#( [FROTHING AT THE MOUTH AND GROWLING JUST THINKING ABOUT HIM. ABOUT THEM. ABOUT THIS SHOW.] ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and fire (12)

word count; 8943

summary; you and newt are called to another unusual call.

notes; this is the first half (technically) of a mini sub-plot. the end comes in the next part.

warnings; violence, gun use, description of injury, slight gore, intentional harm, attempted murder, reference to drowning.

“I feel disgusting.” You mumbled, water still dripping from your arms as you stood, shaking yourself odd a little and groaning at the chill that was beginning to sweep in. The lights on the firetruck were flashing, equipment still being loaded back up, and Newt was standing on the other side of the ambulance, a water bottle Minho had given him sitting in his hand as he took another large sip, gargling the water loudly and frothing it around his mouth before spitting it out onto the concrete and grimacing.

“I think I swallowed, like, half the lake.”

You felt bad for him, you really did, and you tried to peel the wet material of the shirt away from yourself. Unbuttoning it slowly, you frowned, wet hair plastered to the back of your neck in the ponytail you wore, and Newt choked on his drink, laughing loudly and spitting up water again. He patted at his chest, turning away from you, his cheeks going red as he tries to hack up water that had gone down the wrong pipe, and you patted his back, startled at his sudden reaction.

His eyes were watering when he recovered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You know, if I was straight, I’d be very flattered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your nipples.” He beamed, and your brows furrowed, before you glanced down, noting the hardened peaks from the cold, showing clearly through your tank that had gone clear enough in its pale grey colour to show off the plain design of your bra, and you scoffed. “Truly, it’s an honour, but it’s doing nothing for me.”

“Oh, no, whatever will I do now?” You mused, voice flat of any emotions, and he only laughed again, peeling off his shirt, and ringing it out, goosebumps rising along pale skin as the chill of the air washed over his skin. The lake was clear now, a group of kids who had stupidly enough decided it would be a good idea to jump off the edge of the dock before realising the wall was too tall and slippery with algae to get out, beginnings of hypothermia and ingestions of dirty water before anybody had wandered past close enough to hear them calling for help.

Sometimes, you really hated teenagers.

“Think if we’re fast enough, we can get back to the house before the firefighters? First dibs on the showers with the best water pressure, and guaranteed hot water.”

His eyes twinkled a little as he lifted a still damp but no longer sodden shirt back onto his shoulders, grimy and covered in green and brown stains from the water, no bothering to button it back up. “I take that as a challenge, and I accept.”

You climbed in through the back of the van, pulling open the bottom drawer and finding the plastic seat coverings, chucking one of the sheet packages to Newt for his own chair, before he slammed the doors with you in the back, and rounded to the driver’s side. Smoothing the plastic over your chair to make sure it was covered, your shoes squelched a little as you collapsed down into it. Newt did the same, and the second the keys were twisted into the lock once he was shuffling uncomfortably on the plastic, you were flicking the heating on to the highest temperature you could get it.

The downside of working in a van filled with drugs and medicine? The heat didn’t get very high in order to keep what needed to be refrigerated at the temperature is was required to be at. His eyes checked the mirrors as he reversed, noting the firetruck that was beginning to back out, the Squad truck leaving first, Gally and Fry still milling around to talk to the cops, and so you and Squad had a head start.

It would seem that they had the same idea, because Minho had a positively dangerous look in her eyes as she pulled up towards the entrance alongside you both, and Newt smirked, hand on the gearstick as he switched gears and pressed his foot down on the pedal. He surged forwards, the van moving faster than the trucks due to their added weight, a delay in its start-up, and the pair of you shot across the uneven gravelly path towards the main highway.

The red truck wasn’t far behind, and yet you were laughing a little at the determined look on your partners face, what had been a modest challenge was now becoming a battle between yourselves and the Squad team. You had the edge, being a lightweight vehicle, easy navigation and more speed, but they had the edge, the big red truck was more noticeable to other driver’s and they tended to move out of the way more for firetrucks than they did for ambulances.

As you met the junction for the highway, Newt flicked on the indicators and swerved onto the highway in a gap between cars that was too small to be considered safe. The move left you pressed into the side door of the ambo’, turning to look at him as his eyes stayed fixed on the road, a smirk on his face as the red truck was left in the dust, having to wait much longer to be able to pull out.

“Alright, Vin Diesel, settle down.”

“You want a hot shower to get clean? Or do you want lukewarm water with weak pressure that takes hours to get you clean?” You considered it, knowing that the more the showers were used, the weaker the water pressure got and the colder they ran as the hot water was distributed out, and you weighed out the pros and cons. You gave in with a reluctant sigh, watching Newt weave between cars, and he let out a triumphant noise. “Exactly. So, be a good co-driver, and play something exciting.”

“This is an ambulance, Newt. We have the classical jazz station, the news station, the emergency radio, or static and silence.”

“Sing something.” He offered, and you laughed loudly. “Maybe just yell exciting things at the top of your voice like it’s a James Bond movie. You can be my Bond woman.”

“Exciting things? You mean like ‘Quick, Newt, watch out for the rock slide’ or ‘Oh my God, Newt, he’s shooting at us’?” He hummed, rolling his lips together a little, and looking into the mirror where the red van wasn’t all that far behind anymore. “Oh, okay, I got it. How about ‘Quick! Newt! The bomb that will destroy world peace and the alien trade federation is about to go off, hurry so you can disarm it and save the galaxy!”

“That’s the one!” He shouted back, laughter taking up the cabin between you both as he picked up a little more speed, growling under his breath as distant wailing took place. “Did they just turn the fucking sirens on?”

“That’s illegal! A crime! Disqualified!”

Only a moment later, the truck was passing you by, Thomas lounging in the front seat with a smirk on his face, not even bothering to look at the two of you as he held up his middle finger, feet popped up on the dashboard, before they were pulling ahead, and you gaped at it.

“He flipped us off!”

“He did what?” Newt sounded like he had been told that Thomas had run over his dog, before his face was growing stormy, and he peeled off towards one of the exits, and you sat up a little more in your seat.

“Newt, this isn’t our exit, why are we slowing down? This is war now!”

“We’re taking a shortcut! I think.”

You pouted, watching as he pulled off onto the quieter roads, already resigning yourself to the loss. The van moved slower, not by much and certainly still considered fast for these roads, and you didn’t recognise the area you were driving through until you were almost at the house, coming at it from a completely different angle. It was a side that the trucks would be unaware of, the roads on this side of the house too narrow for the trucks to navigate on, but an ambulance could definitely weave and dodge along them.

You were expecting the grey garage to already be stained with bright and shiny flashes of colour, but as you approached it, the bay was still empty, and you gasped.

Unclipping your seatbelt before the vehicle had even rolled to a halt, and as soon as it was in park, haphazardly and slightly wonky within the designated space but still inside the lines, and Newt was ripping the keys from the ignition. You didn’t even bother peeling away the plastic overs, both hopping down from the van, doors slamming, uncomfortable runs in wet shoes from the vehicle to the changing rooms, the door practically bounding from the wall with the urgency that you forced it open.

Your fingers were trembling with both the cold and the adrenaline as you opened your locker, grabbing for the towel and washbag that sat on the middle shelf, slamming the metal canister shut a second behind Newt, and on the other side of the room, you heard a shower curtain swipe open, before the water spray was coming on.

Kicking off your shoes onto the white tile, your socks were ridden with water, and you stopped into the basin, flimsy curtain closing behind you. Switching on the water, you didn’t care about clothes getting wet as they were all drenched regardless. The water was hot and strong, pouring down over you as you let out a breath in relief, sighing out at the feeling, and stripping the partially unbuttons shirt the rest of the way down.

Dropping it to the floor outside, your vest followed, bra dropping by your feet for modesty, not all too thrilled about the idea of the entire team seeing your underwear. One fireman was plenty enough. Your trousers came next, panties following your bra, and socks lastly, before you were freeing your hair from its bobble and scrubbing dirt from the tendrils. The water was murky as it pooled around your feet, and you grinned through the suds as you heard the locker room door open up.

“Nice of you guys to finally join us!”

Newt laughed at your words, and you scowled at the taste of shampoo that got in your mouth, eyes squeezed closed tightly, but you couldn't hold back your laughter at the several complaints that burst out.

The shower next to yours clicked into gear, a slight dip in the flow of water as it adjusted, and it was steadily growing weaker as the firemen all changed and climbed into a shower, but you had already shampooed, only some soap and conditioner to go.

“How the fuck did you guys beat us here?”

“We played by the rules, Bren! Flicking on sirens, that was cheating.” You tutted, the girl scoffing from the cubicle beside you.

“Uh, playing it smart isn’t cheating!” She retaliated, and you scrubbed a bar of exfoliating soap over your skin, the extra shrub helping to rid you of the feeling of grunge from the lake away from your flesh. “But seriously, how the hell did you beat us here with so much time?”

“Newt knew a short cut, apparently.” She made a vague sound of agreement, the boys all chatting loudly from the other side of the room, and the build-up of steam was beginning to give you a headache. Running some conditioner through your hair and combing the knots out quickly, you finished up, switching off the water and finding your towel, hand fumbling outside of the stall for the material, before you were finding it, and wrapping it around your body. Wringing out your hair, you pushed back the shower curtain and stepped free.

Newt was at the lockers, pulling a shirt over his head, almost fully dressed, the plastic washing basket from the corner was sitting outside him, water pooling through the cracks to the floor as his clothes dripped, and you scooped up your own, dropping them in with his and flashing him a grateful smile as he all but nodded in a promise to load them into the washer.

His fluffy hair was almost dry already, messy and sticking up from his towel, and you envied how quickly he could get ready again. How quickly all men could get dressed, really.

Taking your kit over to the sink, you fastened your towel a little tighter around yourself again to make sure it would stay tight, before wiping a patch in the steamed-up glass to see your reflection. Running a collection of moisturisers and serums over your cheeks, keeping it at it’s best despite the smoky and dirty conundrums you found yourself in on a day to day basis, you rehydrated and cleansed your skin, before moving on to your hair.

Heading to your locker to get a new set of clothes, you lifted the catch open, the door swinging as you gathered belongings, checking you had everything for a new uniform in your back-up bag, before placing it down on the bench. As you closed it, you jumped, a body leaning on the metal on the other side, and a mumbled curse fell from your lips at the shock. Reaching up to clutch at the edge of your towel and ensure it didn’t fall, you glared at the laughing attacker.

“You fucking suck. Why are you scaring me when I’m in a towel? Dumbass.”

“Oh, ouch. Cranky today, huh?” Thomas teased, reaching out a finger to poke at your stomach through the towel, and you jumped, slapping his hand away as he chuckled more.

“I’m cranky when I’m in a towel, and risking flashing the entire team because you wanna’ startle me!” He smirked, eyes scanning over your body particularly slowly, as if to make a point, and you rolled your eyes, despite the heat forming on your face. Adjusting your towel again, he watched your fingers move, and you kicked at his shin, watching him hop around in his towel at the aggression.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You know what that was for!” You held your fingers up, pointing them from your chest to your eyes, and he got a wicked grin once again as he clocked onto what you were saying. “Go away so I can get dressed in peace!”

“So now you don’t want me around? That’s not how you felt a couple of weeks ago.” You glared at him again, crossing your arms and stomping your foot a little, knowing what he was referring to, and he hadn't been any less affectionate since. At the action, though, he gave in, hands held up in a surrender and his laughter following him all the way around to his locker on the other side, leaving you alone.

Members of the team were still wandering around, and so you tried to be as quick but as discreet as you possibly could, tugging your panties and trousers up under your towel. Your spare shoes were uncomfortable and tight, barely worn in as opposed to your regular ones, and you were cold as you put on the clothes that had been chilling in the metal canister, bag ready to be taken home to refill.

Rubbing your towel across your hair to dry it out better, you left it as it was, towel folding in the bag to be taken home, and you placed it all back inside. Adjusting your fresh uniform to sit a little more comfortably on your body, your fingers smoothed along the collar and flattened it down, before sweeping still damp locks away from your clothes.

The men were all filtering from the room, a faster turn around as they dried, all carrying dirty and sodden uniforms to the laundry room to try and get them sorted, hoping to find themselves with one less task to do when they go home, and not wanting to stink up their cars with the foul smell that came with the water from the dock by trailing the wet garments home.

The dull buzzing of the only hairdryer the fire station had was already in use by Brenda, shorter hair looking a little crazy as she only had her fingers to come through instead of her usual styling brush, and she was scowling at her reflection in the mirror as her hair curved up in the wrong directions at the edges, bangs looking untamed. She glared at your snickering as you approached, finger flipping over the switch to turn it off, clearly deeming the effort good enough, and she stuck her tongue out at you and handed it over, letting you start it up to reduce some of the water trapped in your own hair as she tried desperately to do something to control it a little better.

“Why don’t you just comb it all back?”

“And look like a starring member from ‘Grease’? Want me to start singing ‘Go Grease Lightning’ on the top of one of the fire trucks, huh?” She was so over-dramatic, and yet you loved that about her, shaking your head and smirking a little as she continued to struggle. You weren’t all that bothered about getting it completely dry, just enough that you wouldn’t catch a chill from it. You didn’t really feel like facing the next few weeks with a sore throat and a blocked nose.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I’m pretty sure I have a curled brush in my bag?”

She paused her work, arms crossing over her chest, hip leaning on the porcelain of the sink, and you could feel her burning glare on you as you continued to keep your one hair tame just with the use of the machine and your fingers. “You’ve had a blow-dry brush this whole time and you let me suffer?”

“Uh, first off, it’s not a blow-dry brush. It’s just a round brush. Make do. Secondly, you make it sound like I had food and you’ve not eaten for three days.”

“Same thing.” She hissed, playfully through it all, and she didn’t wait for permission, before she was meandering to your locker over hers and letting herself in, beginning to dig through the items in there to find the brush. She let out a triumphant little noise, and as she all but skipped back across the room, you decided you were close enough to dry, shaking your head to tame fly-aways and handing her the dryer back. You turned, walking away from her, and she let out a sound of complaint. “You’re just gonna’ leave me in here, alone?”

“It’s the changing rooms, not a back-alley at a nightclub at 3am.”

“What if I get lonely?” She pouted, turning the heat up and power down, the whirring going quieter so neither of you had to shout quite as loudly to one another, and you shrugged, backing away from her a little more, and smirking.

“Talk to your reflection. I’m going to make a snack.”

She huffed, but smiled, turning back to her plans, and you were the only one to what your soft chuckle as you left, the chill out in the corridor being shocking as you stepped from the steam-filled room to the breeze-filled hall to the main bay, shuddering as goosebumps rose over your arms, and you crossed them across your chest to keep your heat in.

Thomas was standing at the entrance of the laundry room, a basket full of wet clothes, nose turned up a little as Newt and Jeff loaded the machines, and you didn’t envy them at all. The doors to the common room were sealed shut tightly, presumably to keep in the warmth, because Fry had turned on both of the space heaters, and the room was already warming up to being hot. The smell of garlic bread was filling the room, some kind of cheesy pasta following it, and Fry was already singing loudly to the song playing over the radio, almost drawing out the television as Gally watched a movie that was so old it was in black and white, but he wasn’t paying attention, rather, he was texting on his phone and enjoying the background noise.

Minho was sitting beside him much the same, fingers moving swiftly over the screen, and Clint was chewing on a pen at the table as he filled out the puzzles in one of the newspapers from last week's stack.

“What’cha making, Fry?”

“Chicken and mushroom pasta, you want some?” Your face screwed up, shaking your head, and he laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t like mushrooms?”

“They’re gross and slimy. No offence to your pasta.”

“They’re delicious, and healthy.” He corrected, and you grunted, opening the fridge, and pulling out a loaf of bread, shuffling through the contents of the fridge to find a topping you wanted. As you searched, a soft bumping at your ankle caught your attention, a sharp and chipper bark to follow it, and you glanced down, finding a wagging tail and a ball of golden fur staring up at you expectantly. “That dog is a bottomless pit of food!”

“He’s a growing boy!” You waved the cook off, taking a packet of ham out and peeling a slice off from the inside of the pack, holding it up at about waist height, and watching as the dog shuffled backwards, staring up at it and preparing himself. “C’mon, Scoot, jump!”

The dog did so, a happy yip sounding from him as he did, snatching half of the slice as it tore in your hands, and chewing down on it happily, pieces falling from its mouth and onto the floor, and he was quick to lick those up too. “He’s never going to learn any tricks if you pamper him like that.”

You looked up, Thomas having come through the doorway, Newt following behind him, your partner raising his shirt to his nose and sniffing at it, trying to determine whether the stench had transferred to his uniform just from doing the laundry, before collapsing down in the armchair. “He just did a trick! He jumped!” Scooter did it again, snatching the rest of the ham from your fingers, and you gasped as teeth brushed over your fingers, your hand snatching back, and Thomas chuckled, coming to a stop before you and taking the ham from your fingers.

“He did not jump on command, he just jumped for food.”

“Fine! You try!” You raised a brow, and Thomas took the challenge, a smirk forming.

“Scooter!” The dog’s head snapped to face him, from where he’d been occupying himself with pawing at one of your undone laces, now focused on Thomas. “Scooter, sit.” The dog remained still for a second, your lips pursing as he continued to pant and wag happily, stood on all four paws.

“What was it you were saying?”

Thomas’ eyes flicked up to you, narrowing for a second, before he was trying again. “Scooter, sit.” Your jaw was slack as the dog did exactly as told, sitting neatly and letting his tail brush over the flooring patterns, hearing the fridge behind you opening and closing, jars and tins rattling as Fry continued to cook. “Good boy, Scoot! No, lay down.” Thomas clicked his fingers, pointing at the floor, and the dog flattened out, staring up at Thomas expectantly, and you huffed. “Good boy. You want a treat?”

A bark signalled that, and Thomas rolled up a piece of the honey-glazed delicacy that Fry was snatching back a second later with mumbles about it being wasted, and Scooter stood up to snatch it, running away across the room in a pitter-patter of movements, scurrying away to his bed in the corner.

“See?”

“How the hell did you do that?” You demanded, washing your hands under the tap and drying them off, before going back to the sandwich you’d been preparing, and Thomas seated himself on one of the island stools with a shrug.

“I’ve been practising. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, consider me surprised.” You offered, grabbing a knife from one of the drawers, and Fry groaned beside you, shooting you both a dirty look as you began to spread the butter.

“Consider me revolted.” He gagged, and you rolled your eyes, swinging your foot out to kick at his shin, Thomas flipping him off despite the heat that was building on his cheek, and the chef wasn’t deterred from mimicking your conversation. “Seriously, get a room.”

“We have a room. It’s this kitchen. Two out of three, we win, majority rules.”

“Nice.” Thomas grinned, holding his hand out, and you slammed your palm against his in a satisfying high five, before pressing the knife down and cleaning it off, sealing the butter back up and putting it in the fridge, before grabbing your fillings. Layering them on carefully, you started slowly, constructing your sandwich carefully, and building it on your plate, before slicing it evenly down the middle, starting at your lunch proudly.

You only had a second to appreciate it, before a large hand was picking up a piece of it, taking it away and biting the corner off or it happily. “Hey! Who the hell said you could eat my sandwich?”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart.” He winked, taking another large bite and speaking through his food, hopping down from the stool, and your face screwed up. You took your now half a sandwich, walking towards the empty couch and hearing Thomas trail after you, the couch the wrong way to the screen, but you weren’t all that bothered about what was happening in this movie anyway, and so you faced away from it, spreading out along the couch. “Move your legs.”

“Give me my sandwich back!”

“It’s half gone now!” He held it up, showing you the evidence of the half-eaten piece, and you shrugged. As if to prove a point, he pushed the rest of it all into his mouth at once, cheeks feeling with food and lips barely able to close, before he was brushing crumbs from his shirt, and picking your legs up at the ankles, lifting them up to be able to sit down.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yep.” His words were muffled, your feet being laid back down across his lap, and you took a more polite bite of the remaining half. His fingers moved to your shoes, finding the undone laces and wrapping them around his fingers, before pulling them tightly and looping them into neat knots. He repeated the same on the other foot, before slumping back into the couch a little, still trying to chew the whole mouthful, and you wiggled a little as you got more comfortable, sliding further down until it was your calves in his lap instead of your feet, and your shoulders could rest on the armrest.

