
Eddie began to walk towards you, drawing closer. The scent of his cologne invading your senses.
“Sure you aren’t sorry about the making out part?” You questioned, eyes trained on his amber gaze as he approached.
He swallowed roughly and debated whether he should be honest and simply shook his head.
You shrugged your shoulders trying to appear flippant, to seem as though his reassurance didn’t affect you the way that it had. Heart hammering wildly, legs a little wobbly because Eddie Munson didn’t regret kissing you.
“Well that’s good, I’m glad neither of us regretted it,” you turned from him, missing the way his gaze lit up at your words. The reassurance that he needed.
“Now you can go on your merry way and pretend that you gave me a ride. I promise I won’t tell my brother that you didn’t.”
His hand was warm against your arm as he spun you to look at him.
Your shoes slid against the wet earth from the force and it was for a brief moment that you saw him before you crashed into the soft mud.
“Fuck-“ your curses were synchronized as you fell and pulled him atop of you, his weight causing you to groan from the sudden impact.
Eddie’s knee was slotted between your legs as he lifted his weight onto his forearms, brown gaze boring into your eyes. An apology on his lips when you began to laugh. Giggles filling the air around you.
You looked at the evidence of your fall, your white shirt was painted brown, ruined, and marred from the mud. Your hair was a mess of dirt that clung to your face.
Eddie was void of any dirt, the only evidence was the mud that soaked through the pants of his jeans and it was a little bit annoying.
Slowly you reached your finger up and slid it across his pale skin with a wide mischievous smile. Chuckling at the way his eyebrows married at your actions, the way his jaw jutted to this side and he shook his head.
“You brat,” he lifted a hand and attempted to copy your actions as you tried to wiggle away. His free hand stilled you, holding you by the waist his he dragged the other across your cheek.
His playful smile mirrored yours.
“You jerk, I have to get to work!” But your tone didn’t match the light in your eyes.
“I don’t think Huntzberger wants you hovering over the popcorn, let alone walking into the building, like this.”
His eyes roamed your body, noticing the way your nipples were pebbled against your shirt. The way your jeans hugged the flare of your hips as you squirmed beneath him.
Your breath hitched as he took you in, chest rising and falling at a quickened pace that wasn’t lost on Eddie.
“How much time do you have before work?” His voice was a little gruff, affected, and it took a moment for you to form a coherent thought.
Your eyes blinked rapidly, hands resting on his chest absently and you cleared your throat.
He lifted off of you and reached a hand to help you up but you pulled him down into the mud beside you.
“You little shit!” Eddie looked at himself, the mud that clung to his jacket and jeans.
“Oops,” you shrugged and leaned out of his way as he threw mud at you.
“I have like two hours,” you laughed, looking at him completely amused.
“How long did you think it was going to take you to walk?” He lay there defeated, chuckle matching yours.
“I don’t know, it was just in case-“
“In case what? You had to fight a pack of wood rats to get through?”
“Shut up,” you shoved his face from yours, mud caking his cheek.
Eddie gasped at the same time you did, realization dawning as he tackled you back into the mud.
It was like the whole world fell around you, ceasing to exist except for you and Eddie. His muddied face hovering above yours, long fingers digging into your sides as you wiggled away from him.
Your giggles filled the air and you pushed at his chest.
“Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tears sprang in your eyes as you pushed against his chest, dirt seeping further into your clothes as you lay there at his mercy.
“Say please,” he insisted and you shook your head, hands gripping his shirt,
For a moment he stopped, fingers stilled at your sides and he smiled at you mischievously. Face moving half an inch closer and your smile faltered briefly, gaze darting to his lips and back to his eyes. Their deep brown staring back at you, a light in them you hadn’t seen.
“You don’t regret it?” He questioned, needing reassurance. His breath fanning against your face.
You shook your head already knowing the “it” that he thought you regretted and he leaned closer, his lips a whisper above your own.
Shaky breaths mixing with yours.
Your heart skipped as you anticipated the first touch, your eyes fluttering closed.
Eddie pulled away, slowly. Hesitantly.
“Think we should get you back home,” he looked down at your dirtied clothes and chuckled, face hovering above yours and you tried to hide your disappointment as you nodded in agreement.
He pushed himself off of you wiping his hands along his jeans before stretching out his hand to help you up.
Your palm slid against his, caked dirt pressing against his warm hand and he pulled you against him. Sliding his hands down until they settled on your waist.
His nose traced yours as his fingers dug into your hips and he swallowed hard.
The composure he’d always managed to maintain quickly slipped away.
You tilted your face and ran a hand against his jaw, cupping his chin. Your thumb lazed against his stubbled flesh drawing circles in his skin.
“Fuck it,” Eddie’s lips pushed against yours.
The press of them made you gasp, just as soft as you remembered but more fervent than before.
His tongue pressed at the seam of your lips, swiping against yours when you opened for him.
He was sweet like spearmint and you hummed.
Exhilaration thrummed through you as you pulled him closer, arms wrapping around his neck.
Chest to chest.
Hearts synchronized, each beating at a rapid pace and you wanted the moment to stretch on.
For the kiss to never end.
Thunder cracked in the air and the two of you looked up at the darkened sky just as the rain began to fall.
Eddie looked back at you, dimpled grin wide as the first drop hit his cheek and you yelped when the first drops began to cascade against your cheeks.
He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, enjoying your surprised gasp. The way you instantly melted into his touch.
“Will you please get in the fucking car now?”
You nodded rapidly, your hand slipping into Eddie’s warm palm. Allowing him to pull you towards his van and into the passenger seat.
Your house was silent, the volume of your mother’s television low behind her bedroom door. Rick had long since left, his car missing from your driveway.
Slowly you tiptoed inside and pulled Eddie behind you like a teenager sneaking a random boy in. As though Eddie hadn’t been inside your house a million times before.
You slid the deadbolt into the door and turned to him with a wide grin, making his heart pulse with nervous energy.
His thoughts raced with uncertainty. Insecurity and god, what was he doing in his best friend’s house holding hands with his sister?
What if you didn’t regret it now but you did later?
Because you were bound to.
He was adamant you were.
Your lips made his thoughts dissipate, self-doubt replaced with a need he could no longer ignore. You both kicked off your muddy shoes, their soles landing with a soft thud against the tiled floor.
His smile grew under your kiss as you led him through the house and to the bathroom, legs moving backward as you tugged at his shirt.
Your back hit the wood of the door louder than expected and he broke apart from you, stilling to listen for any movement. His concentrated face made you giggle as you pulled him through and closed the door.
“Scared, Munson?” Your voice was teasing as you pushed him against the wooden frame and reached for the lock beside him. Twisting it until it latched.
Less than shy.
A little needy.
Challenging gaze trained on his as you pushed his leather jacket to the ground, grinning as it landed with a thud.
It was like a game, each of you teasing and feeling like you were about to explode.
He shook his head in response, crooked grin broad as he dipped his head closer to yours. Enjoying the way you leaned towards him instinctively already anticipating the moment his lips would be on yours.
“What was it you said last night?” His voice was gruff, eyebrow twitching up as he waited for your response.
You watched as Eddie traced his fingers up your arm, the warmth of them felt beneath your shirt. His pace was agonizingly slow as he created a trail to your face and rubbed an affectionate thumb against your cheek.
Your mind was swimming, eyes trained on his lips just inches from yours. Loud need surpassing any form of a coherent thought and he enjoyed how you were affected.
How you were a little dumb from just one kiss, from the press of his body against yours.
“Come on pretty girl, I know you remember,” his lips grazed against your cheek settling on the sensitive skin between your ear and your neck.
He pressed a kiss against the sensitive flesh, smiling as he felt your shudder.
“I said,” you swallowed and closed your eyes as he began to suck at your skin. The sensation driving you a little mad.
“Go on,” he instructed, breath warm against your ear.
“Nobody has to know,” your fingers tangled into his curls holding him against you. He hummed against your skin, tongue darting against the spot he just sucked.
“If you don’t want them to,” you finished, relishing the way his teeth grazed against your flesh. The way his warm breath made goose flesh sprout along your arms.
“Is that what you want?” He questioned heart hammering against his ribcage. The same self-doubt sprouting. A little mocking.
“I just want you.” He pulled away to look at you, brown eyes boring into your own. Measuring your sincerity. Not finding a hint of doubt. He swallowed hard and pressed a kiss to your lips, sucking your lower lip between his. The sensation making your toes curl and your hands tangle in his shirt.
It felt like there was electricity in the air, the hair on your arms standing on end as it buzzed around you.
The surface of his tongue dragged against your lip and you slid your own against his, matching his pace. He savored the way you tasted, swallowing your breathy moans as he led you further into the room until your ass pressed into the edge of your sink.
Eddie kissed the edge of your mouth, your jaw, your neck and lifted you to sit on the counter. Your small yelp made him smile against your skin as he pushed your collar aside and began to unbutton your shirt.
“Is this okay?” He asked, voice soft. Hands quickening as you nodded your response. The fabric dropped from your shoulders and into the sink, your breasts only concealed by the thin lace of your bra.
His cheeks blossomed red as he admired you, eyes trained on the bud of your nipples pressed against your bra and swallowed hard.
“You’re so beautiful,” his gaze met yours. Eddie’s voice sounded strained, as though he were struggling somehow and you began to push at the soft cotton of his black t-shirt. Running your hands at the patch of hair that led into his jeans up to his chest. Pushing his shirt up with your ascent and over his head, your teeth sinking into your lips as he stood before you. A new intimacy to the exposed skin you’d seen before.
It was your turn to make him shudder, to make goosebumps sprout as you dragged your fingertips down his abdomen and to his handcuff belt buckle.
Eddie’s eyes darkened as you unfastened it and tossed it aside, his fingertips tracing lines up your arms. Leaving behind a trail of electricity where they touched.
He lowered his head, breath warm against your skin as he placed kisses on your shoulder, peppering them up to your jaw.
He pulled at the straps of your bra and reached behind you for the clasp, unhooking it. Your bare breasts pressed to his chest, heat rising to deepen the color of your skin.
Eddie’s mouth was back on yours in an instant, kisses frenzied.
Need overpowering any thought as he made work of the button of your jeans while you made work of his with clumsy hands.
“Take these off,” you pushed at his chest and jumped from the counter to remove yours until you were in just your panties. Bare chest heaving with excitement.
His breath hitched at the sight of you, his hard arousal less restrained against the material of his boxers.
You kissed him again, slower. Deeper. Teeth grazing his lower lip as you stroked him over the thin material of his boxers. Smiling as he shuddered against your lips you pulled the rest of the material down.
Eddie’s hands dug into your skin as his hard cock sprang free against your stomach, the girth of it making your eyes snap open wide from the touch alone. Your pussy clenched as you thought of the stretch he would be and you needed him inside you.
He pushed your panties down until they fell to your ankles and walked you backward towards your shower, the cold of the glass door making you gasp as it touched your naked flesh.
Briefly, the two of you pulled apart.
Eddie’s pupils were blown, darkened by a different kind of hunger and breathing became difficult under his fixed gaze.
You began to stroke his hard dick rubbing your thumb against his tip, mouth-watering to have him pressed into your cheek as precum leaked down your hand.
Eddie swore he died and went to heaven as he watched you get down on your knees in front of him, your tongue dragging across the underside of his shaft.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, bucking when you wrapped your lips around his tip. Cheeks hollowed out as you teased him inch by inch until he was pressed against the back of your mouth. It felt like you were swallowing his dick the way you pulled him into your throat, gagging as you looked up at him. Slobber collecting around his cock and dripping down his balls.
His hands fisted in your hair, watching you bob up and down his cock, dragging your hand over his shaft as you did.
Eddie whispered your name and it only made you more needy for his cum, wanting to taste his warm load against your tongue.
“Baby, baby,” his grip on your hair tightened and you stilled, eyes looking up at him with your mouth still wrapped around his cock.
“I’m going to finish before we even get started if you keep doing that,” his voice was a little strained as you pulled back releasing his tip with a small pop.
“That’s okay,” you whispered as you continued to stroke him.
He shook his head and stilled your hand, fingers wrapping around your wrist.
“Not yet,” he lifted you up and kissed your swollen lips as he reached inside the shower to turn the hot water on, steam clouds quickly filling the room.
A small giggle escaped you as Eddie hoisted you up, fingers gripping your ass. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, hands twined around his shoulders as he carried you into the warm water.
Your fingers slipped into the curls at the nape his neck until his chest was pressed against yours.
Your mouths were frenetic, all teeth and tongue. An animalistic need that came over you.
His fingers gripped you tighter as you slid your wet arousal against his shaft. The tip of his cock teasing your tight entrance.
Eddie pulled away and groaned into your neck. Teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh and you moved your head to expose more of the skin to him.
His tongue slid against your pulse, feeling the way your heartbeat thrummed wildly underneath it.
You tangled your fingers into his curls bucking against him, sliding your slick folds against his length, enjoying the way his hands clutched your hips tighter. Trying to hold onto the last of his restraint.
“I don’t have a condom,” he whispered, and you stilled.
“There’s always next time,” you promised with a kiss and Eddie couldn’t believe there would be a next time.
His lips locked with yours as he unwrapped your legs from his waist, setting your shaky legs underneath you.
Agonizingly slow, his mouth trailed down your chest. Tongue swirling around your budded nipple. Pulling it into his mouth with a gentle suck.
Your head fell against the tiled wall, nails scraping at his back as he showed your other breast the same attention. Kneading the other with his free hand.
His kisses trailed down your sternum, tongue grazing against your abdomen. As he neared your mound he lifted your leg, hooking your knee over his shoulder.
Steam billowed around you and against the glass panes, separating the two of you from the rest of the world. Water rolled down Eddie’s back soaking into his hair as his tongue left an agonizing trail up your thigh until he reached your center.
You gasped at the first swipe of his tongue, bucking as he parted your sensitive flesh.
He took his time, lapping at your already dripping arousal. Humming as he tasted you.
“Sweetheart,” he groaned, returning to your thigh to press kisses into your skin. You tilted your head back against the wall, his affected voice playing in your head on a loop.
“I knew you’d be this sweet,” his voice was gruff, vibrating against your inner thigh as he sucked and bruised your skin before returning to your aching cunt.
His tongue darted in and out of your sopping pussy, enjoying the way your quiet moans reverberated off the walls.
The way you bit your lower lip to keep yourself from moaning louder.
He began to rub gentle circles against your bundle of nerves and it felt like your mind became void of thought, ears whirring with the sound of your beating heart.
You wrapped your fingers in Eddie’s hair to keep you grounded, almost losing balance as he pulled your clit into his mouth with a gentle suck.
He teased your slick folds with his finger, prodding your entrance. Gathering your slick arousal before slowly inching inside of you until your walls were wrapped around him.
Eddie’s finger curled inside of you, pressing against your spongy center. A spot you were never able to reach on your own.
It had you seeing stars, moans growing louder and you covered your mouth to muffle the noise.
He groaned, about to cum at the sight of your pleasure with you wrapped around his finger. Slowly he added another digit, stretching you until he was knuckle deep. Your juices dripped down his hand as he quickened his pace.
The lude squelching of your pussy made his eyes roll, his tongue darting quicker over your sensitive clit.
Your grasp on his hair tightened as you began to ride his face, chasing the release you needed.
You bit back your moan and glanced down at him.
Eddie Munson was on his knees in front of you, dark brown eyes watching you as you ground your pussy against his face. His curled fingers darting in and out of your cunt, mouth sucking your clit. Freehand keeping you spread apart for him.
You gripped his hair, pulling at his curls as you began to come undone. Eyes slammed shut, the pleasure deepening until it felt like your entire body was a live wire thrumming, unfurling at your center.
You moaned his name over and over, the only word you knew how to say. No longer able to form a coherent thought as your pussy pulsed with the strength of your orgasm and Eddie didn’t move. Lapping at your release, relishing at the way you tasted as you coated his tongue.
He removed his fingers from you steadily, pressing kisses gingerly to your inner thigh, your abdomen, and up to your breasts until he was standing over you.
Eddie peppered a trail of kisses along your neck and up your cheek until his lips were pressed against yours.
You hummed as you tasted your release on his tongue, dragging your nails up his abdomen and to his chest. Enjoying the way his muscles tensed under your touch.
“Eddie,” you whispered his nickname between kisses, eyes still closed as his mouth worked against yours but your lungs were desperate for oxygen. Burning for a reprieve.
You pulled away slightly and peeked up at him through your lashes. Lungs constricting for a different reason. Obsidian eyes framed by long lashes looked back at you with an intensity that made you swallow harshly. Eyebrow pointed up as he waited for you to continue, to tell him what you’d planned to say.
His face was framed by his dark wet curls as they clung to him, porcelain skin blossoming a rosy pink from the temperature of the water, and holy, Eddie Munson was beautiful.
The kind that made your heart stutter, stop, and start again.
The kind that could have you dedicate paragraphs and soliloquies to describing the intensity of his gaze, the effect of his crooked smile.
The kind that had you staring at his lips, a little dazed and you could blame it on the world-altering orgasm. Could blame it as a side effect of the billowing steam around you. A little suffocating in its intensity.
“Yes, sweetheart?” His gruff voice broke through the silence, your train of thought, nose rubbing against yours and you crooned. Needy hands pushed at his chest and spun him around until his back was the one pressed against the wall.
Your fingers created a trail back down his abdomen and through the patch of hair that led to his cock.
“It’s my turn,” you whispered against his lips and began to stroke his length.
His jaw went a little slack, gaze trained on your teasing smile.
Watching the way you created circles against his tip, your other hand massaging his balls.
You pressed a quick kiss to his lips and began a trail over his jaw, settling on the sensitive skin of his neck.
Your tongue grazed his skin, enjoying the way his dick twitched in your hand as you began to nibble gently. Sucking the sensitive spot into a bruise. Eddie groaned, head tilted against the wall as his hands explored your body. Caressing your tits, pinching your nipples between his fingers.
His hands moved to your hips as you trailed down his chest, kisses peppered down until just above his cock. You watched him from above your eyelashes, gaze trained on the dazed look in his eye as you dragged your tongue along his shaft. Swirling it along the top, the taste of precum salty against your tongue. You moaned at his taste, eager for him to coat your throat in his release.
Your head bobbed an inch and off again, teasing. A wicked smile on your lips when you looked up at him.
Eddie was on the brink of destruction, about to explode from the sight of you on your knees once again and this time he wouldn’t last.
“Such a fucking tease,” he grunted, fingers rubbing the side of your mouth. Tugging until you opened wider for him. He pushed his thumb in, groaning when your tongue swiped his finger. Sucked on it, releasing it with a loud pop. He rubbed your drool against your lips, watching it bounce back into place and you were back on his cock again. Not allowing him a moment longer to think as you sucked viciously on the tip while you fondled his balls.
Eddie’s moans grew louder and you clenched your legs together, aching for him to stretch you. The image of him pumping into you spurred you to take him deeper and you pulled him further into your mouth, cheeks hollowed out as you took him inch by inch until he was hitting the back of your throat.
He knotted his fingers into your hair, guiding your head up and down as you began to increase your pace. Until he was fucking your face. You concentrated on breathing through your nose, your tongue swirling while your hand gripped him. Stroking in sync with the movement of your head. Slobber coating his pubes and dripping down his balls.
“Holy fucking shit,” he cursed, listening as you gagged around his dick and it felt like you were swallowing him whole.
“I-I’m gonna come,” Eddie stammered, voice strained. You hummed against his cock, needy for him to finish. He pumped one more time until he was spilling into your mouth, warm come hit the back of your throat.
You continued to suck on his cock, milking every drop out of him. Ascending to his tip to lick him clean, enjoying the way his tangy spent tasted against your tongue.
Eddie’s body turned rosy, goosebumps breaking along his flesh. The orgasm rolling through him, felt deep in his gut and he swallowed the deep groan stuck in his throat.
His fingers were still twisted in your hair and slowly he released his tight grip, eyes opening to see you still on your knees trailing kisses over his softening arousal and back up his torso.
You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him as if this wasn’t your first time together. Comfortable, shyness tucked away somewhere and hidden from sight.
“Hi,” you smiled at him fondly, voice softer than when you first entered the room. Eddie rubbed an affectionate thumb against the apple of your cheek, fondness evident behind his half-hooded eyes.
“Hi,” he whispered back and held you close, pecking a soft kiss against your lips. Fast as if it were a habit.
The two of you stood there, warm water hitting your back. Shrouded in steam and under the after-sex glow. The kind of glow that painted Eddie’s cheeks a permanent shade of pink and you didn’t think he could look any cuter.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be late to work,” you giggled. Not eager to move, unsure of what would happen once you did.
“Shit, I forgot that’s why we came back,” he laughed with you. This morning’s conversation felt like eons ago.
“‘S’okay,” you grinned, “Mark will be fine without his AM for a bit. Just need to get cleaned up.” You began to push off his chest but Eddie held you there and reached over for the bottle of shampoo.
“I can help you get cleaned up,” he offered, already reaching around you and putting too much shampoo onto his palm before you could respond. He rubbed it between his hands before massaging it into your scalp.
The smell of coconuts mixed with a floral scent filled the air as you mulled, enjoying the way his fingers felt in your hair.
“Oh my god-” you groaned, neck relaxing into his touch. Eddie chortled, enjoying the way that you melted into him even more.
“Does that feel good?”
“Munson, did I ever mention how talented you are with your hands?”
“I think you may have given me a hint,” he retorted, heavy on the innuendos and you slapped his chest lightly.
“Something about my mouth too,” he added, moving only slightly as you lifted your hand to swat him once more. His fingers still rubbing against your scalp, suds forming and lifting into the air.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered into his neck and his grin grew.
“Little Lipton thinks I’m cute,” he mused but your smile faltered as you pulled away from him. He looked at you quizzically, sudsy hands dropping from your scalp.
“What is it?”
You pressed your palm to his chest, putting space between the two of you. Taking a deep breath.
“I’m not Little Lipton,” you sighed, drawing invisible circles into his skin.
“Or Speilberg.” You rolled your eyes because as much as you hated, or pretended to hate, that nickname there was a part of you that felt a certain fondness for it. However small.
“It’s (Y/N),” you swallowed, “I want you to call me by name.”
He nodded but you didn’t look at him, eyes focused on the constellation of freckles that dotted his chest. The tattoo he let your brother do several years ago.
Eddie pushed your chin up so you’d look at him. At the sincerity that hid behind molten honey.
“(Y/N),” he whispered, your name never sounding any sweeter, and pressed a kiss to your lips.
“Eddie,” and he never realized that his name could ever sound saccharine on someone’s tongue. How it would be to hear it wrapped in affection. A hint of budding adoration.
He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, to the tip of your nose before gently pushing your back into the water to rinse the shampoo from it.
-
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Storm's End
HOTD MASTERLIST
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader
Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you
Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, mention's of children maiming, mentions of virginity loss and blood. READER MIGHT BE DEAD, OR MAYBE DEPENDS, COMPLETELY UP TO YOU, dragon's death though :(
+18 MINORS DNI
Wordcount: 3.5 k
Notes: I know this has been done before, but… this is my way to look at it. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra, she sends you to Storm’s End instead of Luke, and this is what ensues
You know you should have turned back the moment your dragon took flight away from Dragonstone.
There was something in the air
Grandmother Rhaenys, and your dear brothers flying by your side soothed you, made you remember you were not alone, but they soon parted way with you, Jace went North, as did Lucerys, Rhaenys went west, and you continued south
Towards Storm’s End
Those stormy clouds in the horizon must have been your first dark omen, but you didn’t pay attention to them, or to anything else really
Your mind was set
You had begged your mother to let you helped her, so she send you to the closest place, a short fly, a message delivered, and then you could return.
