#[SAD WET HONORABLE CAT OF A MAN FIGHT!!] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love everything that you write and heh I am a fan! 😄 tbh this is my first time requesting something on Tumblr! If you don't mind and if I am not being a bother...can you write about how the guys would react If MC suddenly starts making meme references? I don't know how I got the idea but I am REALLY curious. And love you! :D

Hiya! Tyvm for the kind words, and apologies that this took a while! I hope you have the chance to enjoy it regardless ❤️❤️❤️ Love you too, sweet pea! I promise to get to the next request you’ve sent ASAP~

Aight but this would be hilarious because the range of the reactions is just ungodly. I will be putting this under a cut after Napoleon so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash, but all the suitors are included below otherwise!

Comte is the one that recognizes a few, but didn’t really stay in modern times long enough to be as well-versed as a Gen Z kid might. Regardless he finds the wittiness and absolute chaotic fuckery to be delightful, and will 100% support the harmless nonsense. It never fails to get a laugh out of him

Mozart that first day be like: “Buzz off MC I hate you” MC, because she likes swinging bats at wasps’ nests: “Well that’s not very cash money of you” Mozart: ?????????? Comte, giggling in the bg like the secret fae he is This one’s just because I’m petty, but after the events of Comte rt I just imagine them encountering Vlad again and MC’s just “I lived bitch.” while Comte is flipping him off behind her lkjahgkjhdsg

Comte @ Leo when he finds the latter under his desk: Had it not been for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you. MC: wheezing from the hallway as she’s about to give him his letters

MC: So how was your day, honey? Comte: Good, good--briefly had to go beastmode upon the punk that pilfered my lint roller MC, biting her lip to keep from laughing: So does Leo still have his kneecaps? Comte: for now.

Comte, @ literally anyone upsetting the MC: I won’t hesitate, bitch

Comte: Be careful with my emotional baggage, it’s designer

MC: What if I was evil and ran towards you at very fast speeds Comte: My arms are strong, I would catch and hug you

Leo and Dazai are the ones that don’t have a single reference point but are filled with so much dumbass chaos energy that they just. Understand immediately???? Nobody knows how or why, but they just catch on so fast--adapt the language in a matter of weeks. Never underestimate the power of combined boredom, depression, and humor

I swear to god I just see MC taking them their Blanc/Rouge and being like “here you go sir, one enslaved moisture” and they just go fucking hog wild from day one. MC starts impersonating Theo when he leaves the room around Dazai, like fake deep voice “you all only hate me because you do not like me and I am mean to you. grow up.” Or like the MC meets a baby on her travels with Leo around town and she holds them and says v seriously and sagely “So you are Baby? I have heard tales of your exploits.” and Leo about loses his shit right there. They both think MC is the funniest person alive--they’ve never been more eager to throw a ring at someone in their entire life.

Also a bonus for my beloved Dazai: MC, facing even the slightest inconvenience (like dropping her fork) in the most dramtic voice possible: Life is not daijoubu. Dazai: wheezing

MC, after watching Theo turn down a woman at the bar in the meanest way possible: bro quit letting the darkness consume you u r scaring the hoes Dazai, literally rolling around on the ground, half-drunk and dying:

MC, walking alongside Dazai and stopping to stare at her reflection in the River Seine. Dazai’s expecting some sad or twisted shit, since people often feel comfortable talking about those things around him, but instead she just: “Oh, it’s you. The source of all my problems.” And he about falls into the river from shock HAHAHA

At this point don’t be surprised if his next book is about an absolute madlad woman similar to MC

Napoleon finds it to be a delightful quirk more than anything? He doesn’t really understand it, but he finds it funny when they change their voice for effect or speak in exaggerated tones. If it’s just comprehensible enough for an outsider to understand--or Sebas gives him context--chances are it’ll send him into a laughing fit

For this one I just imagine MC singing that Ratatouille meme song obnoxiously bad while cooking, and Napoleon and Comte are just so wildly amused by it bc it makes zero sense and it’s only vaguely French at this point

MC @ Napoleon while they’re cooking brunch: Can I offer you a nice egg in these trying times?

MC, conflicted because she’s tired and wanted to sleep in but also got to see Napo’s cute sleeping face for a few hours: For my next stunt, I’ll wake up at 5AM on the day I can sleep in. Sebas: Early to bed and early to rise makes a person healthy, wealthy, and wise MC: early to bed and early to rise makes me a massive bitch Napoleon: laughing in agreement

Isaac is the type to be bewildered and concerned at first (especially when he hears the more nihilistic ones hoOOOoooOO BOY) but eventually begins to understand it’s some bizarre attempt at humor (that hurts Zack baby). While some part of him laments that it reminds him of Dazai and he’s secretly jealous of how she and Dazai bond over it, he will sometimes join in the chaos when the mood strikes him and he’s feeling mischievous

Isaac: How are you feeling? MC: Oh, I’m not Isaac: seconds from dialing 911 Isaac: Are you okay? MC: Oh yeah dw I just suffer from that syndrome where your neutral expression makes you look like you’re an angry serial killer Isaac: say sike rn

Isaac, tutoring MC and correcting something: MC, muttering while redoing it: The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math. Isaac: unable to help a laugh

One time MC was avoiding Isaac for fear of hurting his feelings and he just confronts her like: Isaac: back by unpopular demand, me! What’s wrong, MC pls MC was so hecking proud of him

Isaac, telling MC about a recent discovery he learned at uni from another professor: bones typically heal stronger after they’ve been broken--so long as they’re set properly, of course MC, looking him dead in the eyes: So what you’re saying is that I should break every bone in my body until I become superhumanly powerful? Isaac: please do not, no

Mozart and Jeanne are just. Totally lost. Why are you talking like that??? Why are you making “crab hands”???? They don’t understand. Maybe never will. They reach a point where they just kind of laugh and shake their heads, endeared by the oddity after they’re used to it and have determined it isn’t a threat/insult.