His hand rested on your knee, thumb smoothing over you lightly as his other hand produced his phone from his pocket, beginning to swipe at it absentmindedly.

“You two are honestly sickening. I have toothache.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Newt. You spent a half-hour on the phone to me two days ago talking about Derek.” Newt looked shocked for a second, pale cheeks flushing with warm colour, before he was shrugging it off.

“Yeah, well, at least me and Derek have never cuddled in a waiting room at his job.”

“We aren’t cuddling right now!” You scoffed, taking another bite of your sandwich, and chewing it as you process what to say next. “Besides, it would be unprofessional to cuddle in a waiting room where patients could see. This is totally different because we’re inside the house, an-”

Your words went flat as you heard the siren overhead go off, even Thomas’ thumb on your knee pausing its motions, everybody going silent, only the sounds of sizzling oil and the muted television static to go as the alarm went off. You deflated, only yourself and Newt being called for, and you heaved yourself to a sitting position, Newt already beginning to peel his body back up out of the comfy chair he’d seated himself in.

“At least it’s only a local call, we’ll be back before the shift even ends.”

Your partner’s words did little to comfort you, and he chuckled as you continued to glare, before forcing yourself into action.

Swinging your legs down to sit up, you looked mournfully at your only half-eaten meal, before handing the plate to Thomas, who beamed at the offering, your fingers tousling his hair before you were wandering away, and attempting to pull your hair back into something that resembled a pony-tail using on the bobble on your wrist and your fingers.

Newt grabbed the keys, ready to set off, and you followed after him as the doors remained yet to even start swinging shut in his haste. Reaching the van, you hesitated as you neared climbing in, stripping away the plastic over your seat and dropping it down into the footwell of the van, watching Newt do the same. Starting up the ambulance and fastening your seatbelt, Newt flicked on the SatNav, the machine taking a second to load up, before it was programming in your given destination and beginning to guide you.

“So, that’s something pretty new.”

“What is?” Your eyes flickered over yourself, the same uniform you always wore clad on your body, and a pair of sneakers, your brow raising as you turned to your friend, the silence saying everything, and he scoffed. Switching gears as he pulled out onto the faster roads, he spared you a look, dubious and unbelieving of your confusion.

“You know what.”

“I assure you, I don’t.” You shuffled a little, the radio crackling, but none of the chatter directed toward the two of you was coming through yet, and you waited.

He sighed, flicking on the indicators and pulling out onto the highway. “You and Tommy. That’s what I’m talking about. What’s up with you two?”

Heat flushed over your face, and you sank back a little further into your seat, but your lips wanted to form a smile, and you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek just to contain it. “I’m not totally sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I kinda’ know. It’s all so new. It’s scary, but exhilarating.” Newt only smiled, eyes flicking to the mirror to check over everything he was looking at, before taking another turn following the SatNav, a side road to leave the highway, and you were still waiting on call details to come through on the radio. “I mean, I know it’s something. He knows that, too. We’ve talked about it, but we’re just, sort of, waiting.”

“Waiting for what, exactly?”

“The right time, I guess.” You sighed, realising how odd it all sounded out loud, to be talking like a teenager to your friend about a guy you liked, but it also felt natural and right. “Everything has just been crazy lately. I don’t think we would be like we were without the craziness, and it’s kinda’ weird to think that this job has changed my life so much, that this house has changed my life so much, when none of the others did before. I think we’re just waiting to see if it’s real, or just an in-the-moment emotional deal.”

“Seems pretty real to me.”

You smiled, knowing that Newt’s words were intended to be soothing, but instead, they made your heart race a little more.

Everything made your heart race nowadays, like you were in overdrive all the time, you were constantly on the edge, and not in an anxious way. You’d spent so much of your life feeling closed off and locked down that you weren’t used to how it felt to be on the opposite end of the scale. You had anxiety, and fear, and loneliness, that was your normal status, but since settling into Firehouse ‘21, everything had been turned upside down.

Your heart would race with thrill and excitement, and the heat flushing over you wasn’t so much from rage - after you’d sorted your problems with Thomas, anyway - but from flustered shyness. On the days when you felt lonely, when the urge to be around someone else was stronger, your phone was there, lighting up with notifications from a group chat and you knew you had friends you could call, someone who would spend time with you, when they weren’t on duty.

It was all still new, and a little scary, and still thrilling.

Then, there was Thomas. You weren’t sure what it was with Thomas, because you had nothing to compare it to. Your previous relationships had been quick and spinning. A fling that ended just as fast as it started, almost always ending after a first date with tumbling into bed and shutting down when the first signs of intimacy began to rear their heads. You moved around and you never stayed put long enough to invest in something, but you had no plans of leaving Firehouse ‘21 any time soon, and so you’d allowed yourself to let Thomas in before you’d even realised it was happening.

Intimate and emotional, a connection that wasn’t physical yet, you didn’t even know what it felt like to kiss him, and yet it still made you feel a little breathless and lightheaded to imagine it because there was a weight and meaning hanging to it now. There was something deeper than you’d ever had, a relationship that wasn’t pinned on sex and quick connections to chase away the cold sheets when you felt truly alone, but instead, left you feeling warm and loved even when no one was around.

“So, what about you and Derek?”

It was Newt’s turn to be embarrassed, the gravel and shale under the tires crunching loudly as the two of you began to trail up abandoned dirt roads, the rickety and deafening sounds of the trains of the metal bridges overhead shooting past were like the banging of metal against metal, hitting a spoon against a pan or steel-tipped work boots on metal platforms.

Pale skin turned dark pink, and he flashed a cheesy grin, eyes sparkling a little, and you already knew how excited he was. “That good, huh?”

“Things with Derek are awesome.”

“I take full responsibility for that awesomeness.” You teased, and he chuckled, the van coming to a halt, and your brows furrowed, amusement disappearing and confusion over as you stared out at the empty scene. The SatNav on the dashboard clicked green and shut down as you reached your destination, clearly telling you both that this was the correct location, and yet there was nothing, and nobody to be seen. “Put a pin in that conversation.”

He only mumbled his response, equally as confused, and the two of you stepped out of the car, a chill sweeping over you as it became eerily similar to the last case you’d received with nobody present, still so recent that the police investigation into it was still open, the court case over Chuck’s death was yet to be closed and the arson investigators hadn't even completed their analysis. “Check the radio. Is it turned on?”

You moved back in, knowing that it was because the static had been playing lowly in your ears all the way through, but there was nothing else. Normally, at a call on the edge of a town like this, the two of you would be greeted by someone, a frantic pedestrian, friend or family member, the person who had made the call would arrive to lead you to the person, and even as you listened, you couldn't hear anything.

No loud groaning or yells of pain, no mangled screams for help or even a blood trail to guide you. There was absolutely nothing to suggest why the two of you would be here, and it all became more and more suspicious as each second ticked by. Newt tucked his hands into his pockets, and you picked up the receiver, sitting sideways on your seat and turning the dial, before pressing the button down on the side.

“House ‘21 ambulance, calling in. We haven't had any more details, can we get an update?”

You waited for a second, eyes narrowing as the machine clicked you through to an operator, and there were muffled voices in the background of the call centre, before a clearer voice rang through. “‘21 ambulance, can you confirm your location, registration number and ID for me.”

Newt smirked at the frown on your face, knowing that every so often a caller came who actually required you to cite the information. While you couldn't deny that it was protocol, and they should be doing it every time, most of them took it simply at your word of being the paramedics, because they knew that most robbers wouldn't be bothering to call in on the radio of they were stealing from an ambulance, they’d just clear out all the medicines and run.

Listing off the information she requested, you listened and waited, the sound of long nails typing quickly at a keyboard sounded out, and you turned up the volume, holding the device out from you a little, so Newt could hear more clearly, even as he wandered a few feet away, looking around some more. “Still there, ‘21?”

“Yep.” You paused, hearing a few more clicks, before the woman was sighing.

“My files don’t have much. The caller didn’t leave a name or an identification, the only notes here are the address, and that you’re looking for a stab wound victim.” Newt's brows raised as he heard the words, and you only felt more confused. If someone had been stabbed, there should be a trail of blood or someone calling for help, you should be able to see them, they couldn't have gotten far without leaving a pathway of where they were, and yet, there was nothing here except the trains on the bridge overhead. “That all?”

“That's all.”

She hung up not long after, and you grabbed for your go-bag, chucking Newt his bag too, and he only just managed to catch it as the breath was knocked from his lungs, sticking his tongue out at you childishly as you grinned, before slamming your door back shut, and letting Newt lock it up, the van chirping and flashing as it sealed.

Swinging your bag onto your shoulder, your partner mimicked you. Wandering away together, you paced a few minutes from the van, staring out across the empty area, and crossing your arms. “I gave up my lunch for this shit.”

“You go left, I’ll go right, we’ll sweep around, and in ten minutes we meet at the van?” You only nodded, kicking at a particularly large pebble under your foot, and turning to face the direction you were told to go in. You heard Newt stepping away, pebbles shifting underfoot, and you followed suit, glancing back at the blond over your shoulder for a second. “Yell if you find something.”

“Will do.” You saluted, a grin thrown over his shoulder to you, before fixing your gaze ahead of you once again.

There were a few old houses, run-down and abandoned, nobody having lived in them for at least a decade. Broken windows were boarded up and front doors were hanging on their hinges, spray paint that was old and faded, drips and chips on the wood that was stained with years of abandonment, and wire fences with chains on that had been long since cut away. The grass was dead, yellowed and brown and overrun with weeds, and spoke spots ere charred blank with ash, where you suspected kids had come to light fires and get away from parents when they were bored; empty bottles of booze and cans of pop littered the ground, among wrappers and boxes for things too old to see the labels on.

You checked every garden, standing in the gate and calling out to offer help, but nothing except for silence came back. The rusty metal creaked as you stepped out from the last row, three random houses in an area of town that had clearly been skipped in the surrounding gentrification, left to fall into disrepair, and you didn’t blame it. The constant source of trains of the tracks overhead was already beginning to give you a headache, there were no real roads built to this area, and it was miles to the closest bus stop or shopping centre.

Turning back around, you didn’t walk straight back to him, but you walked a little to the side, taking an angle back towards the van just to be sure you were covering the maximum space that you could, checking over it all thoroughly, and just as you’d been giving up, your eyes caught the flicker of movement in your peripherals. When you focused on it, it took you a second to find it again, the trembling of metal stilts holding the bridge up forty feet above you disguising it, but then there was a twitch again.

In the shadows, easily missed, but then there they were. Sitting, leaned up against one of the bars from the other side, hand-pressed weakly over their stomach, head lolled to the side. You weren’t even sure if they had moved, or if they’d simply slumped forward because of the vibrations of the rickety bridge legs, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline race through you as you tried to jump into action.

“Shit!” You muttered, a slight rise on the hill before you as you tried to climb up it, the dust forming clouds behind you as the stones slipped at the sudden and uncoordinated movements, before you were stumbling closer to the person. “Newt!”

Another train shot overhead, drowning out the sounds of your shouts, and you hoped Newt had actually heard it, because you’d walked so far that he was more like a blur away from you, and you certainly couldn't hear his yells as he offered help anymore, they’d faded away a few minutes ago, but you couldn't be occupied with it now. The second the train had passed, you tried yelling again, out of breath and panting as you dropped to your knees before the person.

Their head was lying forward, chin pressed to their chest, fresh red blood seeping out between their fingers in weak bursts, and at least you knew they were still alive. Cupping their face, you pushed their head back, skin sickly pale and flushed with sweat, a very quiet groan leaving his lips, and hooded eyes cracked open barely at all to look at you. “Did you make that call?”

“Call?” He echoed, seemingly confused about what was even happening, but with the amount of blood that was staining the pebbles around you and clumping in the dust and dirt as it turned dark, you weren’t all that surprised.

“Alright, buddy, we’ll get you all sorted out, okay?” You circled a hand around behind his neck, the other on his side, and you needed to lay him down just to be able to get to the wound, because you couldn't see anything with him slumped over like this, daylight partially blocked out from the bridge overhead and shadows forming over the man. “I need to get you laying down, think you can handle that?”

He didn’t even nod, simply made a broken hum under his breath that you decided to take as an acknowledgement, before pulling him forwards. He let out a louder cry this time, the pain taking him over, and you heard the rapid-fire crunches of Newt running towards you, slightly uneven footsteps on his hurt leg, but you didn’t pay any attention to it, grateful that he’d heard you, but focusing on your patient.

His hands had fallen away from his wounds, and you fumbled for your torch, the light designed to check eyes did little to light up the wound but blood was staining the pale shirt he wore, leaving wet red patches as far up as his ribs. Newt skidded to a stop behind you, a hand running through the longer fringe in his face as he pushed it back, eyes wide.

“Well, shit, I’ll be damned.”

“Knife wound, pretty deep, can you hold the torch for me?” He nodded, stains of red smeared across it from where you’d already got blood on your fingers, and you pushed up the edge of his shirt, getting a look at the wound. He sank to his knees, holding the light over it more clearly, and you hoped he could sense your silent appreciation. It helped you to see, but didn’t clarify much, because blood was smeared over his skin and gave illusions about where his injuries started and ended, bubbling blood still leaving the gash. Dropping your bag down to your side, you opened it up, fumbling through for a pair of rubber gloves, and a tissue to be able to wipe away the blood with.

Snapping the latex onto your wrists and taking the folded clump of paper, dragging it delicately but firmly over the spot to try and get a better look. A second, maybe two, was all you got of clear skin before blood was beginning to fill the space once again, the man’s shallow pants and groans getting lighter and weaker, and you knew you had to hurry, lost time in having to search for him taking its toll now, but it was long enough to get a good look.

“We’re going to need some stuff from the van, probably the stretcher, but I don’t know how well we can wheel him across that gravel.”

“I can just pull up the van?” He offered, clicking off the torch to hand it back to you as you put the correct pressure down on the wound to stop the bleeding, pinching around the edges and holding tight to seal the wound, and you nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s good. Pull up the van!”

He nodded, brushing dust from his knees as he stood, and you used your other hand to begin searching through your bag for the disinfectant spray you needed to start cleaning up his wound so you could put a provisionary seal on it.

You found the canister, shaking it carefully and trying to squeeze the lid with two fingers to get it off, a ‘pop’ sounding before the fading footsteps Newt was making came to a sudden halt.

“Woah, woah, woah..” You looked up, eyes widening and blood running cold at the sight. Newt had his hand held up, a man who’d ace you couldn't quite see behind the baseball cap and the hood he had pulled up to obscure his features, sleeves reaching gloved hands, and a gun in one hand, finger pressed over the trigger as Newt took a few steps back toward you both and stumbling slightly, his leg going weak as he stood unevenly on a rock, and you couldn't help the gasp in fear that left you. “Look, man, we don’t want any trouble. We just got a call, for that guy.”

He reached out one hand, pointing to where you were kneeling still, and you leaned forwards, moving very slowly as you tried to press down gently on the top of the canister, spraying gently on the wound, but as the man let out a sudden and pained noise, the gun moved to you, and you froze, jumping back from the actions and dropping the can.

“I know, because I made the call.”

“You made the call?” You repeated, the face of the shadowed man becoming a little clearer, a large tattoo taking up one side of his face, and you shifted, the uncomfortable stones digging into your knees making you wince as you tried to hold still, an ache in your muscles as your heart raced with fear once again. “If you made the call, why can’t we help him.”

“You’re not here to help him, his wound is just to get you here.”

“You stabbed a man to get ahold of a paramedic?” The gun clicked, the safety catch off, and you swallowed thickly, internally berating yourself for asking such a question when the moment was so tense. “Look, we’ll come with you, we’re more than happy to, but just let me help him and then we’ll go wherever y-”

“Lady, if you don’t stop talking, I will blow your fucking brains all over these stones.” Your jaw snapped shut, heart freezing in your chest entirely, and you nodded dumbly. “Great, now get the fuck up, grab your bag, and walk over here real slow.”

You hesitated, only for a second, before lifting your hand from the man’s wound, hearing him groan out a little, and you ducked your head, knocking your bag over and the contents falling out across the gravel. “I don’t know if you’re even sentient enough to hear me right now,”

Your words were as low as you could get them, hoping then standing a few metres away wouldn't pick them up as he focused back on Newt, and you packed away slowly,

“If you can, I’m leaving the antiseptic and some gauze here. You need to pinch the sides of your wound, lay still, take deep breaths, and hold as much pressure as you can. In about forty minutes, we’d be due to make a call in, we’re supposed to every hour we’re out; when we don’t report in, they’ll send another ambulance. Just hold on, alright?”

You nudged the items a little further into the shadows, hoping the man had caught your words and had the strength to hold on, before you were peeling off your gloves, tucking them into your bag, and zipping it up to sit on your shoulder. Holding your hands up to show they were empty, you stepped beside Newt, the look on his face silently questioning if you were alright, and you gave him a subtle nod, raising a brow in return, and he ducked his head once in reply.

He stood behind you both, pushing the edge of the gun against Newt’s head to urge you both forward, and you matched his steps, the three of you walking slowly as you allowed yourself to be guided. There was a sleek black car pulled up, one you’d missed when arriving, and you suspected he’d driven away and waited somewhere for the ambulance to go past before pulling up again, because it wasn’t exactly hidden.

“Look, we’re going willingly, alright? No fight here, I’ll help. Our ambulance is right there,” You pointed to it, hands still raised up, arms beginning to ache and tire, and Newt folded his, resting his hands behind his head, and turning to look at you as you spoke, “Just let me call in for someone else to come help the other guy, they won’t even get here until after we’ve gone anyway, it’ll t-”

Your ears were ringing, the sound of the bang going off, the rush of air, and the way it felt like an explosion had gone off inside of your own head. You stumbled, falling to your knees at the impact as your entire body went weak, and your vision went black for a second as you tried to process it. You couldn't focus, everything seeming a little blurry, and you could feel Newt’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you, a very muffled shout of your name, before it was all torn backwards once again, and you felt nauseous as the shock swept through your body.

The man crouched down, pulling his hood back and directing an angry gaze straight at you as you blinked to clear your vision, barely able to hear a thing. “That was a fucking warning shot, speak again, and the next bullet won’t miss.”

You had to read his lips for half of the words he said, barely processing them, the bullet that had flown past your ear was making everything fade around the edges, and you were hauled roughly to your feet by a hand under your arm, leaning you against Newt as you staggered the final few feet to the car that was your destination. You could barely clear your head, shaking it a little bit finding even that action was too painful.

Blood was rushing, your headache felt like it was about to split your skull in half, and your shoulder ached as you were tossed down roughly into the open boot, unable to catch yourself in time. Newt followed, the lid slamming shut, darkness surrounding instead. You could feel Newt’s hands on you, the flash of light from his keyring over your irises making you wince, his fingers pressing along your jaw and around your ears, checking for any signs of a ruptured eardrum or any bleeding, but as the car rumbled to life, peeling out of abandoned area everything felt like it was slipping.

Your fingers scratched at the flooring of the car, nails digging into the felt, grains and dirt stuck under your fingernails, and then the car jolted, dipping into a pothole on the road, your head hitting against the floor of the car, and everything you were still clinging to was lost as well as you blacked out.

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #firefighter!tommy #ff!tommy #the maze runner #thomas the maze runner #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut

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crystalas · 4 years ago

Text

Blazing Blue part 2

Chapter 2: So, it’s not a play date?

Pigsy was closing up shop when MK stuck his head around the door sheepishly.

“There you are! I was getting worried, did things with Monkey King run late or something?” he asked gruffly as he put away the last of the cooking pots for the day.

“Well, no…but I got held up by something…hey do we have any leftover noodles?” MK asked trying his best to be nonchalant, Pigsy glanced at him and gestured to the fridge.

“I know how hungry you get after your training sessions” Pigsy exclaimed, and raised an eyebrow at MK who was smiling a bit too broadly and looking…twitchy which was never a good sign. “Ok what is it?” he sighed.

“Well… I have a someone who needs to crash somewhere for a while so I was hoping…just for tonight?” MK said ever so sweetly and Pigsy face palmed.

“Ok I really don’t want to ask but I feel I need to, who is it?”

“…Red Son?”

Pigsy stared at him, gave a growl of frustration before rubbing the bridge of his snout to try and elevate the stress headache he can already feel coming on.

“Kid…times like this I really wish this wasn’t based on a children’s cartoon, because what I really want to say to that is not allowed for a kid audience!”