But what were you going to say?
you wanted to believe your mother’s words, that Lord Borros was going to be honored to receive you there, you were a young princess, no real threat, only a messenger, he was going to respect you, you were going to say your piece, and then you were going to take his answer back to your mother, as easy as that.
You held tightly onto your dragon’s reins as you flew amidst a cloud with rain within, getting you drenched within second
Karnax, under you, roared softly, feeling your uneasiness, trying to make you feel safer, and you did.
It was not relief what you felt when you saw the tall tower of Storm’s End in the horizon, it actually felt like your stomach had turned on itself, but that is the second sign you decided to ignore
Karnax was small, bigger than Arrax and a bit than Vermax, but he was still small enough to land in the outer courtyard, and you did
Your saddle was wet, and you slid right off of it, landing heavily with your boots in the ground.
You jumped when the light of a thunder brightened the sky for just a second, and then moments later the thunderous sound made the floor shake.
Karnax whined when you touched him, trying to soothe him, he was nervous, and soon you learnt why
Another, even louder, more monstrous sound made you flinch, and when you looked over the huge defensive walls of the castle, there she was. Vhagar raised her head, dwarfing the constructions covering her, growling as a warning.
She was indeed the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world
And she was here
That means that Aemond was also
Probably doing the same thing as you, trying to rally Lord Borros to his cause, to his side
To the Usurpers
The prospect of seeing your uncle made you tremble in fear, you had always been afraid of him, ever since he lost his eye, even more so after the last time you saw him
You have eavesdropped a conversation in which he had asked for your hand in marriage and Rhaenyra had crudely rejected him, he did not reacted well
It did not help that it was the same day of the Driftmark trials
He had frighten you so much your mother send you back the same night, only a few weeks away
“Sobes Karnax, Lykyri”, you whispered soothingly, patting her snout, he whined, worried, but it was too late now, you couldn’t back down, you wondered if you were trying to calm him, or expected that he would sooth you back.
So ignoring your body, mind, heart, soul, dragons, the weather and everything in existence around you, you decided to walk towards the guards guarding the entrance to the Castle
“I have a message for Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra”, you said quickly, before you lose your momentum, they barely nodded and started walking, you followed suit, trying to fix your drenched clothes
The Storm had catched up with you.
You could still hear it raging behind you as you entered the main hall of the castle of the Baratheons, you had never been here before, and it amazed you the immensity of it, it was rounded and at least three stories tall, ending in a huge vault over your heads, front here you could see multiple passages leading to the rest of the construction, but you could look no more
“The Princess (Y/N) Velaryon”, presented the guard, “Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen”
Queen
You thought bitterly, as you found Lord Borros seated on his throne.
But your gaze was immediately taken away
Aemond
He stood at the side of the throne, standing straight by one of Borros’ daughters, as he heard your name he immediately turned
He looked dangerous
Dresses head to toe in black leather, his hair combed perfectly, the eyepatch cutting his face in half
You wondered if he could notice you trembling from that far
You guessed he could since he looked terribly amused at your presence, his naturally curved lips smirked.
But you didn't came here for him, you turned your gaze towards to the Lord of the Stormlands
“Lord Borros, I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen”, you didn’t realize you had a stone inside your throat until now, almost choking in our own words, you were thankful for the acoustic of the place or else nobody could have heard you
“Yet early this day I received an envoy from the king”, he said then, “so which is it? King or Queen? the House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it”, he was already crossed with someone or something and you cursed yourself for being so weak, sounded so pathetically
And then he laughed at his own joke and you shook, perhaps he was laughing at you
You looked fleetingly at Aemond
Perhaps to make sure he stood where he was
He frightened you
You begged the gods to make him stay there, as he stood, unmovable like the statues of Dragonstone
“What’s your mother’s message?”, the Lord of Storm’s End did not take well to your distraction, so you tried your best to reach with your arm and this one not to shake, to prove to everyone there, to Lord Borro’s daughters, him, your uncle, and the court, how scared you were
A soldier took your message hastily and gave it to the Lord
He sighed, frustrated, and call in the maester
In a silly second you thought fleetingly of your brother’s giggles when you tell them the rumors were true and indeed Lord Borros didn’t know how to read, you remembered fleetingly that you suggested it was because he had hit himself many times on the head while jousting
But you shook those thoughts away, when you felt the small hairs in the back of your hair stand up, as Aemond’s deep gaze was on you
For a second, only the wind making the stones whistle as sing could be heard, and then the ruffling of paper the maester made while reading the letter.
Your uncle’s gaze didn’t leave you for a second, so you tried to look away from him, only stealing glances to make sure he hadn't move
That he was still several feet away from you, with people in between you
You didn't want him near you
He frightened you
He hated you
You knew this
“Remind me of my father’s oaths?”, asked Borros, enraged, you turned to look at him, scared, “King Aegon at least came with an offer, my banners and swords for a marriage pact”
Poor girl, you thought briefly
“If I do what your mother bids, who of my household will you marry, girl? uh?”
“My lord…”, you could turn this around, you could, you needed to try, to explain, to plead to his honor, “I’m not free to marry, I’m already betrothed to Cregan Stark”, you said, and you were not completely lying, your big brother was flying North now with the proposal in his hand
Aemond hummed mockingly at your words, so your gaze landed on him again.
He still was amused, even more so now, you shook in your place, trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds
“So you come with empty hands”, said Borros, more angry than before, “go home pup, and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up in need to set against her enemies”, he said rapidly
You had failed
You tried to swallow your tears as the stone in your throat but you just couldn’t do it
“I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord”, you whimpered, and when you looked at the pity in the daughters’ faces you realized your voice did sounded broken and defeated
Weak
You turned to leave, sad because you failed, but relieved that this had come to an end
“Wait”, you trembled in your place, stopping immediately at your uncle’s call.
You turned slowly, fearfully, to look back at him
“My lady Strong”
You whimpered
“Uncle?’, you were acknowledging him, but it sounded more like a question
Weak
“Did you really think you could just fly upon the realms, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”
You are the thieves
But the words never reached your lips, instead you wanted to hide your head between your shoulders, almost feeling ashamed
That much power Aemond had over you, the power to make you feel like you were in the wrong, and he was in the right
Ever since that night
When your little brother took his eye
The girl by his side took a step back, like giving him space, and that made you take a step back, less and less things could protect you from your uncle, your hand instinctively went to the pommel of the short sword your stepfather Daemon had begged you to carry, you didn’t know how to use it, but nonetheless… it couldn’t hurt
“I will not fight with you uncle, I came as a messenger”, you said, your voice, again, broken, weak, with fear and sadness
You had failed
“A fight would be little challenge”, he said dismissively
“I’m aware”, you admitted, if it came to blows, you stood no chance against his incredible skill with the sword, even if you meant a fight with words filled with poison
“No…”, his hand went to his eyepatch, and form one single movement he took it out of his face, revealing a sapphire where his eyeball should be
You whimpered, taking a step back
It had taken you by surprise, not that you found him monstrous, or anything, it was just… incredible
“...You brother is indebted to me”
You really wished, in the bottom of your heart, that he would have let this go, if not for your brother, for himself, but he didn’t he hasn't, and that made him so incredible dark, resentful, twisted and mean
And that is what you were most afraid of
“It was an accident…”
“I want you to pay instead”, you whined, taking a step back
“I have nothing…”
“A small payment in blood will suffice…”, you looked at Lord Borros, alarmed, he clearly was not meant for THAT, did he? Did he plan on slaying you there where you stood?, in front of all this people?
“...I will not breed you”, a single tear escaped your eye at his crude words, “I plan on gifting our bloodied sheets to your mother”, you looked back at the Lord of Storm’s End and he looked back at you, concerned
This was the man supposed to wed one of his daughters
“No!”, you cried, in defense of yourself
“So you are a craven as well as a traitor, as your brothers…”
“Not here!”, Borros finally intervened, but still you could not breathe, you were terrified
You never wanted to believe the gazes your uncle gave you were ones of desire, and dark intentions of bedding you, you never thought…
“GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE YOU BASTARD!”, you shrieked as he advanced on you with certain and long steps, you stumbled backwards trying to prevent him getting near you
“NOT IN MY HALL!”, the thunderous voice of Borros made him stop in his tracks, “the girl came as an envoy, I will not have bloodshed of any kind beneath my roof”
Lord Borros’ words came of little comfort, not when your uncle had taken a dagger of his belt and was threatening you with it, the storm outside, the lightning made his sapphire gleam meanly
“Take the princess back to her dragon, now!”, commanded Lord Borros and you, giving a titanic effort, managed to walk (and not sprint at high speed) out of the hall
Aemond watched you go and smirked, making the dagger dance in his hand
You were his to take
He looked back at the girl he had begun to court to notice she was far away from him now, clearly scared of him
“I will be back shortly to resume negotiations”, he said meanly
“Don’t bother”, said Floris, standing now next to a guard, she would not like to be courted by him now, “I’m not interested in a man that is pure bark and no bite”
When you stepped outside, the storm was raging, you were drenched in second, wet from head to toes, but you couldn’t paid no mind to such things now
Karnax felt your fear, how frightening you were and he advanced towards you whining and growling desperate
“Lykiri Karnax” [calm], “gūrogon īlva hen kesīr” [take us out of here]
Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, you let your tears fall freely now that nobody could notice nor see you, another Lightning broke the skies from afar and when you turned…
Vhagar was gone
There was no way he could have left before you, it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible
He was in negotiations with the Baratheons, you had to go, so he wouldn’t catch you.
You thought he was going to let you be, because it had been your brother who took his eye, not you
Oh how wrong you were
“Why?”, you cried, trying to make sense of it all as you climbed onto your dragon’s saddle, “Sobes, Karnax”, you called, he growled but obeyed you, he also wanted to get out of here.
You needed to get back to your mother, to Dragonstone, to your brothers and stepfather, they needed you, but you somehow knew that wasn’t going to be possible, a crippling fear took a hold in your body, you felt like you could barely move, your body being so tense.
The rain hit your face with strength, the highers you flied, you only secured your staps tightly and held into your reins hardly
Karnax flapped his wings with difficulty, but he succeeded in keep flying, you wanted to relax, you were flying away from Storm’s End, the Baratheons, your uncle, everyone, but something told you it wasn’t going to be that easy
You wanted Karnax to fly faster, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach
You whimpered in fear
something was wrong, terribly wrong
You felt a low growl coming from above and you cried, lowering your head, not wanting to face it, face him, and what he was going to do to you once he had you within his grasp
He was coming for you
And the moment you took to the skies, you raised the bet, he was not simply going to take you now, he couldn't not flying like this...
He rode the largest dragon in the world and you one of the smallest
You grabbed into your reigns and hoped Karnax would fly faster, but you couldn’t ask more of him of what you were already asking
You gained the courage to look up and you got a glimpse of a large looming shadow over you
Why?, you whimpered, crying harder, and Karnax growled
Why you?, you loved him once, you were friends, you played, and read together as kids, you had promised you could share little Karnax, and he had agreed.
But he got his own dragon, the largest in the world, and from that moment he pushed you aside and called you a bastard despite your Targaryen features and the fact that he had never called you that
He almost killed your brothers and then Luke took his eye.
After what transcurred in Driftmark with the Queen and your mom Aemond had come to your room in the hour of the bat, you woke up with a knife in your cheek and him over you, his hand in your throat
You never knew why he had come to your chambers and not luke’s or jace’s
He always knew you were the weakest one
You were a woman, he was a man
You looked ahead and shrieked once again when you saw Vhagar coming at you amongst the dark stormy clouds, at full speed
“NO!”, she changed her trajectory, going up in the last second, her feet and claws passing right by you, you could even feel them passing right by your head
Please
You were going to die
You could hear Aemond’s laugh, ricocheting amongst the clouds
He was amused by you
He hated you
And now he was going to kill you.
Karnax growled, scared too out of his mind, you could feel him, deep in your gut, the pure and sheer instinct to fight or fly kicking in, and both of you opting for the latter
just when you thought you had lost him, you heard the flap of huge wings behind you, you turned to look, and Vhagar huge open jaws appeared trough the storm, ready to swallow you whole.
But Karnax was fast, and Vhagar liked to play with her food
“I see you!”, you heard from behind, and the sound that Vhagar’s jaws made when they close grabbing into thin air made your skin prickle, “Libōnos”, [bastard]
Your body was tense as a bow, you could barely feel your legs that were tightened around your saddle, the water, despite your leather cape, has got under the clothes, and froze you all over, that you felt like you were made of ice, you could barely move, your fingers were not going to survive this even if you did
Vhagar was still behind you as you commanded your dragon to fly downwards, to gain speed
You made him turn and twist in the air, but to no avail, the monstrous Vhagar had her eyes set on her prey and she was not going to let go, you use your whole body and strength to pull her to make her change her trajectory from one moment to another, she might be bigger, but you were faster
Deep down you knew it was all going to be for nothing
He was coming for you
He hated you
And you could hear his sick laugh as he was laughing in your ear
You soon could make out the sea under you and as you looked to your left there was a cliff splitted in two, a risk in the middle, you had a change, you might be able to flight in between, but Vhagar wouldn’t
Your dragon read your mind and went there, seeking refuge
It has worked, you looked back to see VHagar fighting to make her heavy body fly upwards, your uncle’s grunts cut trough the air reaching you, it was insane
He was insane
He had a grudge for 8 years, boiling and simmering in rage, anger, and sadness, and you were the one that was going to get the worst of it
You felt relieved even, that it was you and not sweet Lucerys
Better you than him
“JĒMELÃ GÊLŸNI ENKÂ!”, he screamed [you owe me a debt], “BYKA!”, little one
Karnax flied diligently through the cliffs and rocks, you looked up and he was still there, chasing you, looming over you
“I lied!”, you heard then, “I will give you my bastard”, a pain spread through your chest, all your sorrow, pain, fear, exploding, taking a hold on your body, preventing you from breathing properly, even with the skies falling upon your head, with your life in your uncle’s hands.
You screamed when Karnax again flew in open skies as the protection of the cliff was taken away. It was a scream of agony, frustration, and fear
Oh so much fear
But the gods, or whomever, granted you a small mercy, the clouds were thick and the sea was a few feet under you, they concealed you from your predator chasing you.
You took a shaky, long breath, despite the lump in your throat present since you left Dragonstone
You needed to get yourself together
Keep flying North, soon the skies will clear, you couldn’t let fear control you….
Fear
The last thing you heard was Vhagar growling, and Karnax high screeched when the biggest dragon in the world sank her teeth in him, catching his legs and tail, completely destroying him.
“AH!”, you barely got a scream yourself, she didn’t catch you, but so did half your dragon, now dead.
“VHAGAR! NO! NO VHAGAR!”, is the last thing you heard
The next?
The white noise of water, all around you, the cold grasping you, hugging you tightly, not letting you move as the water moved around you taking you prisoner
For better or worse, Vhagar’s had completely destroyed the saddle, releasing you, and now you were there, by a gift or a curse from the gods, amongst the dark tides of Shipwreck bay, sinking slowly, finally you didn’t feel more fear, only the instinct to survive.
You were a true Velaryon at last.
#misguidedhouse#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x alys rivers#aemond x oc#aemond targaryen#misguidedhotd#house of the dragon#hbo house of the dragon#house targaryen#targaryen!reader#aemond one eye#aemond x reader#hotd aemond#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#house of the dragon aemond
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How do you think the boys would react upon hearing that Leander got so frustrated with MC turning him down (yet again) and cast the eat slugs curse at her?
My opinions for this definitely change with my mood, and I'm absolutely projecting on MC here. I put Ominis, Sebastian, and Garreth and kept it p gender neutral
i rant forever so it's under the cut
Ominis:
His initial reaction to hearing about the whole incident was to make sure MC was okay. Eat Slugs does go away after awhile, but it's uncomfortable, and Ominis also can't stand that sort of incel behaviour tbh.
He's mad and wants to defend them, but he trusts MC to do what they need to and he will be there for whatever they choose to do.
if Ominis was present at the time of the hex he would prevent MC from maiming and/or killing Leander. MC can beat him up and hospitalize him, but NO cut off limbs and no murder!
Ominis would show up to the hospital wing with a package of the best-selling fudge from Honeydukes to visit Leander while he lay in his recovery bed from the absolute shit-kicking that MC gave him.
Like, MC would not stand for that disrespect and MC is the superior duelist and would pulverize his ass even though they're burping up slugs.
Leander would be so surprised to see him as Ominis sat down beside the bed and opened up the box of fudge.
Ominis would ask how he's feeling, before taking a bite out of the fudge and setting it back in the box.
Leander tells him he's still in pain, MC really kicked his ass.
Ominis offers his most insincere condolences and picks up another piece of fudge and takes a bite out of it before putting it back.
Nurse Blainey comes by, Ominis offers her a piece of fudge. She takes one and leaves.
Not once does he offer Leander a piece of fudge, he just keeps taking bites out of individual pieces and putting them back until he's taken a bite out of all of them while making barbed quips to Leander.
Ominis genuinely just showed up to gloat over Leander's pain, eat some of his favourite fudge in his face, and then leave to rub some salt in the wound.
It works, with Leander genuinely upset at being insulted and the fudge being thrown out.
Honestly it's very sexy of Ominis to kick a man while he's down.
Sebastian:
Sebastian would want to immediately track down Leander and throw him off the Astronomy tower he's killed once what does one more body really mean?
Despite his blood boiling furiously, Sebastian goes to find MC and make sure they're alright first.
It surprises MC who was certain Leander was a dead man walking.
He stays with them while the hex runs its course, and then when MC finally stops throwing up slugs he returns them safely to their common room and goes on the hunt.
Leander, unfortunately, had good enough sense to anticipate Sebastian. He's made a point to remain in well-populated areas, in his common room, or the professors were keeping him quite busy in detention for hexing MC.
So, Sebastian plays Madame Scribner like a fucking fiddle and earns his way into detention himself.
This risk ends up working out, when Leander and Sebastian are assigned to clean the trophy room together.
Leander shakes in his boots the entire time, anticipating Sebastian's inevitable murder attempt.
It's the longest 2 hours of his life. Sebastian just keeps staring at him, but since Mr. Moon sticks around there's nothing he can do.
Their detention ends, and just as Moon leaves Sebastian slams Leander against the wall with his wand at Leander's throat.
He threatens Leander, letting him know that if he so much as looks at MC from now on he'll have to answer to Sebastian.
Sebastian promised MC he wouldn't physically harm Leander, who just wanted to put the entire event behind them. Deep down
Sebastian knew that MC could defend themselves, but he liked being protective of them.
and then like 3 weeks later MC is paired with Leander for a class project and Leander has a crisis over it lmao
Garreth:
He'd just beat the shit out of Leander. Like, with his fists.
Garreth's got siblings, the man can throw a punch (source: i have sibling).
Garreth's a really sweet guy, but even warm and friendly people can reach their limit. Garreth's limit just so happens to be MC getting hurt in some sort of way.
He's unbelievably pissed that it was his friend and fellow Gryffindor who happened to cast the hex - and for Leander to have cast it because he was rejected by someone who had repeatedly told him they weren't interested? Mmmmmmm no thank you sir.
Garreth doesn't make Leander wait for anything, he doesn't toy with him, he just kicks the hell out of him and tells him to smarten up.
It's a short and sweet way of dealing with it, and honestly very on brand for both stereotypical boys and Gryffindors.
Quick, easy, and done. Leander ends up apologizing to MC and swears he won't bother them like that anymore.
He seems genuinely remorseful, but MC does avoid him for quite a long time. If he wants to prove himself, he's got to do it slowly.
Leander absolutely learned his lesson.
Garreth can hit really hard.
MC doesn't really mind Garreth's reaction, in fact they find it pretty amusing to find Leander with a black eye the next day.
#maybe just maybe i'll extend things like this into actual one-shots#reni answered#anonymous ask#i love these tho it's a lot of fun#hogwarts legacy headcanons#my headcanons#hot take: Leander is adorable and I want to protect him#he's himbo material your honour#do i tag these?#garreth weasley#sebastian sallow#ominis gaunt
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Refined Bloodlust Amongst The Bourgeoisie
"Come with me! All frogs, join me! Come along, are any of you government officials? If you are, raise a hand!"
A bullywug woman sets down her quill and peers out of her window. "Why, Ribbert, it looks as though there's some sort of parade going on outside!"
"Really, Flyletta? Let me see- oh my! And what a strange creature leading the way!"
"And calling out for government officials as well, oh do you think it's finally time for the execution- I-I mean, trial by combat?"
"Surely so! Let us grab our coats and hurry out, with a being like that leading the procession we're sure to have a very exciting combat in store for us!"
"Oooooh, marvelous! I'll grab my finest doily in case we get a seat in the splash zone!"
It's not too long a walk, though Ribbert and Flyletta do hustle along. They're not able to grab splash-zone seats, much to their disappointment, but they get a good enough view with their tiny binoculars on sticks from where they sit.
"Oh, goodness, what is that?" Flyletta croaks out in disgust. "Did they put a few rabbitfolk corpses together and stick them in a referee shirt?"
Ribbert leans forward and narrows his eyes as he peers through the binoculars. "No, no I believe that must be a... a clump of old dead swamp grass that was tossed into the water for a few days. Oh, jebus, it moved!"
"It looks in pain! Do you think it's a cursed creature?"
"Oh, of course it is. But someone's given it enough Witchlight to last us a week."
"Oh. ... Oh, dear, Ribbert, do you see the combatants?! One is on fire! My, Gullup may have the most exciting reign yet!"
"But look at the other. It's just a clown! This will over in moments, do you see the size of that very red man?"
"But won't it be fun to see the clown squished into jelly beneath such a handsome man's boots?"
"Mmm... he is quite handsome. But we won't be able to see the blood on him other than his clothes."
"Oh, you and your bloody men thing. There will be plenty, I'm sure."
"Oh, they're huddling, they're huddling. It's starting soon, Flyletta wave one of the vendors over before it truly begins!"
"FROGGY'S AND TOAD PEOPLE!"
"Oh, swamp gas. We'll grab something during the show I suppose."
"Let's wait until the intermission, Ribbert, you choked last time after laughing at one of the maimings."
"Ah, good point. What would I do without you, my dear?"
"ARE YOU READY TO SEE A BLOOD BATH?"
Ribbert and Flyletta cheer with the rest of the uproarious crowd. "KILL THEM!" Flyletta calls out!
The dapper alligatorfolk nods and raises the shell to his mouth again. "ARE YOU READY TO SEE SOMETHIN' YOU AIN'T NEVER SEEN BEFORE?"
The crowd cheers again, and again Flyette calls out "KILL THEM!"
The alligator announcer nods again, and raises the shell once more. "DO YOU ALL COUNT AS WITNESS? IF SO, CHEER!"
Flyletta and Ribbert think for a moment. They hear another party doing the same, and-
"I think so."
With that one conclusion, the entire crowd erupts!
The announcer seems pleased with this and shouts, "THAT'S LEGALLY BINDING!"
"What a strange way of announcing a combat," Ribbert mutters. "... They must be from Yon."
"Oh, Ribbert, oh no." Flyletta puts her hand to her forehead and leans onto her husband. "Do you think he's asking because these two shall fight in place of Morgo?"
"What?! But that would mean only one combat! I've been awaiting Morgo's bloody execution for ages!"
"Oh, the event is ruined, Ribbert!"
"Don't worry, darling, we'll stick around until the end and protest this to whoever arranged it."
"I think the alligator must have."
"AND BEGIN!"
The whistle blows, and it, theoretically, begins. Ribbert and Flyletta are too far away to hear everything the combatants are saying, so they just watch as the clown holds out a strange gun-like object, but made of a material neither of them have ever seen before.
"Must be from Yon."
"What do you have against Yon, darling?"