MC: It’s a cold and it’s a brooooken, Waluigi. Waaaaluigiiiii...waaaahluigi..... Mozart: surprised, then starts snickering and playing along on the piano

Arthur, asking MC very personal questions out loud because he is an idiot sometimes: Soooo MC, are you a top or a bottom? MC: I’m a threat. (If he asks a second time, the response will be “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy.”) Jeanne, fighting a smile:

MC, about to punch an asshole: Your free trial of being alive has ended Jeanne, seconds from laughing for the first time in 100 years:

Also, because I genuinely can’t help myself. You know that knight meme like “Parry this you fucking casual.” I cannot stress enough that it is literally the personification of Jeanne’s entire character. I’m not even joking.

Arthur and Shakespeare are utterly fascinated by the rapid evolution of wordplay and the sheer hilarity. They will ask all about these so-called “memes” and ask for examples of them if MC can show them (either somehow accessing her phone or drawing them). MC draws Arthur the knife cat meme and he about a s c e n d s at the hilarity of it all, points and yells THEO IS HOLDING THE KNIFE. He is correct. They will be delighted and follow along eagerly, and--god forbid--will make their own based on late 19th century struggles.

Is this where Shakespeare got the idea for “What, you egg? stabs him” and “You are a saucy boy.”? I’m too scared to ask. Don’t even get me started on “The Fool jingled miserably across the floor.” That one is just too on the nose...

I can’t even imagine what would happen to Shakespeare if MC like translated vines and memes into Ye Olde English around him. Imagine she’s at one of those noble balls and hears rumors of these two guys living together and they’re so obviously gay and he says “And those gents w’re roommates.” And in the most false surprised tone ever MC just replies “oh mine own god, those gents w’re roommates.” Imagine having a wife that’s just as hilarious as you are and hits you with all the force of a bag of wet mice every time you speak in retaliation, he’s going into palpitations.

Every time Arthur does smth stupid MC just: “I Pretend I Do Not See It.”

Vincent is tickled pink by MC’s penchant for finding joy and/or amusement in nearly everything they do, and he smiles gently when he sees them muttering and laughing to themselves. He wants to be able to join them in what they love, but he has a harder time following along and understanding the darker humor sometimes. Mostly gets confused??? Please give him the easier ones to mimic and laugh when he tries--or just include him in your jokes MC. He’s babie your honor...

But he also. Will not. Stand any kind of self-deprecation or borderline verbal self-harm. He’s usually very easygoing and calm, but for whatever reason that stuff makes him go deathly quiet and upset.

MC, after something goes horribly wrong, hugging Vincent: Oh Vince, we really in it now Vincent: giggling a little despite his worries, relaxing

MC: Theo stop simping for Vincent that’s my job

MC, when Theo leaves the room and she gets Vincent all to herself: The evil is defeated.

MC: And this is where I would put my will to live...if I h a d one! Vincent: ;-; MC: oh shit, oh fuck, I was only kidding Vincent wait (MC was subsequently lectured and loved on for many hours)

Theo is conflicted because on the one hand, he loves to see you smiling and having fun. On the other, you’re clowning as hard as Dazai and Arthur and he can only handle so many monkeys in his circus. Most of the time he will roll his eyes and be the straight man of this comedy, but you might find him cracking a smile--or accidentally letting a chuckle slip past his lips now and again.

MC, after meeting Theo: I’m a nice person, but I’m about to start throwing rocks at people.

Theo, those first days: Oh? You’re approaching me? Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me? MC: I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.

Theo: Every time I ask MC to explain “vibe check” to me she hits me with some kind of improvised weapon

MC, after the “incident” (you know the one): This year, I lost my dear lover Theo Theo, in the distance: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I’M DEAD! MC: ;-; sometimes I can still hear his voice...

Sebastian is last because oh boy. OH BOYYYYY I LOVE HIM. Okay so the way I see this happening with Sebastian is just. So wild. Because at first he’s t r y i n g so hard to be the proper butler man. He does not meme. But then he starts to drift closer to what Niles from The Nanny was, where he’ll quip and joke in private or when the situation is just beyond the amount of absurdity he can handle without making a snarky comment. Everyone in the house can’t fathom how Sebas and MC got so close so fast, but there are points where they’re just “Are they even speaking English anymore???” It’s 11 times funnier than normal because Sebas almost never smiles or laughs when memeing, the deadpan quality of his playing along sends MC every time

Has ABSOLUTELY said “HEY. PANINI HEAD. ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME???” jokingly when MC made a mistake in the kitchen. They laugh about it for y e a r s

MC: I can’t date someone who keeps a lamb as a pet, that’s so weird Sebas, brushing Lotte in front of MC: MC: MC: Okay, I will make an exception because she looks very polite

MC and Sebas, fully aware of the fame some of the men will reach in modern times: We will watch your career with great interest. (I s2g that’s like half of Sebas’ rt right there I’m crying)

Sebas rt with Lotte be like that 500 dollar Mareep meme: “sometimes a family can be just a boy, his gf, and their 500 dollar two foot tall Lotte”

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mysticpetals · 3 years

Note

Sorry for bothering you, but I had another idea! :D If you don't mind me sending two requests, how about a headcanon (or imagine if you want, you can choose what you like best) where Jake will meet MC's parents and he is super nervous because he is afraid of what they will think of him and if they knew that he is a hacker. But when Jake and MC arrive at her parents' house, they are quite different than Jake thought.