“Oh, but this is a fanfic written by an adult, who really needs to get out more.” MK offered.

“It is? Oh good” Pigsy took a deep breath and then said as calmly as possible “Fuck no!”

“Com’on, he’s is in a bit of a rough spot and needs somewhere to stay! We’re even truce buddies!”

“I never agreed to that term!” Red Son called from outside, MK reached out the door and dragged him in.

“He’s a demon? He is the son of one of your enemies? He tried to turn you into ash countless times? Need I continue to list reason why this is a bad idea??!” Pigsy shouted angrily.

“Look, I know where I’m not wanted, I shall take my leave!” Red Son growled and began to walk back out when MK grabbed his sleeve. “This is pointless he’s isn’t going to let me stay!”

“Damn right I’m not!” Pigsy retorted.

“Last time I checked I own the apartment above the noodle shop so really…” MK said slyly and Pigsy put a hand in front of his face.

“I rent it to you, so don’t even give me that nonsense that you have a say!”

“UGH fine!” MK growled and lead Red Son out of the Noodle shop, only for him to drag him behind the alleyway and use his staff to leap up to his apartment window, gesturing for Red Son to follow.

“You’re seriously going behind your friend’s back for me?” Red Son asked as he leapt up and through the window. MK walked in and started to tidy up the apartment to a more acceptable level of messy as Red Son looked around, last time he was in here he had burnt a lot of stuff. MK must have had to replace many belongings… so why was he this willing to help him?

“Pigsy just needs time to get to know you” MK explained as he got out a spare blanket and laid it out on the sofa. “Umm…is this, okay? I mean I’ve only got the one bed…”

“I may be a demon but even I have good manners when it comes to being a guest” Red Son declared loftily, besides he thought to himself as he sat down, I’ve been sleeping on the floor of our destroyed home for the last few weeks. This is heaven compared to that.

“Don’t worry we’ll find you somewhere tomorrow” MK said as he took off his jacket to get ready for bed and noticed that Red Son had not moved. “Umm…wanna take off your coat and get comfortable?”

Red Son gripped his coat and glanced away.

“Kind of hard to get comfortable in the home of an enemy…” he muttered.

“Now none of that! Remember we are Truce Buddies, I’m not so underhanded that I’d attack you in your sleep” MK declared confidently.

He might though MK suddenly thought to himself as it dawned on him that this could go wrong very quickly.

“Look, do you demons have anything to …I don’t know swear by? Because I’ve just realised this might be a long con or something to lure me into a false sense of security.” MK asked, Red Son sighed and looked up at him.

“It took you this long to think of that scenario? Noodle Boy are you really that naïve?” he demanded angrily but stood up anyway, “Normally I would have sworn on my family name but…given certain circumstances that’s not an option. So, I’ll swear on my flame that I will not do anything to intentionally endanger you or your friends so long as you swear on The Monkey Staff that you do the same!” he held out his hand and a small fire ball appeared and held out the other to shake with, MK took out his staff and took Red Son’s hand and shook it in agreement.

“Right, we are officially Truce Buddies!” MK beamed happily.

“I didn’t agree to that name!” Red Son snapped.

The next morning Tang walked in to grab his noodles for lunch, Pigsy was dicing up the vegetables to make the first batch for the day but had a fire extinguisher strapped to his back …and Red Son was sitting at a table looking grumpier than usual and also that he looked like he had fought a car wash and lost.

“Ok I feel like I missed something?” Tang declared.

“MK thought it would be a brilliant idea to sneak Demon Boy in for a sleep over, but didn’t take into consideration that fire alarms exist!” Pigsy exclaimed angrily “Now MK is on kitchen clean up duty for eternity for going behind my back and NEARLY SETTING FIRE TO MY BUILDING!!”

“In my defence” Red Son announced “I only sneezed.”

“I ain’t taking any chances Demon boy! You try anything and I’mma hosing you down!”

Tang sat down keeping Red Son in his peripherals and saw MK mopping the floor with an embarrassed look of defeat on his face.

“So, just to acknowledge the elephant in the room…why is Red Son here?” he asked gently.

“Because MK wanted a pet!”

“RED SON IS NO ONE’S PET!” Red Son shouted flaring up as he did so and got a face full of extinguisher foam in his face for his troubles. “WILL YOU STOP THAT??!”

“Okay…and the real reason MK?” Tang inquired as MK came out to mop up the foam for the third time that morning.

“We kind of have a Truce going on.” He said simply.

“That seems…fair I guess?”

“Yeah, well he can go home now cos I don’t want him here disturbing my business!” Pigsy growled and Red Son suddenly hunched over and glared at the wall angrily.

“If this is how you treat your patrons then maybe I’m not the problem!” he growled under this breath. Pigsy gave him a look and then turned back to his stove, he tried to turn it on but…nothing. He tried again and again for a few minutes but still nothing happened.

“Com’on! Com’on you piece of junk!” Pigsy muttered under his breath.

“I keep telling you need a new stove” Tang exclaimed.

“Last time I checked they don’t give them out for free! The freaking lighters are dead I’ll have to…” Pigsy said but stopped as a small fire ball flit past both of them and lit the stove top. They both spun around to see Red Son putting his hand down.

“Uhm…thanks?”

“Don’t read too much into it, I’m just hungry” he said quietly.

Pigsy shrugged and got to work and soon he brought out two bowls of noodle soup and placed one of them gingerly near Red Son, who took it and ate it quietly. After a few minutes Pigsy looked up to see Red Son smiling softly.

“What are you so happy about?” he demanded gruffly.

“Family recipe?” Red Son asked.

“Handed down through the generations. Why?” Pigsy replied cautiously.

“They remind me of this noodle stand I used to go to a lot when I was a child, it was my favourite place to eat back then. I suppose the taste makes me nostalgic” Red Son explained, Pigsy looked at him warily and then back at his photo wall.

“Pull the other one kid, my family started this business on a noodle stand but that belong to my great, great grandfather. You’re not even old enough to be around when this shop opened!”

“I’m a lot older than I look, don’t forget demons count their lifespans in decades not years…in fact if I remember correctly back then photographs were only just becoming a thing and I was there when they took the photo. The guy looked proud as anything of his little noodle stall”

Pigsy spun around and scanned his photo wall, and sure enough there was the photo that was handed down along with the recipes. It was tattered and faded over the years but it still showed the look of absolute pride that Noodle chief had of his livelihood not knowing of what a family business he was about to create. And in the background was a kid with flaming spikey hair sitting at the stall while holding a bowl.

“Wait…that’s you?!”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“And the flavour just as good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s?”

“Even better I’d say”

Tang slammed down his bowl and ran up to Red Son.

“WAIT A SECOND!” He cried in ecstatic glee “You’re immortal??!”

“No…demons can age and die we just live longer. Think of it as reverse dog years” Red Son said a bit put off by this sudden attention of the quiet book worm.

“Then you’ve must have seen a lot in your time!” Tang squealed “I bet you’ve even met some of the other legends throughout the ages!”

Red Son gave a cocky smile and gestured confidently.

“Why yes, I have, though I’ve never spoke to them I have seen many historical figures come and go not to mention the rise and fall of emperors and kings, to be honest it gets a bit boring after a while!” he declared smugly, now enjoying the fact that Tang was practically frothing at the mouth at the idea of questioning a being that probably lived through most of his text books.

“Have you met any of the sages…I mean besides Monkey King?” Tang asked eagerly Red Son’s cocky smile evaporated for a second and his hand wandered up to his neck before shrugging.

“I guess so, but I was very little when that happened…” he said dismissively.

“What were they like?” Tang kept on.

“… …scary” Red Son whispered. “I remember them being very scary.”

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that?”

“They were pompous jerks who picked on a little kid, whose only crime was being born okay??” he snapped angrily and stood up. MK who had been watching this from the kitchen walked up quickly to the angry demon before Pigsy had to get the fire extinguisher again.

“Ok maybe we should talk to Sandy about that problem now hey? Pigsy? can I take off now?” the three looked up at Pigsy who was still standing there with a look of blissful glee.

“Good as Great, Great Grand pappy’s” he sighed happily before snapping out of it. “Uh yeah sure seeing as Demon boy didn’t burn down my shop and helped out a little, I guess I can be lenient…but don’t try anything like this again got it??!”

MK saluted and Red Son wiped off the last of the foam from his hair as they left.

“So now what?” Red Son asked.

“We see if Sandy has a spare bed for you…hey were you serious about Pigsy’s family stall thing?”

“Like I said I had no need to lie about it.”

“And you’re seriously like…really, really old?”

“I’m still a child compared to others of my kind but yes”

“Why do you look human?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“It’s just, except for your mom and you every other demon I met looked…I don’t know weird.”

“And seriously how often do we get to question a person like you? It’s like interviewing a keshin!” Tang interjected as he walked in between them causing both boys to leap out of their skins and glare at him.

“You will have to excuse me if I don’t want to expose all my family secrets in one sitting with the people who are considered my enemies!” Red Son growled; MK opened his mouth but before he could say anything Red Son held up a hand to him. “Yes, yes ‘Truce Buddies’ I know but just because I am on that agreement doesn’t mean my family is!”

“So, let’s hope we don’t run into Demon Bull King huh?” Tang declared. “Because that would be super awkward for all parties, wouldn’t it?”

“Trust me I doubt my father even notices…and wasn’t the whole point of this ‘Truce Buddies’ thing was to FORGET about my family and your mentor, to just enjoy the day, have fun or whatever happy go lucky idea you suggested?!” Red Son exclaimed angrily “Quizzing me on my family history seems to be a bit off the mark wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh right, right” MK mumbled and rubbed the back of his head.

“Wait…you two agreed to a play date?” Tang asked.

“ITS NOT A PLAY DATE!” both boys screamed in horror.

As they headed to Sandy’s ship MK was on his phone texting Mai.

“Okay so Mai knows what’s going on and she’s going to meet us at Sandy’s. Also, she’s bringing snacks and her favourite video games so she can … ‘Show red boy how to have a good time, hero style’…” he said as he read the text out. Red Son gave a weary sigh remembering that massive hero speech she had given him while they were getting the peach of immortality. Then to hint at his father with all the subtly of a cannon launched brick through a glass window that he had done “Good hero work” …it took him forever to get over that humiliation.

As he contemplated the fact, he now has to endure her company and she probably will take this “Truce Buddies” agreement as a sign that he is going to become a hero and won’t shut up about it, his train of thought was destroyed as something smacked him on the back sending him stumbling and nearly hitting the pavement.

“HEY!” he shouted looked back, fire ball in hand ready to roast whoever responsible. “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO TRIP UP RED SON??!” but no one was there to enact his rage on.

“You okay Red?” Tang asked.

“…fine I’m fine…must have tripped or something…” he growled. As they walked on, they didn’t see the shadows following them purple eyes grinning in the darkness.

“This got a lot more fun…” Macaque sniggered.

#spicynoodleshipping #red son #monkie kid red son #monkie kid macaque

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nyoschief · 4 years ago

Text

Heart Of The Darkness

This was a Secret Santa that I never posted for @Nikki!

Rating: Mature Characters: John | KryozGaming/Jaren | SMii7Y, Eddie Gluskin Tags: Outlast, Panic Kisses, Secret Santa Warnings: Violence, Minor Character Death, Creepy Motherfuckers Words: 2,135

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry! Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.”

{Read here on AO3}

Three simple words keep Jaren quiet. They repeat like a broken record, a mantra that increases with every blood-curdling scream and fresh wave of iron-laden air that floods the damp room. He’ll return once the exit is clear. Shaky hands flatten against rusted metal, taking comfort in the cool chill as he peers into the gloomy area, straining to see human-shaped demons in the shadows.

“Darling!” a sultry voice crows from the right, singing sweet lullabies.

‘No, fuck, not him.’

Every muscle tightens, lungs clenched and breath held, but frantic eyes refuse to close. Pleading cries respond to unnervingly saccharine words. A dull thump preludes a sobbing groan, hoarse and crying with desperation as nails scrabble against moldy tiles.

“What did I say about keeping your stress levels down? No child can be borne like this.”

The stomach-churning memory of mangled bodies cut apart and sewn together, a mockery of a carrying woman, has Jaren silently gagging, a palm covering his mouth and nails cutting into his cheek.

They should never have come here. ‘Abandoned’ mental asylum, his ass! No power doesn’t mean the crazies inside are gone.

“No, no, no, please, please!”

“I warned you and you didn’t listen!”

A wet squelch spills into the air, Jaren choking at the possibilities. His eyes grow wet, face turned against his torn and muddied sleeve.

“Oh?” the man purrs, a childish laugh bubbling beneath. Jaren freezes, swallowing and peering between the metal slits of the locker. “Have my followers… brought me another bride?”

He’s a deer in headlights, a hare hypnotized by a stoat, a hen frozen in fear of a fox. Fingers twitch, useless when his arms can’t even push the door open.

He has no chance when a body slams against the front, jostling him within. Manic eyes stare back at him, lips pulled into a grin. Can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t move.

“There you are, dear! The perfect gift after… a terrible tragedy.” Yeah, tragedy. He can only imagine the leftovers, the body slit and covered in gore and blood, still warm. Something metal tracks across the front of the locker. “But don’t worry, I’ll fix you up, make your body a welcoming vessel.”

Voice cracking, he lets out a shaky, “Fuck you.” A crazed laugh echoes through the grotesque room, head thrown back as he smacks the rusty locker. Barely illuminated, he looks like a dirtied man from the mall, covered in blood and grime, bowtie falling off. Palms sweating, Jaren smacks his hands against the door, only for the rattle of metal to trap him within. “Let me out!”

“Nooo, no, no, my love, I can’t let you out in this state, you’ll only hurt yourself!” Blood pounds within his ears, rushing like a torrent, an uncontrollable stream. Jaren slams his fist harder against the metal, the growl in his throat fading into a desperate whine.

He’s not getting out of here alive.

A blade scrapes across the locker, barely glistening in the light shining through the window. Jaren shrinks away, knees buckling, ducking down from the slits in the door. He’d rather not have a scalpel in the eye.

“Now, I don’t want to ruin your perfect body,” he begins, voice dropping with warning, “but I will if you keep fighting me.”

Tongue dead weight, Jaren swallows and scrunches his eyes shut. ‘Where is he?’

“Why would I fight you?”

A coo spills forth, hair standing on end and spine rigid. “Much better, sweetheart,” he hums, taking a step backwards. Metal scrapes again on the locker, hinges squealing and revealing the crazed man’s horrifying appearance. It takes every single ounce of self-restraint to stop from running, hands shaking and gaze darting, searching for an escape route. “Look at you, the perfect vessel, don’t you think?”

Jaren’s stomach twists over itself, tightening up like a knotted rope. A shake to every word, he whispers, “Okay.” His stare lingers on the blade in the other’s raw-knuckled grasp, the weapon raising when he takes a shaky step forth.

“You want this, don’t you? Want to become beautiful, to pave the way for our loving family.”

‘No,’ he thinks, ‘I want to leave with John.’

He refuses to let this psycho know of the other’s presence. Fingers crossing behind his back, Jaren hopes to at least have his body recovered before it’s mutilated beyond recognition like the corpses of earlier.

“Okay…”

The hand against his elbow has him jumping, strung taught and on edge. “Come, my love, I’ll show you the way, the truth…”

Movement catches his eye, moonlight glistening against silver.

Jaren snaps his gaze away, movements slow and steady, gaze tracked onto the blade. He needs to get the weapon away, get the scalpel out of his white-knuckled grasp, so John has a winning chance. They won’t get out of this alive if this fucking maniac still has his weapon.

He stumbles.

The man’s face twists into a grimace and he lunges.

Jaren yelps and finds himself slammed backwards against the wall. His head pulses, skull smacking against the tiles as metal stings at his throat.

“Wait!”

“You scared me, darling, you shouldn’t try to escape like that,” he pants, leaning in closer. Nostrils flared, dark eyes soak in his appearance, leaning closer. His stench alone has Jaren swallowing bile, flinching at the hand caressing his cheek. Shaky hands grab hold of the man’s elbow, struggling to keep him at bay, to squirm his way to freedom. The blade digs into his throat, bringing him to a halt as a strangled cry spills forth. “Maybe it’d be better if I just cut out your voice box. Wives are supposed to be seen, not heard.”

Frantic, Jaren rushes to say, “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be quiet, please, I promise.”

There’s a flicker of movement over the man’s shoulder.

Jaren looks for a moment too long.

“What—”

The man twists in time for a grazed elbow to slam into his unsightly face, flinging him aside.

Jaren jumps away, grabbing his own throat, feeling a thin line of blood beneath his palm.

The stumbling form snaps his head up, scowling and frothing with broiling hatred. “How dare you—”

“How dare me?” John spits, backing up and glancing over a shoulder at Jaren. Upon realizing the other isn’t in immediate danger, he glares at the crazy man and huffs, “Stay the fuck away from him!”

“You can’t come between us!” he shouts, posture menacing and looming. The blade in his hand draws attention like a magnet, dragging their eyes towards it as he flicks the weapon within gnarled fingers.

Jaren flinches when the man steps closer, hip bumping into a table laden with jars of intestines. A whimper slips out, capturing both of their attention for a split second.

John positions himself between them, shoulders hunched and fingers clenched, shielding Jaren. The blade raises. John flinches, balancing on the balls of his feet, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No, no, nothing is as strong as… as the bond we form—”

A boot slams into the man’s shin, dragging a shriek from raw, bloodied lips. Jaren’s head whips to the side, spotting a door and quickly running towards it. He freezes in the crooked doorframe, looking back, spotting John grappling with the bedraggled man, mouth pulled back into a sneer. The silver scalpel wavers, tip nicking at John’s clothing, held back like a snarling dog.

No warning, the man yanks himself away, pulling his arm free, only to slam the blade downwards.

A scream tears free of Jaren’s hoarse throat, the metal sinking into John’s arm, drinking rich scarlet blood.

Wild eyes scan the room, flicking between the garishly cut body on his right to the mess of broken furniture to his left.

Jaren latches onto a metal rod, breath rapid and uneven, yanking it free from the wooden debris.

No hesitation, he runs closer and swings, a sickening crunch filling the air as it connects with the man’s skull. He tumbles to the side, leaving John scrambling free. When he freezes up again, staring at the blood already dripping from the damage he’d caused, John takes the weapon from him and wastes no time in bringing it down directly on the deranged man’s neck.

He falls to the ground and goes limp. Air slides free from rattling lungs as haunted eyes grow dull.

‘Oh god.’

Jaren hiccups, eyes locking onto John, on the fucking handle still embedded in his bicep. Tears well within green-blue eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted. “Your arm,” he gasps, stepping closer, hands raising, only to freeze when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do.

A yell reverberates through the dusty air, a low growl following, filled with hunger and desperation.

John grabs him by the elbow, already yanking him away. It doesn’t matter where they’re going, as long as John’s with him, they’ll be fine.

They’re red-faced and panting by the time the shouting dies down, inaudible. John shoves them both into a shadowed room and slams the rattling door shut. A metal cabinet serves as the perfect blockade, stopping any unwanted visitors from entering their makeshift safe room.

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whines, stepping closer and staring through bleary eyes at the weapon still in John’s arm. “Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.” Every inch of John is tensed, frozen as he keeps glancing at the door, breathing through his nose. He flinches at the hand on his shoulder, finally meeting Jaren’s watery stare. He’s still ready for a battle, on edge, antsy to keep them both safe. “Fuck, John, your arm, oh god…”

“It’s fine,” he grits out, still standing there with a doctor’s scalpel sticking out of his sleeve, careless of the blood soaking his shirt. Jaren’s instincts are screaming to run, to get away, John’s a threat. But every other part of him is desperate to help, to ease his pain, make him better, and repay his kindness.

Jaren takes hold of his good arm, leading him towards the unsteady table against the wall. “Let’s just… fix it up, yeah? Make it better. We can fix this—” A loud crash from outside has John jolting, pushing himself to his feet, despite Jaren’s attempts to get him seated. “It’s fine, they can’t get in, let me—”

“They’re close—”

“Don’t worry about them—”

“How can I not worry when they’re—”

“You’re bleeding!”

“I can make more blood.”

Fingers snatch hold of greasy hair, snapping John’s gaze towards him for long enough that he can press a desperate kiss against his bloodied mouth. The wildness in his eyes fades, returning to his familiar stare.