"It doesn't even rhyme, that's what."
Just as Ribbert finishes talking, a great beam of multicolored light blasts out from the clown's device! Flyletta's jaw drops as the red man easily dodges out of the way, an incredible smooth rhythm to his movements as he drops his shoulder and ducks to the side! The beam shoots out into the audience to Flyletta and Ribbert's right-
"Hot dogs, getcher hot do-!"
-disintegrating the poor sap they'd failed to purchase food from earlier.
"Oh!" Flyletta almost applauds, but Ribbert stops her.
Below, they can hear some chattering of confusion about names, but Flyletta really couldn't care less, and Ribbert is just busy checking his notebook of contacts to see if the pile of ash that was one a bullywug was anyone important.
They hear the clown cackling down on the field, and see the announcer speak briefly to the referee before tossing the announcing shell to... him? It? Still unclear if it's a real creature or some horrific amalgamation of swamp trash and dark magics and witchlight.
The shell lets out a horrific screeching sound as the referee holds it up to speak! Ribbert claps his hands over Flyletta's ear holes and uses his tongue to wrap around his head and cover his own.
"ERR, Sorry! Ribble got too close to the conch!"
"SHUT UP!" Flyletta screams. "LET THEM FIGHT! SHUT UP!"
"Wait real I ha-"
"SHUT UP!"
"Ribble just has to a-"
"SHUT UP!"
"That's Mundlemud versus Sploop-"
"SHUT UP!"
He finally relinquishes the shell to the alligator, and Ribbert relinquishes Flyletta's head as well as his own as they both breathe a sigh of relief. They watch with satisfaction as the referee seems to be panicking and cowering a bit on the field after that awful interruption of ruckus.
"Getcher vuvuzelas!" another vendor calls out to Ribbert and Flyletta's left.
"Oh not those horn things," Ribbert groans. "Those ruin every eve-"
Another blast of multicolored light shoots out from the field, disintegrating the vendor and his horns.
"Oh! Good show, chap!" Ribbert calls down to the combatants, They clearly don't hear him, but it's alright.
Sploop throws his gun behind him, and as it shatters there are faint little spirits to be seen floating up from it. Flyletta applauds the macabre flavoring to this clown's weapon.
Mundlemud charges at Sploop now, lifting his giant arms and whipping the chains falling from them to restrain Sploop! It works, the clown wailing as he's captured! Mundlemud holds out his fist without even cocking it back, yanking Sploop right into the readied fist! Sploop's face quite literally sinks into the blow, his face contorting around the blow unnaturally, and he crowd roars!
Sploop vomits after, colorful circus peanuts erupting from his mouth as his head spins around like a top. Ribbert cheers loudest of all as Flyletta swoons a bit over Mundlemud's arms.
Another vendor comes down the stairs. "Bud Light, getcher Bud Light here, only sixteen gold pieces!"
"Oh, my." Flyletta frowns at the vendor. "What a rip-off!"
They hear, called out from the field in the rough, rocks-gargling voice of the referee, "That's outrageous!"
"Even that thing down there can see you're charging too much, Slimeithy!" Ribbert calls out.
Sploop vomits his circus peanuts all over Mundlemud, making the much larger and handsomer and all-around better man flinch and shield himself. Once the vomit ends there's a moment of speaking between the contestants, and suddenly Sploop pops into a mass of balloon animal pigs! But the chains are visibly red-hot, and they metl and writhe against the chains before coming back together into an also melting Sploop!
He pulls his tiny hat down over his whole body, and when it pops back up he's no longer melting. Flyletta groans in disappointment. "Oh, just when it finally getting interesting!"
"Pretzels, getcher pretzels, unsalted pretzels with avocado-based mayo! Only twenty-three gold pieces!"
"Oh, now if the clown doesn't kill that man, I will," Ribbert says, scrunching his face in disgust. "Avocado instead of beetle oil as a base? Despicable."
The clown holds his hand up, pulls another gun device from his hip, and fires one blast off before throwing it away as well. The vendor goes up in smoke, and Ribbert laughs. "As you deserved!"
The act seems to spark a small conversation, quickly turned argument, between the combatants. Mundlemud rears back his fist and punches, then spins him out and pulls him back out to punch again, over and over.
"DON'T WORRY BUDDY, I'M GONNA BEAT'CHU RIGHT BACK!" they hear Mundlemud shout.
"Is that some kind of intimidation tactic?" Flyletta wonders, leaning forward a bit. "Perhaps the clown was his friend before becoming a horrible magic clown?"
"That's nonsense, dear, 'buddy' must be an insult where they're from."
"Oh, yes, that makes much more sense, darling."
Suddenly a large barrel sits in the hands of Sploop, dark in color, and he tries to smash it over Mundlemud's head. While he succeeds, the strange small monkey's within rain down without even touching the larger man and instead begin to go after Sploop himself! A few even make their way into the stands, bullywugs screamign and hopping out of the line of fire until-
"Bloody Marys, getcher Bloody Marys here! Bloody marys with one'a those deep-fried cheeseburgers on top because WHY THE FUCK NOT?! Only forty-two gold pi- AHHHH! OH, IT HURTS! OH, I'M SCREAMING AND IT HURTS!"
The monkeys rage and screech as they kill the vendor.
"Clearly, they know how terrible the pricing has gotten as of late," Ribbert says. Flyletta nods approvingly as they watch the vendor be torn and melted.
When they look back, it seems to be the big finish. Mundlemud whips a wave through the chains, launching Sploop high up into the air! The clown laughs, even in the face of this certain doom, as Mundlemud leaps up to the same incredible heights with such air that the bullywugs themselves are awed! Mundlemud wraps his giant arms around Sploop from behind, spinning Sploop so that his head will hit the ground first, Sploop holding up a sign that even from the farthest rows clearly reads "Uh-oh!", it's all over-!
The fall seems to last forever, Mundlemud's form obscuring view of Sploop's, but the CRACK! that resounds through the arena is enough.
The whistle blows, and it's done! Mundlemud stands victorious! Flyletta and Ribbert leap to their feet, giving Mundlemud a standing applause!
"THAT'S IT FOLKS, THE CLOWN'S DEAAAD! AND HE DISINTEGRATED IMMEDIATELY, LEAVING A GOBLIN HE MUST'VE EATEN EARLIER OR SOMETHIN'!"
"I didn't know clowns eat goblins. My, this was educational and entertaining!" Flyletta exclaims, jumping a bit in place as she applauds some more.
"It's over?!"
Flyletta and Ribbert look over. "Oh, another vendor. Let's see if something happens again," Ribbert says excitedly.
"THANKS FOR COMIN'!" the announcer calls out.
The vendor looks down at his wares in a bit of panic. "Aw shit, did anyone want full cooked chicken piccata? On dinner plates?"
"What a foolish venture, those plates aren't even fine china," Flyletta sniffs in disapproval. "Who would pay even a copper?"
The vendor holds up his tray high. "CHICKEN PICCATA, HEY! HOT 'N FRESH CHICKEN PICCATA, WHO WANTS SOME?"
"Shut up, we're listening!" A bullywug in an isle seat shouts. He stands and stabs the vendor right in the back, perfectly severing the spine. Flyletta and Ribbert and many others in the area give the stabber a respectful round of applause for such a fine blow as the vendor goes down with a scream.
"Lemony... capers..."
"Well, time to head home." Flyletta takes Ribbert's hand as he helps her up. "I have to put on a new dress for Electrum Chef!"
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@aethernoise great minds glam alike apparently
#final fantasy xiv#ffxiv#hyur#hyur highlander#oc: synnove greywolfe#dt's screenshots#apparently if i want drops i'm interested in i need to tank#though i was going for the maiming boots this week#this is way cuter on lady highlanders than i was expecting#though i don't /love/ it so uh it's already been glammed over >_>
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The Witcher With Blue Eyes
*throws this at you* random bullshit, go!
here, take some random ramblings of an au i came up with!! no fucking idea where i am going with this, but you can't stop me
*
There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.
Geralt was still a relatively new witcher, just five years on the Path, when this rumor appeared, and he was not naïve enough to fall for such fodder.
All witchers had yellow eyes. This was a given. None of the witcher schools had the exact same mutagens – every school was just slightly different, imbuing their witchers with the characteristics of the wild beast they represented – but all witchers had yellow eyes. That was how it was. That was how the mutagens worked. That was how a witcher could be recognized.
A witcher with blue eyes.
Geralt scoffed.
*
There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.
There are stories of a witcher who strangled a wyvern with his bare hands, out of madness.
There are stories of a witcher who laughed, with empty blue eyes, as he danced with his twin blades and wrought cold blood.
Geralt is no longer new to the Path, and he has heard these stories for a while now. Even among his own brethren, the stories are whispered and shared. His mentors talk about blue eyes with cold indifference, but it’s apparent they are unsettled. A blue eyed witcher – who ever heard of such a thing?
But then the School of Viper loses its most infamous witcher in its own keep. In the blink of an eye.
And Geralt’s not so sure they’re rumors anymore.
*
Julian was different.
Even before the mutagens and the training and the trauma, he was always slightly to the left.
When he arrived at the steps of the School of the Viper, he had been scared witless. Gorthur Gvaed, the Viper Keep, also known affectionately as Blood Gate Keep by its inhabitants, was located deep in the Tir Tochair mountains. It was the furthest south Julian had ever been; it had been months from the lands he had grown up in.
It was also the furthest he had ever travelled, dead on his feet as he followed the viper witcher down the beaten Path, in boots not cut-out for the long days walking.
The witcher rode his horse while Julian walked. Julian was never allowed to touch the stallion and was threatened with the loss of his hand otherwise. The witcher only stopped when Julian could go no further, and sometimes then, forced the stumbling boy on with a crushing grip on his arm. Julian would sway on his feet, his vision would swim, and not even his not-so-human blood could save him from his human needs, like food, and water, and rest.
The witcher never gave him his name. He did not speak except to give commands. He called Julian names like “wretch” and “bastard.” He never called Julian by his name.
He was cold and cruel, like the village kids used to be to Julian.
Julian did not like the witcher.
But then they would pass through a village or small backwater hamlet, and he would see the sneers and barely disguised looks of disgust on the humans’ faces. The witcher may have thought him a mindless child, but he was smart, and he noticed when the witcher was forced to pay over three times the asking price for services like horse stabling and food. He saw when the witcher was scammed on hunts when they made their way south. He caught the whispers and murmurs of half-baked plans to murder the witcher in his sleep, just for being different.
He bore witness to the mistreatment of the witcher.
And though he damned himself for thinking it, Julian understood. He felt a kinship with the witcher.
And it did not excuse the witcher’s behaviour. It did not excuse his cruelness. Hurting others was a choice, no matter how hurt you were. But even then, a small part of Julian could sympathize with the man who was beat into this cruel soul.
They weren’t so different from each other, cruelness and all.
It took a long time for the witcher to trust Julian enough to leave him unsupervised – always with a threat lingering, of promising to hunt him down and slit his throat if he tried to run away – but when he finally did, Julian made no attempt to escape because he knew there was no point.
But Julian would never forget the face of the witcher when he came back from a hunt to find their camp painted with blood, Julian sitting by the fire and methodically cleaning the dagger he had successfully slipped from the witcher without notice. Several bodies lay on the outskirt of the camp; bandits who had made the mistake of thinking Julian was helpless.
An arm was missing from one of the bandits and the fire in the middle of the camp was roaring, the wood stacked high and the flames impossibly hot. Julian roasted his meal over the fire. It served the witcher for leaving him to starve, he thought bitterly.
And just once, Julian preened when he saw the way the witcher looked at him.
With something more than contempt.
With something akin to unease.
Julian was eight that night.
*
Julian was nothing.
Julian certainly wasn’t special when he arrived at Blood Gate Keep. He certainly wasn’t the first more-than-human boy to be claimed by a witcher and taken for the Trials.
Julian was nothing.
Julian was a contradiction of bloodlines, was the product of a shameless family.
Julian was nothing.
Julian was not special. Julian was not different. Julian was not more.
Julian was nothing.
Julian was not going to survive, because he was weak and small and he didn’t listen, and Julian was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. He was nothing. That was drilled into him as sure as the sun rose in the east and set in the west.
Because Julian was nothing.
*
Every witcher school had the boys relentlessly train. The mutagens only did so much, and there was no success if there was talent without skill. Julian learned this very early on.
But Blood Gate Keep, despite the Trials, and physical training, and reading in bestiaries, still had all young witchers in training go through a final exam: The First Hunt. It was a physical exam before the Trials took place. The young boys had to survive in the surrounding wilderness for several days isolated and alone and make a kill; every boy was put out prepared with weapons and camping gear and told not to come back until they had proof of their kill.
Blood Gate Keep was in a remote location, more remote than other witcher schools, far away from any human civilization in the mountains, and as such the surrounding lands were wild and untamed. Mindless beasts and monsters roamed the base of the mountains, hid in the passing rivers, and hung in the low clouds.
Nobody thought of running away, for that only led to death.
The boys were given two weeks to complete The First Hunt, and no more. If they came back without proof of kill, they were slaughtered. Sometimes the vipers of the keep would take pity and leave them to starve out in the wilderness, alone.
Any monster would do, as long as it was dead and killed.
Sometimes the boys went for small monsters, or babes of monsters not yet old enough to walk and open their eyes. Some boys killed wildlife and maimed it so much it was indistinguishable from any other monstrous corpse, and they would claim it a monster. No one ever batted an eye at them.
Julian was thrown out of the keep with nothing but a bedroll and his dagger.
His mentors laughed as they closed the door on the young boy.
No one thought he would survive the Trials, much less complete The First Hunt.
He set out with a vengeance.
He survived out of pure spite.
And he marched straight back up the mountain to Blood Gate Keep, soaked in the blood of an arch griffin, blue eyes wild, the tongue of the griffin ripped straight from its mouth with his bare hands.
His dagger was clean.
*
The other boys in the keep were cruel, just like the witcher who brought him there. Even within the confines of stone walls, with death imminent, his peers still couldn’t find it within themselves to be kind toward him.
Julian has watched many boys comfort each other on cold nights, has watched older boys console the younger, has noticed the way many boys sleep together because of nightmares.
But not with him.
They tease and mock him.
They push and shove him.
They point and stare.
He’s the only one with eyes as blue as his, with a streak of wild that could not be tamed by their mentors, almost feral. He’s the only one who didn’t bow and snap under the cruelties of Blood Gate Keep. The only one who was not infected with hatred.
And none of the other boys can sympathize with him because they don’t understand him. Julian does not wish to hurt others. All the boys at Blood Gate Keep were going through the same thing, but it affected all of them differently. And some of the boys took the lessons they were handed and grew up bitter and wishing others could feel their hurt; others took their lessons and grew up tired and wishing others would never feel their hurt.
But none of it matters because the other boys still hate Julian.
It hurts, because even among a group of those who knew what he was going through, he still felt utterly alone. He was slipped poison in his drinks. His food was swiped. His clothes were shredded. He was targeted in training. There was no end to the cruelness, from mentors and peers alike.
Some days Julian falls mute from the sheer pressure pushing in on him from everything and everyone.
One day Julian is almost killed in his sleep by another boy in his cohort, and no one says anything when that boy never shows up again. It was not uncommon – even normal – for those in Blood Gate Keep to betray each other and sabotage others. It was encouraged. And still, Julian forces himself from his bed to live to see another day.
Julian uses his disadvantages to his advantage.
Everyone underestimates him.
He understands why.
Julian is small. Even with all the hormone packed lichen and meat the witchers fed the boys at the keep in preparation for training and Trials. Julian is thin where the other boys are broad, he is lean where the other boys are muscled. Julian has soft features. He has soft floppy hair and soft blue eyes. The other boys have stringy hair and deep shit-coloured eyes, even if they weren’t brown.
*
Julian won’t survive the Trials because he’s too weak. He’s not quite human, but he is still weak in the eyes of his mentors. Julian doesn’t do what he’s told. He will fail.
But within Julian’s small frame is a feral animal.
And it’s almost laughable when he sees their reaction every time they push, push, push – and he finally pushes back, finally snaps at them – and they’re shocked. Like they never saw it coming, even though it happened every time.
You don’t see what you don’t want to believe, supposedly.
*
Julian learned that the School of the Viper did things a little differently than the other witcher schools, and he wasn’t surprised.
He wasn’t surprised to learn of his school’s failings.
*
Julian passes through the Trials, to everyone’s shock.
Julian comes out of the Trials with his same inhuman blue eyes, to everyone’s shock.
Julian slits the throat of the witcher who had brought him to Blood Gate Keep, to no one’s shock.
Probably because they never found out it was him.
*
Witchers weren’t liked, but some schools had better reputations than others.
Certainly, the wolves of Kaer Morhen had the most heroic reputation; headstrong and loyal, with more morals than most witchers, disregarding that most witchers didn’t have morals at all.
The cats of Stygga Castle were known to be maniac, either lacking all emotion or treading the fine line of insanity with too much emotion; they killed not just traditional monsters, but also monsters of the human variety, and would take any contract for an innocent’s head if given enough coin.
But the vipers of Gorthur Gvaed were neither of those.
Vipers were predators, through and through.
The mutagens the School of Viper used did not tamper with emotions the way the mutagens from the School of Cat did; it did not need to, for every Viper that came out of Blood Gate Keep was beaten into a cruel and merciless man.
The School of Viper did not raise witchers with morals of a sense of duty to humanity, the way the School of Wolf did; vipers were not safe even within the walls of their own keep, for they never knew when a peer would turn on them for coin, vengeance, or fun. Witchers who stayed in the keep were constantly kept on their toes, their drinks poisoned in game, their training brutal and to the death, and vipers learned early on that you needed to strike first to win, lest your comrade do it first.
Vipers weren’t noble, and vipers weren’t insane; they were just senseless.
*
It was a lie that Cats were the most unstable witchers.
Cats may have had a reputation for being short a marble, but vipers were completely unpredictable.
*
Being the best got you nowhere in Blood Gate Keep.
His fellow witchers and mentors thought Julian weak. They only saw his blue eyes and small frame and soft voice, and their eyes passed over him.
That was good.
Being smart, being strong, being fast – those were traits that made you a target in the Viper’s den.
It was a constant battle of trying to best one another, trying to come out on top, trying to eliminate any form of threat, even if that threat was a fellow witcher, one of the few boys to make it through the Trials with you. Boys were poisoned left and right. Throats were slit. Witchers died in training if they weren’t strong enough, because a Viper never showed mercy, even when it was his brother who lay at the other end of his blade.
After all, if you couldn’t survive a spar, what good were you on The Path?
Julian used all weapons and tools at his disposal.
He never initiated an attack; he was never the one pouring acid in another’s stew, he didn’t engage in to-the-death spars, he never snuck through the keep and assassinated a fellow brother.
His behaviour wasn’t born out of morals, he soon realized.
It was predatory behaviour, like the Viper he was.
An opportunistic predator.
Julian sat in waiting; he waited for another to initiate the struggle against death. And then, before they could blink, before they could realize that their easy target isn’t so easy, they’re gone.
It was amusing to watch as his peers’ brows furrowed in confusion as to why he was still alive.
And yet, no one figured it out.
No one suspects the fool, after all.
Julian was probably the most dangerous Viper in the keep.
*
As soon as Julian earned his Viper medallion, he left Blood Gate Keep and never looked back.
Julian felt silly wearing two medallions at once, and with great reluctance, he took off the medallion from his parents and packed it at the bottom of his pack with care. He knew his new witcher medallion would be of more use, and would probably save his life, whereas he didn’t know the first thing about how to work the medallion his parents gave him. It was one of the few times he felt truly upset with himself, for all his achievements at Blood Gate Keep, he couldn’t figure out a simple magic piece.
Nonetheless, he didn’t bother with goodbyes or a grand departure. He felt no comradery with the vipers he had shared a den with.
And maybe he walked away with a few witcher corpses at his feet, but that was neither here nor there.
*
There are stories of a witcher with blue eyes.
But those stories haven’t been told in years, and Geralt forgets about them like bedtime stories told to children when they’re young.
After all, a witcher with blue eyes doesn’t exist.
*
As is the cycle with history, new stories come about.
*
There are stories of a bard with blue eyes.
*
#the witcher#witcher jaskier#viper jaskier#bamf jaskier#badass jaskier#feral jaskier#brief mention of geralt#headcanons#jaskier#julian alfred pankratz#long post? kind of#viper witchers
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[Image ID: Two digital drawings of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood, in an Alternate Universe of The Old Guard. Jon is a thin Persian person with brown skin and curly black hair, and Martin is a fat Black man with dark brown skin and short curly black hair.
The first image is a redrawing of the kidnapping kiss scene from The Old Guard, but with Jon and Martin. Jon’s hair is long and tied up in a half bun, he has stubble, and he wears a grey t-shirt. Martin has glasses, a wedding band on his hand, a blue long sleeved shirt, and his hands are tied with zip tie. Martin leans forward and kisses Jon with one hand cupping his face, and the other resting on his shoulder. Bordering the image are stylized silhouettes of various weapons from each of their original countries, as well as wedding rings, and pistols, all pointing in towards the couple. The signature ‘mossy-rainfrog’ is visible near the border of the image.
The second image is set far in the past, showing the pair kneeling together amidst the aftermath of a bloody battle. Jon’s hair is shorter and he has a full beard, and Martin lacks his glasses. Jon is wearing an ancient Persian soldier’s uniform of a white tunic with long sleeves and a red striped collar, as well as brown boots. Martin is wearing an ancient Roman soldier’s uniform of a chainmail tunic over long sleeves and pants with green stripes along the edges of the fabric, as well as armor over his neck, and brown sandals. Both of their uniforms have been torn in many places from various injuries, and stained with presumably their own blood, even though neither man has visible wounds. Martin reaches out to hold the back of Jon’s neck as they rest their foreheads together. Around them are fallen soldiers, Persian and Roman alike, as well as discarded weapons, and a fallen horse. Behind the carnage is an orange sky that fills the scene with somber light. The signature ‘mossy-rainfrog’ is visible near the top left of the image. End ID.]
HELLO EVERYONE I FINALLY BRING YOU THE JONMARTIN AU OF THE OLD GUARD THAT HAS BEEN POSSESSING ME THIS WHOLE WEEK in which Jon and Martin (also known as Yonatan and Martinus) are immortals who meet during the 7th century Sasanian-Byzantine war on opposing sides, kill each other many times, and then fall in love and spend eternity together. MASSIVE shoutout to @pocketsizedquasar for helping with pinning down the history of it and also giving SUPER awesome insight to the language aspect and names we ended up with, as well as @dickwheelie and @radiosandrecordings for hyping this up as much as they did. MWAH TO ALL OF YOU 💙💙
Also, as a bonus treat, I wrote a little fic to go along with that second picture that features a bit more context (and language/names), so if you’re interested in that, click the read more!
(CW: Descriptions of violence, death, and blood.)
Yonatan looks over at Martinus - when did he learn his name? Had he heard it from another Roman, crying out as Yonatan struck him down in kind? He’s certain that Martinus never shared it himself - as he makes a horrible noise, one of the many that Yonatan has drawn from him in their awful, blood-stricken time together.
This time he has been felled by a sword, although his body has been maimed and wounded by countless other things. Seemingly endless deaths, endless wounds, endless agonies in the sweltering heat that Yonatan has experienced in tandem, nearly side by side.
The suffering never stops, though. Even when the breath has shuddered out of their lungs for the dozenth, hundredth time, something keeps them both getting up, keeps calling them to finish their work, to drive the blades in again and again, for duty and for Khosrau and Heraclius, and then for survival and necessity, and then because neither of them knew what else to do. Neither of them know what else to do even now.