I'm sooooo sorry that this is super late but life got in the way and I just couldn't bring myself to write. And when I did have the time, I was almost ashamed of how long it had been and delayed it even further.

So this is me, finally writing what I should have done months ago. Thank you so much for your patience!!! ❤️

Jake and f!MC headcannons

(meeting the parents)

There aren't a lot of things that phase Jake

In fact, he's seen so much over the years he was on the run, done some illegal things too

But nothing and he meant nothing, could terrify him more than when his girlfriend told him that her parents had invited them over to have dinner together the next week

"next week? Like....like seven days later?"

"yes." she nodded and his brain short circuited.

"oh my god, oh my god."

MC amused herself by looking at Jake panicking about it for a few minutes and then grabbed his shoulders and made him look at her

"relax, babe. You don't have to. I can tell them that you're busy or something."

Jake calmed down for a moment but then he noticed the sad smile on MC's face

And he doesn't like seeing her sad

At all.

So despite his nervousness, he steeled himself to do this

"why don't we go? I think it'll be fun."

MC's face was priceless.

Shocked beyond belief, she cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward, eyes wide

"are you sure, honey? You don't have to force yourself."

She looked so hopeful and excited to hear his answer

And they had been dating for a while. So it was only natural that they meet each other's families

And since MC had already pretty much met his (only the people he considered as one!), it wouldn't be fair if he didn't make an effort too

"yes. We should go," he smiled and MC squealed excitedly, pressing a quick kiss to his lips

"oh my gosh, I'm so excited!! I'll go call them right now!!"

:))))

Did he make the right decision?

Wellllll, standing in front of MC's house, he was sweating profusely

He had worn his best outfit, a white button up shirt and black jeans

And they had already been late because MC liked his look a little too much

Anyway!!!

He was anxious about making the best impression and he really hoped that they wouldn't be put off by his shyness

Or his profession

About which they didn't know

It's fine it's fine it's fine—

MC's hand slips into his, she gives him a soft smile and the world around them fades away

"I'll be with you the whole time. Tell me if it becomes too much."

Jake swears he's never been more in love

Okay, he can do this!! Absolutely!!

He nods resolutely and MC leads them to her parent's doorstep

Jake's heart is pounding but he's ready

The door opens and he's immediately engulfed in a bone crushing hug

He thinks he can't breath and he looks at MC with wide eyes, asking what to do and she just rolls her eyes in fond exasperation

"really feeling the love here, dad. Not like your daughter is here."

And the weight immediately lifts off of him and turns towards his girlfriend who is laughing as her father hugs her to himself

She squeezes him tight in return and Jake feels himself smile

"it's been too long. I wish you'd come by more. And Jake! Welcome home, son!"

Jake is flabbergasted by the warm welcome. Especially coming from MC's father.

Aren't fathers supposed to threaten the boyfriend?

The flashcards he used to prepare for today did not cover this

"Um, thank you," he stammers out somehow and the man laughs

"My daughter here did say you were shy but no matter! Come on in, I won't bite."

He led them inside and Jake just knew that MC was enjoying all this a little too much judging by the amused tilt of her lips

He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw a stern woman sitting on the couch, watching them walk in

"mom! How have you been?"

MC immediately went in for a hug while the older woman kept staring at him and MC's father leaned close to him and whispered

"She's a tough cookie to crack. Good luck, son."

He was so screwed

Jake gulped and watched the smallest of smiles cross her lips as she regarded her daughter, who was talking excitedly

"and this is Jake! My boyfriend!"

Jake literally felt the temperature inside the room drop, when her mother looked him in the eyes

"h-hello ma'am."

She nodded at him and well, that meant she acknowledged who he was, right?

She immediately turned away from him and started asking her daughter how she had been

Well, apparently not

"sorry, Jake. She's not trying to exclude you. She's just....a little hard around the edges."

He appreciated MC's dad because at least one parent didn't seem to hate him

"I appreciate that, sir."

He looked horrified at being called sir

"please don't call me that. Makes me feel old. Call me dad!"

Jake was once again astounded by the man's openness and not wanting to offend him, nodded hesitantly

He smiled widely and Jake was immediately reminded of MC's face when she laughed

"that's more like it! Come on now, the ladies shouldn't be left alone, they'll talk the night away."

MC smiled as soon as Jake entered in the kitchen where both the women were cooking and bringing out the cutlery

"had a nice chat, you two?" MC asked and her father nodded enthusiastically

"I like him! He's very nice, I approve."

"you've known him for two seconds." MC's mom deadpans and Jake smiles nervously

"can I help you with anything ma'am?"

She appraises him for a few moments and then nods

"then please help MC set the table."

Jake literally sighs in relief when the two of them come out from the kitchen

"your mom is scary."

MC laughs and pinches his cheek

"only because you look terrified of her. She enjoys making you squirm."

"well I almost wet myself because she looked at me like I murdered her dog or something"

MC laughs loudly and her father pokes his head out of the kitchen

"alright you two?"

Jake fights off the blush he knows he's sporting and prays that neither of her parents heard what he had said

Table was set quickly, with MC telling Jake about her childhood memories and her parents brought out the food

Jake thought he might have seen MC's mother smile when he made MC laugh but he wasn't sure

Dinner was a loud affair, with MC and her dad competing about who remembers the most about MC's childhood and Jake and her mother listening quietly

He definitely knew where MC got her charisma from

MC's dad was sweet to include Jake in their conversation, addressing him directly and asking him about his own experiences

He slowly found himself relaxing in their presence and telling them about his own hobbies and pet cat

MC's mother gave an approving nod at his choice of pet and asked him to bring him along the next time

Next time

Jake's brain short circuited at the thought that she wanted Jake to come over again

Does that mean tonight was successful?