Jaren relaxes his hold, eyes flickering to the side.

“You can’t make another you,” he counters.

John licks his lips. “What was that for?”

Jaren backs up, mouth twisting to the side, failing to hide his embarrassment. “You weren’t listening and I—” He swallows. “I’m scared we won’t get out of here and I just—I just wanted to, just once, sorry, I shouldn’t have…” The silence that ensues has Jaren’s fingers itching, staring at the blade which, now that he looks at, isn’t all that deeply embedded into John’s arm. Swallowing, he clears his throat and says, “Let’s get this—”

“Better be more than just once.”

A frown embeds itself on Jaren’s face, blinking at John. He’s met with surprising determination.

He doesn’t even ask before John’s explaining, “We are getting out of here. That better not just have been a once off haha joke.” Jaren doesn’t have a response to that, letting slip a confused little noise followed by an awkward laugh. When he says nothing else, John asks, “You gettin’ this knife outta me or what?”

“Wh—Yes! Yeah, hold on, I…” Jaren fumbles for a moment before shedding his overshirt, figuring it’s cleaner than anything in this place. “Can you—” John grabs hold of the scalpel and yanks it out, a grunt and hiss following. Crimson spurts out, seeping quickly. Jaren gasps and hurries to wrap the fabric around the wound to stop the bleeding. “Fucks’ sake, John.”

A bloodied hand against his chin has Jaren freezing, allowing his head to be tilted upwards until he can meet the other’s gaze. “We’re gonna get out of here,” he states firmly. His hold shifts, resting against the side of Jaren’s face. Warm concern and conviction replace the earlier rage. “We will, I promise.”

The knot of unease wrapped vice-like around Jaren’s heart unwinds, loosened by trust and belief. On his own, no, he wouldn’t believe that, but with John here…

“I know we will.”

#krii7y #kryozgaming #kryoz #smii7y #bbs #writing #fanfiction #outlast #secret santa #nikkitheduck #listen i love horror and stressy times!!!#:D

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

Age of Reason, Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Supernatural AU

The looming wrought-iron glares down at him; even choked with briars, it stands as proud as any guard, denying him entrance with a glance. She’d gotten in, she said, and out again even quicker. It’s possible. He just has to find the way.

His shoulders twitch, unimpressed.There’s a reason he wears gloves.

One hand wraps around a twisted bar, and a briar pierces through the leather like it’s paper. He recoils with a hiss, and to his extreme displeasure, the needle comes with him, broken right off near the glove.

He’s had worse splinters-- hell, he’s had worse stabs, but the thing’s hard to find even with the moonlight behind him. His head and shoulders keep falling into the worst angle, casting shadows shadows no matter which way he turns, leaving him to work half blind as he tries to pull it out. It makes it worse of course, each movement of his muscles sends the thing dancing around his palm, probing deeper into his flesh until he tears it out.

These damned gloves are supposed to protect him, but blood coats them still, shimmering black in the moonlight. He gives them a real contemplative look, some real consideration, and then cusses a streak so blue fire would be jealous. Damn that woman. If she’d gotten in, she owes him the professional courtesy of telling him how. He has half a mind to stomp right back to that tavern and shake her till she spills her secrets.

He takes a breath, holds it. It’s fine. This is far from the worst job he’s ever done.

The thing slides across the packed dirt, sand and scree skittering beneath its bare skin. It’s a woman in shape, diaphanous nightrail clinging so scandalously to its curves that wives clap hands over wandering eyes. She would have been a pretty girl in life, but in her undeath, she makes more than a convincing monster.

He stands in the holy circle of the Heavenly Maiden, salt staining his hands, and it hisses at him, back arched like a cat’s. Red stains its front, dribbling from full lips down to soak her gown.

“Kurei!” The name catches on the wind, already torn away. The mayor clutches at his door, lifting a hand to point through his wards. “It’s her-- the demon--”

“I know.” It’s an effort to lift the words out of a deadpan. “She’s no match for me.”

The spirit cocks its head; he knows that angle too well, the one that says, oh you think so? He lifts his shoulders, a subtle shrug. No hard feelings.

Her claws clench in the dirt. Ah, he’ll pay for that little line later. Already he’s at a disadvantage-- a full moon might have shone through, but with a chunk shaved from one side he’s stuck waiting for the wind to hurry it all along while he stands here, stalling.

His breath mists in the night air. Just one of the hazards of the job.

“You’re trapped in here with me, spirit.” In the dark, its hair is coarse, thick and black, rippling with each breath. The perfect hand-hold, should it dare tread close enough. “Your fight is with me!”

He grins as it growls, edging around his circle of salt. It follows, mimicking his movements, it on all fours and him on the balls of his feet. Already his cheek stings-- its limbs are long and strong but he didn’t expect the elbow to be so sharp-- but he doesn’t lift a hand to rub at it. Each moment here is the space between victory and condemnation, and he has none of them to spare.

Finally, the clouds part.

“I have you, beast!” Around him, the circle flares to life, the pure light of the heavens infusing it, glowing with an intensity would blind to those outside it. “Tempus fugit! Sapere aude! Ad meliora!”

For a moment its body leaps into the air, lunging for him, trying to tear his throat, but in the next it’s thrown to the ground, as if grabbed by heaven’s hand itself. With his last words still echoing in the square, the spirit spasms, voice railing to an unholy keen.

“Erat ergo sum! Quid pro quo!” He calls out, shaking holy water over it, black and red spotting her as he washes away its monstrous desires. “Non ducor duco!”

It gives a single, great heave of its body, and suddenly she’s limp, no longer a vengeful spirit but a girl once more. A mere husk that once held life. Mist rises from the circle as he lifts her body, curling coolly around his fingers.

“Caveat.” The night carrying his voice further than any earthy words should-- “Emptor.”

The villagers all peer out their windows, the more daring of them peeking out doors. Now that the danger’s over, everyone wants to see the monster hunter and his prey. He’s heard plenty talk about the noble nature of man, but none of them know the truth-- when fear strips away all else, it’s only cowardice and curiosity that remain.

“Kurei,” creaks the mayor. “What--?”

“It’s over,” he announces. “I must bring the corpse away from here, and bury it.” With a dark look, he adds, “Alone.”

He turns his back on them, letting the moon burn away the mist he leaves behind.

The barmaid here is all curves, coarse tawny hair tumbling down her back, meant to draw the eye straight to her swinging hips. A tempting morsel; at least by the way the men here follow her with their gaze, hungry for more than ale. The barman must have tripled his profits having a girl like her on; there’s no limit to drink a man can have while he’s thirsting with his eyes.

But not Shuuka. His stare is fixed right across the table, brows drawn tight in thought. “That’s some story, mister.”

“And all true.” He waits until the man takes a good, long draught from his cup to add, “I earn my keep traveling, finding spirits to soothe and monsters to cull. Or maidens to save, when the situation demands it.”

“Just maidens?” The barmaid sidles up to him, a frothing mug in hand, and already his mouth is watering. “Or are you looking to expand your repertoire?”

He lets his lips lilt into a leer. “I’m willing to help with any problem that needs solving, maiden or--” he lets his gaze rake up her-- “otherwise. Provided I’m welcome.”

Her own mouth is a mirror of his own. “You seem the sort to always be finding doors open, if you don’t mind me saying, mister.”

“Ah.” He hums, leaning close. The other men in the pub lean in too, faces ripe with envy. “That’s the trick of it-- I wait to be asked.”

Amusement flickers through her eyes, as amber as his own. She sets the mug in front of him, its thick head sloshing over the rim. “Here you are, on the house.”

The maid casts one last, linger look over at him, all hooded. The sort that says he could find more than a drink on the house if he played his cards right. And here’s him, a man who never lost a hand.

“So that’s what brings you here?” Shuuka says, voice tight. Nerves, he thinks, the sort a rational man might have in the face of the unknown. “Sh-- the prince’s mistress?”

Ah, or maybe that’s guilt, he’s hearing. “So it’s true, then? There’s a girl sleeping in that manor house?”

Shuuka’s fingers clench, knuckles white where they lay on the table. “If it was...?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, just waits.

Dark eyes lift, glimmering as they meet his. “You could do something about it?”

He lets his mouth ease, swallowing down the victory in his throat. “I can’t do anything that would hurt.”

For a long moment, Shuuka sits still. Not the sort that comes from fear or hope but indecision. A man on a precipice.

And oh, how easy it is to see when they jump. “What’s your name? What do they...” He hesitates, swallowing. “What do they call you?”

“Lots of things. Jack of all trades, for one,” he hums, settling back in his seat. “Monster Hunter. Miracle Man. Savior.”

Shuuka’s brow draws tight. “You’re some kind of...priest?”

“Oh, no.” He lets his eyes linger when the barmaid bends at the waist, leaning over the counter to talk to the barman. “Not that. But you can call me...Nanaki.”

There’s a tree.

He surveys the old gnarled grandfather, its thinning leaves rustling in the wind, a single branch hunched over the briars. He should have guessed; it wasn’t like she was going to get her hands dirty and bleeding to take a look at a dead girl.

His hands flex, the leather around them creaking. His palm aches when he presses it to the trunk-- that’ll teach him to get impatient-- but he knows how to climb without relying on his grip. It’s nothing to shimmy right up, soles planted solid on grandfather’s inquisitive arm. He’d call this sloppy-- nobles often were, thinking that guards and dogs and a lady’s scream could keep them safe-- but...

Ten years. Plenty of time for even a well-trimmed tree to insinuate an elbow where it didn’t belong. Especially one that looked as nosy as this old grandfather did.

He edges out, the branch solid beneath his feet. Each step is inquisitive; impatient he may be, but enough tumbles from too high had taught him the value of respecting nature’s limit. The last thing he needs is for this to break over one of those fleur-tipped spears. Career limiting, his old master used to tell him, followed by one of those hideous braying laughs.

Dead was his preference. He might make his money putting on a show, but it didn’t serve to forget that some finales were final.

The branch bows beneath his feet, those iron-tips scraping at its bottom. Looks like he’s ridden this particular pony as far as it’ll go. With a breath and a wish, he leapt from the tree, tumbling down, down--

His feet catch, hard earth beneath them. No, stone, since his foot slips, nearly spilling him straight into a knot of brambles. Pretty ones, at least, dripping with roses as bright as an apple’s skin.

He whistles, plucking a petal off one. “Well now,” he breathes, letting it flutter away in the wind. “Isn’t that lucky.”

Cat calls and wolf whistles cleave through the din when the barmaid wraps her fingers around his wrist, leading him away from the table. There’s glares too, envy making eyes dark as he passes. There will be men who hate him in the morning for no other reason than he had what they couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.

Fine by him, anyway. Angry men are easy to predict-- they only want to do what will cause the most pain. It’s the ones that cheer him on that are dangerous; they need to be courted, molded.

Shuuka is neither. Curious.

“Hey, hero,” the barmaid purrs, pressing her body against his. “Keep your eyes where they belong.”

By the swing of her hips, she means on her. Well, it’s certainly not a bad view.

She sashays up those last few steps, shoving him into a room--

Torou’s smile is gone the moment the latch catches. “You are on your own with this one. I am out.”

Leaving Oberwald takes an extra day; the villagers keep him plied with ale until he tumbles into bed. When he wakes while the sky’s still moonless and dark, two sets of hands rubbing down his chest. Who is he to deny himself a reward so justly earned?

Still, waiting makes the spirits restless.

“Serves you right,” he grouses, rubbing at the new lump dulling the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “You’re supposed to make it look good, not actually hit me!”

The spirit folds her arms across her chest-- or under it, rather, framing their best asset when it comes to fooling these bumpkins. A barmaid with big tits never fails to turn heads, and should someone get suspicious of the girl who disappears when the evil spirit does, well-- no one can pick her face from a crowd.

“Oh, complain, complain.” The huff she lets out doesn’t even have a hint of remorse. “I’m sure you got those village girls to kiss it all better.”

He can’t help his grin. “Two of ‘em.”

“Ugh.” Her eyes roll, the kohl still clinging to the corner of them. It’s the most stubborn part of the makeup, but Torou makes do; by the next town she’ll have wings drawn on so sharp they could cut a man’s throat. “How is it you get to bed down with every miss looking for a good time, but I can only look at all those strapping young farm boys?”

“Pitchforks. Torches,” he reminds her. “Us, running away in the middle of the night...”

No one remembers the barmaid, except for an angry wife. And they know how to drum up some bloody-minded friends once night falls. That’s another thing that makes the spirits angry, but well, that’s not his problem. Maybe if they were more circumspect, they could tumble a few village boys-- or girls-- if they liked.

“Fine,” she mutters, itching at her neck. Some red flakes off, falling to the dirt below, lost beneath the tread of their boots. “Where to next?”

He’d thought he’d been mulling it over still, but the second she asks, it’s the answer at the tip of his tongue. The only one.

“Nowhere that needs a drowned girl!” Torou warns him, pitch raising to one that would make dogs howl. “My ears still don’t feel right after the last one...”

“Clarines.”

She scuffs to a halt. “Clarines? The ‘realm of reason?’ That Clarines?”

He doesn’t stop, just shortens his stride as he puts a jaunty skip in his step. “The very same.”

Her steps start again, hurrying to keep pace with his. “Why? I thought they were enlightened out there. Above all this folk talk.”

“No one is, if we play them well enough.” He slides her a sly smile. “And we will.”

“Best of the best,” she agrees. “So what’s the score?”

His grin pulls wide. “I hope you have your kissing lips ready. We have a princess to awaken.”

His hands fly up between them, trying to ward off her waggling finger. She’s carrying five knives at minimum, but of all the weapons on her body, that finger scares him the most. “Torou, come on--”

“Don’t you ‘come on’ me, Nanaki.” She doesn’t need a steel when her tone’s already so pointed. “I’m not going back there, not even if you beg me. Not even if you drag me. I’ll gnaw off my own leg if you try.”

“Torou, what--?” She shifts, just enough for him to see the wide stretch of her eyes, pupils blown and white all around the rim. “Are you...scared?”

“Scared? Scared?” Torou laughs, wild. “I’m terrified. We’ve played a lot of games, but this, this-- this curse thing, it’s real.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he huffs, leaning against a bedpost. “You know that’s not true. We’ve been running this grift for how long now, and the only supernatural thing out there is how easily everyone will believe it.”

“Listen, that’s what I thought. That’s what I always thought, you know that.” Her voice trembles, shoulders hunching around her chest. “But I went there. I went right into that manor to case the joint-- I knew there’d be stuff in there, stuff we could sell and get out of this rat race.”

His jaw slackens. They’d never talked about that, about what could lie at the end of a real good grift, of what they would do if they had enough coin to stop. He hadn’t even known she’d wanted to, let alone that she--

“I went in there,” she murmurs, rounding into herself. “And someone-- someone screamed.”

He licks his lips, brain jittering with the thought of this ending, or having somewhere to stop. “Screamed?”

“Don’t laugh.” Torou’s voice barely wavers above a whisper. “Someone screamed, and I-- I went to find them. Maybe some kid got in there and broke a leg. I could get some credit you know, really get those bumpkins eating out of my palm. But I walked in and--” she chokes, fingers clawing at her throat-- “there was blood, so much blood, just covering the floor, and then--”

Her breath fills his ears, so harsh, so pained. He’s only heard her like this once, back before, and his blood runs cold.

“And then.” Her hand comes out to grip his wrist, drawing him into her terrified gaze. “It sounded like someone was dying.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #supernatural au #sleeping beauty au #my fic #age of reason #ans #OKAY SO I GUESS THERE IS AT LEAST ONE MORE CHAPTER #for the set up at least #but perhaps you are all seeing the shape this fic is gonna take...#perhaps if you have read the folk versions of the fairy tale >:3c #also i don't know how i've ended up with so many stories with torou this time around #but here we are #this is the life i'm living this bingo

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elizabethemerald · 5 years ago

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Water learns by Fire’s side

You know maybe sticking a 14 yo abuse victim in a mental hospital isn't the best. But water is the element of healing. And the two most powerful Water and Fire benders probably have a lot they can learn from each other.

AO3

Please Reblog!

Azula felt the rush of water pour down around her. She struggled to turn but the chains on her wrists held her fast. She roared, fury and pain pouring out of her mouth in a rush of fire. Blue flames scorched the ground in front of her, as she fought against the chains. Her roar turned to a scream, turned to sobs, as with a final gout of flame she fell to her back. Her sobs echoed and carried around the courtyard of the Fire Palace, sounding scared and alone even in her own ears. The sobbing filled her head until it was all she could focus on, and the world around her slowly faded to black.

She woke up with a start, straining forward against her restraints, her eyes wide. It had just been a dream. She breathed out, forcing more blue flames out past the grill of the muzzle the doctors kept her in. She was bound to the chair she was sitting in, barely able to do more than turn her head. Her head jerked up as the door to her room opened. Outside she could hear one fo the doctors talking to someone.

“She’s in an unstable mood. Maybe it would be best if you come back another day?”

“I will be fine. Thank you.” A new voice replied. This wasn’t Zuko visiting her. It was someone new, younger, feminine. The water bender girl.

Sure enough, Katara of the Southern Watertribe stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Azula growled as best she was able past her muzzle, breathing out more flames.

“Come to gloat over my defeat?” Azula snarled at her.

“No I’m not. Do you mind if I sit down?” Katara said.

“I can’t very well stop you now can I?” Azula nodded to the singular other chair in the room. The doctors kept it just out of range of where she could turn her head, so they wouldn’t have to worry about her blowing fire at them. She was surprised when Katara moved the chair so it was in her line of sight. Maybe the water peasant wasn’t smart enough to know to stay out of reach. Azula smirked but decided to bide her time.

Katara sat in the chair pulling some water from the pitcher on the table to her with her water bending. Azula stiffened her eyes growing wider. If she intended to torture her for her crimes she would find Azula a poor subject.

Instead Katara hardly seemed to pay attention to her. She wove the water in the air, then froze it, creating a fine ice lattice. She grabbed the ice lattice out of the air, turning it this way and that, examining it closely, before she allowed the ice to return to water.

Azula watched her carefully, holding herself ready for Katara to form an ice knife or a water whip to use against her. However as more and more time passed Katara stayed focused on her own bending. Azula had to admit she was an incredibly skilled bender, but she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. She shifted in her chair, clacking her tongue against her muzzle. That brought Katara’s head up.

“Do they ever take that thing off?” Katara asked, glancing down at the muzzle.

“Only when it’s time for me to eat, and at the express order of the Fire Lord.” Azula growled out.

“Has Zuko been visiting you?”

“Almost every day. He doesn’t stay long, when he does though.”

“I think it hurts him to see you like this.”

“Why?” Azula snarled again, throwing herself against her restraints. “Because he wants to see me rotting in the worst cells in the prisons! Because he wants to see me executed for what I did? Why would it hurt him?”

“I don’t think that’s the reason.” Katara said slowly, then frowned. “Will you burn me if I take it off?”

Azula rolled her head to the side, allowing some of her hair to fall in front of her face. “Maybe.”

“Hmm.” Katara looked at her for another moment, then she bent the water in her hand around her wrist and froze it. She had created a pair of rather elegant ice wrist cuffs. She stepped behind Azula’s chair. “They keep this locked?”

“Of course. They learned quickly to take every precaution to keep me restrained.”

Azula stiffened again as she heard the sound of flowing water. She pulled her head as far forward as she could. Now was the time for Katara to kill her, or hurt her. Take her in the back, while she was bound to a chair like a coward. She felt a rush of cold at the back of her neck, and a soft keening sound pulled its way past her lips. She was panting blue flames, desperate to fight, to strike back against what was coming, but there was nothing she could do.

With a soft click the muzzle on her face loosened and Katara pulled it off over her head. Azula stayed frozen for a few seconds, breathing rapidly. It wasn’t until Katara had set the muzzle on a table and retaken her seat that Azula allowed herself to relax minutely. She opened and closed her mouth, rolling her jaw to shake out the discomfort from the extended period of having the muzzle on.

“They gave you the key?” Azula asked, keeping her head down and forward, only looking at Katara through the shield of her bangs.

“No. But I don’t really need one.” She set a small clear key on the table next to the muzzle.

At first Azula thought it might be glass, until she saw that it was glistening. Ice. Already starting to melt in the Fire Nation heat. She had poured water into the key hole, then froze it into ice to create a key and unlock it. Brilliant.