There is no more victory in the sight of the earth slick with Martinus’s blood, in the sound of his horrible breaths gasping through his pierced windpipe. In the next moment it will be Yonatan’s own blood, he knows, driven from his chest, his throat, his temple, or god knows what else. There is no victory here, only this cycle of duty and violence that neither of them know how to escape.
Yonatan is exhausted. His hands are stained every color of red, and his friends, his allies, his people are dead or ailing around him, losing their lives and their dignity side by side with an enemy that has perished just the same. He’s fallen enough times that he thinks he might understand the pain of each unique death, now, and he just wants it to be over. He doesn’t want to cause any more suffering.
Martinus is coughing now, drawing himself up to his knees and wiping away the gore from the healing skin of his throat, the once sharp surprise at his inextinguishable life now dull in his eyes. Yonatan nods as he looks him over, seeing his wounds closed and his chest heaving, and then leans heavily on the battered weapon in his hands, letting his gaze fall to the earth. He waits for the inevitable revenge to come, for the cycle to continue, for the pain and the darkness and the bitter, unending light that comes afterwards.
Martinus doesn’t move to strike, though. He pushes himself into a kneel, weariness evident in the movement, and then he stays there, weapon discarded from his hand, armor ruined and bloody, eyes echoing with a bone deep exhaustion. He sits back and looks out at the battlefield, and he does not raise his weapon against Yonatan this time, and Yonatan is swept over by a gratitude that stings his eyes, so great is its relief.
He lets the weight of his exhaustion lower him to his knees, and emphasizes his agreement by letting his blade fall to the earth. No more, he agrees, his thoughts barely a whisper. No more.
Martinus’s gaze on him is wary at first, but Yonatan shakes his head in defeat, and the expression softens with weariness and something almost like compassion. He reaches down to his side and picks up the weapon that he had dropped, its blade still stained with Yonatan’s blood from earlier that day, and shuffles closer to place the sword between them, laying it down with cautious hands.
Yonatan looks down at it, unsure of what he means by the action, and then wearily back at Martinus, questioning. He doesn’t speak Latin, doesn’t know anything more than the insults that had been hurled against him, the battle cries of their leaders, and the vague shape of words that Martinus has tossed his way over the many long weeks that have stretched on like years. He isn’t sure how he would even begin to speak in such a tongue - which part of the mouth it is spoken from, how to shape the unfamiliar words with his lips - so he offers a word in his own language, even though it will likely be meaningless to his foe.
“Čē rāy?” Why?
Martinus’s brow pinches as he shakes his head. Whether or not Yonatan’s words are understood, though, the question in his voice had been evident, and so Martinus appears to struggle for an answer.
“No—” He cuts himself off, huffing in irritation, and shuffles closer again, reaching out a hand between the space remaining between them. Yonatan watches with cautious, tired eyes as Martinus gestures back and forth between them. “Nosmet.”
Yonatan thinks he recognizes the word from a chant or something, thinks it might mean ‘us’ or ‘we’, and tilts his head in curiosity, clinging to the sliver of understanding. “Nos…met.” He repeats, copying the sound, and the word feels strange in his mouth, not quite familiar enough to feel natural.
Martinus nods, sharply, his eyes gleaming through the sweat and blood on his face. “Amā.” He says this time in Yonatan’s language. Us. Yonatan blinks, and answers his nod with one of his own, his eyes filling with recognition. Martinus’s Pahlavi is just as terrible as his own Latin, but the word is recognizable, at least.
Yes. Yonatan agrees, understanding. Yes, please. Us.
The rest of what Martinus means to say is held, brimming in his eyes from whence flows all the other words he cannot translate. There’s an aching there; an exhaustion and a desperation and a deep, shuddering loneliness that Yonatan feels resonating in his own heart. There’s a courage lining his face too, though - a resilience to carry on, to go forward - and Yonatan wants nothing more than to follow that bravery, regardless of the words shared between them.
He abandons the fallen sword beside him and instead reaches desperately out for Martinus’s hand, trying to show that he understands. The hand he takes is broad and warm, and the nails are bloody with Byzantian and Sassanian gore alike, but it clings back to him, and does not resist when Yonatan pulls it back over his heart. Martinus’s skin is warm and inviting against the tattered remains of his chest.
“T-tecum,” He pleads, and he fumbles with the pronunciation, but he thinks the word is correct. With you. If you’ll have me. Please.
Martinus’s eyes widen, and then he’s nodding, nodding quickly with wide, misted brown eyes, and a relief like nothing Yonatan has ever known comes crashing down on his shoulders like the tide. With him. Āgenēn. Together.
Martinus tugs on his hand, and Yonatan lets him go, but the Byzantian only leans back for a moment, and then, seemingly overcome with relief, brings up a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him in gently. Yonatan goes easily, exhaustion coupling with relief, and when Martinus rests his forehead against his, the world seems to fall more into place than it ever has. He exhales, sighing from deep within his chest as he relaxes into their newfound embrace, this spark of hope and safety found reanimated from beneath exhaustion and the bodies of slaughtered kin.
The war is over, Yonatan thinks. They do not have to kill anymore. He presses back against the pressure against his forehead as his heart breaks again and again from the grief of those they have lost here, and the respite he has found before him, found in the face of a man once thought to be an enemy. His eyes burn, and, in the arms of the immortal soldier who he was taught to hate, he clings tightly to an offered embrace and allows himself to weep.
#the magnus archives#tma#magnuspod#magpod#tma au#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin#jonmartin au#the old guard#the old guard au#tma the old guard#tma fic#BLOOD TW#ask to tag#mossy art#mossy writes#my goodness i've spent so much time on this#pahlavi#latin#(for any otherlanguage nerds)
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Hi I was wondering if you could do a Azriel x reader where they are cuddling and talking after a long day of work?
pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)
warnings: mental health/anxiety being mean, insecurity, asides from that it’s pure fluff and nice and lovey dovey
a/n: I love writing fluff omg, I went in a slightly different route that I intended with this one but I hope you like it :))))
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You pushed the heavy wooden door of your home open, dragging your legs in as you fought to keep your eyes open. You pushed the door closed with your back, leaning your head against it, and closing your eyes for a second, before sliding down, still leaning against the door, and wrestling to remove you shoes with a huff.
You heard a cough ahead of you and looked up to see Azriel fondly watching you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He was still in his leathers, so you presumed he had just beat you home, his tired eyes sparkling with humour as he watched you struggle with your boots. You didn’t say anything as you stood and padded over to him on heavy feet, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing your eyes shut.
You didn’t want to think of the long week you had dealt with, you just wanted to bury yourself under a mountain of pillows and blankets and maybe wrap your limbs around Azriel like a koala bear. He wrapped his arms around you, scarred hands rubbing up and down your back as the two of you stood together in silence, simply breathing in the other and allowing your souls to be reacquainted.
When you first met Azriel he had wandered into your shop on a whim, wanting to get Feyre some flowers to congratulate her on the pregnancy and he remembered Elain had mentioned this shop being one of her favourites. He had expected to be in and out, not in the mood for a long conversation, or any conversation for that matter. But as soon as he saw your pretty face, your flowy, dress that stopped just above your dirt covered knees, all his plans were thrown out the window.
“Can I help you?” you had asked, sweet-lipped, your voice sounding the way cherries tasted, sweet but with a deeper richness. A smooth tone that he could listen to for hours.
He ended up buying as many flowers as he could without seeming insane, not wanting you to ever stop speaking, wanting you to explain the meaning behind every flower in your store if it meant he got to stay with you.
You had noticed him as well of course. Who wouldn’t, he was beautiful and carried himself with so much grace and poise that you were sure he was a fallen angel. You had lengthened your descriptions of the flowers, face heating when you realised you were rambling and fighting a grin when he asked you to continue.
You had invited him to sit with you as you were brewing tea and he had accepted, sipping tentatively at the tea you told him you grew yourself, the greenhouse in your garden perfect for the needed flowers. The two of you had spoken for hours before he left, ignoring the confused looks from his friends when he came home with six separate bouquets of flowers. Instead deciding to picture your pretty face as he lay in bed that night, finally getting rest for the first time in weeks.
Now, you were wrapped up in his arms, still not speaking. He didn’t worry too much, he knew that sometimes you weren’t ready to speak, that some days you just needed some quiet to process your day and come back to yourself. When you had first explained the way you would drift from your own mind, feeling as if you were floating above your own body Azriel had almost cried, the realisation that maybe he wasn’t the only one in the world, that maybe there was someone for him after all.
He lifted you into his arms and carried you to the kitchen, carefully avoiding the plants littered around the house, before shifting you onto one hip like a baby, knowing you wouldn’t be letting go any time soon. He set about brewing your favourite tea, smiling as he picked up the pot that you had shared the fifth time he came to visit you.
The store had been closed but you had invited him, so he pushed in, cringing at himself when he realised how early he was but all his thoughts came to a halt when he heard that sweet voice of yours coming from your apartment above your shop.
“My lovers got humour, she's the giggle at a funeral, knows everybody's disapproval, I should've worshiped her sooner. If the Heavens ever did speak, she's the last true mouthpiece, every Sunday's getting more bleak a fresh poison each week- AH!” you screamed when you saw him standing in the doorway, pressing a hand to your heart as it slowed back to its regular beat. “Fuck you, oh my.”
He genuinely laughed then, not expecting to hear you swear. The girl who had green stained fingers and who fed stray cats, the girl who always decorated for every holiday and who apologised when she bumped into inanimate objects. Your face was hot to the touch and you wouldn’t look him in the eyes, so he had stopped laughing, moving to up your face, forcing you to look in his eyes.
“You have the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard.” He said sincerely but you scoffed,
“No I really don’t,” you laughed but he saw the insecurities then, “I know it’s whiny.” He frowned; your voice having been one of your most attractive traits in his eyes. He had started to see beneath your cracks then, but now with you wrapped around him he remembered how deep they went.
“Do you want to talk about it baby?” he asked carefully, not wanting to startle you, knowing how deep you could get in your head, tiny noises startling you when you were zoned out.
“Bad brain.” Was all you muttered, and he frowned but just kissed your forehead and continued making your tea. When he was done he carried both you and the tea through to your bedroom, setting the tea down before twisting you again and carrying you to the bathroom. He sat you on the side of the bath and wet a cloth, cleaning the makeup from your face, and moisturising your skin before picking you back up and taking you back to your room. You slowly changed into one of his shirts and some loose boxers before crawling under the duvet and reaching your hands out to Azriel who had changed into his pyjama bottoms.
He crawled in next to you, pulling you into his chest, his wings wrapping around the two of you and then his shadows settling over both of you, protecting you from the outside world.
“How was your week?” he asked, one hand coming up to play with your hair knowing how much it relaxed you and feeling his heart warm when he felt you smile against his neck.
“Bit shit,”
“How so?”
“Just rude customers, and this one guy wanted like two dozen flowers which I made up but then he couldn’t pay and trashed the bouquets I had made him. Plus all the noise made my anxiety play up,” you muttered, and he frowned, not liking how put out you sounded.
“Want me to kill him?” he asked, only half-joking.
“I think that’s a bit extreme,” you laughed into his shoulder.
“Lightly maim then?”
“Maybe just a scare, make him think his house is haunted or something,”
“That I can do.” He smiled, kissing you, happy to have you partially back to him.
“What about you, how was your week, I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”
“I know, sorry. I’ve been doing some stuff for Rhys.”
“I’m presuming I’m not allowed to hear about it,” you said, well aware of how secretive his job was.
“It’s not a mission per say, I’m just babysitting.”
“Is it fun at least?” you asked, grinning at him cheekily and he scrunched up his face, thinking back over his week of baby sitting two horny Fae’s while he dreamt of being in your little apartment.
“Not the word I would use, they’re too horny for their own good.”
“The babies?!”
“No! NO! They’re not actually children!” he backtracked as you collapsed into a fit of giggles, Azriel joining you soon after. “You know I think they suspect something,” he said once you finally calmed down, “I think they’ve worked out I’m sneaking off.”
“Hmm, guess we have to kill them then.” You mused and Azriel grinned,
“Only reasonable course of action.”
“I mean we’d be fools not to,”
“Clearly.” He laughed, before tightening his grip, “seriously though, do you want to meet them?”
“I mean, yeah. I think it’d be nice,” he noticed your mood had shifted again and nudged you, imploring you to continue, “It’s just you’re all so accomplished and amazing, powerful people and I’m just… me.”
He tried to ignore the pain that stabbed into his heart at your self-deprecating words, having thought them about himself enough times to know how they felt. “Don’t say that, you’re an incredible person. And even if you weren’t the kindest, sweetest person I had ever met, you’re still the girl I love and honestly I think Cassian is one ex-girlfriend away from selling me to the highest bidder.”
You laughed and nuzzled in farther, “Kindest person you’ve ever met?”
“Well asides from the occasional death threats,”
“ah yes, ignoring that. Of course.” He laughed and kissed your forehead, eyes closing as he heard your voice get softer and your breath slower.
“I love you.” He whispered into your hair as you felt your eyelids droop, the weight of the week lifted off of your shoulders as you buried yourself in Azriel’s arms, peaceful in his embrace.
“I love you.”
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The Ties that Bind Us
Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail? Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old. The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do. But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.
A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests. I’m not going to post the actual requests because...well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.
Words: 2826
Tags: Angst, Fluff, nightmares, all the fun stuff.
I wrang my hands together nervously. They were all sweat; clammy and cold while simultaneously uncomfortably hot. My breathing was deceptively calm, though every other part of me shook as my anxiety climbed. I closed my eyes, pushing my hands down on the mattress on either side of me and took a deep steadying breath. Talking myself into pushing my body into a standing position, I opened my eyes and left my room, consciously putting one foot in front of the other.
“Guys?” My voice rang out in the echoey halls, shaking and hoarse. I cleared my throat and ran my hands through my hair as I continued making my way into the main room. There they were. Dean, his feet kicked up on the table, a large, brown dusty book sprawled on his lap and a beer firmly clasped in his hand as he focused on the words on the page. Sam, pacing back and forth silently behind him.
It had been weeks since we had found a job. The last actual gig we had been on was pretty small-fry. A pair of ghouls wreaking havoc in a college town that we had taken care of in less than a weekend. The local fraternity parties didn’t even notice, and the drunken sorority girls went on with their lives none the wiser.
But this? This job was going to be huge. If not in scale, then in emotion alone. Not for the boys. They wouldn’t have any clue; I’d make sure of that. The pack had been on the prowl for decades, maybe longer. Long enough to have destroyed my life, killed my family, and upend everything I knew to be true when I was only four years old. And now they were back. I rubbed the sweat from my palms that would have given me away on the back of my jeans, before grabbing the chair opposite from Dean. The wheels moved faster than I expected as it began to roll behind me. I lowered myself quickly into the seat, as if the mishap was entirely intentional, but the smirk at the corner of Dean’s smile let me know my attempt had failed.
I hated the chairs in the map room. The side armrests dug into my hips and I was never quite comfortable in them. But who was I to question generations of decorum? I crossed my legs as eloquently as I could, adjusting so that I was practically sitting on one hip in order to keep the bars from digging into them.
The laptop Sam had out on the table was still booted up. I reached out, grabbing it and quickly pulled up the article that I had found this morning. “Woman’s Body Found Mangled in Historic District.” I spun the screen around, allowing Dean to see. He skimmed through it quickly before sneering. “Doesn’t really scream monster there, Y/N.” I rolled my eyes, returning control of the computer to myself and pulled up three more articles, all within the last two months. “Teen Killed in Apparent Pit Bull Attack,” followed by “Couple Maimed in Forrest Preserve” and “Missing Child Found Had Been Attacked by Unidentified Animal.” I pushed the screen over to Dean again.
“Well, maybe that does merit a look-see.” His tune changed. Whenever there was a lapse between jobs, Dean would get antsy. His temperament changed, he was jumpy, and nothing could make him happier than a new destination and a big bad to gank.
“What’s that?” Sam said as he practically skipped up to the table like an excited puppy.
“Get this,” I began before Dean cut me off.
“Y/N,” he chastised. “That’s Sam’s line.” He winked at me as a smile spread widely across his face. That smile. The one that could bring world peace as far as I was concerned. At the very least, it made my knees weak, breath hitch, and I lost all train of thought.
I quickly pulled myself back together and pushed my daydreaming mind back to the task at hand. Dean pushed the laptop over to Sam, allowing him to read through them quickly. “So, what are we thinking, Werewolves? Hellhounds?”
“Werewolves,” I said definitively. My face was deadpan, and it didn’t seem to go unnoticed. “Look at the descriptions. There’s something they aren’t saying. The bodies were all attacked at night, and each one was during the full moon. Plus, the missing kid? He was 8. That’s not enough time for any demon deal to go down and a Hellhound to get involved. No, it’s a werewolf. No doubt in my mind.” I was all seriousness and they knew it. Sam simply nodded, his eyebrows creased suspiciously, but he didn’t question me.
“Well then,” Dean said, clapping his hands together as he all but jumped to his feet. “Let’s get on the road. It’s a little over seven hours to Missouri. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready.” He was like a kid at Christmas as he bounced down the hallway to his room.
“Only guy in the world to get the warm and fuzzies from a bunch of dead bodies,” I laughed, shaking my head, closing the laptop, and uncrossing my legs. I stood up slowly and stretched my arms above my head.
Sam didn’t take his probing eyes off me as he crossed his arms. “Y/N?”
“Yes, Samuel?” I mocked him in response.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
I did my best version of shock and outrage, looking around as if I wasn’t quite sure what he was alluding to. “What?”
“You’ve never been so adamant about a job before. Hell, you’re usually the one trying to talk us out of taking jobs. What gives?” I rolled my eyes as dramatically as I could.
“Nothing. It just seems like a pretty clear gig to me. And if bodies are dropping every month, and more bodies each time?” I shook my head. “Then the next ones are on us.” I locked eyes with the younger Winchester, attempting to convey my point with a look.
His expression still seemed doubtful, but he nodded his head and walked towards his room, patting my shoulder as he passed by me. “Whatever you say, kid.”
Half an hour later, we were all piled into the Impala. Dean driving, Sam riding shotgun, and I lounged across the backseat, scouring the news for any updates. The next full moon wouldn’t be for another week, but I wasn’t willing to allow anything to be missed. Not when I could stop it.
A couple of hours later, my eyes began to droop, and my cell phone slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor between my feet. But my exhaustion won out over my need to secure the phone.
I looked down at my hands. They were sticky and coated with a thick layer of blood. I had no idea if it was mine or someone else’s, but the terror that rose in my chest didn’t care. All around me, the only sounds I could hear were the violent gnashing of teeth, the moist squelching of flesh being torn from bone, and the small, muted whimpers from someone that I had yet to lay my eyes on. I looked around but everything around me was coated in darkness. Only my hands were visible in a dim red light that seemed to come from nowhere. I took a step forward, feeling my foot slip as the wet floor beneath me was coated in that same tacky liquid that was all over my hands. Looking in front of me, I came eye to eye with a single pair of vibrant yellow orbs that seemed to stop me in my tracks. Paralyzed with fear, I froze, unwilling and wholly unable to continue forward. A low grumble began emanating from those same eyes as they moved closer to me. The grumble turned quickly to a growl; vicious and hungry with a deep, bone chilling timbre. Suddenly, the eyes were directly in front of me, inches from my face. So close that I could feel the hot, rank breath on my cheek before a loud, piercing snarl rang in my ear.
My eyes snapped open and the sweat running down my neck sent a chill down my spine. My sharp inhale was the only sound made and I did my best to calm down before making any further noise. My nightmares had always been the same and had always been my own. Nobody had ever found out about them, especially the boys, and I fully intended to keep it that way.
Stretching my arms to my sides as best as I could, I made a dramatic show of waking. “Where are we?” I asked.
Glancing to the front seat I could see Sam slumped against the window, his head tilted back, mouth open, and very much asleep. Dean was still in the driver’s seat, bobbing his head and mouthing along with Steven Tyler as he belted out the lyrics to “Dream On.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, giving me that same world-peace smile that only he seemed to know how.
“About 100 miles outside St. Charles. I’ve gotta stop for gas though. You hungry?” I nodded back to him as I rubbed my eyes, clearing out the sandy bit of sleep that had formed in the corners.
“Do you need to change out? I can drive the last of the way.” I offered, knowing he’d never go for it. He never had before.
“I’m good. Got a solid three hours of shut eye last night.” He winked at me in the mirror. Pushing down the butterflies in my stomach and doing my best to suppress the blush that I was sure was creeping to my cheeks, I looked out the window. The sun had just come down, creating an orange sky with just a hint of pink. I took a deep breath and turned back to facing the driver.
Dean pulled off onto an exit ramp and turned into a QT Gas Station. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked me. I shrugged.
“Surprise me.” The glint in his eye and the devilish smile that he gave me in return elicited an exaggerated eye roll from me. “Just go get some road food.” I waved him away. “I’ll pump.” I opened my door as quietly as I could and stepped around to the gas pump. I twisted the gas cap, put my card in the machine, or rather Stacey Abrams’ card, and began filling the tank.
I watched Dean walk up and into the convenience store, his bowed legs taking long strides as he did so. He grabbed the door and held it open, making a big show as he gestured for the woman coming out the door to pass before him. The leggy blonde walked by, tucking her perfectly silky hair behind her perfect ears as her perfectly perky tits bounced their way out of the shop. I watched as Dean’s eyes followed her out, obviously and lustily eyeing her up and down, appreciating the view.
The sharp stab to my chest wasn’t new. The jealousy mixed with disappointment happened pretty frequently after all. But each time felt like ripping off a band aid before the wound had begun to heal.
The gas pump stopped, the telling “clunk” of the machinery drawing my attention back to my task. I tapped the spout on the edge of the tank before fully withdrawing it and hanging it back up on the pump. I ripped the receipt off quickly, shoving it into my back pocket as I walked back around the car and settled into my seat again.
“You know, you could always just tell him.” Sam’s voice rang out, surprising me, from the front seat.
“Shit, Sam.” I said. “I thought you were asleep!”
“I’m serious, Y/N. Tell him.” He had turned around now, staring me dead in the face as if we were locked in a staring contest that I hadn’t agreed to participate in.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said a bit too defensively.
“Right.” He rolled his eyes at me. “You do realize I know every tell you have, right?”
I shook my head at him, chuckling. “Samuel, I think you must still be dreaming.”
“Like that.” He pointed at me. “You’re biting your cheek. You only do that when you’re lying. Next, you’ll be pulling on your ear lobe, just like that.” He accused me as I did just as he said.
“No, I’m not.” He glared at me in response. “Shut up.” I bit at him, jokingly, sticking my tongue out at him as I crossed my arms.
Dean opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Dude,” he said excitedly, holding up a white paper bag. “Taquitos!”
A little over 100 miles later, we were pulling into the local motel. Sam had gone to check us in while Dean and I grabbed the bags from the trunk.
“Peartree Inn?” I said, dejectedly. Dean looked at me, a curious expression on his face. “Just once, it would be so nice to stay at a 5-star hotel. Hell, I’d settle for 4 stars if it meant a comfy bed that didn’t have my back aching in the morning and a hot tub to soak in at night.” I closed my eyes and sighed, dreaming.
“I’ll be sure to get you a hot tub at the next place we stay in. Long as I can join you,” he said, cocking his head towards me with a smile. I rolled my eyes and playfully shoved his shoulder.
“Hey,” Sam said, running up to us both. “So, they only have rooms with two beds max. No roll-away’s or cots. But I got us two rooms. Best I could do.” He handed a card key to each of us. A small sticky note was attached to each. “Dean, we’re in 213. Y/N, you’re in 436.” I nodded my head, handed Sam his bag and headed inside.