"so Jake, you didn't say what you do for a living."

Ahhh

Well, it had to go wrong somewhere, right?

Jake froze and looked to MC to see her in a similar state and immediately deduced that she had not told them about his profession

Well

He knew this was going to come up eventually

"I'm a hacker."

Pin drop silence

You couldn't even hear anyone breath over the quietness

MC's mother put down her spoon slowly and opened her mouth to say something but Jake interrupted her before that

"I know you might think it's not a respectful job but it's what makes me happy. And MC supports me every step of the way and I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to honor her confidence in me. Keeping her safe and happy and healthy is my priority and I'll give my all to make sure that she's never unhappy with me."

Everyone at the table looked at him, MC with tears in her eyes and her father looking very proud

Her mother's expression was still unreadable until she smiled at him

The first smile directed at him

"I was going to say that's very interesting. I myself work in cyber security so I've had dealings with hackers. I've found that they're usually very polite."

What

The

Fuck

Jake blinked slowly and MC shifted guiltily in her seat

"haha what a coincidence, right?" She smiled nervously and her dad picked up quickly at her hint

"oh definitely! Why don't you two talk about work stuff and MC and I can clear up the table?"

MC and her father practically fly out of the dining room and Jake and her mom are the only ones left

It was MC's mother who initiated the conversation this time and Jake replied to her questions

He found it quite pleasant to be honest

It was not a regular occurrence that he could chat with someone who knew about computers so this was a nice change

And MC's mom was quite knowledgeable

She even offered to hire him the next time her company had a need of someone to check their software

Jake had no problem agreeing to her wish

He found that she was actually a very kind but fair woman who loved her family dearly, judging by the way she spoke of MC and her father

His heart warmed to know that MC had grown up in such a loving household, even if his heart gave a twinge at never having felt something akin to parental affection

"okay, you two. I think that's enough chatting for today," MC's father said and Jake looked at the time

Holy shit

How is it so late??

MC gave him a discreet thumbs up behind her mother's back and he had to stifle a laugh

"as much as we loved having you two, you should probably get going if you want to reach the city before midnight."

The goodbyes were a little sad and Jake found himself getting a bit emotional too

He really felt like he belonged here and not like an outsider

And MC's parents are so nice and inclusive

No he did not cry

Not at all

To Jake's surprise, MC's mom pulls him into a hug

"take care of my daughter."

And then he's getting roped into another hug, this one much tighter by her dad

"you hurt her, I'll kill you."

And when he stepped back, he was smiling as usual and Jake almost thought that he imagined his words

Anyway!!!

They are in the car and MC is already planning their next trip

And before he would have been scared but now, after spending time with her family, he knew he had found people worth considering his family

#duskwood #duskwood jake #everbyte duskwood #duskwood game #everbyte #jake × mc #duskwood jake × mc #jake × player #duskwood headcannons #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fanfic #duskwood fic #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood jake fic #everbyte studios #everbyte game #duskwood player

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abrooklynboy · 3 years

Text

continued with @shieldagentnatasharomanoff X.

Natalie had an air of mystery to her that Steve knew she cultivated just as much as Bucky’s own image. There were still tells, places she’d gravitate to when the world got too much. All he had to do was take a walk to the River.

Sputtering slightly from her tears, he passed over a clean handkerchief for her, while he pulls up some grass, sighing as he sits down. “Sure.” Ducks his head, smiling a little, grateful he made her laugh. “You know that’s just because he swears all the time, right? It’s not that I don’t have a mouth on me. You just don’t hear me when I get in it.” Usually in alleyways or when Bucky’s in the ring.

Notices the hitch when she says their pal’s name. Oh. That’s who. It’s not like he and Bucky haven’t come to blows before. Dumb youth anger. Never over a gal though. Bucky never treats him like he’s worthless, an invalid, pushes him out of the dumps. But sometimes even his best friend is too much and off Steve goes with his fists.

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve said gently, smiling sadly. Neither man is blind to how Nat and Bucky have been getting. Chuckled, “But I’ll tell him.” Wrapped his arms around her, “Here’s your fucking hug,” he whispered into her ear.

After he walked Nat back to her boarding house, he walked back to the bar they had been scheduled to meet. And there Bucky was, chatting with the blonde at a table. Usual pleasantries, the dame looking at Steve like he’s a bug. Steve can read Bucky like a book. There’s a look in his eyes, the charming smile tight, his laughs harsher, knowing he’s irritated at her. He always cuts them loose if they can’t be nice to Steve and that’s partly why Steve loves him. The brother he grew up with.

Still, the artist sees red when Bucky ‘innocently’ asks where Nat is. Not stop sign red, Nat red. “Had to go home. Didn’t feel well,” he managed to say through gritted teeth.

Now, no matter how much of a fat head he can get, Bucky isn’t an idiot either. Can read Steve just as well as Steve can read him. And right now, he can tell Steve is this close to being the one to start the barfight. After the round, he apologizes to Edith and says he has to go home. She looks surprised, sad, peeved. Really, Bucky gets it, he ain’t being fair. Other than her reaction to Steve, she was a decent gal. Not enough to hold his attention.

At least she doesn’t call them names when they leave.