“I learned how to do that from Toph Beifong. After she invented metal bending she carried a small piece of meteoric metal on her at all times so she could bypass locks. This way, I can open the lock and no one would be the wiser.”

Azula narrowed her eyes at that. She had seen the Dai Li do some pretty impressive things with their earthbending. But nothing on a level like this. And being able to create weapons from any nearby metal would be even more impressive.

“Do you think you could cut through the lock with your fire bending?” Katara asked.

“Easily.” Azula scoffed, leaning back in her chair.

“Could you cut through it and not damage any other part of the lock?”

“Even with my hands tied I could.”

“Show me.” Katara leaned back, arching an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest.

Azula took a deep breath through her nose, concentrating on the lake of Chi inside her. When she couldn’t hold any more air in her lungs, she breathed out forcefully, keeping her lips tightly pressed together almost like she was whistling. A short line of blue flames pushed past her lips. She focused, her breathing steady, shaping her lips until the fire flowed out in a white hot line less than an inch long. The heat of it made some sweat bead at her forehead, but she had done it.

“Well done. That’s very impressive.” Katara clapped her hands at the sight.

Azula released the rest of her breath, before taking another deep inhale. Her lips twitched with barest hint of a smile. Surely Katara would be impressed with any display of firebending and no doubt she had no idea how difficult what she had just done was, but it still felt good to have someone praise her fire bending again. It had been far too long since someone had been in awe of her skill, not terrified of it.

The smile washed away into a scowl. She had always used her firebending to keep others in line. When people were afraid of her skill, afraid of her, they would listen to her. Except that hadn’t worked. Mai and Ty Lee had turned against her. They hadn’t been afraid of her enough. The Dai Li would have betrayed her too. Even the Fire Sages hadn’t been afraid of her enough. They crowned her brother over her.

Katara’s smile had faded as well, watching how Azula’s face fell. She looked at her with only kindness and sadness in her eyes when Azula snarled at her.

“Get it over with already!” Azula snapped flinging herself forward, trying to startle her into action.

“Get what over with?”

“What you came here to do! Just do it and stop playing nice already!” Azula was screaming, smoke and fire frothing at the edge of mouth.

“What did I come here to do?”

Katara was playing stupid, pretending she didn’t know. Pretending that she hadn’t been trying to get Azula to lower her guard. Pretending that she didn’t hate Azula and want to see her hurt. Pretending she didn’t enjoy how far she’s fallen.

“You came here to kill me!” Azula screamed. “You came here to punish me for what I did to you, and your people! For what I tried to do to the Avatar. Don’t pretend you don’t hate me!”

Azula’s wild screams had drawn the attention of those outside. The door opened and a few doctors and orderlies stood in the doorway, they were going to sedate her again. Knock her out so Katara could do whatever she wanted unopposed. She screamed wildly, her screams shaking into sobs, as she pulled and strained against her restraints. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t see. They were going to kill her and she wouldn’t even get a chance to fight back.

It was what she deserved.

She was a monster. She tried to kill her own brother. Her two best friends. She had wanted to see the Fire Nation burn the rest of the world. She had wanted to watch the Earth Kingdom die. She was a monster. She deserved to die.

Tears flowed down her face as she sobbed, wildly out of control. She could barely breathe and the room was spinning and shaking. She could barely see through her tears, her fear, and her self hatred that Katara was standing in the doorway, stopping the doctors from entering. She looked so small in front of these adults. She was arguing with them, but Azula couldn’t hear her words past her own sobbing and the blood pounding in her head.

Azula gave one final screaming, sobbing jerk and toppled her chair sideways. Her head hit the hard floor and sparks danced before her eyes. As sudden as that, the silence in the room became deafening. She laid on her side, her head resting on the ground, still bound to her wheel chair. A pair of fur lined boots stepped into her view.

“Azula? I’m going to lift you up ok?” Her voice was soft. Gentle. Azula nodded without trying to say anything.

Her world tilted and straightened as Katara lifted her chair and set it back on its wheels. Now she could see that the door to her room was frozen shut, ice filling the door frame and the lock. Katara smiled at her for a moment when she was back upright, then began searching the cabinets in the room. After a short search she returned with bandages and a clothe. She knelt in front of Azula’s chair, so their eyes were level.

“Your head is bleeding. May I take care of it?” Water glowed at her finger tips.

“No bending.” Azula gasped out.

Katara nodded, and let some water soak into the clothe then began to dab at Azula’s face. She couldn’t even recognize the pounding pain in her own head. All she could do was watch Katara wipe the blood from the side of her face. She also used a corner of the clothe to wipe the rest of her face, removing the tear marks and soot from her face. The cool feeling helped ground Azula in the moment, but she was still struggling.

“Why are you here, Katara?” Azula whispered.

Azula couldn’t fathom what would drive her enemy to care for her. Even the doctors here only saw to her health on orders from the Fire Lord, out of whatever misplaced love or pity drove him. Katara face showed nothing but compassion. She wasn’t here on orders. So why was she here?

Katara looked thoughtful for a few minutes, not answering as she formulated an answer, while she continued to clean her face, and bandage the small cut on the side of her head. Finally she was finished and retook her chair.

“I was hoping we could learn from each other.” Katara said softly. Azula looked at her, her head tilted to the side. “We are two of the most powerful benders in the world. I’m sure there is a lot we can learn.”

“You’re not the Avatar. You can’t fire bend.”

“Maybe not.” She picked up the key from the table, it was mostly melted, now far smaller, but with a gesture it reformed to its original shape and size. “But this was an Earthbender technique. Zuko’s lightning redirection is Waterbender technique. The fire bending you’ve shown me looks an awful lot like an Airbender technique I’ve seen Aang do. Who knows what I could do with some fire bending techniques?”

“You? You’re just a simple water tribe peasant.” Azula was tired. Her voice sounded drained even to her own ears. To her surprise Katara didn’t rise to the barb, instead she laughed.

“You know it’s funny you always call me a peasant. It really goes to show how much you don’t know.” Azula looked up at her, confusion in her eyes. Seeing her look Katara sat back, with the clear air of someone about to give a lecture.

“The water tribes may not have kings like the Fire Nation or the Earth Kingdom, but we still have chieftains. My father is the chief of the Southern Water Tribe. And Sokka briefly dated the daughter of the Norther Water Tribe chief. So he and I are just as royal as you and Zuko to our people.”

Azula arched an eyebrow. Her history lessons growing up had certainly never gone into detail on how the other nations were ruled. The only one she had any real experience with was the Earth Kingdom, considering she had lead a coup against their king.

“Now I may not have all the best furs and jewels like you and your brother. The Southern Water Tribe was much more egalitarian, striving to make sure that everyone has enough, rather then focusing on one family having more than any other.”

“Interesting. I presume in the far south, you have to be, to ensure your people survive with such few resources.” Azula mused.

“Exactly. Now if only I could get the Minister of the Interior to see that view.”

Azula released a bark of a laugh. “That old wind bag? Not on your life!”

She laughed again. Though Katara crossed her arms and gave a mock glare.

“And what would you suggest to convince him?”

“I suppose threatening his family is out?”

“Not really Zuko’s style. And now that I’m well known I can’t really dress up as a spirit to attack his factories any more.”

Azula sat up straight for a moment, before leaning forward conspiratorially, or at least leaning as far forward as her bounds would allow.

“As interesting as I’m sure that story is, you have to know there is only one thing the minister cares about.” Katara gestured for her to continue. “Money. The island he is governor of has one of the most productive iron mines in the Fire Nation. The war is over, that means no more tanks, ships or weapons. Which means all that iron he is sitting on is useless.”

Katara sat back, her face thoughtful.

“Now that is something useful to learn.” Katara smiled, a broad glowing smile that lit up the room. “See! We are learning from each other already.”

Azula allowed a small ghost of smile to flit across her face.

Eventually Katara had to leave, though she promised this would be the first of many such conversations. The doctors nervously allowed her to remain free of the muzzle. Long after Katara had left, Azula sat up looking at the small puddle of water that had once been a frozen key.

The singular conversation wouldn’t fix what one hundred years of war, the genocide of a people and attempted genocide of another had broken. It wouldn’t fix what fourteen years of abuse and manipulation at the hands of her father had caused. It couldn’t make all of Azula’s problems go away. But it was a start. And with all stories, they had to start somewhere. And a conversation was as fine a place as any for Azula’s new journey to start.

Please Reblog!

#atla katara #atla azula #azutara #Avatar The Last Airbender #writing emerald #please reblog

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ronoken · 4 years ago

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Moon Warriors- A Terrible YA Story Starter

So, I have a terrible hobby. I like to see how awful I can make a story. For example, I was trying to avoid doing work and thought, “What’s the worst possible thing I could write that could be classified as a YA story?” And then I cranked this out in 30 minutes. Enjoy. Or don’t.

Like, it’s bad.

***

Once upon a time, in a land that is totally like our own, but more dystopian, because you can always add a smidge more dystopia (seriously, it’s the “hold my beer” of writing styles), lived a princess warrior. She had been taken from the royal palace, which was totally opulent and beautiful and loaded with people wearing wigs and makeup and lots of fancy clothing. It had been the night of the Spit On The Poor ball, where factory workers were sewn into the ballroom floor for the bourgeois to dance the night away on. After the dancing and the feast, which consisted of at least three hobos, the guests would wander to the gladiator pits where children would be chained to one another and were told to fight to the death, with life-saving medications being offered as the prize to the victors.

Anyway, the princess, who was a baby, was spirited out of the castle just as the cable news feeds to the kingdom were cut and the poor were suddenly deprived of their conservative news feed. Like the great white shark in Jaws 3 that had been trapped in a container after the pumps had been shut off, the people thrashed and growled, and demanded their precious feed of systemic bigotry resume to tell them how their situation was normal. Without this reassurance, they turned their frothing hatred towards the castle, and stormed it in a mad desire for flesh and live panel breakdowns of how other-colored people were responsible for unemployment.

And so, the princess lived. She was raised by her kindly nursemaid in a small village, called Poor People District-19. She grew up smart, and plucky, and fast. She was a cunning as she was beautiful, and she was totally hot, so that worked in her favor. Her hair was always hanging down and kinda dirty, but not so dirty that you’d go “eww!” More like she was one shower and a nice change of clothes away from being Princess McHotCharacter. Her clothes were rags, but nice, color-coordinated rags, and she was totally good with handheld weapons, like knives, arrows, and spears. She survived by hunting and doing underground video blogs about the tyrant king who had survived the uprising of 17 years ago who was also her dad BUT SHE DOESN’T KNOW THAT.

The princess didn’t know she was a princess. Instead, she was simply Jessica. Jessica Steel-Tiger; a rough and tumble gal who was too focused on freedom and her people to think about love.

At least that was the case up until the robot prince visited her land to see what poor people were. He was from the moon and lived there in harmony with the other robot people. He however had a sinister secret; he was born human. He had a whole bunch of cybernetic implants and stuff, so he was a kick-ass cyborg, but he still looked hot, so we’re good. He had some cool circuit-looking tattoos that were actually circuits (because TECHNOLOGY) along the side of his face, and his eyes would glow light blue due to robot-related things. His face was symmetrical, his hair was blond and kinda pointy, and he had abs. Hot, semi-robotic abs. His semi-see-through chainmail shirt would show them off as he travelled in his bubble-topped robot motorcade. He also had an axe or something. I dunno, it was cool.

Jessica was poised to take out the motorcade all Ewok-style, which was a thing in poor people lands. She had rigged up some boulders to roll off the tops of buildings (all poor-looking buildings, with no glass and soot stains on the sides) and some logs to roll across their path to slow them down (poor-looking logs, what with their lack of park and ramen cups squished into their branches). Then, she would leap atop the car, fight the robot prince to the death, chop off his head, and put it on a rusty girder pike in the town square. Actually, it was more of a town triangle- they couldn’t afford squares.

The rocks fell and took out the police hover cars just like she planned. She also had some nets for the walking soldiers, because nets.

Nets!

Anyway, everyone was taken out except for the robot prince, who opened the bubble top of his car, picked up his wicked-looking axe thing, and scanned the rooftops for the person responsible. He was soon rewarded with the site of Jessica doing a ton of somersaults through the air and landing perfectly on the hood of his lime green prince transport, as lime green is the color of lunar royalty. She twirled her staff and looked him in his handsome, robot eyes.

“I’m here to kill you,” she hissed.

The prince froze, mesmerized. “Wow. I have no idea who you are, but I am attracted to you.”

Jessica blushed and sputtered. “But, but you’re my enemy! You can’t be attracted to me. NOW WE FIGHT TO THE DEATH!”

She swung her staff, and he countered with his axe, and they dance/fought to a cool techno beat all around the street. He would be all, “I’m gonna hit you with this!” and swing his axe, and it would slo-mo miss her as she did a cool dodge backwards. She would do a twirly spin hit against him that would be countered by the handle of his axe, and then they would push against each other and get real close, each locking eyes with the other.

“I find you menacing and attractive,” the prince said.

“Your ability to defend yourself and your awesome eyes have aroused me, but that doesn’t excuse my rage towards you!” Jessica countered.

“Why do you hate me?” The robot prince asked, confused. “It is because I’m different? Robot different?”

“No! Because you’re evil!” Jessica countered.

The robot prince stared into Jessica’s eyes. “But… What if I could change?”

Jessica grabbed him and kissed him right there in the middle of the street. The kiss was electric and sparky, because he was half-robot, but his mouth was all hotness. It made her all angry and flustered again, but in the hot way that can be taken care of in about five minutes if necessary.

“Come with me,” Jessica said. “Join my rebellion and help me fight the evil king.”

“The king is totally evil,” the robot prince said. “He murdered my father. I am here to secretly get near to him and then kill him with my robot parts.”

“Then you’ll join my rebellion?” Jessica asked?

“Yes,” the robot prince, who was probably named something kinda dumb like Thunderrose Abberstone or something, said. “Can you teach me to be as awesome as you?”

Jessica shook her head. “No, but I’ll teach you to be as awesome as you,” she said.

Blushing, the robot prince nodded in agreement and followed her into the city to plot their rebellion.

And then they fucked.

#ya #hunger games #dystopia #bad writing #satire

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angelic-kisses13 · 5 years ago

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Claiming- Part I

Authors Note: Here is Part I I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Violence, gore, swearing, Vampire Charles Brandon, mentions the word Rape (Not described)

“Master, the treaty has been fractured. Two bound of blood plotted against the all-knowing, thus leading to a betrayal of the Children of the Night. Inevitable despair of two warring Kingdoms will befall both heads of houses. “

“How do we halt this coming demise, Mother Seeress?”

“The Treaty dictates an eye for an eye.”

Another war was close to brewing and Charles was close to just sending his men out and taking care of the neanderthals across the river. The memory of his best Generals head rolling across his throne room was forever ingrained. The trail of blood forever staining the stone. He remembered the rage and remorse that colored his person as he noticed the missing fangs. He had been dishonored by the beheading but the knowledge that someone had dared desecrate his culture and lineage would forever strike fear in his people. He would never forget the scent of the vile human carcass that dared trespass on his land. Since he was king, however, he couldn’t do as he wished, without causing massive disruption to his kingdom and the other neighboring ones.

Charles forced his tightly wound body back against the carriage wall, he was on his way to the disgrace of a kingdom now, the King claimed to have a peace offering for him. A sacrifice for the vampires so that they would hopefully look past their transgressions.

Charles was surprised at himself for the amount of rage he held for the whole notion, he was never one for sacrifices but he had to uphold the ancient traditions. It would make matters worse and as much as a war sounded fun and a great time killer, he wasn’t willing to put his people through that. He had seen enough bloodshed to last millennia.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the carriage stopping and his footmen opening the door for him. He sighed but pulled his robes around his body carefully, arranging them neatly. He climbed down the carriage steps, dusk had fallen and he relaxed under the twilight.

A scuffle to his left drew his attention and he watched as a young woman was dragged across the courtyard, insults flying from her lips faster than he could process. A smirk fell across his lips as she turned and spat at the guard who had the gall to slap her ass in a warning. She was a plump thing, where there should have been harsh angles on her body, were instead rounded curves that screamed for him to run his fingers over. He had always had a soft spot for women who had more meat on their bones. The fact is that he had more to hold onto, more to drink from and more space to paint his mark across, making their skin his canvas.

“I REFUSE TO BE USED THIS WAY! I AM NOT SOME COMMON CRIMINAL YOU CAN DO WITH AS YOU WISH!” Her words made his eyebrows raise in surprise, now this was going to be interesting. The guards all laughed in delight,

“You’re the only criminal that no-one has claimed. The King, for whatever reason, paid your bail, therefore, you are owned by the King and he can do with you as he wishes.” Just as he was about to follow after the young woman, a stable boy came running up, he bowed before Charles, his little body shaking at the sight of him.

“Y-your Majesty, the K-King awaits yo-your arrival.” Charles hummed as he put the young woman out of mind and followed the boy into the palace. The boy left him standing in front of the throne room doors, where two guards stood on watch. He watched out of the corner of his eye, as one of the guards turned his head and glared at him with disdain.

A smirk fell on his features as he swiftly pinned the guard to the wall and bared his fangs, a glint entering his eyes as he sealed the man’s fate. He drank for a few moments before pulling away and dropping the man to the ground. He smoothed his cloaks out before entering the Throne Room. He was instantly assaulted by the familiar stench, his eyes narrowing on the three occupants of the room. He sniffed a couple of times, trying to ascertain the culprit. His senses zeroed in on the Prince. Satisfied he was the vile carcass, he then spots the trophies around the young man’s neck.

“His Majesty” stood at the top of the stairs in front of his throne overlooking his kingdom from the stain glass windows, the prince lounging behind him, drink in one hand, the fangs of his General lay nestled against his greasy portly neck. His scrawny half-Witt of an advisor stood off to the King’s left. They were whispering, but Charles could hear every word.

“King Charles’ sacrifice refuses to come out, the stupid girl is going to put us all in jeopardy with her tantrums.”

The King sighed as he reached out and patted the Advisors shoulder,

“Try and convince her one last time, King Charles will be here any second and I don’t want him to have more reasons to go to war.” The advisor bowed before turning around and halting in his tracks, Charles watched in quiet delight as the Advisors knees buckled beneath him.

Charles grinned, the blood on his fangs glowing in the candle-light as he licked at the drop of blood on the tip of his left fang. He preened as the blood from the advisor’s face drained, an audible swallow was heard before the man kneeled.

“Your Majesty. It is a humble delight to see you.” King Indulf stiffened before turning to face Charles, a strained smile painting his features.

“Advisor.” That was the only word needed before the poor man was up on his feet and hurrying, in a dignified manner, back towards the Throne Room’s doors. It was silent as they appraised the other, looking for any tell-tale signs of weaknesses. One could only hope for a quick signal to end the other.

“Charles, how kind of you to travel and accept our gift of dinner and women. I’m sure the one we have picked out for you will be enough to appease.” His tone was bordering cordial and impertinent. Charles’s jaw tightened, just as he was about to voice his displeasure about the ordeal, the doors were opened and in walked a delicate flower, brown hair done up in the traditional braids and pinned into an intricate bun on the top of her head, her skin was painted flawlessly and her white dress left nothing to the imagination, her skin showing through the sheer fabric.

She bowed at their feet, before coming and kneeling on the second step, her hands resting on her thighs, back straight, head tilted to the right, baring her neck showcasing her pulse and vein beautifully. She was stunning, but she was meek and unfit to be the sacrifice.

“She is a fine specimen but she is unfit for the role, far too weak, Indulf.” The King spluttered, his face an ugly puce color as he refrained from shouting.

“We were just supposed to give you a woman to sate your declaration of war, Charles. As you can see, we have lived up to our deal.” Charles snorted, unable to contain his mirth for a moment longer.

“You stupid excuse of a King. The terms of the sacrifice were agreed upon when the contract was drawn up. Every detail drafted down for future generations. It outlines everything specifically, clearly, you have read it to be able to coach her on how to sit and dress. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice? This “sacrifice” is dying. Do you believe that this painted whore would hold the same status as my best General?” His voice became a roar by the end of his rant, his eyes a burning crimson.

“King Charles, she was the only eligible candidate we had, surely you can overlook the one rule.”