The front desk clerk waved at me as I went in and pointed towards the elevators. Thanking her, I walked over and pushed the call button. The doors opened instantly, and I stepped in without waiting for Sam and Dean to catch up. Once I dropped off my bags and went to the bathroom, I planned on heading to their room anyway to go over our plan.
But just after I’d used the restroom and rinsed my face, there was a solid knock at the door. “Gimme a second,” I shouted as I grabbed a hand towel and dried my face off. The peephole on the door was small with a silver dongle covering it up until you swung it to the side. I checked to see who it was before unlatching the deadbolt and opening the door.
“Bad news, Y/N.” Dean said as he walked in, making himself comfortable on my King size bed. He was lounging back, his head resting on a combination of my pillows and his own hand as his legs sprawled out in front of him. “No hot tubs in the whole joint.” I laughed at him, throwing my hand towel into the bathroom.
“So, where’s Sam? I figured we needed to get our plan of attack sorted.”
“Oh,” Dean said, straightening up a bit. “He’s down in our room. We didn’t get the fancy penthouse view you did.” My eyes wandered over to the balcony and the sliding doors that lead out to it. I pointed to it and tilted my head, silently asking if he’d like to join me outside. He all but leapt out of bed and over to the door, yanking it open. The track was rusted and in desperate need of some WD-40, but he was able to grant us egress.
We walked onto the balcony and looked down. The penthouse view as Dean called it wasn’t the greatest. A moderately busy highway for as late at night on a weeknight as it was, and some unkempt trees just barely allowed us to see the airport beyond it. But the fresh air and the sounds of the cars rushing by was a tonic to the anxiety that had been eating at me all day.
I leaned on the railing, my hands clasped together, as I inhaled the fresh air and felt my hair blowing ever so slightly in the wind. I could feel Dean walk up and join me. “Feels pretty nice out here,” he said softly.
I smiled. “Yeah, it does.” I opened my eyes and looked down again, remembering the reason we were here. As peaceful as it felt right now, there were monsters just down the road. The very monsters from my nightmares. And no matter how terrified it left me, I wouldn’t be leaving before I drove a silver bullet through each of their hearts.
To Be Continued......Part Two
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Magic In The Parks
SUMMARY — and maybe he was meant to find love in the happiest place on earth, or maybe they were just strangers in the same room at the same time
WORD COUNT — 5.2k
NOTE — happy halloween, i’ve been working on this for nearly an entire month. it’s a bit rough around the edges, but i’m super proud of it!
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───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ﾟ: *. ☽ .* : ☆ﾟ. ─────
The air is sweeter in Florida, warmer too. Tom’s got his arms full of bags, and his hand held tightly, but he still takes a minute to tilt his chin upwards and inhale the tropical scent of Orlando. He’s spent a lot of time in the southern states of the east coast, but he’s thankful to be in company this trip. The black adidas bag on his shoulder is heavy, but valuable. He can feel the sharp plastic of a crown poking his back through the padding; one of many she insisted on bringing, and his smile widens.
Traveling with a toddler is difficult, and Tom much rather prefers the time of his parental experience where Posie wasn’t mobile. She’s all over the place now, wanting to see and understand the inner workings of everything mechanical. He’s sure he’s answered the question of how a plane flies six times within the last few hours, but he enjoys it. He enjoys everything about fatherhood; even single fatherhood.
Posie’s been buzzing about this trip for weeks, ever since Tom told her they’d get to meet all of her favorite princesses during the week. He’s seen every movie thrice over, confidently quoting The Princess and The Frog in his sleep he’s sure. It was the requested theme of her third birthday party, and he has his suspicions that her fourth will be all the same in a couple of months.
“Hold my hand please, darling.” He insists when she pulls away, not wanting to lose his tiny companion in Terminal C of Orlando International. She’s always been a bit of a wanderer, but her curiosity’s grown since landing in Orlando and spotting a plethora of poorly hidden Mickeys. “Thank you.”
His teams arranged for a driver to escort them to the resort, n0t wanting to risk public transportation. Somehow he’s managed to go unrecognized, but he doesn’t want to leave anything to chance. Posie’s swinging his hand now, her small fingers twisted into his. The feel of her is soft, dainty, innocent even. It’s everything Tom misses when he lays her to bed at night and goes about the rest of his evening without her company. She’s his best mate, and has been since the day she was born.
The black SUV Tom’s put in order pulls around into the terminal, a driver dressed in a black and white suit coming to help load the bags into the boot of the car. Tom’s made a plethora of big moves this trip, like traveling without personal security, and not bringing a car seat for Posie. He’s almost regretting it now, but it wasn’t worth the bulk and invasion. He likes this quality time, something he doesn’t get much of with the amount of active projects he’s signed onto.
“We’re gonna go see the castle, right, Daddy?” Her small sentences are full of glee, and she’s bouncing excitedly on the tips of her toes. Tom scoops her up onto his hip, handing off the black Adidas bag when the driver, a middle aged man named Phil, asks if he wants it in the back as well.
“Thank you,” He nods towards Phil, the asian-american nodding as gleefully as he could show behind the thick black mask. “Yeah, we’re gonna see the castle, and all the princesses. What are you gonna sing when you see Rapunzel?” Tom asks.
Posie doesn’t have to think for a single minute, smiling as she begins the motions of delicately brushing another's hair. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clocks reverse, Daddy, you sing the rest.” Her young voice is innocent as she struggles over syllables, maiming almost every other word in the song, but Tom understands it, and his heart swells with adoration.
“Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, change the fates design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine. Go ‘head, finish it, love,” Tom encourages, laughing at the shy blush that spreads across Posie’s neck. She presses her cheek into his arm, grabbing his fingers in her tiny fist with uncertainty. “We’ll do it together, yeah? Ready?” He waits for her to nod before they both softly finish the rhyme Mother Gothel makes Rapunzel sing nightly, “What once was mine.”
“Good job, Daddy.” Posie encourages, laughing when the button of her nose is pressed and Tom smooths his hand over her head. She’s got flyaways going in every direction, the once cute ponytail he assembled at the crown of her head having slipped down towards her neck with all of her excited activities. She looks a mess, but the sight makes his heart grow fonder.
“Who’s your favorite?” The driver asks, his friendly question opening the shy toddler up. Her lips split, and her looks between Tom and Phil to make sure it’s okay before continuing.
Her voice comes out like a soft symphony, and shyly her English accent carries through the car. “Tiana.”
“I quite like Mulan.” Tom exclaims, poking his finger into Posie’s side. She squirms away from his touch, a laugh pouring from her belly as she throws her head backwards. “Reckon I could be Mushu, what do you think, mate?” Tom asks Phil, the man under question shaking his head with a laugh. His grin is wide beneath his mask, having been ages since he’s heard a child laugh so wholeheartedly.
“I think Mushu fits perfectly, sir.”
-
Posie’s pressed into Tom’s side, sound asleep for the second time with the hem of his Star Wars shirt in her fist. Tom’s watching her blissfully, occasionally looking down at his phone to straighten out the last of their reservations, but for the most part, he’s devoted to her simple innocence. He had watched her sleep on the plane too, not remembering the last time he had the time to just sit beside her and admire what she’s becoming.
“I miss that age.” Phil speaks softly. He’s kept quiet for a while, letting Tom just absorb the sweet cuddles he’s being offered, but he couldn’t let the father slip by without sympathizing about just how fast they grow up. “I have two at home.”
“Goes by in a blink, doesn’t it, mate.” Tom smooths his hand over Posie’s head once more, breathing in deeply to settle the emotions brawling in his heart.
-
Tom’s holding her on his hip again, coaxing sleep out of her eyes with the pad of his abused thumb. His fingers and palms are rough from years of stunt work with Sony and Marvel, but he still finds a way to make his touches gentle and sweet for her. His precautions surfaced from the first time he held her, just minutes after her delivery, and his pinky scratched the pink of her gentle cheek. He never wanted to feel that bottomless guilt and sorrow again.
Posie’s fighting his gentle approach though, emitting soft whines from around her thumb as she poutily shoves her face into the crook of his neck. She’s been asleep for nearly an hour, which is longer than she naps at home, but Tom knows all too well how draining travel can be. They've only just been escorted into their hotel suite, and Tom wishes he had the patience to let her sleep until her sweet little heart's content, but he’s just about buzzing to get everything settled and begin the true festivities of their short trip. A week is not nearly enough time at the happiest place on earth.
“Come on, darling.” He coos, bringing a hand down the small of her back and patting her bum. She’s as much of an easy riser as Paddy is, though where Paddy’s irritable, Posie’s cuddly. “Don’t you want to go see the pretty castle, love?”
Posie lifted her head from Tom’s shoulder, petting the bridge of his nose sleepily. “Wanna go.” She mumbles, “Put my Tiana dress on.”
Tom laughs, lowering her onto the hotel bed. She’s heavy in his embrace still, still mesmerized by sleep, but her eyes are open and buzzing with excitement. She traces the bag of costumes laying by the door, and her little fingers jet out in persistence. He detaches her arms from around his neck, kissing her little knuckles sweetly, before asking her to sit down so she doesn’t fall. She’s not the most coordinated little, and he’s not willing to risk the chance of her getting hurt.
“Which one do you want, Posie? Yellow or Green?” Tom asks, turning around to look at his daughter. She’s on her feet again, reaching high above the headboard. Her fingers are just barely able to brush across the portrait of the Pixar characters, but she’s absolutely bustling with glee. “On your bottom, please.” Tom advises. He pulls the yellow dress from the bag, deciding against the green dress for the first night.
Posie owns every princess dress ever, and in multiple variations. There’s about four Cinderella dresses shoved into the adidas backpack, Tom’s just barely managed to convince her to pack half of the collection, though he knows they’ll leave with at least another three in his suitcase when she lays her eyes on the gift shops collection, not to mention after the trip to bippity boppity boutique; which he’s already made a reservation for. He’s excited for the struggle though, because he knows it will have meant that Posie had fun.
She mindlessly lifted her arms up when Tom came back over towards the bed, and he happily pulled her shirt from her body. At the moment, he couldn’t care for keeping the suite in a tidy order, flicking the shirt across the room, which prompted giggles from Posie who watched wide eyed excitement. “Reckon we can make it a bit messy, huh?” Tom teased, poking at the flesh of her pudgy belly. She’s losing the baby weight more and more every day, becoming almost unrecognizable in comparison to the infant decorating his home screen. It’s a bittersweet realization to have, and Tom feels as though he has the same thought every time she laughs.
“Go ahead, angel. Throw them.” He encourages after standing her up on the bed and helping her out of her cotton shorts. Posie grins mischievously, doing as she was prompted and releasing the black shorts into the air. They don’t make it any farther then Tom’s shadow, but her head is still thrown back in exquisite belly laughs.
Tom grins, holding the dress over her head and sliding her arms through the small cuffs carefully. She’s always hated being dressed, whether it was the actual act of putting clothes on, or continuing to wear them. She’s his little wild card, but he can’t help but melt at the sight of her in Tiana’s working uniform.
“You look so pretty, my baby.” He coos, laying her down on the bed and kissing all over her face. Posie’s squeals and giggles are blissful, her small little fingers trying to push Tom’s scruffy chin away from her cheeks and necks.
In retaliation, she digs her fingers into his sides, trying to mess with him in the same way he’s instigating her. Tom’s grin in splitting, mocking surprise as he pulls away from Posie quickly to glimmer with enjoyment and love.
“Are you tickling me, Posie Grace?” Tom retorts, hands planted on the dips of his hips. Posie grinned, standing from the bed and leaping into her father's embrace with gleeful vigor and giggles. Tom’s never heard Posie laugh so much in her entire life.
He’s damn near certain that his cheeks are going to hurt after their week long escapade, but he’s looking forward to the dull ache in his jaw. It’s been awhile since things have been so easy, and he knows that it won't last even a day past november second, but he’s cherishing it while he has it. He doesn’t ever want to worry about Posie being taken away, but with a growing argument from his daughter's maternal side, he’s not so sure his multiple day work week and constant travel looks appealing in court.
“Ready, Princess Posie?” Tom asks, shifting Posie higher on his hip as he advanced towards the suites door. She nodded happily, fisting the neckline of his shirt between clammy fingers. She always did get clammy when she was feeling too much of something, a dead giveaway to Tom and anyone else that knew Posie Holland. “It’s gonna be so fun, right?” He pries gently, hoping to settle some of the overwhelming excitement and uncertainty she’s feeling.
“Yeah!” She babbles shyly, watching her father grab two face masks and slip the smaller one around her ears and over her nose. She wiggles her lips for a minute before accepting the fate of the feeling.
“We’ve gotta keep this on, remember?” He preaches, kissing Posie’s temple when she nods in confirmation. The entire situation isn’t ideal; Tom never thought he’d be taking Posie to Disneyworld for Halloween in the middle of a global pandemic, but he’s made sure to adhere to all the precautions and plan as strategically as he’s able. He wants to have fun, but he needs her to be kept safe and healthy. “Let’s roll, princess.”
-
“Mickey’s over your nose, please.” Tom speaks softly. Posie’s been chattering up a storm about their recent trip around the Dumbo ride, and in her excitement the mask had slipped down. She giggles, clumsily pulling it back up and flashing a wide grin at her father. “Cheeky.” He muses, leaning up against the railing to his left and looking down at the little girl who's all his own. Her face is flush, a blush rising up her neck and around her ears from the heat, and flyaways from her ponytail have begun to frame her face. “Who are we going to see first, hum? How about Ariel, I quite like her.”
Posie leans into Tom’s legs, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She’s completely overjoyed, but she’s shied away from multiple attractions, and he thinks the décor might be a little more intimidating then she’s letting on.
“I wanna see Anna!” She beams, and Tom laughs, although not surprised. Her list of favorite princesses is endless, and every minute somebody else gets added higher onto the list. “No! I wanna see Rapunzel, can we see Rapunzel?”
Tom’s thankful she changed her mind before he had to explain that Anna was located in an entirely different park, and that they definitely wouldn’t make it there by the end of the day. Posie grinned when the group of three ahead of them was escorted into the building, making her and Tom the head of the queue.
“Do you think Tiana’s gonna like my dress?” Posie grinned shyly, fingering the yellow material covering her little legs.
Tom nods in confirmation, giving her a look once over just to boost her confidence. “I think she’s going to love it, mate.” He smiles when Posie gets flushed, digging the button of her slim shaped nose into the denim of his jeans. “Do you think Cinderella will like my crown?”
Posie pulled away enough to check the silver crown on top of her father's head, she pulled her hand up to her already covered mouth, and threw her head back in blissful laughter. She’d found it incredibly hilarious when Tom bought them matching crowns to begin with, she hadn’t even realized he had stuck the silver accessory through messy strands of hair on his head.
Neither Posie or Tom has time to address the crown, because a Disney employee is smiling kindly at them, and asking them to follow the arrows into the princess greeting space. That brings another level of timidness onto Posie, as she clings to her father's hand and makes sure she walks behind his every step. She’s testing the waters.
“Look at that, mate.” Tom points out Rapunzel in the line of princesses. She’s first followed by Cinderella, Tiana, and Belle, all smiling easily. Tom’s sure Posie’s eyes couldn’t have grown any wider at the sight and she completely freezes up, raising her arms and pinching her fingers to her palms with a pale flush. The redness that had once been spreading over her body completely replaced by nervousness.
Tom lifts her onto his hip, a hand cradling the back of her head when she digs her face into his shoulder. Her fingers twist into the hair on the nape of his neck, while she looks Rapunzel over with uncertainty. She’s never been a fan of character costumes, Tom found that out at the Spiderman; Far From Home premier, but he hadn’t expected that shyness to carry over into princess costumes, especially considering she all but lives in her own selection.
“Hello, Princess.” Rapunzel sings sweetly, her golden locks of hair twisting down her back as she flutters her fingers in Posie’s direction. The purple lace mask she’s wearing is similar to the pattern on the chest of her corset, just like every princess down the lines whose face mask matches their iconic costume.
The interaction is the same down the line. Posie clings to Tom looking mortified as they pose for pictures at a safe distance, and make brief one-sided conversation, then move on to the next princess waiting. They’re at the end of the line now, and Tom’s growing a bit tired of making conversation with the princesses. They’ve all been incredibly sweet, but he’s not interested in the circular pattern Cinderella uses to mop the floors of her step-mothers house.
“Well, hello there, Princess! What’s your name?” Belle chirped, hands clasping the yellow silk of her heavy ball gown.
Tom’s about to answer for himself and Posie again, but Posie’s shy wave distracts him. He can feel her skin getting warmer beneath his hands, but that doesn’t silence her this time. A shy frown pulls at her lips, but she looks Belle over with something similar to...trust?
“Posie.” She whispers, before a shy smile breaks her lips and for the first time since entering the entertainment hall she looks comfortable.
“That’s a pretty name Princess Posie! What’s your Prince’s name?” Belle asked, flowery hand movements getting a giggle from Posie’s chest. Tom can see the actor's heart nearly melt behind her eyes at the sound, and he chuckles to himself while Posie answers.
“He’s Spiderman, not a Prince, silly.” Posie whispers, knowing she isn’t meant to be blabbering about Tom’s profession while they’re away on vacation. It’s quiet enough that the other three princesses, who are still heavily in character, don’t hear, but he still looks Belle over with worry that she’ll leak the news to the media.
He’s made sure to dress down, avoid anything too revealing, and ditch certain aspects of his outfit that are an official identity giveaway to his following. His rolex is sitting in a safe back at the hotel room, his mask is black with a simple mickey design, and he’s instead of his preferred pair of grey sweats, or blue jeans, he’s in black Adidas joggers that he borrowed from Harrison.
“Superhero, huh?” Belle muses softly, “Well, we better keep it a secret then. We can’t have everyone knowing, right Princess?”
Posie lifts her head from Tom’s shoulder, smiling widely at the actor. Tom listens constantly as they talk for a few minutes, Posie grows more and more animated with every half sentence ‘Belle’ speaks and it brings back the wave of guilt he’s been surfing for weeks. His specific profession as portraying the live action version of Spiderman could have ruined all of this magic for Posie, it still has the possibility of ruining it for her when she gets to understand what an actor really is. She can only grasp that Daddy plays dress up when he goes to work, but when she realizes that Daddy is Spiderman, and without him there is no Peter Parker in Paris, he’s heartbroken thinking of everything else that ruins. Santa Claus, Disney World, cartoons. He only hopes he has a few more years of this easily achieved joy, before he single handedly ruins the magic.
“Alright, it’s time to go, Princess Posie.” Tom snaps from his trance after they pose for another socially distanced picture, He’s not sure how ten minutes escaped him so quickly, but in the time that he’s been dreading Posie growing up, she’s found a life long friend in the professional princess actor.
Belle sings her goodbye to Posie, but when he eyes catches Tom’s she nods, a silent promise that his secret is safe with her.
-
Posie’s warmed up to the characters a bit more since their first night at the Parks. She’s not overly excited about meeting them personally, but in close passing she’s bright with awe. The parks had secretly scheduled parades throughout the day, a method of trying to prevent large crowds from forming, but Tom was lucky enough to be in the know of them the floats would pass down main street. He had taken Posie to a few of them, and each time she warmed further to the idea of the Princesses and Princes...she still wasn’t exactly fond of the full body costumes though.
Tom laughed gently as she plowed into his legs. It was their last full day in the most magical place on earth, and Tom had pulled out all the stops. He had scheduled another reservation at the salon inside the castle after hearing all about it until Posie fell asleep on his chest, a smile and glitter painting her face, and had booked them a reservation at the infamous character dinner.
At the bippity boppity boutique, he wasn’t surprised that she had requested Belle again, and had gleamed with the same excitement despite the repetition. He was just happy he somehow convinced her to choose a different dress, instead of the same heavy and yellow one. She was spinning around his legs, absolutely bursting with joy. Her hair was tied into a half up half down style, and the bun on the crown of her head was framed by a small silver crown and a dusting of glitter. As the lighting in the waiting area dims, signaling the arrival of Prince Charming who is set to open the doors at six o’clock sharp, Tom catches a sparkle of blue shadow across her eyelids. He doesn’t know where his baby went, but somehow she’s gone.
Posie’s clinging to her Belle themed pumpkin basket and wand, clicking together the heels of her clear blue heels. There’s a picture of Belle on the front of them, similar to the seven pairs she has at home for every other princess and fairy. Tom’s shocked she hasn’t branched into the Prince outfits yet, though he much rather prefers the days when he comes home from set, and her little body is dressed in his button downs and blazers, absolutely knocked out in the center of his bed like a starfish.
“I’m gonna get sweets for Hazza!” Posie grins, fiddling with the plastic handle of the bucket. “And some for Paddy and Harry, but Sammy ate mine last time, so he doesn’t get any. Right, Daddy? Sammy’s gotta get his own.”
“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, love.” Tom laughs softly, remembering the day his brother had been caught eating the halloween candy Posie worked tirelessly to collect. “Bet they’re gonna love it.”
Posie goes on about the candy she wants to get each of the boys as Tom watches for the start of the small ceremony. The dinners are a small gathering, safe with covid regulations, and he can’t help but feel thankful that it’s a smaller audience. He knows it’s almost impossible to go unnoticed now, but he’s reserved a corner space to hopefully stay unnoticed.
“Whose that, Pose?” Tom grins, pointing out Prince Charming as he rounds the corner. He’s got his arms folded behind his back, white suit with gold embellishments sparkling in the lights of the dinning hall lobby.
“He looks like Haz!” She giggles, and Tom can’t deny that the actor does resemble his best friend a bit eerily. His eyes are a piercing blue, hair the same dirty shade, the only difference Tom can spot is the slim of his nose which is wider than Harrisons.
“Do you reckon Haz should be a prince with you, love?” Tom asks, knowing that if he puts an idea into Posie’s head, Harrison has no chance of saying no. His best friends the worst with following Posie’s every desire.
“He can be the Beast! I wanna be Belle.” Posie beams at the idea, “He can borrow my teddy, but he has to give it back.”
“Why don’t we get him his own, yeah? I think he’d like his own teddy.”
“And we can get Tessa a teddy, right? She likes watching Rapunzel with me! Can we get her a Pascal?”
“Absolutely.” Tom agrees, just as Prince Charming cuts the red ribbon tying the dining hall doors together. The pair of them are ushered into the space a few seconds afterwards, and shown to their secluded table in the corner beside a bouquet of yellow roses.
Tom helps Posie into her seat beside his, eyes filling with tears for a reason he can’t name. It’s the same empty feeling in his stomach that he’s experienced since landing in Florida. It’s his baby girl growing up and not needing him for every small thing anymore. It’s her little personality and sweet soul, her gentle honey eyes and adoration for cuddles and family. He couldn’t be prouder of the little lady he’s raising, but he can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it right.
He pulls out his phone, taking what has to be the millionth picture this week. Posie grins, her eyes showing specs of gold from the invasion of the flash. The blue dress on her body brings out the tan complexion of her skin, and Tom can’t help but think of how angelic her little life is.
“I wanna take your picture!” She grins, reaching for his phone. Tom hands it over, pulling a large smile even though the expression is still hidden behind his mask. His eyes squint from the sheer tension of his tightly pulled lips, and Posie’s giggling so much her hands are shaking and the picture comes out blurry, but Tom loves it anyways.
“Awesome job, peanut.” He smooths a hand over her head when she hands his phone back, tired eyes blinking at him despite the expression of excitement she’s still wearing. She’s been on a sugar high since takeoff back home, and Tom’s anticipating the crash once they get back home to their own beds and routine.
After Tom orders their meals and drinks, the gentle halloween music kicks up slightly and the princesses and characters start to make their way around the venue. Posie tenses when she sees Mickey Mouse walk down the stairs, his halloween outfit adding to her uncertainty. Tom laughs gently at her reaction, taking her mask off of the table and pocketing it so it doesn’t fall or get misplaced.