The duo rounds the corner before Steve decks Bucky in the kishka. Shrimp or not, Steve has always been able to throw a punch. There’s not a lot of strength to it but Bucky wheezes nevertheless. Wrong time to compliment his pal on his technique, Bucky thinks. “Fuck you on?” he snaps, stumbling back while Steve tries his damnest to rip his head off. Hair coming out of its hold, on the defense, fists up, blocking, backing up.

“You made Nat cry!” Steve hollers, still swinging, panting. All not even hundred pounds soaking wet, flushed from exertion, hair and too-big clothes flopping around. Bucky freezes, just enough for Steve’s fist to make contact with his face.

“So you’re defending her honor?” Hand to God, he’s not trying to laugh, but he’s doing a lousy job at that cause here’s Steve being Steve. “Y’know...She can...” Back to the wall of the alley. “Take care of herself.”

Wrong thing to say, do. Steve puffs up to his biggest feral cat look and that’s when Bucky knows everything’s fercockt. “Alright, alright! Creezus, du farkirtst mir di yorn!”

About once a year, Steve gets this look in his eyes or Bucky gets so mad it skips the part of him who really doesn’t want to bully his brother. It builds like stormclouds. They avoid each other, stewing. Meet up, try to talk but wind up fighting for real, working out whatever is really bothering them with their fists. After, they feel better and whatever they were fighting about is forgiven, forgotten.

Later, in the week, Bucky calls upon Nat with a bouquet of flowers (not roses!) and a face full of bruises going yellow and green. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”

#shieldagentnatasharomanoff #scrawny me #my pal bucky

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samlicker81 · 4 years

Text

Lucky | Part 3

Sam X Reader

Summary: You’re unlucky in love when you find a lost wallet outside a bar and are smitten with the photo on the ID inside. Could your luck have turned, or have you found yourself in the middle of something unfortunate?

Warnings: Canon-level violence, cursing

Word Count: 2K

Series Masterlist

You’re over being sad. Now you’re just angry. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling as you tug on the handle of your car door. It’s three in the morning, eight hours into your 12-hour shift, but your supervisor happened to be a nice one today and let you go early.

It’s unfortunately fairly common for Brandon, one of the RNs, to casually harass you at work. But after the events of last night and the ongoing self-pity party you’ve been throwing lately in honor of your love life, it was just one suggestive joke too many for you.

You turn on the first loud rock playlist Spotify has to offer, without scrutiny, before pulling out of the hospital parking lot. You do your utmost to allow the first deafening song to drown out your thoughts, but your mind flashes regardless. Mister grab-ass at the bar; Brandon, who you’re sure can see the line but continues to cross it, catcalls, lingering eyes, and Greg. Beautiful Greg.

His transgressions hurt the worst. Not just because of how glaringly horrible his actions had been, but because you actually liked him. Everything was clicking the day in the library. You had even started believing that you were meant to find that wallet. Like you actually had gotten lucky. And during the show you had inadvertently given him, it was his hands on your body that you’d pictured. Your stomach turns at the thought and you click the volume up a few notches.

By the time you pull up in front of your apartment, your anger has pretty much spent. You’re feeling the exhaustion from the late hour, your eight hours of work, and the adrenaline crash your rage has left behind. You slump up the steps and deposit your keys on the counter inside your dark apartment. You don’t bother with the lights as you shuffle down the narrow hallway to your bedroom. You fling yourself onto your bed, kicking off your ugly, practical shoes. Your ears still ring a little from your car radio, but your head feels clear enough as you close your eyes to sleep.

A thud against your door jerks you violently from a deep sleep. A few slightly quieter thuds follow rapidly as you untwist yourself from your comforter. A peek at your watch tells you that you haven’t even slept an hour as you race to your door. Flipping on the lights, you swing the door open and the figure on the other side practically falls against you.

The first thing you notice is the blood. A lot of blood. The petite woman before you is panting and shaking and gripping at the front of your scrubs with her blood stained hands. You can’t make out where it’s all coming from. You’re still frozen in shock as she looks up at you with dark, panicked eyes. Strands of her black, chin length hair are plastered to her face with blood.

“Oh, you’re a nurse. Thank god. Please help me.” She pants out hoarsely. Your instincts take over. You take her elbows and her fingers loosen on your shirt front. Guiding her by her elbows you lead her to a dining chair on the other side of the counter. Once she’s settled, you quickly run back and turn the deadbolt. You hope with every fiber of your being that whoever did this to her is not close behind. For extra precaution you flip all the lights off before hurrying back to the girl. She had begun sobbing loudly into her hands.

“Shhh, we have to be quiet. Take some deep breaths,” whispering, you kneel in front of her and put one gentle hand on her denim clad knee. She keeps her face buried, but she works to stifle her cries.

“I need to go grab some first aid supplies, okay? I’ll be right back.” She nods shakily. “Put pressure on your wound if you can,” you add before leaving her and rushing down the hall to your bathroom. You grab the organized bag from your linen cabinet and a few towels. You sweep by your bed as well and grab your phone off your nightstand to call 911. As you swing around the corner again, you stop, staring at your secondhand dining set.

It’s empty.

You don’t get a chance to form your next thought before the world goes dark.

Your head throbs and you wish you would just fall back asleep. But as the pain in your skull begins to pull you slowly from the deep, some other realizations bring your consciousness into focus with a speed that makes your head reel.

First is the cloth trapped between your teeth. The gag is tight, pressing into your tongue, making it nearly impossible to swallow. Second is the similarly tight binds around your hands, which are fastened behind you around some kind of pole that presses between your shoulder blades. There are several loops around your waist as well that hold you tightly to it. It feels cold and metal on your spine. Then you feel the coolness of the floor through the thin cotton of your scrub pants. A smooth concrete, you decide, sliding your socked feet against it. Next, you feel the tickle on the back of your neck where blood continues to trickle from the pulsing point in the back of your head. And lastly, you realize that it’s not that your eyes haven’t adjusted, it really is pitch black around you.