“Surely, you have noticed your ill-mannered son displaying the fangs of my fallen comrade. The contract is void, prepare for war Indulf, you have insulted me and my people one too many times this evening.” He hissed and turned on his heel, preparing to depart when the throne room doors were thrown open and a woman came in kicking and screaming. Her eyes flashing as her mouth opened in a snarl. She was tossed at King Indulf’s feet.

Charles had just enough time to move out of the way before she was up and throwing herself towards the Prince. Her screeches and wails filling the hall,

“I WILL NOT BOW DOWN TO YOU! I AM NOT YOUR CONSORT! I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT!” The Prince quickly grabbed the little spitfires’ wrists before throwing her down and backhanding her face. She sprawled across the stone floor, a hand reaching up and brushing over her busted lip, coming away red with blood.

“THAT IS ENOUGH YOU INSOLENT BITCH!” Charles’s eyes flashed when the scent of her blood hit his senses. She was delectable, fiery, and willing to fight to the end.

Her chest heaved as she watched them, her tongue darting out to swipe the blood up. She grinned at the three men, her teeth painted in her blood. Charles had to suppress the growl that threatened to escape his mouth. He wanted to grab her by her meaty hips and pin her against the floor, his tongue diving into her mouth to lick every last drop of her blood from her teeth and tongue. Charles took a step forward only to be hit by the vile stench of the Prince. She was covered head to toe and it brought the memory of his dead General to mind.

The enraged King frothed at the mouth, “I paid your bail, you ungrateful heathen, that means I own you, I can do with you what I want when I want. You are to be my son’s consort, a high honor if I do say so. One someone like you shouldn’t get, but your parents were good people and I promised I would look after you.” A manic cackle fell from the woman’s lush lips as she rolled from her side and onto her knees.

“My parents were traitors that you honored to make yourself look good, they don’t deserve to have me as their daughter. I will never be your sons, I would rather be his sacrifice,” she angrily threw her arm out, finger pointed towards Charles, “than live in this palace and be raped by your precious prince another day.”

“You think you are worthy enough to be a King’s sacrifice?” Indulf’s body was vibrating with barely contained rage.

“I’m worthy enough for your son to be sullied over.” A laugh escaped Charles as he kneeled down in front of the woman.

“My little lamb,” He smoothed his thumb over her bruised cheek before pulling his hand back, her warmth seared his skin, she was perfect. A raging inferno waiting to be tamed. He looked up at the King, a challenging glint to his eye.

“Sacrifice accepted.” The occupants of the throne room gasped in shock as Charles bent down and swiftly picked up the dirtied and bloodied rag of a woman, before disappearing, a cool breeze rustling through the room in his abrupt departure.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @dancingwendigo @dreamwritesimagines @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeychicanawrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingshelby @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @supersweetstache @thethirstyarchive @the-winter-witcher @thegreattodd @tumblnewby @viking-raider @white-wolf-of-rivia @witcherwrites

#henry cavill #reader insert #Vampire Henry Cavill

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

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Chapter 108 - SBT (The End)

Here it is!

The engine's roar was muffled by their helmets.

Lucien was holding on to Mundy who was driving fast through the desert. They had fled the city and were now deep in the middle of nowhere, dust flying after them.

Soon the desert landscape saw more and more bushes spring out of the ground until it became full grown trees. Lucien's eyebrows jumped. They were back at the forest where the lake was, the same lake where Mundy used to bathe.

The Aussie stopped the engine and put a foot down once they were a few metres away from the shore. Lucien removed his helmet and shook his hair before raising his eyes to the half moon. It shone on the surface of the lake to make the shy waves look silver.

"Lu'."

"Oui?" Lucien's eyes went to Mundy who was walking back and forth on the shore relentlessly. He seemed troubled. "What is it?"

"Hold on. I-I'm tryin' to find the words…"

Lucien stopped talking and watched Mundy come and go for a few more minutes. The Aussie mumbled under his breath, monosyllables, grunts, growls. He would frown, scratch his cheeks and hiss to himself.

"Is this the van?" Lucien pushed the leaves of a weeping willow and noticed that not far from them the van was parked. There was a table and two plastic white chairs.

"Y-yeah… I uh… I made some dinner, for you and me. You hungry?"

"Oui, a bit."

"Wanna have dinner now or…?"

"What did you have in mind?" Lucien asked.

"W-well, I don't know… Let's have dinner if you're hungry."

"D'accord."

[Alright.]

They headed for the table.

"Oh, hold on…" Mundy jumped to pull Lucien's chair for him to sit. "You comfy?"

"Oui, merci."

"Gimme a minute, I'll grab the food." The Aussie went to his van and Lucien saw the yellow, almost orange light flash up as he switched it on.

"Oh?" Lucien's eyebrows jumped when scintillating, Christmas-like lights switched on along the van's roof, at the edges. He smiled.

"Here comes first… these…" Mundy reappeared and put some candles on the table. "D'you have your lighter?"

"Oui," Lucien opened his varnished black purse and handed it to Mundy. "Here."

"Thanks, gorgeous, just a minute more."

"Mh-hm." Lucien nodded and Mundy disappeared again.

It was a night of November and the weather was much warmer, such that it was very pleasant to stay outside, especially at night. Lucien let the occasional soft lick of wind brush his hair and raise his curled locks, grazing his shoulders.

"Here we go…" Mundy brought two plates out of the van and placed one in front of his lover and one for himself.

"What have you prepared?"

"Try it and see." Mundy smiled as he took a seat opposite Lucien.

"Fine, I shall…" He raised his light blue eyes to Mundy's, whose face was shyly shimmering above the candles. And when the Aussie's gaze met with Lucien, his breath stopped for an instant.

"Such a beaut' of a thing you are… Even as a sheila… I mean… If you had told me you'd dress as a woman, I think I'd have been completely put off. I mean, it's kinda weird, right? But then I look at you now and…" Mundy's eyelids fell half-way through his eyes. "It doesn't bother me at all, you just look so… natural in those clothes too, as if you'd worn that all your life… How can you seem so normal?"

"Because I am not playing a role. This is who I am. I…" Lucien smiled but his eyes lowered and his cheeks turned pink.

"Hey…" Mundy slid his hand on the table to hold Lucien's. "Oh, hold on…" He looked at Lucien's fingers. "Painted yer nails too? Gosh, everytime I look at you, I see something new." Mundy bit his lip. "But whatever, what did you wanna say?"

"I am a bit… ashamed of it, Mundy."

"I can see that, but don't be, please. Y'know you can tell me anythin', eh?"

Lucien nodded, his head still lowered.

"I have grown to… enjoy uhm…" Lucien rolled his eyes up to shyly meet Mundy's gaze. "Pleasing you."

"What d'you mean?"

"I was always the kind of man who would… be pleased. Men, women, all would try to catch my eye and I never had to try. But with Marie, I got a hint of what it feels like to be the one who is the most foolish, the one who is the deepest in love. And now with you, the more I explore this route, the deeper I fall and the stronger I feel for you, because I realised that the more I acted this way, the more protective you became and… I must admit I enjoy that side of you way more than I expected I would."

"Is that why you like dressin' as a sheila? To get that side of me out more?"

Lucien looked away but nodded.

"You don't need to put on a show like that, baby. Regardless of your clothes, you're still my doll."

"I cannot be called thus if I am a man."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't make sense." Lucien answered, still not facing his lover.

"Alright, tell you what, you go in the van and get a change. Remove the make-up and everythin', and come back here, I'll show you something."

"What?"

"C'mon, chop, chop!" Mundy stood up and pulled Lucien out of his seat to accompany him to the van.

"But-"

"No buts. Get in there and come back dressed as a bloke. I'll wait."

"Fine…"

A few minutes later, Lucien exited the van wearing a suit and tie, one of the few that had stayed in Mundy's van.

"Here I am." He said.

"Now, come and have dinner, baby." Mundy took his hand and sat him down again before resuming his seat. "Try the food and tell me what you think of it."

Lucien took his fork and dug in.

"Mh… It reminds me of what you cooked when you found me in the hotel, hungover in my bathtub."

"Yep, that's exactly what I did. I tried to make the same pasta."

"It is delicious… Thank you, mon loup."

"You're welcome, gorgeous."

They enthusiastically ate and finished their plates and when they were done, the concerto of cutlery on plate ended, while the shy rolling of the lazy waves on the shore resumed.

"So, why did you now bring me here? We could have had this dinner at home." Lucien said, as he wiped his mouth.

"Nah, we couldn't." Mundy answered, lightly shaking his head. "I wanted to take you back here cause this lake's important to us."

Lucien nodded.

"We did a lot of things here. We argued, we hugged, we held hands, we…" Mundy's eyes were dreamy and his lips wore a lazy and nostalgic smile. "And you stalked me takin' a bath, eh?"

"I… What can I say? You were bathing here when I arrived. I didn't want to interrupt you." Lucien cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, why am I convinced that you enjoyed the view, eh?"

"Surely because I did?" Lucien answered. He put his elbows on the table and held his chin on his palms.

"Did you?" Mundy asked, bending closer over the table.

"Oui, I did. My only regret was that you were quite far and it was the dead of night. I couldn't see you as well as I would have wished to. But it was such a poetic view…" Lucien's eyes were dreamy and Mundy barely noticed that the mascara had gone. In the Frenchman's irises, the candle flames slowly danced and Mundy couldn't but bite his lip, his pupils blown wide.

Each time he looked at Lucien as keenly as now, Mundy would feel the same thing as when he would see the poster of a movie star. Such beauty was outstanding. But it was also out of reach, far and surely fake. However with Lucien, even if the man was strikingly good-looking, he was very much accessible, very much right there, in front of him. And he was his, gosh…

Mundy's hand had risen to Lucien's cheek and gently grazed it, with the back of his knuckles. Lucien wrapped the big hand with both of his and leaned more into its touch.

"Gosh, you're so soft… Look at you… I…" Mundy's jaw trembled on its own. "Bloody hell, you're amazin'..."

Lucien smiled sweetly, the lines at the corner of his eyes grinned with him and his slim cheeks turned pink under the candle light.

"I… What I said about why I like to dress in a feminine way." Lucien started. "It is also the reason why I let my hair grow."

"Doll, you don't need to. Whether your hair's long or short, whether you sound like you right now, or like a sheila, whatever the clothes, inside it all, it's still you. I don't care what you put on, I love you, what's inside your beautiful head and beautiful heart."

"Would you rather have me with short hair?" Lucien asked.

"I don't care. But what do you prefer?"

"I… I would rather have it short. It was pleasant to have it long for a while, but I am more used to seeing myself with short hair, if that is fine with you."

"Luv', you do whatever you want, I just want you to feel comfy and happy." Mundy opened his palm and Lucien snuggled against the warmth of it. "If you feel better with short hair, we can go and get you a haircut tomorrow."

"You will not need to." Lucien looked away.

"Why? Is somethin' wrong?"

"I… I need to confess something." Lucien stood up and started walking away. Mundy followed him and took his hand.

"Tell me…"

"I… I have been lying about my hair for a while." Lucien said, walking along the shore. His eyes were riveted on the froth gently rolling back and forth on the sand.

"It's ok if you prefer it short, baby, I don't mind, really."

"Non, you don't understand." Lucien turned to face Mundy, raising his eyes to him. The Frenchman raised his hand to his own hair and grasped it firmly before pulling it away.

"Oh…" Mundy's jaw dropped.

Lucien was holding in his hand a wig of long hair while on his head, his hair was exactly the cut that Mundy had seen on Lulu, back in those days.

"You…? You had short hair all along?"

"For the past few weeks, oui. Actually I got this haircut the day after the kittens were born."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You seemed to like my long hair so much. I did not want to tell you…"

"Now, that's nonsense." Mundy faced Lucien and put his hands on his hips, pulling him close. "I thought you trusted me and it's only a haircut, it's not a big deal?"

"I know but…" Lucien bent forward and gently headbutted Mundy's chest. "I was scared you would not see me as your…"

"My doll?"

Lucien nodded against his lover's chest.

"Lu'..." Mundy wrapped his arms around him. "Anything else you been holding back from me?"

Lucien shook his head against Mundy's chest.

"Gimme the wig."

Lucien obeyed and watched as Mundy threw it away, far in the lake.

"Now we threw away the last lie you had for me, ok?" Mundy put his hands left and right on Lucien's cheeks, and the Frenchman nodded.

"Oui."

"You sure?"

"Oui. Sorry."

"It's alright, baby doll." Mundy hugged him close with one hand behind his head and another around his waist. He kissed his now much shorter hair.

They stayed there on the shore for a while. The lake was calm and the night was still.

"You feel better?"

"I feel more like myself."

"Don't change to try and please me. I'm already head over heels for you."

"Oui but…"

"There's no buts, apart maybe from this one, eh…?"

"Mundy…!"

The Aussie's hands had slid in his lover's back pockets on his trousers and he had squeezed the softness he liked so much.

They exchanged a chuckle.

"More seriously, Lu'."

"Oui?"

"Just be yourself, ok?" Mundy pushed his forehead against Lucien's. "I just want you as you are. I don't want, I don't like and I don't love any other one, just you. Don't change, don't even think about it, ok? I don't care that you think you could be better, because truth is you can't. You can't get any better than what you are."

"But-"

"No." Mundy pushed his index on Lucien's lips. "Lu', you don't understand. I'm… I'm bein' more than serious and it's… It's important."

"What do you mean?" Lucien frowned.

"I… I…" Mundy stopped. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"I… I…" Mundy's breath was hitched, he breathed fast and short, as if he was about to cry.

"Take a deep breath."

The magic spell was cast and Mundy closed his eyes.

"Was that what you needed me to say?" Lucien asked as he splayed his hands on Mundy's chest. He opened the button on the jacket and undid the bowtie.

"N-no, Lu'." Mundy put a hand on Lucien's to stop him from untying it.

"But-"

"Stop, please…" Mundy closed his fingers on Lucien's hand. "Please, I… I beg you."

"What is it, Mundy? Why are you so… intense?"

"Because you don't get it." Mundy took Lucien's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I really need you to not change."

Lucien frowned.

"I… I… Fuck, I can't do it." Mundy's shoulders sank and he walked away from Lucien.

"Hey, mon loup?" Lucien walked after him. "What is it you are trying to say? What is the matter?"

"I can't! I can't do this! I've told Mum and even Dad and… And I'm repeating their advice to me in my head…" Mundy ruffled his hair and scratched his scalp nervously. "Micky do this, Micky don't do that, Micky this, Micky that!"

Lucien had caught up with him and took him by the arm.

"Mundy?"

"I can't!" Mundy roared before he realised that he was shouting at the man that he loved. "I…" His voice thinned to a whisper.

"Please, tell me."

"No, not like that." Mundy shook his head and Lucien noticed the sweat on his brow, shining in silver under the moonlight. "I… I…"

"Let me loosen the bowtie… Non, don't worry, I won't undo it completely, just enough for you to get some air."

"Gosh, I-I'm sorry, I'm really bad… I'm bad at this, I'm bad with words…" Mundy sat on the sand and Lucien sat down next to him.

"I do not know what you want to say, but I am here to help you get it out. You have all the time in the world."

"No, I don't. I wanna tell you… I need to." Mundy lowered his head defeatedly. He took a deep breath and turned to Lucien. "I… You… Would… Nnh…!"

Mundy was fighting himself, the words needed to get out of him, but it was a point of no return. Once the words were out in the air, the Aussie wouldn't be able to walk back, he wouldn't be able to turn his back and walk away. No, it was a step through a door that couldn't be re-opened. And as such, it made him sweat and his heart was pounding.

"Lu', I need to ask you somethin', but I'm…"

"Afraid?"

Mundy nodded. Lucien leaned on his side, both their backsides were planted in the wet sand and they started to feel the cold and wet sensation seep through their clothes.

"I… Maybe."

"Mon loup… Whatever it is, I promise to not get mad, not that ever do get mad at you." Lucien chuckled. "I cannot."

"You won't get mad but uh… You might… You might leave me." Mundy was staring at the sand between his flexed legs. "And I can't think about it. When I do, I-" Mundy's voice broke and he hid his face in his hands.

"Mundy, I would never leave you." Lucien put an index finger below Mundy's chin and pulled it up. "Where else would I find a scruffy jar-man who lives in a van?"

"Pff.." Mundy smiled. "Thought the jars disgusted you."

"Oh, they do. But I will never forget that day. That was in fact a brilliant, if repulsive, idea."

They exchanged a smile.

"Mundy, I cannot leave you. My life, my being and my personalities are… yours. When I learnt that France wanted me dead, that I wasn't a spy for them anymore, I lost what I was, my identity. I was a spy, but not anymore and what am I if I'm not a spy? You gave me an identity that didn't come in a fake passport and name. I now am someone because of your patience with me."

Mundy frowned.

"D'you… d'you really think what you just said?"

"Am I ever in the habit of joking?"

"Lu'." Mundy's tone wasn't one of a man who would appreciate half-answers or jokes. "Be honest."

"I am." Lucien answered as seriously as Mundy was.

"Right, uhm… I'm gonna ask you somethin' then…" Mundy stood up and Lucien imitated him. The Aussie faced his lover, holding both his hands in his own. He took a deep breath and let the shy wind cool him down. The lake was on Mundy's right side and the moon was lighting up his reason to live beautifully.

Yeah, that was Lu' indeed, the Lu' he had fallen for, the singer, the spy, the compulsive liar, the manipulator, the master of disguises and lies. The elegant man with the silver front lock and temples, light blue eyes like the sheen of the short blades he liked so much, and a smile to make flowers bloom in winter.

"Lucien…" Mundy tightened his grip on Lucien's hands and the Frenchman raised an eyebrow. Mundy never called him with his full first name. "Lucien, I… I can't imagine my life without you. When I think about it, you, you are my life. You're the reason I want to live. You… You've made me the man I am and uh… I-I just wanna do things right, understand?"

Lucien nodded.

"No, don't lie, you don't get it." Mundy frowned.

"I think I do." Lucien insisted.

"No. Let me explain." Mundy let go of Lucien's hands and fished something out of his backside pocket before dropping to one knee, planted in the wet sand.

"Mundy-"

"Lucien." Mundy cut him and raised his eyes to the man who stole his heart the day he set his eyes on him. Lucien put a hand on his mouth. "D'you wanna marry me?" Mundy opened the velvet box in which something shone and reflected the moonlight.

"I… Mundy… We cannot get married, we are both men and-"

"That wasn't my question." Mundy answered, frowning, and now Lucien saw his trembling lip and glistening eyes. "Question is, d'you wanna marry me?"

"Oui." Lucien answered. "Oui! Oui!" He exclaimed, more and more sure of himself. He looked down at the little box that Mundy held open. The Aussie stood up and took the silver ring that was sitting in the box before taking Lucien's hand in his.

"Alright, baby…" Mundy took a deep breath and slid the ring on Lucien's finger. It fitted beautifully. "This is yours now, I mean I'm yours now…"

"Let me…" Lucien sniffled and took the second ring from the box. "Let me…" With shaking hands, he took Mundy's and it wasn't easy slipping the silver ring in. "I'm yours too, mon loup, I have always been." He sniffled again. "From the day you set your eyes on me, from the day you looked at me, talked to me, treated me like a man of trust, I've always been yours, Mundy."

"C'mere, baby, I need you." Mundy pulled Lucien in for a kiss. Their lips were salty from the tears they shed, their ribcages jumped erratically as both breathed short, fast and syncopated. Lucien clawed into Mundy's collar while Mundy dug his fingers in his sides.

When screwing their eyes hard started to hurt, they released their breaths and parted from the kiss.

"I… Thanks, luv', really, thank you, baby doll, I… I swear I'll protect you, and make you happy. I swear I'll… I'll take care of you and give you the time, the attention and the peace of mind that you deserve." Mundy sniffled repeatedly between two words, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

"Mundy… We…"

"I don't care that we can't sign a piece of paper or go to church!" Mundy burst out. "I just… It's between you and me, no one else! I just want to tell you that… Uh, that this is it for me. I wasn't lookin' for anyone and I won't anymore. You're my best and my last." Mundy held Lucien's head between his hands and pushed his forehead against his.

"So are you Mundy…" Lucien closed his eyes and tears rolled down his slim cheeks. He put his hands on Mundy's wrists. "I was not looking for someone to have the burden of my company, until I met you, and then… Everything flipped and I needed to spend more time with the man who was not only an outstanding sharpshooter, but the kindest soul the Earth ever bore."

"I just have to ask you one thing, Lu'."

"Anything for you."

"Look at me."