Mickey isn’t the first character to come over, it’s Tinkerbell, and after she drops some candy into Posie’s bucket, she makes flowery conversation before moving along to another table of children. Posie’s starting to enjoy herself by the time their food is served, forking a pile of cheesy noodles into her mouth between smiles and laughs. They’ve been visited by Jasmine, Elsa, and Prince Charming since Tinkerbell’s stop, but she’s ranting about wanting to see Belle. The candy bucket is nearly halfway full, and Tom knows there's going to be a fight about how much she’s allowed to eat before bed tonight. He’s prepared to lose and let her have it all, but he figures the responsible thing to do is break it up and make it last.
Posie’s deep into a chocolate sunday by time Belle comes into view, and Tom’s quick to grab his camera when he sees the yellow dress get closer and closer. Posie’s face is smeared in chocolate ice cream and whipped cream, which is what Tom expected when he ordered her the treat in the first place. He’s not sure what it is about little ones and frozen treats, but even an ice lolly has her skin stained for hours.
Her eyes grow wide when she realizes Belle’s standing at the foot of their table, hands gently clasped around the handle of an identical sweets basket.
“Princess Posie!” Belle grins in delight, letting a few extra pieces of chocolate fall into Posie’s bin. She sends a wink towards the little girl, and Posie breaks into a sweet giggle. Tom watches the actor have the same look of adoration in her eyes at the sound, and he can’t help but notice the subtle tint of yellow around her pupils.
A conversation about dresses and matching baskets breaks out, and Tom’s sure that Belle has overstayed her assigned time per table, but he doesn’t say anything. He quite likes hearing her and Posie chat about make believe and magic.
When the actor finally does decide it’s best if she carries on, Tom makes sure to motion her closer. “What’s your name?” He has all intention of putting in a word with Disney management about how excellent she is, but selfishly he wants to test it on the tip of his tongue.
“Y/N.”
-
The air is cold and bitter. Posie’s passed out on Tom’s shoulder, little arms wrapped around his neck and legs hanging limply at his sides. He’s waiting for Harry to pick the both of them up, wanting to get home and fall into his own bed with Tessa and Posie.
His baby girl’s only just fallen asleep, her eyes rimmed red from crying throughout the entirety of the flight. She’s coming down with a fever from all the travel, and he’s sure the upset of leaving the warmth and magic of the parks has something to do with it.
She’s still wearing her yellow Belle dress, though her little feet are bare and cold because the princess shoes she insisted on wearing kept slipping off of her toes as Tom carried her through baggage claim. It’s the same as how this entire trip started. He can feel crowns, wands, and plastic shoes poking him through his backpack, and he’s surrounded by luggage and gift bags that giveaway where they had spent Halloween week.
When Harrison pulls the car around, Tom is thankful that the seat warmers and heat are already on, and Posie’s car seat is buckled into place. Harrison shivers when he steps into the brutal cold to help Tom put all the bags into the backseat and trunk, cooing at the sight of Posie. She’s sunkissed, freckles dusting her cheeks and a flush running up her neck and ears.
“How was it, mate?”
Tom grins, thinking back to the sweet girl whose name sounds heavenly on the tip of his tongue. As he buckles Posie into her carseat, gently shushing her whimpers when he gets her arms through the chest straps, he tugs off his sweatshirt and puts it over her body like a blanket, before he turns his head to look Harrison over.
“Magical.”
#tom holland smut#dad!tom#tom holland#dad!tom holland#tom holland blurb#tom holland imagine#tom holland x you#tom holland fluff#tom holland x reader#tom holland fic#tom holland one shot#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland angst
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Siblings: Chapter Three
AO3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Jason was glad he didn’t have any siblings.
There was a point in his life where he longed for an older brother or sister, when he was younger and fluctuating in and out of his mom's apartment that smelled like a different drug every week. Someone to teach him the ropes and beat up the bigger kids when they stole the food he’d found or the pocket money he’d snatched up.
Nowadays he was grateful he didn’t have anyone to share resources with.
Sure, he didn’t have anyone looking out for him, but that was for the best. He couldn’t learn how to survive on his own if he didn’t get hit a few times, right?
And a younger sibling was out of the question. He couldn’t look after some toddler while he was barely functioning himself. Hell, if he had an older sibling, he wouldn’t have blamed them if this hypothetical sibling ditched him after a month tops.
Attachments in Crime Alley were for people who made gangs, who had followers or brothers-in-arms. That was the best you could get, but don’t expect any of them to risk their lives for you.
A sibling would’ve been seen as a weakness. Someone others could torment to get what they wanted out of him.
He really didn’t want to think about another kid being stuck in this dump with him, either.
It was one of the small mercies of life, that he didn’t have any kin to drag him down.
,
“Why are you here, again?”
“Because unlike you, Father prefers someone do their job efficiently.”
Jason snorted, side-stepping the henchman who charged him, kicking his leg out and letting him slam his face right into an alley wall.
“I think blasting heads is pretty efficient,” Jason said, twirling one of said guns in his hand as Damian kicked in the face of a second henchman. “But, alas, I’ll have to settle for horrible maiming.” He said, pausing to shoot two fleeing men in the backs of their legs, sending them toppling to the ground.
“Change of heart?” Damian grunted, kicking a goon in the back and using the motion to body-slam into another. “I didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.”
“You wish,” Jason snorted. “Unfortunately, Nightwing would break his no-murder rule just for me if he knew I dared kill in the presence of his majesty with nobody else to be a buffer.” He said with a remorseful sigh.
“Tt,” Damian rolled his eyes, he always made an exaggerated head motion when he did like he was making sure people could tell through the whites of his mask.
“He’s foolish to think that would do anything.” He said, picking up the unconscious body of one of the goons he’d knocked out and tossing it to the side of the alley. “I’ve killed far more than you could dream of.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jason said, his tone bordering on babying. “But, yeah, ol’ Wing’s got his priorities weird.” He shrugged, letting off another shot when he saw one of the men try to grab what looked like a knife from their scattered supplies.
“Maybe he’s just afraid of us bonding.” He continued, watching as Damian stood before four men splayed on the ground by broken wooden boxes, only two of them barely conscious and cowering away.
“And what, pray tell,” Damian said, psyching out the men by jerking towards them, startling them back against the wall, before turning to Jason with an unamused look. “Would you think to bond over?”
“Let’s see,” Jason hummed, leaning back against the opposite alley wall, gun resting on his shoulder as he counted off his fingers. “History with the League of Assassins, died at one point, killed people, fairly badass if I do say so myself, mothers with horrible morals, should I go on?” He said with a grin.
Damian paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. He thought for a moment before raising his head again to meet Jason’s gaze, a surprising lack of unbridled fury in them.
“Does that not also apply to Orphan?”
Jason paused, caught off-guard. He frowned, recounting off the points he made before staring at Damian, glad that his helmet hid his disturbed expression.
“Damn,” Jason whistled. “Guess the three of us need to bond sometime.”
“I’m sure she will enjoy being included,” Damian hummed, looking over his gloves as one of the seemingly unconscious men behind him opened his eyes. “Though I imagine Father would have some complaints about--”
Now, in Jason’s defense, he hadn’t been paying attention to Bane’s goons. As far as he was concerned, the fight was over. Which was why his attention was on Damian, and not anything around Damian.
Which meant that when one of the men who had been playing possum behind Damian jumped to his feet, gripping one of the wooden boards from the broken boxes in his hand, he barely flinched. In one movement, the man swung the plank of wood like a one-armed batter, connecting with Damian’s head.
Jason jerked the moment the wood hit, immediately sending Damian right to the pavement. He was firing off a shot before he even registered aiming it. The man yelped, falling back and clutching his side as he screamed out swears.
Jason ignored him in favor of crouching down while cursing under his breath, shaking Damian. The kid was blanked for a good few seconds before he jerked and stirred. Not too bad of a hit, not even out for more than a minute. He blinked his eyes rapidly, grumbling incoherently as Jason wrapped an arm around his front, drawing Damian up to his chest.
“B’s gonna kill me,” Jason grumbled, tightening his hold on the boy as he weakly felt around, gripping onto Jason’s arm.
The man wasn’t screaming as much as before, but he was still shouting as he gripped the wooden plank again, yelling about how he was gonna kill Jason or something. He wasn’t really in the mood to care.
Instead, he turned around, still holding Damian upright as he tried to regain consciousness. The man, with one hand still clutching his side, was raising the plank of wood again and waving it wildly around.
“Oh would you shut up?” Jason snapped, aiming his gun.
He fired off two more shots. He didn't pay attention nor particularly worry about where the bullets hit. The man finally slumped against the alley wall, weakly holding himself together and finally shutting his mouth.
Jason holstered his gun, freeing his other hand to wrap around Damian’s chest and hoist him up. Damian was shaking his head, eyes still blinking rapidly.
“The hell?” Damian mumbled.
“B talk to you with that mouth?” Jason lightly teased, shaking Damian slightly.
Despite that, he still scooped up Damian, letting his head lay on his shoulder as he supported him.
“If you bite me for this, I’m dropping you off the first roof I see.” Jason threatened, stepping over one of the other men strewn out on the ground. “I know you haven’t gotten rabies shots, and I’m not taking that chance.”
There were balconies and window sills along the building to the left of the alley, so he used that. One arm kept a muttering and waking up Damian situated while he jumped between the balconies and used his free hand to grab onto the windowsills. It was a slower going than he normally liked, but he figured carrying Damian like a football wouldn’t go over too well.
The second his head popped up over the roof, he was greeted with the sight of black boots with thick blue stripes. One of the feet was softly tapping with slight impatience.
“Goddamnit,” Jason cursed, thunking his head on the edge of the roof, which was pretty uncomfortable considering his helmet was in the way and he was currently dangling by one arm about four stories up.
“I should’ve figured the sounds of murderous screaming were caused by you.” Dick said, crouching in front of Jason with a cheeky grin that crinkled his domino mask. “Having fun?”
“Right now? Worst time I’ve had in weeks,” Jason huffed, pulling himself up higher to reveal Damian hanging off his shoulder.
Dick’s smile dropped instantly. He reached out as Jason offered Damian to him, quickly taking the kid in the gentlest way that only Dick could pull off. Jason almost teased him for it, treating someone like Damian of all kids as fragile. He could be hit by a semi-truck and walk it off like it was an inconvenience.
But Dick was clearly on the brink of having a panic attack, and it wasn’t any fun teasing him when that was happening. All it did was rile him up in the ‘I’m going to curl in a corner and try not to cry’ way and not the superiorly funnier ‘I’m going to punch your teeth in’ way like Damian or Tim.
“He’s fine,” Jason assured him, rolling onto the roof as Dick pushed Damian somewhat upright. At least the kid could properly hold his head up now. “Just took a blow to the head, was barely out for a second. More stunned than anything, I think.”
“Being knocked out is not fine.” Dick stressed, holding onto Damian tighter as he started growling and weakly trying to push Dick away.
“He’s getting better!” Jason huffed, gesturing towards him. “The brat’ll live. Honestly, you didn’t treat the rest of us like glass this after we died.”
“You lost all pity for it when you tried to kill everyone and bring up your death every five minutes,” Dick deadpanned, his worry breaking the moment his gaze left Damian. “And for the record, I do worry about you the same way, it’s just that Dam--Robin here is still a child.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Damian grumbled, still trying to peel Dick’s hands off him.
“He speaks!” Jason gave a sarcastic cheer. “Think you’ll live to see another day?”
“What even happened?” Dick demanded, ignoring Jason’s comments as he stood, helping Damian to his feet.
“Took out some of Bane’s lackeys down there,” Jason said, pointing where he came from with his thumb. “Kid presumably ran off from the old man again and decided to grace me with his presence and help out. Just got a little distracted, he’s fine.”
“Please don’t tell me you killed the guy who did this,” Dick begged, giving Jason an apprehensive look.
“First of all, if I did, he’d deserve it.” Jason said, crossing his arms. “Second of all, no, I didn’t...I think,” He frowned, looking back towards the direction of the alley. “I didn’t actually check. Shot him a few times, though.”
“Okay, okay, stop,” Dick said, raising a hand up. “Every word out of your mouth is making me more anxious by the minute. I’d rather not know.”
“Oh, so when I kill people, it’s a heinous act,” Jason scoffed. “But when a certain ex-assassin lady and demon child kill someone, suddenly you can make excuses.”
“I do not make excuses--”
Damian, with one of his arms freed, batted at Dick with increasing violence until his brother finally released him with obvious hesitation.
“If you two are done bickering like schoolgirls over makeup,” Damian gruffed, pushing himself away. “I believe we are finished here.”
“You could’ve changed ‘schoolgirls’ to ‘Dick and anyone with eyes’ and your statement would’ve stayed the same.” Jason muttered.
“The only thing you know about makeup is how to cover bruises.” Dick retorted, hands on his hips.
“And you only know how to look like a drag queen with excessive glitter.”
“I’ll have you know I look amazing in drag.”
“Obviously, but that is literally the only makeup you know--”
Jason only cut himself off when Damian attempted to roll his eyes and leave without them, instead swaying and stumbling into his steps. He shot out a hand and grabbed Damian by the back of his cloak like the scruff of a cat, holding him up.
“You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?” Jason said, pulling him back. “Because I’m not against harming a child if it means I can get you back to the Manor in three pieces at worst.”
Damian growled and looked like he was contemplating spitting on him. Jason held his gaze, knowing that if he took off his helmet to give a proper glare that Damian would take the moment of broken eye contact to bolt or something equally stupid.
Dick’s eyes shifted between the two of them with a mix of nervousness and confusion.
“...you will be the one to inform Orphan of the bonding meeting, and will be the one to keep her from doing anything abnormally ridiculous, and whatever other messes she causes during and after.” Damian negotiated slowly.
“Deal,” Jason released Damian, pushing him towards Dick. “Can we go now? I’m getting bored of this already.”
“You’re so impatient,” Dick tutted, looking like he was about to pick up Damian before thinking better of it and deciding to just wrap an arm around his side. “And what did he mean by bonding? Are you two actually getting along?” He gasped in a melodramatic fashion.
“We’re bonding over dying, the League of Assassins, and terrible mothers.” Jason said calmly as Dick pulled out his grappling gun, pausing at Jason’s words.
“And killing people,” Damian added.
“And killing people,” Jason nodded wisely. “We’re getting Cass in on it, too.” He said, sidestepping away from Damian’s attempt to kick him and muttering about using names.
“...as the responsible one, I cannot, in good faith, recommend having an amatuer group therapy session.” Dick said after a moment. “As your brother, however, I commend you getting a hobby that doesn’t involve maiming someone.”
“It’s not group therapy,” Jason scoffed, patting his belt down, wondering if he’d remembered to grab a grappling hook of his own. “We’re not softies who talk about our feelings to professionals like some commoners. We bad-mouth traumatic events like the well-adjusted people we are.” He said matter-of-factly.
“You can’t bully me about going to therapy but then get pissy when I so much as joke about leaving.”
“I can and we will.” Jason said, to which Damian nodded in agreement. “Someone in this family has to convince the little ones to find a non-murderous psychiatrist.”
“You realize that you count as one of the ‘little ones,’ right?” Dick raised a brow. “You’re younger than me.”
“I’m an adult.”
“You count as a little one in my heart.”
Jason and Damian made over exaggerated gagging noises, to which Dick rolled his eyes at, despite his smile, as he withdrew his grappling gun.
“Oh hush, both of you. We’ve got a certain someone to check for a concussion.” He chastised.
“I do not have a concussion.” Damian insisted.
“We’re checking, anyway.”
Damian groaned dramatically, Jason snickering as he shook his head, Dick giving his--their--little brother a light scolding.
They were all going to be the second death of him, he swears.
#dc#dc comics#dcu#jason todd#damian wayne#dick grayson#nightwing#red hood#robin#cassandra cain#shes only mentioned tho#writing#my writing#ao3#fics#fanfiction#siblings#protective jason todd#hes a good brother#tw fighting#tw minor child injury#hes fine dont worry abt it#character study#tw minor drug mention
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some kind of attention grabbing noise to clue you into the fact that its FIC TIME, BABES! again, mentions of self harm in this chapter, be cautious and take care of yourselves
lost? confused? frightened? worry not. start here, for delicious tasty context
His home is broken.
When he’d arrived at the Tudor, floating up the steps, he’d almost felt a sense of relief. No matter how bad everything is, at least he can see his dad and sister now. Even if they can’t see him, he can find a way to make them say his name, and maybe his presence will only be a band aid on a mortal wound, but they’ll at least all be bleeding out together.
But he doesn’t recognize the people in this house. They call themselves Lydia and Charles, and their voices sound the same, and they mostly look the same, but these can’t be his breathers, his family, because they hardly seem to count as one. Lydia’s only sixteen, but she looks older, sadder, the dark makeup and short dark hair a shock, when he’s only known her as fresh faced and long haired and blonde. And his Lydia used to smile, she used to tell jokes, she used to have life behind her eyes. This Lydia is functionally dead. She walks around, eyes half hidden behind hair and eyeliner, and sits quietly, hardly eats, picks at her food like she’s already accepted starvation as a viable escape method.
Charles is just as bad. His father reeks of alcohol, a scent BJ can’t stand, and the gray at his temples is more pronounced than he remembers.
But worst of all, is how neither of them talk about anything that matters. He sits in his chair, at dinner, listens to Charles berate Lydia over some stupid school thing.
“Mom always said high school was temporary. Ya know, unimportant,” he grates out, like he’s a part of the conversation, but no one turns to look at him. Lydia pushes her food around her plate, hardly reacts to the scolding, and that’s dinner. Two dead people, playing at being alive, neither doing an especially good job.
He goes before them, up the stairs, leaving a cold air behind himself, and he finds that he’s able to manipulate his bedroom door, though not by much, and it’s exhausting to do so. It opens only a fraction, but that must be enough to get Lydia’s attention, because she enters, pokes around, and even asks Charles about it. But he can see from the look in both their eyes, that this evidence of his existence isn’t enough.
Lydia lays on his bed, in the dark, and cries for their mother, and he would give anything to cry with her. As it is, he hugs his knees to his chest, in the dark, and sits there, shaking and overwhelmed, as he listens to his baby sister softly sob herself to sleep.
He becomes well acquainted with their new bad habits fairly quickly. Charles is drinking himself into a stupor, every night, falling asleep at his desk, barely making it to work in the mornings, sometimes not changing out of his suit for a number of days, only applying cologne as needed, too busy in the bottle to take care of himself properly.
That’s bad enough, but the first time he sees what Lydia does, now, it scares him so badly it’s hard to even think. She digs a shard of glass into her forearm, and it at least seems she’s not cutting to kill, but both siblings watch the red prick along the new wound in silence, until he speaks.
“Mom wouldn’t like that,” he tells her, not that it matters. “You shouldn’t be doin’ that, Lyds. What if it gets infected? What if you get seriously hurt? Th’ blood’s supposed to be on th’ inside, kiddo,” he babbles, pointlessly, as she cuts deeper, sinks that glass further into her skin, and sits there, watching it, passively. Like it’s not happening to her. Like she’s watching something on a screen. Like she couldn’t care less that she’s hurting herself.
“Dead Mom,” she addresses her empty room, as she often does. “If you can see this, you’re probably freaking out. This is coping. I’m coping.” She lies to the air in front of her.
“You’re not,” he croaks out. “This isn’t healthy, Lyds, please..”
It’s a nightly ritual for her, at this point. She listens to music, looks through photos, and maims herself, and all he can do is watch her, trying to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, or stupider.
A week into silently stalking his own family, and he’s still not any closer to being seen, or figuring out how to make them say his name. It’s torture. He follows the two of them around the house, plays at being their shadows, and trails them places, work, school, the grocery store, wherever. It doesn’t matter. He might as well not exist.
Actually, not existing is already starting to sound pretty good.
Lydia stands up from her bed, still bleeding, and the motion of that breaks his thoughts. She crouches low, retrieves a photo album from under her bed that he didn’t know had been there. She flips through it, and has to sit down, after only a second.
“That th’ blood loss catchin’ up to you?” he snarks, before glancing over at her, and his eyes widen. She’s staring at a photo of him. Several photos of him, actually, and she flips through the album, pages and pages of him. He studies her expression, as she lands on a picture that he recognizes. The two of them, coming back from that disastrous visit to the Smallpox Hospital, on the lift, over the water. She’s nine, and adorable, and he’s sixteen and grubby, but infatuated with the two who had been sitting across from them. Adam had taken Lydia’s instamatic, and snapped the picture of the siblings, making faces, the skyline behind them.
“You remember that day, Lyds?” he tries, as he watches her brow furrow. She sighs, like she’s disappointed in herself, and closes the album, and it’s deposited back under her bed.
“Mama, some of these pictures, they make my head hurt, more than my heart,” she says, softly, which he understands. She can’t remember him, all the memories she has of him are locked behind whatever mental wall this curse has created, and trying does nothing but confuse her. Maybe she can’t even see his face, in the pictures. Maybe it’s a blur, out of focus, like the moment you wake up, and have yet to rub the sleep from your eyes.
That’s all he is, now, just a dream she can’t remember upon her return to the waking world.
He can open and close doors, but only barely, and it takes the energy out of him. He finds that any fire he lights still affects the world of the living, but when he tries to spell his name out in flames on the walls, all he manages to do is scare Charles into calling an electrician, about a possible electrical issue causing fires. He hadn’t even been able to spell out a “B” because somehow, this stupid curse can tell his intentions, and he hadn’t been able to physically move his arm, to form the letters he needed.
A month into living in hell, he’s finding himself feeling more and more like he’s losing his mind. He knows humans can be driven mad by isolation, but he’d never thought of what the effects on himself would be, especially since it’s not true isolation. He can go into a crowd, surround himself with people. It just doesn't matter, which is what’s making him feel so unhinged, and more than once, he throws himself into a crowd of people, and screams and kicks and thrashes, begging them to see him. All he succeeds in doing is giving a group of New Yorkers a slight chill.
But the thing that makes him the angriest is the day he finds a red headed stranger in their house. He and Lydia come in together, her just returning from a day at school, and him returning from a day of tagging along behind her, and the siblings both stop, and cock their heads at the same time, the same direction, at the sight of the strange woman standing in the foyer. Her red hair is piled in sort of a silly looking bun on top of her head, and she’s got some very intense bangs, hiding her forehead. She’s also wearing almost exclusively purple. She's scrunching her nose, examining one of Emily’s framed prints, the one of Saturn Devouring His Son, looking a bit disgusted.
“Who th’ hell is that?” he asks Lydia, and Lydia addresses the woman. “Who the hell are you?”
The woman turns to face them, and then smiles. “Oh, hello there!” she says, like they're strangers, and she’s welcoming them into her home. She lifts her hands, and rings a triangle Betelgeuse hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“You’re bringing a very interesting energy into this house, Lydia,” the stranger smiles, like that’s the only facial expression she’s got.
“You don’t say. I’m about to bring the energy of a bunch of cops here, too,” the teen threatens, staring at the woman, who places a hand over her chest. “My name is Delia,” she says, finally. “Your dad has hired me to be your life coach! He says you’ve been feeling down in the dumps, lately,” she gives an over exaggerated sad face. “But I know with a little positive thinking, me and you can turn that sad aura into a bubbling rainbow one!”
“Oh my god, you should bite her,” Betelgeuse says, instantly.
“You up to date on your rabies shot?” Lydia asks. “Positivity makes me foam at the mouth. I wouldn’t get too close.”
Delia cocks an eyebrow, but does move, and allows the teen to move past her, up the stairs. “I’m just here to help you gain a new perspective, Lydia~!” she calls from behind her, as Lydia storms up to her room, and she slams the door behind herself.