Your heartrate speeds as panic rises in your chest, causing your head to pound even harder. You groan, fighting nausea.

“She’s awake.” You can’t pinpoint how near the whisper is with the darkness and the dizziness.

“Shhh, it doesn’t matter,” a male whisper replies. Two voices. The sound of the first voice stirs your memory with a sharpness. The small dark-haired woman covered in blood flashes in your head. She’s here too, and alive. You attempt to stretch your fingers against your bindings. No wonder she was so afraid. Whoever has you both is more than just some angry, heavy handed boyfriend. “Quit staring at me like that, I won’t change my mind,” the man’s voice snaps. Where are they? You can’t see light coming from anywhere. They sound close.

“Come on, I couldn’t wipe off the smell of all that blood and it’s killing me. I don’t see the big deal.” It’s her again. She isn’t gagged? Her casual tone doesn’t make any sense. Neither do the words she’s whispering. You hear shuffling and then the wet sound of lips meeting. She giggles, “Come on, Mark. Together.” You barely hear her whisper.

The confusion doesn’t stop the ice-cold fear from flooding your veins. Whatever the details, you’re alone, not a co-abductee. They kiss again and Mark groans, but it sounds more in pleasure than protest. There’s shuffling again. Then footfalls growing nearer. You can hear your own heart drumming in your ears. The blindness is terrifying.

“Please. Don’t hurt me,” are the words you try to choke out, but the cloth pressing against your tongue makes it incomprehensible. You curl your knees into your chest. Her laugh is cold.

“I love it when their hearts sound like that.”

You gasp through your nose when there’s suddenly shuffling behind you and your hands fall free. Your waist is still secured tightly to the pole, but what feel like the man’s hands lifts your right arm up. His grip is strong. You wouldn’t have been able to pull away even if you’d had time to before you feel a sharp pain across the inside of your wrist. By the time you cry out in pain, he’s already pressing over the fresh wound.

It’s his mouth. He’s sucking at it.

Your wrist burns, but the rest of you is frozen in fear. They’re crazy people. Some kind of fucked up cultists or something.

He’s only latched to you for a few seconds before he pulls away, panting.

“Careful, her heart is pumping it fast.” He grunts as the girl’s smaller hands take over. Her mouth fastens on quickly.

You realize your other hand is lying beside you limply, free. She’s small. You could maybe detach her from your arm. The pull of her mouth at your wrist is stronger than Mark’s and your dizziness is growing. You don’t want to die without fighting.

The fingers of your left hand on the floor just barely twitch to close into a fist when his boot slams down. You swear you can hear your fingers crunch against the concrete as your muffled scream pierces the darkness. The pain sets your heart racing with a new fervor and the faintness sets in quickly.

“Clara, you’re draining her.” His voice sounds far away. Your arm falls heavily on the floor before you lose consciousness again.

You can’t tell how much time is passing as you drift through varying depths of consciousness. It could be minutes or days. You don’t fight going under; it’s a much preferable alternative to fear and pain. The reprieves are shortening though, your body maintaining enough strength to keep you awake, even though you wish it wouldn’t.

To avoid contemplating your imminent death, you focus in around yourself again. It’s still pitch black, but a faint conversation can be heard somewhere in the darkness. You can’t make out words, but you decide you can hear somewhere between five and seven distinct voices, including Mark and Clara.

The voices abruptly stop and then one of them hisses like a cat.

“I told you they would come.” The male voice doesn’t bother whispering. A flurry of activity begins around you, footsteps moving in all directions. A pair move closer to you.

“It’s showtime,” Mark growls, cutting the new ties binding your forearms, along with the ties at your waist. He hoists you over a shoulder in one quick motion. You see stars. Keeping nausea down takes all your focus as his quick footsteps jostle you around. Your eyes are finally taking in small amounts of light, but you’re moving too quickly to see anything.

Mark stops suddenly. Your eyes focus.

He’s stopped in front of an empty doorway. You turn your aching head. There are several figures standing beyond it, crouching in defensive positions. The moon is bright to your light starved eyes. How is it still night?

He snaps his head down the corridor that he’d been running down and then back to the action in front of you.

“Fuck it,” he spits, dropping you in a heap to the floor. You grunt loudly when your chin hits the concrete, not quite able to catch yourself with your unbroken hand. “Move and I kill you,” Mark whispers, crouched down and staring out the doorway. The darkness around you still shadows the details of his appearance, but you can tell he’s at least twice your size.

You follow his gaze.

From this position, a box truck blocks most of your view, but you can see feet in a strip between the wheels. There are six pairs all pointed to the left, and two pointed back at them.

“You have nothing to offer. She isn’t a bargaining chip, she’s bait. And then she’s the victory meal after I kill you,” a man shouts, and several other voices hiss and snigger. He can’t be talking about you, right? Who would you be bait for? You can’t think for long as the word “meal” settles in.

“I like my chances,” chuckles the owner of one of the two pairs of boots to the left.

Two figures from the right side rush forward immediately, another two on their heels. Mark stiffens beside you. There’s a mixture of grunting, hissing, and blades slashing. Something thuds on the ground and rolls. You squint and see two eyes, frozen wide, staring back at you. Blood pools around the stump of the neck, soaking long blonde strands of hair. You snap your face away from the disembodied head, your stomach heaving dryly. Mark doesn’t notice your movement. He’s on his feet as the battle continues raging.