Lucien opened his crying eyes and looked into Mundy's lagoon blue irises.

"Please, Lu', please never ever change."

Lucien's eyebrows arched high up and he put a hand on his mouth, to hide his imminent sobs. The Frenchman simply nodded.

"Say it."

"I… I won't ever change. I will stay myself with you."

"Thank you, baby." Mundy sniffled and smiled. "Bloody hell… I-I didn't think I'd cry…"

"I didn't think I would ever be married." Lucien answered. "I… I don't know how to feel."

"C'mere." Mundy pulled his lover close in an embrace.

"Mundy?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I… Am I a Turner now?" Lucien asked and Mundy's heart jumped in his chest.

"Yeah, you are. You're… Lucien Turner."

"Oh…" Lucien buried his head in Mundy's chest and started sobbing profusely. His cries were muffled but Mundy could still hear him and feel his body shake under the violent short breaths. He wrapped his arms around him dearly, one behind his head and one around his waist, and supported him while he cried.

It lasted so long that Mundy too started crying. He didn't really know why Lucien was crying and why he had felt the need to join in. But there they were, two middle-aged men crying their eyeballs out on the lake's shore.

Mundy started to feel Lucien's tears wet his shirt and make it to his very skin.

"L-Lu', baby doll, I… Are you alright? Why're you cryin', luv'?"

"I do not know, Mundy, I… I made it… finally… finally I am happily married now… I am free and married, and delighted to be so… I've been running all my life chasing that dream, I ran for so long that I abandoned the hope of finding stability in my life. And I was the only one to blame! I had signed to be a spy, my freedom and actions tied by the will of others. But now…" Lucien spoke between his ribcage jumping. "Now, I'm… I'm happy."

And he burst out sobbing again. His knees wobbled awkwardly beneath him as the shock of the realisation hit him. That was it. No more secrets, no more fights, but also and more crucially, no more disappointment at himself. No more looking at himself in the mirror and finding himself too old to find someone and settle down as hard as marble. No more looking at himself in the mirror and hating his guts for wasting his life, hating his tired eyes, hating the multiplying lines on his face, the slender cheeks, from which all the life had been sucked out by the nicotine, the grey hair, withering and losing its colour as much as it was losing his life.

Non. That was it.

He looked up now and saw lagoon irises with wide pupils, red eyes and lines at the corner of them, like his own. He saw slim and rough cheeks, sideburns that no one else could wear and no one else should. Mundy is the only one who is allowed to. Anyone trying to wear that is a fool, an idiot and a criminal. There was one only one man with brown hair that looked almost ginger under a yellow light, only one man who could hold Lucien perfectly, only one man who could hold Lucien in the palms of his hand.

Mundy.

The good boy who had always listened to his parents, was always so close to them and obedient, always putting them first in his mind. The same parents who had always pushed him to find a sheila to settle down. In the end, the sheila came in the form of a man. And what man… A fallen war hero who had one mission left to accomplish before blowing out his candle on his own, because no one else was left for him. What he didn't know was that he wasn't just a war hero, he was a very clever human being, able to read people and Mundy in particular very well. He was the hero of the Aussie's heart, the one who revived it gently, slithered through the cracks of his marble and crumbling heart to wake up a soft and warm beat; the man who took the shyness away from Mundy to let him speak his ideas, his truth, take them inside himself, turn them into words, and not be scared to say them out loud, for the world around him to hear.

"Lu'?"

Lucien's breath was still fast, sharp and short.

"I'll count to three and… And we both take a deep breath, yeah?"

Lucien nodded.

"One…" Mundy slid his hands to cup Lucien's cheeks.

"Two…" He opened his eyes and looked down at Lucien.

"Three…"

Both inflated their chests with fresh air, they could smell the lake, the forest, and each other's scent. And they released whatever their entrails held, they sighed long and powerful, releasing into the air years, and decades of worries.

They looked at each other and smiled.

"Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

"Pray do."

"Can you sing?"

"What do you want me to sing?"

"You know what you have to sing now." Mundy answered and Lucien smiled.

"Oui, I do. But I want you to sing her with me."

"What?"

"We both have to wave goodbye to her, together." Lucien explained.

"Ah, right. Yeah. Ok, you start."

Lucien looked in Mundy's eyes and let the gentle waves of the lake count the tempo for him.

"Je l'ai trouvée devant ma porte

[I found her at my doorstep]

Un soir, que je rentrais chez moi

[One evening, as I was coming back home]

Partout, elle me fait escorte

[Everywhere, she accompanies me]

Elle est revenue, elle est là"

[She has come back, here she is]

Mundy pitched in and started singing with his lover, as best as he could. He wasn't ashamed of his hoarse voice and didn't hide.

"Je veux encore rouler des hanches

[I still want to roll my hips]

Je veux me saouler de printemps

[I want to get drunk on spring]

Je veux m'en payer, des nuits blanches

[I want to spend more sleepless nights]

A coeur qui bat, à coeur battant

[With my heart beating, my heart racing]

Avant que sonne l'heure blême

[Before the pale hour rings]

Et jusqu'à mon souffle dernier

[And until my last breath]

Je veux encore dire je t'aime

[I want to say I love you again]

Et vouloir mourir d'aimer"

[And want to die of love.]

They shared the song with each other, with their own husband. And naturally, they started dancing, no big moves, only rocking themselves left and right in rhythm, left and right.

That song, Mundy had it on a cassette in the van, it had taken him ages to find it in stores. He sang it with his accent, his own twist on the words. It was the song that Lucien had sung first, the one for which Mundy's heart had decided to wake up. The song that had made sense for a decade, and now, didn't hurt anymore.

The Solitude only leaves when two people sing it.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

14 notes · View notes

solicuttle · 4 years ago

Text

Toritsuka’s Guide To Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Blood, Violence

Characters: Most of the cast

A very, very self-indulgent zombie apocalypse themed post. Not sure if I’m going to add a reader to this?

The world goes to shit when Toritsuka is getting his first (willing) kiss. He hasn’t seen her face yet but any girl who doesn’t run away at “hey cutie wanna smooch me?” must be beautiful.

She doesn’t seem to dislike the idea of kissing or start screaming bloody murder the minute Toritsuka leans in. It’s not as picture perfect as he thought his first kiss would’ve been-- kissing under the bleachers after skipping graduation is hardly scenic but Toritsuka’s a wise man, it would be dumb to waste this opportunity.

She’s close, so close he can feel the puffs of her breath on his face and—holy shit her breath stinks. Toritsuka stumbles back with a groan, hand clamping over his mouth to resist the urge to vomit. It takes less than two seconds to stand back up (leaning away from our first kiss is douche behavior) and he’s ready to apologize (and offer a few mints to her), “I’m so sorry—” he steps back to avoid the obvious slap he might receive; Toritsuka looks up – half of her face is a sickly green, and there’s a gaping hole where her eye should be.

He vomits on her shoe. And then runs, screaming bloody murder.

Toritsuka’s feet take him back to the school, because where else would he go?! Home is too dangerous, what if he runs into another not-cute-girl who wants to kill kiss him? He bursts into the gym – or well he tries, but Hairo’s blocking the way. The red head is built like a tank, and he refuses to budge, “What the fuck? Let me in, I’m going to be sick—”

At his words, a loud sob breaks through the room. Toritsuka stops his panic-induced struggling and turns towards the sound. It’s Teruhashi, this is a sight he never thought he’d see, but she’s curled into the corner, crying. Still as beautiful, but she’s crying. Mera and Yumehara sit next to her, Mera eating a packet of biscuits with vigor but the distress on her face is clear. Yumehara is staring blankly into the wall, scratching her arms vacantly. The blue graduation dress she’d spent ages gushing about is dirty and tattered.

The lights are flickering – they’d been working perfectly fine when Toritsuka had left from boredom – and whenever it swings and creaks it elicits another round of hushed sobs. Any words Toritsuka has dies on his throat, he goes lax in Hairo’s hold.

“Have you been bitten or scratched?”

The words come from Nendou, the weirdo sitting next to Kaidou – and Kaidou is obviously trying (and failing) to resist the urge to cry. Toritsuka mutedly shakes his head, and the redhead finally pulls him in before crushing him into a hug, “You aren’t dead! Amazing!”. Toritsuka balks, Hairo’s words cracking the tense atmosphere.

“Why would I be dead?!” Toritsuka once again struggles in Hairo’s hold, the other male not even flinching as he slams the doors shut. “Answer the question? Did the teachers find out I left after I received my diploma—”

“The teachers aren’t here anymore—” Kaidou’s wail interrupts his sentence; at the look of pure confusion on Toritsuka’s face, Kaidou adds, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you? Are you an idiot or something?”

“What’s going on?” His words have Kaidou staring at him incredulously. The blue haired male stops crying for a second, little laughs coming out. He’s in hysterics—Toritsuka would’ve cursed him out but Hairo flexes his muscles once and suddenly Toritsuka’s out of breath. Damn his hold is tight.

“You’re an idiot.” Those words have Yumehara murmuring in agreement, “The news—the news s-says that there’s a parasite and its killing people,” and that’s the most Kaidou says before he breaks into another fit of sobs and mumbles incoherently about “the doings of dark reunion”.

Whatever the fuck that means.

Hairo finally sets Toritsuka down. He gasps, inhaling that sweet, sweet oxygen that Hairo deprived him of. Kaidou is obviously a lost cause, the boy crying about the “Jet Black Wings” and Nendou’s too busy laughing at Kaidou. Not that Nendou was ever an option-- has Toritsuka ever mentioned how annoying Nendou is? A whole real girl liked Nendou before him! It’s times like this that Toritsuka truly understands that life has no balance.

A screeching sound snaps Toritsuka out of his jealousy induced reverie. Hairo’s pushing up chairs against the door he’d just come from. Toritsuka’s brow furrows from confusion, “Why are you pushing chairs against that door? There’s another one over there.”. He points at the curtains, many people forgot about that door when they hid it beneath the frilly curtains. That’s how he’d escaped their boring graduation.

Mera frowns, “There’s another door?” Her words come out muffled due to the food in her mouth.

“Close your mouth a bit Mera, some food is flying out.” Teruhashi takes a break from dabbing her eyes with tissue to kindly remind Mera. Said girl turns around, stress clear on her face,

“Eating relaxes me!”.

“Relax differently then I—” Yumehara’s words are cut off by a low growl. Toritsuka’s blood turns cold.

“Did you guys hear that sound?” Nobody gets to answer, another growl reinforces the idea that they are going to get mauled to death by something. Sure, they could exit through the door Hairo just finished blocking but that doesn’t account for whatever they could run into outside.

The curtains ruffle, the thing behind it obviously struggling. Teruhashi pales more than Toritsuka thought humanly possible—and this is the perfect opportunity to be her knight in shining armor but any thought of approaching her ends when the curtains rip at the seams. It’s a… thing.

The thing is hunched over, frothing at the mouth. It’s jaws gnash with each passing second, Toritsuka should move, should leave before the thing tries to kill him but his legs refuse to move. Is this how he’s going to die, at the hands of an ugly zombie? Even though it’s a staircase and a few tables away from them, Toritsuka can see his life flash before his eyes. He hasn’t even gotten his first kiss and he’s going to perish in obscurity.

The zombie growls, its maw opening to show a deformed set of teeth. Mera sucks on a lollipop. Toritsuka says his goodbyes.

And in the moment where he’s supposed to die—Toritsuka doesn’t die. The zombie falls down. Toritsuka’s eyes widen in surprise, the zombie nothing more than an unmoving splatter on the floor.

“Are you alright?!” Toritsuka never thought he’d be happy to hear Kuboyasu’s voice but in this very moment he could sing praises for the other boy. Kuboyasu’s suit is skewered, and tinted in red – its probably blood, but Toritsuka isn’t willing to think about why.

“Yes, I’m fine – I was about to protect the ladies,” the withering glare Yumehara sends his way shuts him up.

“Toritsuka’s still alive?” The voice is annoyed, and immediately Toritsuka knows who it is.

“Saiki!” The pink haired male stands next to Kuboyasu, dark green suit surprisingly neat and tidy. His glasses are in immaculate condition unlike Kuboyasu’s blood stained pair. “Why would I be dead?” Toritsuka sputters indignantly, “I can keep myself alive just fine.”

“Ah? You said you were going to be sick when you came in—" Toritsuka frowns, glaring at Nendou. The idiot smiles in return, and it takes all Toritsuka’s willpower to not throw a chair at the goof.

Saiki walks down the stairs, a frown etched on his face and holy hell Toritsuka has never been so happy to see him in his life—

When the thing came in, and Saiki and Kuboyasu killed it almost instantly, it hit Toritsuka: Saiki and Kuboyasu must be the protagonists of whatever horror story Toritsuka’s got himself in, and everyone knows the protagonists are typically the best people to be around. Unless you’re a woman – then you’ll become the damsel in distress, and nobody wants to be a real-life damsel in distress.

The only path to survive is obviously to stick close to Saiki (Kuboyasu’s a muscular freak so that’s a no), and the best way to do that is to let Saiki know he’s dependable!

“Saiki, I love you so much!”

“No.” Saiki’s words are the nail in the coffin.

“But without you I’ll die!”

Mera turns to face him, a chicken wing in her mouth, “I don’t think this is the time for a confession, Toritsuka.”

#the disastrous life of saiki k.#saiki kusuo #saiki no psi nan #toritsuka reita #kaidou shun #kuboyasu aren #zombie #zombie apocolypse au #soli's imagines

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oh-for-fic-sake · 5 years ago

Text

The Final Wayne's

Masterlist

Warnings:mentions of sex?, swearing mostly fluffy

A/n:Im really happy with this one wasn’t sure how to go about it but i think its pretty sweet. Hope you enjoy xx

You meet the final two wanye’s when they all storm the cafe.

The Final Wayne's

You hummed along with the radio as you when out the front of the cafe closing a bit earlier as you hadn't had any customers in for nearly 2 hours. You spun the sign round and locked the door you were going to use the extra time to tidy the cafe properly instead of the rushed quick sweep that's normally done. Turning to volume up louder you danced around clearing the last few cups popping them in the sink coming back out with a mop bucket and broom and began to stack the chairs against one wall getting ready for a proper sweep. you nearly jumped out of your skin when someone tried to come bounding threw the door bouncing off it with a loud bang. you ran across the cafe hearing laughter.

"Why the fuck is it closed?!" Ah. Damien, you heard him before you saw him which made sense as he was currently sprawled out on the floor as Jack and Tim laughed at him joined by two older boys , well boys, one looked a few years younger then you... so technically he was an adult . you stuttered clicking who these other two probably were. Unlocking the door you squatted down to Damien.

"Shit are you ok? you didn't hit your head? did you?" you said reaching for him grabbing his face tilting it down trying to see the back of his head. He growled slapping you away

"I'm fine... does your boss know you've shut early? could have been a customer that'd have been a lawsuit ..stupid woman" you stood up crossing your arms at him.

"well I'm lucky it was just your skinny little ass then aren't I?" you deadpanned causing the another wave of laughter as Damien pulled him self up

"come on in" you lead them all in the older boys pulled themselves chairs around a table directly in front of the counter. turned looking for the others as jack wandered out of the kitchen with a fresh brownie Damien following with a blueberry marzipan muffin.

"Oo are those fresh?" Tim said walking past you into the kitchen to get himself one. you raised your hands exasperated.

"By all means help yourselves" you said shaking your head as they gave you cheeky grins before sitting down next to the others.

"Did you make these?" Damien asked you nodded

"Yep made em all today" he gave you a contemplating look

"You are forgiven for the door....if you give this recipe to Alfred" you rolled you eyes

"Oh yippee here I thought I'd have to beg for the young masters forgiveness" Jack snorted into his brownie.

"Y/n this is Dick and Jason our older brothers" Tim finally introduced with half a mouthful of muffin.

"Tim don't speak with your mouthful" you scolded before turning to Dick and Jason, you were nervous about meeting them, you knew that Dick was 20 and Jason was 17 not that much younger than you. Dick smiled brightly Jason followed

"Its nice to meet you both, but I thought Bruce wanted to introduce us at dinner next Monday?" Dick opened his mouth to reply but Damien beat him to it

"They were sulking cos me and Tim have already met you, and they couldn't wait so me Tim and Jack found them wandering about looking for the cafe completely lost." Dick looked embarrassed and Jason looked just about ready to beat Damien to a pulp.

"W-we did not we just decided to explore this part of Gotham.. we haven't been down this way before and heard good things." you giggled a little. feeling a little better now that they were talking.

"Can I have a go on the coffee machine?" Tim asked having finished his muffin you thought about it for a second then nodded, he jumped up following you round to it

"Anyone else want one?" Dick and Jason nodded Damien and Jack pulled a face. No.

You showed Tim how to load the espresso and turn it on trying to hold back laughter as he jumped back when he activated the steamer wand you caught the jug of milk just in time leaning over him you showed him the easiest way to froth the milk putting his hand on the knob controlling the steamer telling him when to turn it ,pointing out on the thermometer where he should let it go to he did it. Managing not to burn the milk then you demonstrated how to pour for certain coffees. He beamed when he got it right proud of himself then quickly controlled his face putting on a smug 'yeah of course I did it' face handing his brothers their coffees before going to sit down

"Oi! get back here you haven't cleaned up, you gotta wipe the wand and let some steam through to clear it." he come back hesitantly taking the folded cloth from you

"Wont it burn me?" you shook your head

"Just wipe it quick, then use the rubber bit to push it to the tray and give it a quick blast" he did as instructed and smiled bright going back to his coffee. Dick and Jason had been watching quietly as you taught their younger brother how to use the machine, yanking Tim away tilting your self in front of him when you though he could get hurt as the steam spat the milk when he hadn't held it high enough. Feeling more relaxed with you they saw how you patiently taught Tim how to do it. They had their doubts ,they had been a bit worried about their father dating someone so young. Imagining a typical younger woman trying to worm her way into their house for money or fame. They were caught off guard when their dad had first told them about you. Normally he didn't bother the women were never serious and gobsmacked when Damien threatened them to be kind, it was then they then decided they would catch you off guard, worried about how you could have possibly influenced Tim and Damien. But watching you interact with them they saw that you were very genuine. When it had come out earlier that day that you were Jacks sister, they felt slightly better knowing a bit of the story. How instead of abandoning him to the system to continue your studies, you'd pulled out that same day, moving back home planning and arranging your parents funeral and staying, giving up on your own prospects to become his guardian and raise him finding a job to support you both and pushing him to apply for the scholarship helping him get in. Thank god you did since Jack had become Damien's saving grace, he had calmed down and was almost a completely normal 13 year old boy...until he put on his suit then all bets were off. They found it fascinating seeing you swing from the playful sister to patient parent and back as you had grabbed Jack in a head lock poking at him tickling him for teasing you. They shared a look. Yes you would fit in fine.

"hahahah no-nooo st-stop it hahaa!fuck off y/n" he cried between laughs squirming then the fun and games stopped as ha accidentally headbutted your nose

"OH FUCK!" you shouted grabbing your nose eyes watering he gasped apologizing as damien panicked grabbing napkins in case of a nose bleed. He tried pulling your hand away.

"ssshhiit oh im fine- im good its ok-- fuck sake why is your head so hard?" he looked sheepish asking if you were ok you nodded to him waving a hand.

"I was going to get so much done here tonight but now I cant be asked" rubbing your nose again sniffing checking your hands for blood. None good. Huffing you leaning forward onto the table you looked across that table to Dick and Jason. You'd felt there eyes on you all this time.

"You know your both just like Bruce. He just sat there staring when he met me to." you offered chuckling nervously trying to break what you thought was tension not knowing that they had already approved of you.

"They are trying to suss you out. They are worried about you being after money or something." Tim added sipping the last of his coffee leaning back as everyone shouted at him.

"TIM!" You swallowed collecting yourself taking a deep breath, here it comes then. You looked at them smileing sadly nodding pulling back into yourself. You knew it they didn't like you. Obviously they wouldn't, fuck sake you were 5 years older than one and 8 years older then the other. You knew it.

"I-I don't want anything like that..I know its weird because we are about the same age.. if you feel uncomfortable with your dad and I just say the word and it will end I'm not going to be a home wrecker- fuck I new this would happen" you looked away trying to hide your tears. That was that then. Already planing to phone Bruce. Jason jumped interrupting your thoughts rushing forward grabbing your hands that rested on the table in front of you making you look at him as he saw you start breaking down, ready to run again. They'd heard bits and pieces about what happened for Tim. Jack growled angrily going to push Jason off of you before he started speaking.