“Unbelievable,” she growls, throwing her bag on her bed, and he echoes her. “Un-fuckin'-believable!” he agrees, pacing around her room. “What th’ hell is a life coach, even?”
Lydia kicks at her wall, her big black combat boot leaving a mark on the red paint. “I’m the one who needs help? He can’t even say her name, and I’m the one who needs the hippie to come in, and try and change my perspective? A change of perspective doesn’t bring MOM BACK!” She ends her sentence in a scream, her face going red, and then she picks up her bag, and throws it at her bedroom door. The bang it makes isn’t satisfying enough, and she whirls around her room, looking for anything else she can throw around, and destroy. He settles on her bed, and watches, forced to be passive by the curse, as Lydia storms around her room, until finally, Charles throws open her bedroom door.
“You are being ridiculous,” he hisses at her, his grip on her door knob white knuckled.
“Get out! Get the hell out and leave me alone, and take that bitch downstairs with you!” Lydia screams, a hair’s breadth away from throwing a potted plant at him.
“Scream and throw fits all you want, little girl. You can’t temper tantrum your way out of Delia being here. She’s going to help you.”
She lobs the plant at him, and it barely goes sailing by their father’s head. Betelgeuse watches go over the railing, and then there’s the sound of it shattering on the entrance floor, followed by Delia’s surprised, “Oh!”
Charles’ expression is deadly. “You can stay in here until you’ve calmed down,” is all he says, before slamming her door, and Lydia stands there, breathing heavily.
“You learned how to throw those epic tantrums from me,” Betelgeuse tells her, as she flops on her bed, and screams into a pillow.
read the rest right over HERE
#beetlejuice#beetlejuice fanfiction#beetlejuice broadway#beetlejuice the musical#lydia deetz#beetlejuice fic#my writing
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The Killing Cure (Part 9)
They really need to get going. His Rose is out there and what has he been doing? Helping a woman who has tried to kill him, who probably hates him, a woman who routinely has a whole arsenal of unkind names for him.
A woman who has opened up to him whether she meant to or not.
A woman who has made him laugh for the first time since he had lost Rose.
A woman who let him feel a sense of home for the first time since Mia was killed.
A woman who is so darkly alluring and deadly.
Ethan picks up his gun and loads several bullets into it. Habitually, it crosses to slip out without a word to her. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t; somehow Lady Dimitrescu always seems to appear at the most inconvenient times.
“Heading out, Winters?”
He clears his throat, “I was getting ready to. I would like to start searching for Rose, I’ve wasted too much time already.” Even as he says it he thinks that he hasn’t wasted his time, not truly. Caring for Dimitrescu and her daughters hasn’t been entirely unpleasant.
On some days he would even argue that he had a nice time with the woman and her daughters.
He had anticipated a scowl, a scoff, or a dismissive wave. He could have dealt with any of those. The expression she gives him instead displays hurt. “Don’t tell me you don’t think that it was a waste of time to linger around here…”
She purses her lips, furrows her brows and seems to stare into her palms. And now she fixes him with the scoff he had readied himself for. “If it’s such a waste, then you may show yourself out.” Her posture, as she leaves, is as stiff as her response.
Ethan sighs and rubs his hands over his face. He only meant that looking for his daughter is an urgent matter, surely she would understand that…
Maybe if had worded it better.
He doesn’t know why he keeps saying the wrong things around her.
He knows even less why he cares.
He wonders how much of a hassle she will give him if she comes back to find him still lurking in the castle. His gun is already loaded, perhaps he should leave after all. He has already dealt with her anger more than enough. At least this time he can go quietly.
He looks up from his gun to see Cassandra peeking around the corner.
.oOo.
Alcina sits on her mattress.
A waste of time, that is what helping her is.
That is what she is.
She stares at her hands. Her blistered, swollen hands. Perhaps if she wasn’t like this, she wouldn’t be such a waste. She curls herself up on the bed feeling emotionally queasy. It is just what Miranda said. Her condition made her unstable, a failure, unsuitable…
It makes her useless. Useless and unlovable. It is only a matter of time before her daughter come to see her as a burden too.
She should take her pills. She knows that she should, but she just doesn’t feel up to it. Can’t find the strength nor energy to sit herself back up and reach over for them. Had she her impressive size still, she would have been able to reach them with just an extension of her arm. Now her fingers barely brush them when she stretches her arm.
Her motivation drops that much more.
At least Winters will be out of her castle soon enough where she can forget about he and the strife he brings her. She tells herself so, though she knows that it will be impossible. Impossible when, every time she looks at herself and her small and maimed body, she thinks of how she got this way again.
Winters isn’t here to stop her so she picks up her kiseru and a glass of wine. Plain, grape wine. She doesn’t even like the taste, but she craves the relaxation and relief. She needs it so desperately. It has been far too long since her last drink and her last smoke. She is getting anxious over it.
She pours herself a glass and lights her smoke.
.oOo.
With a half empty bottle and a still smoking kiseru, Ethan isn’t surprised to find Lady Dimitrescu in such a poor state. The woman is, apparently, a lightweight and she drinks a strong wine. He watches her stumble towards her bed where she leans quite heavily against the bedpost.
She is hunched over, crying.
She is perhaps the saddest drunk he has ever seen. She’s lucky that he wasn’t able to convince her daughters to go apologize for him.
He sighs as he makes his way up to her. “We just talked about this.” He gestures to the bottle and the kiseru. Though he doesn’t think that there is any talking to her in this state. He isn’t even sure if she will remember the conversation at all.
“Go away, Winters.” She growls.
His second sigh is even deeper. “Let’s get you into bed.” He considers his options before ultimately deciding to scoop her into his arms and lay her upon the mattress. Somehow, even after several days--nearly a week, he realizes--it is still hard for him to fathom being able to just lift her up and into his arms.
“Leave me, Winters. I’m a disgrace. An abomination. A…”
God, she is such a sensitive woman. Very dramatic to boot. More than he had ever expected. Though he supposes that at least some of it is the copious amount of wine in her system. Not that she hadn’t been prone to melodramatics before.
He brushes her bangs out of her face, “you’re drunk and sad, that’s what you are.” Though he can’t fathom why she is so distraught over him leaving. Less so, he understands why she cares if he feels like being in her castle was a waste of time.
She repeats her string of self-deprecating words and he wonders what Mother Miranda could have said to her in the past. “You’re not a disgrace. And, believe it or not, porphyria doesn’t make you an abomination.”
“I don’t believe it.” She laments.
He rolls his eyes. He had figured as much. “Can I sit down.”
“No! You can stand and suffer like I do!”
If only to humor her just a little he fibs, gives some theatrics of his own; “but my feet and back are killing me.”
“Good.” She grumbles through her tears and dainty sniffles.
He holds out a few tissues. Granted he has used a good portion of them in mourning Mia. “You’re not an any of those things that you mentioned and helping you wasn’t a waste of time. I have a feeling that, once we get going, it’s going to be a lot easier to save Rose with you here.”
Lady Dimitrescu covers her face with her hands.
“You’re not a waste. Don’t you ever say that again.”
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post-canon JM but make them vigilante monster hunters
never seen a single episode but i think this might be the plot of supernatural? idk i bugged the server with this and now other ppl have to see it.
tw for general monster-related horror and descriptions of it, and very very mild injury
ao3 link here!
...
It's late. Again.
She sighs, rubbing at her eyes until starbursts dance in her vision. If her lab manager knew she was in here at god, is it already 3? in the morning, he would probably have a fit. But it's not her fault her work has been so. Uncooperative. Realistically, she could be doing some of this at home, but the lab computer already has everything she needs, and it's so much easier to focus here.
Well. Most of the time.
Her water bottle is still half full, but she decides a walk to the vending machine at the end of the hall would do her some good. She can stretch her legs and get some caffeine at the same time. Best of both worlds.
Right then, a sound cuts through the air. It's a dull roar, crescendoing to a peak that it maintains for a handful of seconds before fading away. As jumpy as she gets this late, she hardly bats an eye as she digs her wallet out of her backpack. It's a common sound to hear in the building, one that you get used to quickly once you spend some time here. The university has a wind tunnel it uses for classes, as well as research. She's seen it before, used it first hand - even down in the basement of the building, the roar of the compressed air tank when the valve is switched practically shakes the foundation. That's how you tell the first years apart from everyone else. They're the ones who jump when they hear it, looking around in confusion, and sometimes fear. But it doesn't take long for it to become background noise.
She's more concerned about the fact that it's so late. Some poor graduate student, down in the basement in the middle of the night running the tunnel instead of sleeping. Or doing literally anything else. Unfortunately, she can relate.
The door shuts with a weighty slam behind her. The silence of the building is even sharper after the echo of the wind, and she fights down the urge to shudder. The hall is long, dark - the university installed motion activated lights in most of the buildings a few years back, and the effect they create as she walks down the hall is surprisingly eerie. The fluorescents flicker on with the faintest clicks and hums as she walks below them, boots clicking against the tile floor. She's a fast walker, always had been - and the incessant sound of her footfalls in the quiet somehow puts her even more on edge.
The pale light from the vending machine reflects against the linoleum in a way that could be inviting. In theory. But it's really more off-putting than anything else, like the sickly glow of a motel sign off of the interstate, flickering a destitute "no vacancy" into the night. The selection is slim, but she punches in the code for an overpriced iced coffee that feels cool and familiar in her hand.
The scream of the wind tunnel comes and goes again, louder, now that she's outside the lab. She can't help the unease creeping down her spine in the wake of its silence. On one hand, it's a comfort to know at least one other person is in the building with her. But even then, the still quiet it leaves behind is always worse, and it sends the hair on the back of her head standing at attention.
It only gets worse as she walks, and she fights the urge to look over her shoulder. Everyone knows the feeling - when you're a kid, and you sneak into the kitchen in the dead of night to get a drink, only to sprint back up to your room as soon as you can because you're so, so sure something is coming for you.
And now that she's thinking about it, she can't not think about it, which is as futile as it is frustrating. She tries to force it down along with the beating of her heart, but the fear simmers beneath the surface like a pot on the stove, two seconds from boiling over. She's already more than halfway back, just a few more seconds and she can slam the lab door shut behind her and feel almost safe.
The roar of the tunnel, again. She can't help the jump, this time, on edge as she is. Strange, they don't usually run it so many times in so few minutes-
A thought comes to her then, without warning, the way they do when you realize you've forgotten something important. She remembers the conversation with striking clarity - Ajay, her roommate, working on a big research project. He needed to test his prototype in the wind tunnel, and he'd lamented to her over dinner the other day that a replacement part they needed downstairs wouldn't arrive until next week. Which sucked, because he has a deadline for a paper submission coming up and needed more data-
Most of this is useless. But she remembers, now, better than anything she ever has, that the wind tunnel hasn't been working all week. The lab is closed, would be until Wednesday, until the new part comes in.
The roaring shriek comes again, pounding against her eardrums in a way it never has before. Oppressive. Almost hungry. It's closer, it's louder.
It's behind her.
She turns. As she chokes on her own heartbeat and sinking dread, she turns.
And something is behind her.
Thin and wrong, inky black and too many limbs. A long torso with a long head attached, crooked on its neck. Gaping white sockets where eyes would, should, be. It has no mouth, and yet she knows with absolute certainty that it was making that sound. A mocking imitation of something so familiar.
And she knows, an anchor sinking into pitch black water, that it's going to kill her.
blood blood i need blood your blood your face you
It's in her head, a voice with no mouth to speak it. She opens her own mouth to scream, but it's useless to her. Nothing comes out, not even air. Maybe she can run, she has to run, has to get away. But she can't bring herself to turn even a sliver from the nightmare in front of her. A deep, primal fear convincing her that the second she can't see that thing is the second it will get her.
Maybe she can run, still, with her eyes on it. But one of her feet finds the other in her panic, and she falls to the floor. She thinks she feels a pain in her wrist, but it's dull and far away. Hardly a blip on the radar of fear fear oh my god what is that thing-
It's coming for her, all bending joints like limbs of a puppet, pulled by invisible strings, limping, creaking in unnatural steps and lunges. Its eyes never once leave her, glued to her in hungry determination. The roar comes again, but it's twisted and warped like scrap metal and just as jagged around the edges.
And then it stops. Not more than ten feet from her. Frozen. She doesn't breathe, she doesn't think she could if she wanted to.
"That's enough."
It's a man's voice, from behind her. She doesn't have it in her to turn around, to look away. But it doesn't matter. Whoever it is god she hopes it's a who and not a what steps up next to her, in front of her. It might not be accurate to say he's shielding her, but he's between her and it, and she doesn't feel relief, but she feels. Safer, somehow.
She's never seen him before. His hair is long, streaked with grey, half tied up in a bun at the back of his head. He's wearing a long dark coat over long dark pants, tucked into black combat boots. And that's really all she can see from the floor.
As he steps forward, the creature seems to recoil. It hisses, maybe, and then another sound follows. A sad remixing of its own imitating screech from before, not quite a howl but more of a cry. It sounds pained, almost, creaking and desperate. Limbs rear up, but amount to nothing. It's an uncoordinated movement as it falls back on something like haunches.
"I'm watching you, now. There's nowhere you can hide from me."
The man's voice sounds strange to her. There's a cracking, almost static quality to it. She has no idea what the man could possibly be doing, but it looks like it's working.
Until it isn't.
The thing writhes and shrieks again, louder. She can feel it down into her bones, scraping at her marrow, god she wants to throw up. The man in front of her staggers slightly. He mutters something like a curse under his breath, brings a hand to his head. The thing is moving again, shambling towards them. It looks weaker, shakier than before but no less threatening. No less horrifying. Maybe even more so, with the look of a sick, maimed animal as it staggers down the street.
She thinks she might be about to pass out with the sudden chill that overtakes her. But the fading of her vision never comes, and is that. Her breath? She can see it in the air in front of her, condensing like it does on cold winter mornings. With a blink she realizes there's a fog as well, come seemingly from nothing. It's thick and low-hanging, coating the floor of the hall and swirling upwards. It chills her exposed skin, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.
She assumes the thing must be doing this, a defense mechanism or something, but it's slower than before. Subdued. It's still making its way toward them, but it looks lost, like a fawn trying to walk on new legs.
Until another man comes from an adjoining hallway, and bashes its head in with a baseball bat.
It's a solid hit, and the thing goes down almost immediately. The man, the new one, gives another swing, and another, and a few more, for good measure. His bat is slick with something dark and oily. And then the thing is still.
It's quiet for a second, two, then-
"Excellent timing as always, dear." The staticy click of the first man's voice is gone. He sounds out of breath, even though he hardly moved.
The second man laughs, and the cold and the fog seems to fade with it. He's bigger than the first man, taller. He's wearing a bomber jacket over a nondescript t-shirt, fingerless gloves and jeans frayed at the edges. Like he just walked out of an action movie. Or a horror movie. With the thing laying at his feet, the second might be more fitting.
"That was cutting it a little close, Jon. We knew it was with the Stranger, that it could fight you off-"
"Yes, yes, thank you, Martin. That's what the bat is for, after all. The Lonely was probably a bit overkill, though."
"It's not overkill if we don't get ourselves maimed, Jon-"
The first man - Jon, apparently - turns to her then. His face is scarred, and dark shadows hang under oddly bright green eyes. But his gaze isn't unkind as he looks down at her.
"Sorry, are you alright? I was hoping we could take care of this when everyone was gone, but-" He laughs darkly. "Well, I was in university once, I should have known at least one student would still be here in the middle of the night, even on the weekend."
The man going by Martin walks over, as Jon extends a hand to help her up. She's lost all hope of her brain trying to process what's happening but step one can at least be get off the floor. But she can't even do that properly. The hand she raises is the same one she fell on, and the twinge from her wrist shoots up her arm almost immediately in a shout for attention.
It must show on her face too, because Jon makes a sound and then Martin's asking her, "Oh, are you hurt?"
"Uh, n-no, I mean…'s just, uh, my wrist. Kinda, fell on it funny." Her voice isn't exactly steady, but it's a far cry from where she was expecting it to be. At least she's orbiting the realm of comprehensible.
Martin crouches next to her. Up close she can see his face in more detail - his eyes are a slate grey, like the fog from before. But they're kind, wrinkled at the edges when he smiles softly at her. "Mind if I take a look?"
She's not exactly in a position to say no, so she gingerly holds her arm out. His hands are rough, calloused, but surprisingly gentle as they probe her wrist. She can't stop the trembling, now, completely unrelated to the pain.
"It's a sprain." Jon says, laced with certainty somewhere above her.
Martin sighs, long-suffering. "Thank you, Jon, I was getting to that."
"Just trying to help." She can't see him, but she can practically hear the cheeky smile tacked to the end of that sentence.
"As much as I hate saying it, he's right." Martin eyes her with something close to humor, like they're in on a joke together. He shrugs a backpack off of his shoulders, rummages through it with one hand. "I think we have some elastic bandages left for something like this…"
"Front pocket." Jon says again. He's moved closer to the thing, the corpse, it must be, now. He's turned away from her, and she can't see his face.
"Thank you, love."
"Of course."
"Um-" She cuts in suddenly, her nerves and panic getting the best of her. Martin looks up from her hand, and Jon turns back to glance at her.
"Sorry, uh, I just- what the fuck was that?"
"I'd tell you not to worry yourself over it, but I don't think that's much of an answer." Jon says, coming back towards them. He crouches down before he continues. "Let's just say this is...our day job."
"It is three in the morning, though."
"That would be the, colloquial use of the term, Martin."
"Just saying." With Martin in front of her she can actually see the cheeky grin, this time.
He uses the bandage to wrap her wrist. It smarts a bit, but the pressure helps. He's clearly adept enough to do this and talk at the same time, because he cuts in next. "We're here to make sure things like that-" he gestures with a nod of his head. "-don't hurt anyone."
Her mouth is full of sawdust. "W- what, like, monsters and shit?" She always did swear a lot when she was stressed.
"More or less."
"If it's any consolation," Jon says. "These things aren't exactly...common. You have to have a special kind of luck to run into something like this."
Yeah, luck.
He sighs, then. He looks tired. "I'm so sorry. If it means anything. This isn't the kind of thing you'll be able to just forget, or-"
"That's why we're here." Martin cuts in. He's finished with her wrist, neatly wrapped and held in place with little wire clips. "To try to stop stuff like this from happening, before it happens. Sorry we were late."
It's not a stretch to imagine what would have happened if they hadn't shown up even later, or not at all. But it's something she will try very, very hard not to think about.
She swallows. "I guess...thank you, then."
"Of course."
The adrenaline and sudden lack thereof leaves her with a jittery exhaustion deep in her core. But she has so many questions, how could she not-
A chill, and a rush of wind and waves hit her before she can get another word out. It's gone as quickly as it had come, so much so she thinks she imagined it. But suddenly, she's alone.
The men going by Jon and Martin and the misshapen corpse of that thing are gone. The hall is just as it had been before, dim lights and freshly polished tile. No sign of anything, or anyone. Except for her.
She knows with crushing certainty that it wasn't a dream. Couldn't be a dream. But she knows that's what people will tell her. So she says nothing. She says nothing, and hopes nothing ever leads her to cross paths with those two ever again.
#the magnus archives#tma#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin#tma fics#my writing#wrote this at 4 in the morning and realized i actually vibed w it so here we are
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Summer Rains and Old Pains
It took four years for Lambert to admit that the Cat wasn’t just an acquaintance. It took two more before he acknowledged that in so many words. He would never know when he fell in love with him.It took six months for Aiden to stop sleeping with one eye open - the wolf didn’t have the patience for a long con. It took two years for him to start calling the wolf “his friend” at the Caravan. It took two more for him to think that he might be a little bit in love with him.
It would be a decade before they kissed for the first time.
It was a delicate game that they played, dancing on a knife’s edge in barefoot summer rains.A light push in either direction would send them both into a free fall, anger and violence for months on end until they simmered and cooled enough to embrace and cling to the other’s company like a child to a blanket. A push could be as simple as a beg for another evening or as forceful as a fistfight. It was a dangerous dance that worked in their favor most days. They were determined to make it work; so it did.
*
They rode at each other’s side, horses trotting along toward the next podunk little town big enough to have a decent inn. They hadn’t seen another traveler in days and even Lambert was aching for a good bed to lie in. Naturally it had to rain.
“If you hadn’t insisted we check out that embankment we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Aiden grumbled, his hair was plastered to the sides of his face and neck. He should have looked like a half drowned rat... or cat. It wasn’t fair, he looked like a painting.“I’m sorry that I have some half decent morals!” He added a mutter under his breath of “Fucking Cat.”
“Your morals got you a sprained ankle and no pay for a job that should have gotten us at least twenty crowns a piece, sweetheart.”
He… had a point. It wasn’t even as though the drowners were near a village. They were three hours from the last washing post for Melitele’s sake. But… no. He was not admitting defeat.“Better than a dead kid next summer. Hell, what are you complaining for? You’re the one who's been bitchin’ about a bath.”
“Yes. A bath. A wonderful, warm, lovely bath- not freezing rain and a muddy river. Melitele’s tits Lam!” Aiden was a good man, he was. A damn sight better than Lambert most days but the man could complain for hours . Lambert would be paying some inn keeper for a bath that evening; he simply knew it. Even still… he reached over and flicked water from his gloves at the Cat’s face.
“You’ll live.”
*
“Duck!” Aiden hit the forest floor as an arrow whipped through where his neck had been just moments before. He rolled left and popped back to his feet in time to catch a bandit with his dagger, just under the man’s ribs. He made a satisfying sound when he hit the ground. Aiden didn't have time to revel in it.
“Stupid thing, robbing a witcher. Robbing two? You must have been top of your class.” He spun in time to see Lambert knock the last man in the clearing unconscious before he took off into the trees. Branches broke as the archer took off post haste, seeming to realize that he was now in a very poor position. Lambert caught him before Aiden could take the first coin pouch off their would be assailants.
Lambert was… harsh. He kept his gentle smiles and laughs, all his soft pieces that the world hadn’t yet managed to beat out of him close to his chest. Covered in layer upon layer of thorns and armor. He would cut his way through a hundred men before he let someone see the things he considered his weaknesses. Aiden had, somehow, managed to slip between those defenses at some point. He wasn’t sure when. Despite the rage that he carried in his chest Lambert was a good man; he didn’t take contracts on humans and he rarely killed them outright, a bit of maiming or disfigurement was well within the cards but he refused to make use of a grave. Except where Aiden was concerned. Except where the people who he loved were concerned.
He’d asked, just once, why the death of a human was the line. Why after everything that life had thrown at him and all that he had done in return that was where he put the marker. Lambert had been half asleep and full of good whiskey at the time; so the answer was honest, too much so.
“Cause I’ve got the upper hand no matter what. It’d be like beating on a woman or hitting a kid and I ain’t got any plans on being like my father. That’s if it’s jus’ me though. They wanna hurt someone else and I’m not going to let them get on with that. Might as well put those damn trials to some fuckin' use...”
In the morning he hadn’t acknowledged the information he’d so trustingly laid at Aiden’s feet; and they went on with their lives. Lambert came back then with a recently cleaned steel sword. “They ruined my good boots.”
“We’ll get you new ones.” Aiden promised.
“I’m holding you to that.” A calloused hand was offered to him and Aiden placed his own within it. On his feet he stepped into the wolf’s space, using their clasped hands to pull him into a one armed hug. He ran his hand over the wolf's back for both comfort and to ensure there were no injuries he needed to patch.
“Least I can do for you saving my ass.”