“Clara!” he yells desperately. Then he’s running away from you.

You’re alone.

You push yourself up to your feet as fast as your damaged body will let you. You shuffle over to the back corner of the truck and peer around it. Just on the other side of the gory scene before you is a junkyard of cars, and beyond that, woods running alongside a road.

You set your sights on the nearest car and run.

#we'll be getting to sammy dearest soon #Sam Winchester #sam x reader #SPN #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #fanfic #series

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okmeamithinknow · 7 years

Text

Insomnia AU’s pt 5

Previous AU

CoLu Cat-burglar AU

Our scene opens to a modern day Magnolia, where the rich and famous live in fear.

A cat burglar has been prowling the streets. Stealing jewelry and the hearts of the poor alike.

Nothing deters the burglar.

Security systems are hacked.

Locks are picked

And guards are found passed out

The only clue? Untraceable poison

Not deadly enough to kill. But strong enough to knock out the toughest man. It leaves its victims unconscious and unable to recall the hours prior to the break in.

The poison’s delivery method???

A single lipstick print to the forehead or cheek of the victim.

Enter FBI partners Gajeel “Black Steel” Redfox, who specializes in security protocols and ballistics.

Erik ”don’t you fucking call me by anything other than my code name Cobra” who’s specialty is obviously poisons.

“Why the hell else would they call me in for this shit?”

Gajeel and Cobra investigate. They start by staking out their next potential victim under the guise of attending a gala at Zeref Dragneel’s.

Enter heiress and Cobra’s childhood “arch nemesis”, Lucy Heartfelia.

Lucy: “Fancy seeing you here, Erik”

Cobra: “Well it is a gala held in honor of the mayor, who also happens to my partner’s brother-in-law you tend to get an invitation.”

Levy and Gajeel are married obviously. Jellal is the mayor.

Because blue hair and genetics.

Lots of sexual tension between the two cat fighting.

Gajeel gives Erik tons of grief: “Just bang her and get it done with.”

Erik: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gajeel: (-_-)

Next day sure enough after the gala Zeref’s expensive E.N.Diamond (see what I did there cause jokes and acronyms) is missing and Zeref and his brother have lipstick on their cheeks.

Erik is immediately suspicious.

Erik: “It’s Lucy. I know it is.” Gajeel: “You have like no proof and why the hell would an heiress want to rob people. She’s inheriting a fortune worth ten times what any of these items are worth.” Gajeel: “You just want an excuse to see her again.”

Gajeel rolls his eyes, but reluctantly brings her in for questioning. (along with every other person at the party that night)

Interrogation ensues

At some point Lucy says, “What’s wrong Erik? Cat burglar got your tongue?”

Gajeel leaves. (some emergency with his wife) and Erik shows her the lipstick prints.

Lucy: “Wow as if I would be caught dead wearing... what is that... 4.99 Wet and Wild Mega Last Liquid Catsuit Matte lipstick in.... Coral Corruption. As if Daddy would let me go out in something so cheap. Not when we can afford the best, but if you’re still not sure, please. By all means, feel free to check my makeup kit.”

And Erik is just like “How the fuck did she know the exact brand and color of the lipstick?”

But of course no one is there to witness the whole conversation.

And when he checks her house there’s no color anywhere near that shade anywhere in the house.

On their way out they receive a plea from Jude Heartfelia himself. They’re hosting a party in a week to celebrate the engagement of his daughter Lucy to one Natsu Dragneel and he wants them to personally ensure that Lucy’s antique engagement ring doesn’t go missing after the celebration.

They attend the party. Erik asks her to dance at some point.

Through their conversation he realizes how unhappy Lucy really is, that the marriage is one of financial and political gain, and she doesn’t really love Natsu. She just wants to be a writer.

He leaves the dance floor uncertain and sad for her.

He watches her the rest of the night from the sidelines.

“Because it’s my job damn it. Not cause I like looking at her”

The guests leave. Everyone retires for the evening, and the engagement ring is placed back in it’s protective box and is guarded by Gajeel and Cobra.

Gajeel falls asleep, obvi.

Then the burglar makes her appearance

I’m thinking Lucy in a tight fitted all black suit. Ala Catwoman

Sexy battle ensues

Erik ends up pinned underneath her.

Obvi she’s stronger than she looks.

She leans next to his ear and says, “I’m sorry, this is the way it has to be Erik.”

and then kisses him on the cheek.

The next morning the ring is gone. Lucy and Jude, who’s suites are on the other side of the house heard nothing.

Erik knows it’s her

Erik: “There’s only one person in this world who dares to call me Erik” But there’s literally nothing he can do to prove it.

He hounds her for a while.

Until she agrees to meet him for drinks in the back room of a seedy pub across town where no one will recognize her. He comes prepared to arrest her.

She spills everything.

Cobra: “You’re just a bored little heiress looking to get her rocks off on stealing.”

Lucy: “It was never about the jewelry. I’m leaving.”

Turns out she’d also been breaking into safes and stealing money. Only a couple thousand at a time. The jewels were just a distraction to keep them from noticing.

She hands him a bag that has all the jewelry. It’s all accounted for, except her mother’s ring. Which she takes with her.

She manages to lock him in the room on her way out.

Cobra: “I’ll never stop hunting you.”

The end?