"NO! no its not like that- we did- I mean at first, when dad first mentioned you and then when Tim and Damien gushed about you. We were worried I mean he's our dad but we didn't know who you were then,no one told us that you were Jacks y/n and we see now that's not the case. Your genuine and we don't have a problem with your age."

Dick continued for him as Jason looked panicked and lost for words.

"Yes we saw today your miles of years ahead of us in maturity we- well we just wanted to meet you without dad there. And like Jason said he is our dad we just don't want to see him hurt again." he added you looked between them still unconvinced fears you had still taunting you.

"I.. I'd never hurt him I love him." you admitted quietly.

"You- You love him?" Jack questioned you nodded smiling Dick smiled softly at you seeing the honesty in your words. He knew then that you weren't going anywhere he'd make sure of it.

"Then Don't leave him... We haven't seen him like this in...Ever really we just wanted to meet the woman who had made him happy that's all. Were sorry about the way we went about it. And want you to know that not just for dad, but we want to get to know you. Maybe not treat you like a mum but more like an older sister?" Dick said trying to pull you away form your dark thoughts. Feeling bad that they might have just fucked up the best thing to happen to their dad. Your eyes twinkled as you looked at the hopefully

"You-you really mean that?" they nodded you smiled wide at them wiping your eyes.

"Yeah then that way you can let loose a little you know act your age a bit?" he added laughing you scoffed clearing the last tears that had gathered away with a napkin handed to you from Damien.

"As if I remember how to do that, thank you both of you I was terrified of meeting you both , if you ever have a problem with me please come and talk to me about it"

"If they ever have a problem with you they can fuck off and take it with them" Damien growled kicking the table leg, knocking it with a force the boy should not posses thoroughly pissed off at his oldest brothers a cold shiver ran down your spin as you saw the terrifying glare he had on his face. If looks could kill... well your rather not tempt fate as in that moment Damien looked like he was defiantly considering it. you didnt notice the three wayne boys sharing a look holding their breath waiting for him to continue. if you only knew.

"Damien enough, you were worse when i met you and you know it" he snapped out of what ever was going on in his head smirking at you

"I was wasnt I?"

the others relaxed and you were all caught of guard as a presence in the corner made them selves known.

"See Master Wayne I told you if you left them to it they d all sort it out." Alferd stated standing up form the table in the front corner before chiding you.

"Miss y/n you really should pay more attention you left the door wide open after you let the boys in." You all gaped at the men Dick and Jason froze feeling Bruce's piercing gaze on their backs. Looking like a couple of boys who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"yes Alfred I suppose your right but I do remember telling them to leave her alone until Monday so I could explain exactly how we met." he said disaproval echoing through his words. you stood up huffing.

"Bruce stop it.. they were just trying to look out for their family which I can appriciate.. leave them be it all sorted now and I didnt have to put on stupid heals for it"

"but i what if i wanted to see you in heels?"

"then you could have asked, anyway how the bloody hell did you to sneak in so quietly are you some sort of ninja or something? Jesus" you asked the group who laughed .if only you knew.

"Any way I don't know about you lot but I spend to much time in this bloody cafe as it is and would like to leave." You finished collecting the crumpled cake papers and cups leaving them in the kitchen before ditching your apron and turning everything off grabbing your bag and coat on the way out.

"What about the cleaning?" Jack asked you shrugged.

"That's Hugh's problem now, he can do some work for a change." you snickered ushering them all out arming the alarm and locking the door.

"He still fucking around?" jack asked you nodded

"Yep boneing his girlfriend is more important then doing his shift's"

"I can fully understand that" Bruce said smirking as the group groaned you rolled your eyes ignoring him

"The others got pissed off so he gets to be here bright and early opening tomorrow cos the rest of us are 'busy'" you chuckled. Bruce slid up beside you pulling you into him

"well you will be." he muttered kissing your lips you blushed as a chorus of ewws and gagging noises carried across the small crowd you stuck out your tongue at them.

"Oh will I now?"

"Yes a very important appointment with me that may run into the afternoon" he said seductivly running his hands across your waist pulling you closer you linked your hands behind his neck.

"Hmm I don't remember arranging that Mr Wayne I might have other plans"

"well I'm sure you could squeeze me in" Jason as grossed out as he was, couldn't help but laugh at that one even Tim snorted you blushed.

"And what makes you say that?" he pulled away slightly

"Because you love me" you froze in his arms shyly looking down he pulled you back up to face him.

"And I love you to" he pulled you towards him kissing you passionately taking your breath away you moaned as the boys created a big fuss.

"OH MY GOD STOP!" Jack cried covering his eyes as Bruce grabbed handfuls of your rear making you squeal and begin laughing.

"Come on Jack you were the one who set us up to have sex remember? take it like a man"

"NOO! SHUT UP EWW I DIDN'T NEED THAT IMAGE!!" you laugh loudly walking past them all ,wrapped up in Bruce's arms leading you towards the Rolls Royce that he had arrived in with Alfred.

"H-hey how are we getting home?"

"The way you came, you don't want to ride with us." Bruce called over his shoulder kissing your neck.

"Bruce not in the car"

"Why not?"

"THAT IS MY SISTER!" Dick laughed out loud watching his little brothers yell about 'being scar'd for life' and 'never getting in the Rolls Royce ever again' yes you were both going to fit right into this mad house. He ushered them all the other way to his car there wasn't enough room really but he'd make them fit.

"Who want to go get Chinese?" he asked distracting them still chuckling to him self. You had turned his dad into a teenager again.

#bruce wayne imagine #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne fic #batmom imagines

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ryik-the-writer · 4 years ago

Photo

THE AUDACIOUS STORYBROOKE MIRROR ADVICE COLUMNIST (WEDNESDAY PAPER EDITION) In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 3: Lacey proposes a team-up and bantering ensures

A03

Gold tried to bury his guilt as he paced around his home, desperate to get his conversation with Lacey French out of his mind.

He shouldn’t have said what he said. He hadn’t meant what he said. But that hardly mattered; he’d realized that the second he saw the hurt on Lacey’s face.

That was hardly the way to act around someone he’d been in love with for years.

But he was a coward, he knew this in his bones. The word had been thrown at him for decades, by his abusive parents, his fellow soldiers during his day in the service, even his ex-wife.

It was odd, the way a word follows one around like bad gum on ones shoe. It was even stranger how true it became after a while.

“What are we going to do about this?”

He should have told her there and then what they could do about it. He could have let her into his house, offered her a cup of tea and explained the email he sent her in a drunken daze, as well as the feelings behind it.

But instead he’d snarled his teeth and turned her away, as he seemed to do everyone.

Few could phase through the icy wall he surrounded himself with. Jefferson Hatter, a local tailor, Gold’s occasional business partner and certified nutter, would walk through glass if provoked, and would climb that wall to get to Gold when he felt like it, namely his liquor cabinet, but kept his distance just the same.

Then there was David Nolan, Storybrooke’s “nice guy” who tried to be friends with every single person in town. However a kind word or a hello when their paths crossed in town was as far as he would go, as he knew the consequences of getting too close to the town monster.

There were a few others, tenants who had polished records of getting their rent in on time, and thus were civil, abet a bit cold.

Truth was, Gold didn’t know how to let people in. What could he do with other people, let alone a beautiful creature like Lacey French?

Pushing her away was the logical thing to do, he decided as he began straightening up his living room. He even nodded to the idea.

She’d forget about him, find some striking fellow who deserved her, and he could go back to admiring her afar, after he completely disconnected his email, that is.

It was the perfect decision, he thought, and would set off a lifetime of silence, but it would be worth it to spare Lacey from his sting.

He thought the decision final until there was another, very familiar knock on the door, and a new course of fate was struck.

He was shocked to find Lacey back at his door, not even half an hour after he sent her on her way.

“Miss—“

“Zip it,” Lacey ordered, and Gold found his tongue heavy as lead.

Lacey examined him again, noting how she met his eyes in her heels. The extra height gave her a boost of confidence. She feared Gold as much as she feared Keith Nottingham or Sydney Glass, but Gold had a bit more leverage on her livelihood. Not to mention, with all that he had revealed with the email, there was a softness there she didn’t want to harm.

She’d come for his help, after all, not further put a strain between them.

She’d even let go of his earlier comment, only if he helped her, that is.

“Look,” she began. “Let’s start over from earlier. Thanks for the email, I thought it was cute, blah blah blah.”

Gold gripped his cane. “Your point?”

“It’s…the kind of material I need.” Lacey admitted, feeling woefully embarrassed to admit her own lack of skill. “And I was wondering if, possibly, you could do it again.”

“Do…what again?”

“Write another email, one’s that sensational but clean, and give or take 100 words.”

Gold stared at her, honestly unable to grasp her concept of thought.

“Are you asking me to write for the paper?” he inquired, the question coming out as a cruel scoff.

“No,” she shot back. “Not exactly…” she huffed, hating him. “The truth is I can’t write fluff, but I need a fluff piece for Wednesday’s paper … and you seemed to have that skill.”

A dark smirk tugged at his mouth.

Push her away.

“So your telling me you can’t do your job, Miss French,” he laughed, and his heart clenched as he watched her cheeks burn. “Your incompetence is not my problem.”

He started to close the door, believing the cruel words would be the end of the situation, but Lacey’s heeled shoe stopped him.

She leaned into him now, her blue eyes colder than the iceberg that struck the Titanic.

“Look, you pompous, little shit of a man,” she growled. “You can help me, or –“

“Or what?” Gold yelled. Instinctively, he fought off all threats, even if they came from the woman he currently had a burning fondness for. “You have no power over me, dearie. But me, I can have you homeless with the click of a pen, so I suggest you find someone else to pawn your duties onto.”

Lacey gulped. He’d revealed her one fear in all this. He could take so much from her, true. Losing her apartment could lead to her losing her job under the right circumstances, not to mention staying with someone with a space the same size as hers.

But somehow, Lacey didn’t see the frothing landlord intertwining with the love-struck admirer who sent her the email.

She try one more thing, and then she’d quit, she promised.

So she smirked and placed a hand on her hip, the same pose she took whenever she turned down Keith Nottingham or had to go head to head with Sydney.

“You’re not going to do shit,” she said, watching in glee as Gold’s expression changed to a flabbergasted one.

“I beg—“

“You have the hots for me, Gold,” she continued. “I have the proof on laptop. You’re not going to throw me on the street, not now.”

They were both quiet following Lacey’s observation, but the latter only hoped it was a correct one, and Gold didn’t call Sheriff Graham to cart her away.

Thankfully, Gold’s tight posture relaxed. She’d called his bluff, and now he was putty in her hands.

“Very well, Miss French.” He sighed in surrender. It would be her heart too, he decided.

“So, will you …” she trailed off, staring at him half-hopefully.

It wasn’t a good idea, he thought, but he had no leverage on her now. Nothing to scare her of push her away.

So he did the only thing he could do: he rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

Lacey shrieked in delight, practically dancing past him into his prison and sanctuary.

She gave a whistle at the first glance of his abode.

“Not bad,” she commented.

“I don’t need your input on my decorating, dearie,” he sighed. “Just…show me what you want.”

Lacey help back a dirty comment and instead inquired the whereabouts of his computer.

Gold slowly led her to his study, his face heating up when they went past his bedroom.

His computer was still on, humming away. Gold quickly closed his email, seeing Lacey smirk out of the corner of his eye, and stepped aside.

“Your turn,” he said.

Lacey popped her fingers and swirled his chair around, logging into her work email where dozens of inquiries on love and sex awaited.

She scrolled longingly past them to three of the tamer ones, including one she’d received an hour ago and hadn’t read yet. She opened them in new windows and eased back so Gold could see the screen.

“This is what I have to work with,” she sighed. “Help.”

Gold scoffed and leaned in as closely as he could without touching her. He swiped his glasses off the table, putting them on and glancing at each email, his attention getting particularly grabbed by the newest one.

“Dear Racy Lacey,” Gold read. “I recognize that this is hardly your expertise, but I’m not sure who else to turn to. I just found out a woman I once loved very much has passed away in my home country, and I’m torn whether to go to the funeral or not. Our separation was not a pleasant one, but there was still a great deal of love on my end. I know she must have built an entire life after us, and I don’t wish to infringe on her family’s grief, but I feel I must face this, less I regret it forever.

Please, Racy Lacey, what should I do?

Signed, Wooden-hearted Widower.

Gold and Lacey were quiet for a moment, the weight of the seriousness of the email hitting them both.

Lacey, of course, knew that the message was sent from Marco Booth, Storybrooke’s most notable carpenter and friendly face.

He was also known for being able to cook a mean Italian dinner and having a shaky relationship with his only son. He was an open book, or so Lacey thought. He must be comfortable revealing this part of his life to the public, even if only some of the town’s more investigative residents would catch on who the email originated from.

Still, why write her?

It was rare to not see him with Jimminy Cricket, the town shrink, a much more perfect candidate for this sort of subject.

“Maybe they’re too close.” She wondered allowed.

Gold looked down at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lacey waved him off. “What do you think, can you do something with this?”

Gold relaxed on the sofa near his desk, musing on the subject as Lacey swirled the chair to face him, anticipating his answer.

“Remind me again why you can’t do this yourself, your job at that?”

Lacey groaned. “Come on, Gold.”

He smirked lightly, taking her misery as a nice little slice of payback.

“Humor me, Miss French.”

“Gods,” Lacey cursed, leaning down so she could stare at the floor rather than his face (which was decently framed by his reading glasses, she dared added.)

“I’m not good with the fluffy stuff,” she relayed.

Gold frowned. “A man losing the love of his life hardly seems like “fluff,” as you say.”

“I mean the stuff outside of my expertise, romance and…”

“Sex,” Gold stated bluntly, pretending the very word itself didn’t affect him.

“Yep,” Lacey chuckled with a glance his way. “Giving people deep, meaningful advice on matters outside of that just doesn’t work for me. I don’t really know why but I don’t want people to get bad advice because of my…” she looked at him again, this time with a touch of malice. “Incompetence.”

Gold’s gaze waivered, ashamed for his earlier reaction.

“So, that’s why I need a bit of help, and no, I can’t go to one of my co-workers because it would look like I’m shrugging off my job.”

Gold nodded. Her motives were fairly innocent, and not too concerning. And to be fair, she could have done worse. Gold would admit that he did have quite the vocabulary, and could meet her requirements.

It was the emotional aspect of the job she was asking of him he feared he couldn’t handle.

Years of keeping so much emotion inside was dangerous. He was a boiler ready to blow, and she was the last person he wanted to see him in that state.

“So…” Lacey shrugged. “That’s my problem, Gold. What do you think?”

He thought, despite the risks, this was a golden opportunity, if you pardon the pun. He’d finally be able to spend time with her, truly get to know her, and test to see if these feelings of his were true or just a passing phase. Eventually, he would spare them both a good deal of grief.

He sighed. “Let’s form a rough draft and go from there.”

“Yes!” She yelped, spinning in his chair. “I owe you big!”

“We’ll see,” he replied, hiding his grin. “Now get serious.”

“Serious,” Lacey repeated, opening an email to herself to start typing.

“Back straight,” he ordered. “Legs uncrossed.”

“For Gods’ sake,” Lacey groaned.

“Focus,” Gold ordered, standing just behind her. “Now type after me. Dear Wooden-hearted Widower…”

“Dear Wooden-hearted Widower,” Lacey repeated in a childish tone.

Gold glared at her for a moment before continuing.

“It’s my barely expert advice that you stick to familiar lands and not take the trip—“

“First off, up yours,” Lacey hissed. “Secondly, what the hell do you mean he shouldn’t take the trip?”

Gold rolled his eyes. She was too young to understand the true pain of lost love, and too inexperienced to realize when it was appropriate to take a step back.

“Would you have him scratch at scars or heal on his own?”

“I’d have him face his demons and make peace!” Lacey fought back. “Running away from ones problem doesn’t do anyone a damn bit of good!”

“You asked for my help and I’m giving it to you. Write what I say or do it yourself.”

Lacey groaned, feeling cornered, and Lacey French snarled and bit and clawed when she was in a jam.

But this was a strategic battle, one she’d end up losing in some capacity, but she was striving to win gracefully no matter what.

“How about we meet in the middle?”

“What middle do we share?” Gold asked.

“We tell him to go and...stay guarded, I guess.”

Gold rubbed a hand over his face. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. Of course he and Lacey had completely different mindsets. She had a shred of humility, his had burned to a crisp years ago.

“If he goes to her funeral, he’ll only be hurt,” Gold concluded, leaning against his chair as he willed away thoughts that needed to remain buried.

“After all, there’s no greater pain than regret.”

Lacey watched him carefully, seeing that softer side that most of the town was certain didn’t exist.

Maybe this was too much for him. For all she knew he had some deep, dark past that was threatening to overtake the present.

She wasn’t one to get circulated in someone else’s business or to gossip openly, but damn she’d love to peak into his mind, into his past.

However, she had a job to do. One of the first things she was taught about journalism-wise was to distant herself emotionally from the subject. It made the job a lot easier.

“He’d regret things a lot more if he didn’t go,” Lacey commented. “Maybe it’s better to rip the band aid off.”

Gold accepted this, but held onto his restraint.

“He needs to be careful.”

“Let’s go again,” Lacey said with a snap of her fingers. “This time let’s be a bit more positive.”

Gold let out a rude noise but relented.

“Dear Wooden blah blah blah,” Lacey read, pausing to let Gold jump in.

“Should you…” Gold began, changing his mind. “You should pursue this endeavor with caution, as the past has a way of taking over the present if you become too engulfed in it.”

Lacey matched his words, listening with interest to his advice.

“Don’t expect a warm reception or even a lukewarm resolution…”

“That’s a little harsh,” Lacey muttered.

“However, you should expect to leave in peace, and I indorse planning your trip with this in mind.”

Lacey finished typing and waited for him to continue, but Gold went quiet. When she looked at him, he had a contempt look on his face, considering their work finished.

Lacey hummed and turned back to the computer.

“Good luck to you have a safe trip back.”

“No,” Gold spat. “Don’t add such a treacly ending like that. It’s tacky.”

“It shows we give a damn.”

“It’s out of place.”

“Oh my gods!” Lacey whined, typing out her signature and then sending the email to Cruella while Gold protested behind her.

“Well that’s just lovely, and incredibly dowdy,”

“It’s fine,” Lacey scoffed. Damn he stressed too much.

Gold snarled, muttering something about incompetence and newspapers.

“Fine, are we done?”

Lacey spun in his chair, giving him the same look she would give Glass when she was getting scolded.

“Come on, this wasn’t so bad.”

“You’re right, it was downright terrible, but it’s over now. I’ll see you out.”

Lacey frowned. She’d go with dignity, but not until she spoke her mind.

“You have the funniest way of charming the chick you have the hots for.”

Gold slapped the top of his cane. “Would you stop saying that, it’s unbecoming.”

Lacey clucked her tongue. She had him now.

“What would you call it then?” she challenged.

“Miss French—“

“Lacey, and just humor me.”

Gold wished the floor would give way. It was a miracle he was able to think though Lacey’s column with her being within five feet of him. Now he had to bear his soul to her in his own study.

“I would call it an attraction,” he admitted, hoping she’d leave before he could be truly humiliated.

“So yeah, you have the hots for me.”

“I like to think it’s a bit more than that.”

Lacey smirked, her lip running over her lip. She’d had men flaunt over her before, but this somehow was more genuine, more real. To have those affections come from someone as stoic as Gold was truly interesting.

It was flattering, though she wasn’t sure how to feel in return. Probably best to stick to the business arrangement for now.

But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a spot of fun in the meantime.

“How about a drink?” Lacey suggested.

Gold’s stomach flipped at the idea of alcohol. “It’s one in the afternoon.”

“So what, we need to celebrate,” she said, sauntering to him. “To our new relationship.”

Gold twitched, flustered at her closeness. “Relationship?”

“Well, after this I’m sure Glass will want me to do one of these once in a while, which means I’ll have to come back for your … assistance.”

Gold almost choked on his own gulp. So much for keeping her at distance.

“Gold,” she sighed, wrapping his free arm in hers and leading him downstairs. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #golden lace #lacey french #rumplestiltskin #ryik's fics

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