*
They tumbled into bed together for the first time after a bar fight. It wasn’t a bed really; it was a bedroll laid beneath an overhang of rock and they were both too keyed up from their frantic flight out of town to make anything last long. Lambert had a black eye and Aiden had a split lip that protested every harsh kiss pressed against it but neither witcher cared. Pain was routine, a small price for the love and the pleasure- the oh so fucking finally feeling of giving in to what they wanted.
With fumbling hands they brought each other off. Aiden slung a heavy arm over the wolf’s waist and tensed when Lambert’s hand circled his wrist, well expecting to have it tossed aside with a complaint about cuddling like he had in every inn they’d shared a bed within before. He didn’t though.
Aiden woke the next morning with his arm still firmly in place. The grumbling about ‘disgusting dried fluids’ was even worth it.
*
Lambert was in a mood. The birds were too loud, the flowers that bloomed alongside the road were too cloying, and the sun was too damn bright. Even Aiden, the only person on the planet that could stand his company more than a few hours, was distancing himself on their trek. The contract was for a pair of griffins, easy enough, but the alderman had smelled of cheap liquor and the look in his eye said that they would be lucky to get half the promised pay.
“Hey, kitten?” It comes out as a biting thing, no matter his attempts to keep his frustration off the cat's head.
“Yeah?” Aiden looked at him then, eyes that edged on green rather than amber, wide and expecting.
“How ‘bout you go on and get our pay. I’ll probably gut the fucker if I have to deal with him right now.” The cat didn’t reach out for him, having spent too long at the wolf’s side not to realize his mood and the preferences that came with it.
“Alright. You going to be in our room?”
“Yeah, I’m going to try to sleep off the last of this damn potion.”
He didn’t manage to sleep at all. Aiden came in with two plates of food and two tankards of ale to find him pretending, face down on the mattress.
“Come on, asshole. I got food and most of our promised coin for you… I also got a new gwent deck last month that I’m gonna kick your ass with.”
“Like you could win without cheating me, pretty thing.” he forced himself up, toward the food that made him want to be sick with the thought of it on his tongue. He needed it. He knew it, Aiden knew it. Just like Aiden knew that he wouldn't win without cheating.
“Let’s see about that.”
*
Cats were unstable. Dangerous. They were as quick to change from laughter to anger as a summer sky was from blue to storm gray. Cats were not to be trusted. Every witcher and human child was taught that from the moment they could walk. Lambert was never good at following instructions.
“Aiden?” The carnage was… extensive. A dozen bodies torn apart with the strength of a hurricane and the care of a starving drowner. “Aiden, love?” Endearments, true endearments, were rare to pass his lips. They meant one of two things- he was well fucked or he was scared out of his ever loving mind.He stepped over a butchered arm, half cut and then torn, towards the figure in the middle of the room.
They had split six weeks before, Aiden going to take on a contract that Lambert wanted to know nothing about. He wasn't naive, he knew Aiden didn't have the same qualms he did about humans and human contracts but he had asked in their third year not to know about them. Aiden respected that. Aiden respected him.It was the blood that gave them the chance to meet then, so strong even from half a mile through the forest that Lambert was helpless not to investigate. Cats are unstable. Their mutations make it inevitable that they’ll snap one day.
His hand wrapped around the cat’s wrist, firm and without fear. He expected him to lash out, was willing to take whatever scar or pain that came in order to simply touch. To ensure that Aiden was real. That the frozen figure wasn’t a lie, a cruel trick played on his mind. Aiden turned, Lambert tensed, but the dagger in his cat's left hand dropped to the floor rather than bury itself in his chest; and Aiden collapsed against the wolf’s chest. He was soaked in blood, Lambert realized dimly. Not just covered but he was dripping in it. Aiden’s hair was matted with it and his blue armor hardly showed through the red. It was old- turning black and crusting. How long had he stood there?
“I’ve got you, kitten.” the hand on his wrist shifted to hold the cat’s waist, Lambert raised his other hand raised to clasp Aiden's neck. A feeble attempt at making it all better. “I’ve got you.” Fourteen bodies. Most wore some sort of uniform, a lesser lordling’s colors or some shit but... some did not. There were three men in commoner clothes, a torn scrap of pale lilac fabric, and a small pair of shoes not unlike… Oh gods.
“What happened here?” This is Aiden. He’s yours, he's good. There’s a reason for this.
Salt was in the air, nearly lost beneath the copper of blood, and the body in his arms began heaving with sobs.“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”Cats feel too much. Lambert shifted his grip to half carry the other witcher outside, he needed away. He needed fresh air and dirt under his feet. He took the sobbing man around the back of the shack to a well where he could rip one of his undershirts into strips and begin to clean the blood and gore from the man’s skin. The armor, the clothes, they were lost causes but he could make sure that the only stain on his skin would be salt.
He started with his hands, coaxing his fingers to uncurl with soft and even pressure. He took care around the nails, more than one of which were broken. Then up his arms with broader strokes. By the time he started on his neck the sobbing had quieted down to shuddering breaths, hiccups that ended before they finished. Ignoring his eyes which were red rimmed and half void of the emotions that wracked him so thoroughly just moments before, he was nearly calm.Lambert wiped at some splatter on his cheek. He tossed the cloth aside and took up another.
“Back with me, kitten?” He needed to be gentle. He had to be gentle for him.“Yeah.” His voice was like sandpaper.“Gonna tell me what happened?” Lambert asked, afraid of the answer.“... yeah.” Aiden swallowed, took a deep breath- shuddered and had to try again. Lambert waited. He could wait for Aiden. Only for Aiden.
“Contract was for some kid- not to kill. No, gods no. Someone kidnapped a mayor’s daughter or a lord’s… I don’t know. Titles weren’t important. I just was supposed to find her and bring her back home but... but I tracked them up here after a few weeks. Gal had a lover and a kid no one knew about... I guess the dad's family couldn't stand a bastard kid running around or some shit and I thought that it would be easy to find her and she jus' would agree to keep it quiet but when I got here they were” his hands clenched, rage twisted his lips into a snarl but he didn't try to rise. “They were too distracted with her to realize I’d even gotten inside. They used her as a bargaining chip, Lam. She was half dead, held up here for all that time and... and they offered her to me. Like I was a- I didn’t kill her Lam, I didn’t touch her or that kid in there… that was all them. I tried so save them but it didn’t fucking matter and they... they... Please, please believe me that I wouldn’t- even as angry as I was I didn’t touch them. I didn’t do that to them. I tried. I didn't- I couldn't...” he was rambling, losing it once more and the longer he spoke the more rage built in Lambert’s chest.“I know you wouldn’t.” He pours every ounce of conviction into the words.“I blacked out, Lam. I… I don’t remember it all but I wouldn’t have” he was breathing fast again- panicking. He was losing him again.
“I know, kitten. You wouldn’t. I know that, you know that. You’re too good for that, love.” He dragged the cloth over his eyelids, gentle, and then he tossed it into the bucket. He was as clean as he could be without a full bath. “Do you want me to burn it all?”“No, the girl and the kid. They deserve better. I’ll make a pyre for them if you’ll deal with the others.”“I can do that.”So Lambert gently squeezed the cat’s hands, kissed his forehead, heedless of the blood in his hair, and set to work.
*
As the days grew colder the men took to curling tighter around each other’s bodies. They were only a month off the incident when Aiden set his lips against Lambert’s neck and said“I love you.”It wasn’t the first time the Cat had said those words but Lambert brought clasped hands up to his lips and whispered against them, for the first time.“Love you too, kitten.”
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Chess. Chapter 6
Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.
TW: Violence, language, sexual themes, blood
(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)
“St. Roch, Louisiana. We’re staying in our own backyard”. Flag was reading from a tablet; as we were taken through a long hallway, leading from the cellblock, to what seemed to be a large garage.
I had a guards pistol aimed at me, as it’s owner followed my every move, with cold eyes.
I had spent the rest the day before, trying to wrap my mind around my new situation.
I was officially a prisoner at Belle Reve – a high security penitentiary, in the sweatiest asscrack of the Louisiana swamps. I was there for the kidnapping and assault of judge Jeremiah Kelper.
The assault and maiming had been of such a horrible nature, that I was committed to this facility, without trial. My conviction was a formality, as I apparently confessed to the guards of Belle Reve, the night of my arrival.
I was to serve life, without parole.
There was no mention of the incident in Wayne Tower in my file.
Unofficially, I was the newest member of Task Force X, a top-secret group of meta-humans, and people with exceptional skills, required to complete missions of a classified nature.
These individuals also happened to all be convicted felons, and the scum of the earth.
There was Floyd Lawton; a.k.a. Deadshot. The man who never missed a shot. During dinner – sloppy joes, yum… – he’d shown me a picture of a cute 8 year old girl, who had his eyes.
“She’s a bit older now, writes me every day. She just got an A on her biology report!”, he’d exclaimed proudly. It was clear Floyd loved his daughter, more than anything.
Killer Croc – Waylon Jones. He was huge, terrifying; and made me feel safer than I had in weeks, just by his presence. Croc – as he insisted on being called – had won me over, by calling me cher’.
I’d talked to him about Sammy, and recounted some of the trucker stories he’d told me.
After Croc’d told me he’d once eaten a truckdriver, he said: “I’m glad it wasn’t your boss. He seems like a decent guy”.
I’d been surprised by the gentle and kind demeanor of Chato Santana; or, Diablo, as they called him. I’d seen a videoclip on the news once, of him torching a group of inmates at a prison he was held at. I thought he’d be a hothead – pun intended – but he turned out to be calm and remorseful about his violent past.
Harley. Now, she was a different story. She was about as calm as a puppy on poppers. She also seemed to have no remorse for anything she’d done, as the sidekick and girlfriend of the Joker. I was equal parts terrified and enthralled by her person.
She’d spent most of the rest of the day, singing lullabies to a picture of a hyena, and doing her nails. Once, she’d disappeared for about an hour, before returning to her former activities, with a satisfied smile plastered over her pretty face.
We soon discovered what Harley had been doing, when the napping Digger Harkness – Captain Boomerang, the australian – suddenly screamed; jumping up and down, scratching at his body.
“Ants! Bloody fire ants!”, he’d yelped with a shrill voice; running towards the bathroom.
He’d returned a while later, shaking his coat, and sending the giggling Harley a deadly look. His arms and neck were covered in tiny and angry red welts; that he’d scratched at for the rest of the day.
This was my new family. I was very aware that none of us had chosen to be here, but it seemed that we were all determined to make the best of it, until such an opportunity arose, that we’d be able to leave.
Apparently, Harley had tried to run multiple times – even having made it back to the Clown; and stayed of the grid for a few months, before arriving back at Belle Reve, with a pair of roller skates, and a taxidermized beaver.
I didn’t know when or if I’d be able to escape; so for now, I decided to settle in.
---
In the middle of the large garage stood a helicopter the size of a tank. In front of it stood six crates; each of our names written on the side of one of them.
The rest of the squad seemed to know the procedure. They opened their crates, and dug through them. Flag paced back and forth in front of us, carrying a machinegun.
“You know the deal”, he hollered. “Three weapons. Two ranged, one for close combat. Croc and Diablo, you are both the exceptions”. No weapons for them, I guessed.
“Oy, colonel”, Digger called.
“No, Digger”, Flag answered, before the aussie had a chance to ask. “Boomerangs do not count as close range, though they can be used as such. You bring two. No more”. Digger cursed under his breath.
They’d all been through this before. I couldn’t help but feel like it was the first day of school, and that I’d forgotten my backpack at home.
“You alright?”, Floyd asked from behind me.
“Yeah”, I answered. “It’s just…new. How do you do this? How do you work for these people, who treat you like shit, and then demand that you risk your lives for them?”. I bent to open my crate, and started going through the equipment in it.
“Look”, said Floyd. “Ain’t none of us here who wants to be here. Except for maybe Harley”, he smiled, and looked at the person in question.
She was swinging an oversized fairground hammer, almost knocking over a soldier who was busy checking out her ass.
“We do this, because we have to, for one reason or another”. He looked at me seriously. “I’m here for my little girl. Every time I finish one of these missions, I’m one step closer to seeing her again; and to show her that her daddy’s not a monster”.
I pulled out my jacket, stood up, and looked at it.
“You find whatever reason you need to do this, but make sure it’s important enough, not just to survive for, but to live for”, Floyd finished, patted my shoulder, and walked away.
I sighed and returned to my crate. I had no idea what in my life was important enough to live for at this point.
I didn’t have a family to protect or impress. That had all ended after Hatter had entered my life.
Sammy… he was a friend, but he’d be better of if I didn’t return. Ever.
That left my cats. But they were fine where they were.
So what?
I was interrupted in my train of thought by Flag, who suddenly appeared next to me.
“Hey. You need to get ready. Liftoff in 10”.
“Sir, yes, sir”, I retorted, and rolled my eyes.
I went behind a tall crate to change into my outfit. Leggings, top, boots, jacket; and finally, my claws. I tested the knives once, against the crate in front of me, carving through the thin metal easily.
Retracting the claws, I went to join the others.
Flag stopped me before I had a chance to enter the chopper with the rest of the crew.
“One last thing, Chess”, he said, and pulled out a strange looking harness, made out of some synthetic material and wires.
“What’s that?”, I asked, skeptically.
“This is an armed device, that will explode, should you decide to… smile, without being ordered to do so, by myself”.
I looked him, dumbfounded. “You’re gonna blow me up if I go invisible?”, I guffawed.
“No”, he answered. “I’ll blow that nano-bomb in your neck if you try to run away. This device will explode on it’s own, whenever its sensors recognize that you are using your powers”.
I shook my head, confused.
“If I’m not here to do that, then why am I here?”.
Flag used a strange key to unlock the harness.
“After what happened yesterday…” he started. I interrupted him.
“You mean when I didn’t run away?”, I spat.
He was unmoved by my exclamation.
“After what happened yesterday”, he repeated, “Waller seems to think it would be better if I take control of when you should… do your thing. You’ll be able to make things you touch invisible, as usual; but you cannot disappear yourself”.
He held up the newest addition to my outfit, to let me put it on.
“From now on, you will be wearing this whenever you are not in your cell. I can disarm the device at any time, for as long as I deem necessary”.
I stepped back, shaking my head.
“No”.
Flag frowned.
“Put it on”, he said, a slight edge to his voice.
“No”, I repeated, and crossed my arms in front of me.
Flag exhaled through his nose.
“Put it on, or I’ll put it on you myself”, he growled. I tilted my head, and raised my eyebrows at him.
“Is that a promise?”, I asked.
He raised his chin, and looked down at me.
“I can have one of GQs men do it”.
I ripped the harness from his hands, and begun to put it on; trying to figure out where each strap was supposed to go.
There were two straps, one going over each shoulder. One strap went around my torso, from my back to my front. Holding it all together, was one last strap, starting from my back, going down between my legs, and connecting with the others, on the middle of my chest.
Flag grabbed the straps in front of me, connecting them to a round disc, with a small red light in the middle. He tightened the harness as much as he could, making me bump against him; and locked the disc with the key.
“You go invisible; you die. You try to take it off; you die. You even think of trying to steal the key, guess what…”.
“I die?”, I jestered.
“You die”, he answered.
I tried to move around in the strange contraption.
“How am I supposed to pee in this?”, I asked angrily.
“We’ll climb that mountain when we get to it”, he answered, and turned his back to me, walking away.
“Old Fashioned”, I called after him. He turned around.
“What?”, he asked.
“If you’re gonna ride me this hard, it’s only polite to buy me a drink”, I said; turned my back to him, and walked away to join the squad.
---
Landing in St. Roch, our first destination was an old gas station just outside of town. It was abandoned by its owners; probably due to the explosions going off less than a mile away.
“You have your orders”, Flag called. “We go in discretely, locate our target, and take them out”.
“It’s probably going to be more complicated than that”, Diablo muttered next to me. Croc growled in agreement.
“You know, Flag, we’d probably be even more discrete, if you didn’t have Y/N here tied up like a Christmas ham”, Floyd smirked at him.
Flag frowned.
“This is Chess’ first mission. Let her find her legs before we throw her into it”, he said. “Let’s head out!”.
“Someone’s got a crush”, Harley said in a singsong voice, skipping past me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”, I asked.
Digger chuckled, and followed her.
“She means, he wants a gander at your map of Tassie”, he winked back at me, and took a swig of the can of beer he’d taken from one of the fridges in the small store.
I shook my head, and feeling a machinegun between my shoulders – I was just thrilled that the Tweedles had joined us on this little fieldtrip – I followed the rest of the group.
Sneaking past a checkpoint – Floyd taking out the inhabitants from afar – we made our way downtown.
I heard crying from behind a dumpster, and stopped to see what it was. A young woman was hiding behind it; shaking in fear.
“Are you ok?”, I asked, reaching a hand towards her.
“Chess!”, Flag called, from a few yards away. “Get your ass over here”.
“She might need help”, I said, and stepped towards the crying woman.
She recoiled from my touch.
“No! Please leave me alone!”, she cried.
Floyd came up behind me.
“She’s afraid of us, Chess”, he said. “Just leave her alone”. He went back to the group, who continued down the street, leaving me alone with Flag and the terrified woman.
I backed away from her, a lump in my throat. Turning around, I walked up to Flag, trying desperately to hold back tears. Behind me, I heard the woman get up, and run down the street, away from us.
I looked up at Flag.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her”, I said quietly.
“I know”, he said shortly. “But she doesn’t”. He made to touch my shoulder; but changed his mind, straightened his back, and turned around.
“Let’s go, kitten”.
We joined the others.
“That was quick”, Harley smiled. “It’s ok, colonel. It happens to all men”.
“Lady, I will rip your pigtails off with my bare hands”, he growled at her, stomping to the front of the group.
“Never happened to me”, Croc winked at Harley, who beamed back at him.
Another checkpoint. Digger took care of this one.
Huddling up behind a couple of cars, we finally saw our target. A lieutenant of Ra’s Al Ghul, who had been stirring up trouble, laying the groundwork for a new stronghold for his master. They had chosen to set up shop in the town square; having tied up a group of around 10 hostages to a statue in the middle.
Flag started barking orders in a hushed voice.
“Alright. Floyd, you got the roofs. Keep in radio contact”. It was clear he trusted Floyd more than the rest of the group.
“Croc, see that van? Make sure anyone in it, and in the immediate vicinity of it, don’t have the chance to warn the target”. Croc went down on all fours, and disappeared into a nearby shrubbery.
“Diablo and Digger. I want you on each side of that building. If they do spot us; I want you to bottleneck them into that alley”, he said, pointing in the direction he meant. “GQ, you and your men join them. One on the flame, two on boomer”. Digger scoffed at the nickname.
“Harley; I want you… actually you just do whatever it is you do, without giving the rest of us away”, he sighed at her.
“Sure thing, boss”, she mock-saluted him. “Go team!”.
“You got your orders. Go!”, he finished; and the group scattered, each to their assigned positions.
“What am I supposed to do?”, I asked, feeling slightly left over.
“You stay on me”, he answered, and looked through his binoculars.
A few minutes went by. Hearing a growl from the direction of Crocs assigned post, I saw blood spatter on the inside of the windows of the van.
I heard Harleys voice yelling; “Batter up!”, followed by a clank and a loud scream.
Some of the lieutenants soldiers began scrambling.
“Goddamnit, Quinn!”, Flag cussed. “You! Stay here!”, he growled at me, and ran in the direction of Harleys voice, leaving behind his binoculars. I picked them up, and looked through them.
In the square, the soldiers were rigging up chains and wires around the hostages. Connected to the wires were multiple red sticks I recognized from movies I’d seen. Dynamite.
I looked in the direction Flag had gone. He and Harley were arguing quietly behind a bus.
I looked back at the town square. Our target was walking back and forth in front of the hostages, ranting about something I couldn’t make out.
I tried zooming in with the binoculars. Military tech for the win, I thought, and looked through them again.
In his hand, the lieutenant was holding what seemed to be a tablet. Large numbers read 5:00. The bastard walked up to a teenage boy, who had a stick of dynamite strapped to his chest. He put his hand on his cheek, and said something to him, that made the boy break down in tears. He then pressed a button on the screen. The numbers began to count down.
4:59.
4:58.
4:57…
Fuck!, I thought, and threw the binoculars on the ground.
Reminded of my harness, I rolled my eyes. Ok. So I couldn’t smile. But I did know how to move quietly and quickly. I pulled up my hood, and closed my jacket.
I snuck forward. I heard a gunshot and a grunt behind me, and looked back; seeing an enemy soldier on the ground, a bullet hole right between his eyes. Thanks, Floyd, I smiled up at the roof of a nearby building, seeing Deadshots white hood disappear back into the darkness.
I moved forward again, hiding behind a truck. A stone landed on the ground next to me; and looking in the direction of the thrower, I saw Flag waving at me.
“Get back!”, he mouthed at me angrily. I shook my head, and looked towards the hostages. Continuing forward, I suddenly heard a beep. Looking down, I saw the light on the disc on my chest turn from red to green.
Looking back at Flag – his wrist raised, pushing some buttons on what looked like a watch – I smirked, and nodded at him. Thanks, I thought.
A purr moving through my body; I smiled.
Readying my claws, I ran towards the square. A soldier looked in my direction, having heard my movement, but unable to see me. Oops. Quietly now, I thought, and scaled a car next to him, making as little sound as I could.
I saw Digger and the Tweedles running towards a group of soldiers exiting a building. They finished them of quickly, but not before having drawn enough attention to make the lieutenant aware of their presence.
He yelled something I couldn’t I understand, and dropped the tablet he had been holding.
Gunfire sounded, and I ran faster, making my way to the group of hostages.
I reappeared, startling a few of the hostages who screamed at me.
Picking up the tablet from the ground, I desperately began pushing the screen, trying to make the countdown stop.
2:35.
2:34.
2:33…
There was no way I could stop the detonation.
I spun around, ran to the statue, and began pulling at the wires.
“You’ll make it go off!”, the teenage boy from before shouted at me.
I ran to the back of the statue, finding a simple lock, holding together the two ends of the chain intertwined with the wires.
This I can handle, I smiled, and got out my kit.
I managed to break two of the lockpicks, my hands shaking from the stress of the situation. I looked at the tablet on the ground.
1:01.
1:00.
0:59…
Taking a deep breath, I gave it one more try. Please, please, please!.
The lock opened.
I grabbed one end of the chain, and ran with it around the statue, releasing the hostages. The teenage boy carefully pulled at the tape that held the stick of dynamite to his chest, and put the red stick gingerly on the ground.
“Thanks!”, he smiled at me, and ran. I smiled after him.
An elderly woman was having trouble keeping up with the others.
0:37.
0:36.
0:35…
“Just go on”, she yelled at me.
“No!”, I answered, and ran to put her arm around my neck. Stumbling a few steps forward, the woman was suddenly lifted from the ground, screaming, as Croc – with a smile plastered across his gruesome face – ran to safety, the old woman hanging over his shoulder.
We did it!, I thought, and went to run after him.
Someone grabbed my leg, holding me in place. Looking down, I saw the lieutenant – a gash across his face, and a gunshot to his chest – laughing up at me. His strong hands were holding on to my leg, making it impossible for me to move.
I looked towards the group waiting for me at a safe distance. The hostages were continuing down the street, running towards sirens and blinking lights.
0:15.
0:14.
0:13…
Flag screamed something at me, Edwards and his soldiers holding him back.
I yanked at my leg, desperately trying to get the dying man to let me go.
0:09.
0:08.
0:07…
I lifted my fist and screamed; cutting through my captors arm. He let go with a yelp; and I ran.
0:03.
0.02.
0:01…
0:00.....
Tag list:
@gloriousgam3r
@hyp-oh-critical
#rick flag#rick flag x reader#rick flag fic#rick flag imagine#suicide squad fic#suicide squad imagine#deadshot#harley quinn
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