#Colu #cobra erik #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail au #gajeel redfox #insomnia AUs #natsu dragneel #zeref dragneel

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ascensionstories-blog · 7 years

Text

Menace #44: The Library

“Come along, dear, come along”

Courtney heard her mother’s call as she stepped in front of the New Monmouth Public Library. The call was from a long time ago, when she was just a kid, and her mother had brought her to the library for the day. She remembered slowly walking up the concrete stairs into the worn, brick building, and being surprised by the incredible amount of books filling the place. Two stories, she had thought, in a library? That’s crazy! She laughed as she remembered her surprise at the multi-leveled building; it was the coolest thing in the world to her back then. Once she stepped in, her mother completely lost track of her — not that she was looking — and Courtney spent the time ruffling through as many children’s books as she possibly could. She was wearing her favorite pair of boots that day, she remembered. They sort of squeaked when she ran, so she ran all throughout the building hearing herself squeak past the rows of books, laughing all the while. “Come along dear, come along,” she heard again while she slowly trudged up the stairs to the dark, faded, wooden doors.

She was not wearing her favorite pair of boots. Her feet were dressed in (of all things) heels, the back of which felt rough against her ankle; she was sure it would leave a sore. They, a navy blue, matched her dress, which was frilled at the bottom and otherwise uncomfortably tight. Her hair was down and repeatedly falling in her face, and the small purse she had brought was nothing compared to her trusty backpack, which her mother had convinced her to leave at home. She found herself longing for her old costume, the large, white sweater with a fuzzy hood. It was always warm, but baggy enough not to chafe. The tight, dark dress in the summer sun let her feel every drop of sweat dripping from her body, and, as she stepped inside, immediately allowed her to freeze in place. The air conditioning was an unexpected threat, attacking every inch of her body that happened to be uncovered: her shoulders, her legs, her face. She had managed to sneak Nate’s old goggles into the purse, and quickly hung them around her neck. Then she noticed the rest of the library.

The New Monmouth Public Library had two stories. On the first, in the front of the pavilion, were the kids’ books, followed by a nice, cozy square in the center of the floor with soft chairs for the children to sit in while they read. Behind that were teen novels, young-adult romance stories and adventures, and behind those were the adult fiction novels. All imaginative works were relegated to some section in this first floor. Which meant that, even though she could hear the echoes of squeaking boots running across the floor, she had to ascend the stairs. Romantically speaking, a better set of staircases could not exist in a library. The upper floor could be accessed by two sets of stairs, one on the right side of the library, the other on the left. They were both carpeted in old, velvet carpet that gave off a smell like a lemon candy, and adorned with black-tinted, wooden rails. With each step, they creaked softly, as if whispering their ancient secrets to whomever was passing. As she took her first steps, Courtney heard the whispers for the first time. The stairs had always looked gigantic to Courtney, but not as large as the place they went. The second story of the New Monmouth Public Library towered flatly over the first, the biographies, histories, and reference books hanging over the fanciful fiction below, watching them closely to be sure that they were not misbehaving too badly in the absence of fact. Courtney had always only looked up at it from below, dismissing its usefulness along with her mother, and listened to the squeak of her boots as she ran. Aside from one or two books, she was unsure she ever even read the fiction at all.

The bookshelves on the first floor had been to tall for her to reach the top shelf (she standing proudly — if not slightly upset — at 5’1”), but the shelves on the second floor were another beast entirely. Shelves lined the walls, leaving an open foyer for desks at which people could study, before the foyer ended with a maze of more shelves. Each shelf, littered with nameless books of dull and daunting colors, stood at almost twice her height, forcing her to crane her neck upwards to see the dreary filth. She rushed to the nearest and pulled out the first book she could place her hands on, a large, blue book that read New Monmouth City Records June 1962 - October 1962 and immediately her suspicions were confirmed: the fiction was far more fun, and most likely more practical. She shoved the heavy book back into place, before turning to recognize that it was Jenny sitting alone at a table in the middle of the pavilion, with a small notebook and a pen. She waved at Courtney, who cautiously began to step towards here, eyeing the bookshelf behind her to make sure it did not fall and crush the life from her tiny body. Eventually, she sat across the table from Jenny.

“Sorry I’m late,” Courtney whispered across the table. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“It’s okay,” Jenny whispered back. “I’ve been here for a bit, but I don’t mind. Why do you suddenly want to learn about magic?”

“There’s a guy,” Courtney began.

“Say no more,” Jenny interrupted. “I think magic was discovered in the first place to get people into bed.”

“Ew, no,” Courtney commented, a bit louder than necessary. “No, no. I mean a magic guy. He concealed his face and was able to completely dissipate my magic… I want to know how he did that. Or at least a way to stop it. Can you help me?”

“I think so,” Jenny said, pressing her palm against her cheek and biting her lip. Courtney wondered what Nate saw in her sometimes, but this was not one of those times. She was wearing a light blue, loose tank-top that met white shorts around her waistline. Her hair was pulled back in a pony that fell softly behind her neck. Although she could not see them, Courtney imagined that Jenny was wearing sandals as well. “I once met a shaman who could disrupt the flow of magic.”

“Really?” Courtney asked, forgetting to whisper and then scolding herself for it. “Yeah, a couple years back. I was in India, trying to gather information on — it doesn’t matter. I was disguised as a twenty-or-so year old Indian man attending a banquet held by the company. Once inside, I saw him and he made me right away. A shaman they had hired to keep out unwanted visitors: me. He grabbed my wrist and suddenly I was me again, unable to change into anything else.”

“How did he do it?” Courtney asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Jenny admitted and Courtney rolled her eyes. “Hey, twerp, chill with that.” Jenny grinned calling her twerp, and Courtney couldn’t help but grin too. She was thinking of asking Jenny for a hair tie or something to help with her hair, when she continued. “But! I have some ideas. So ‘doing magic’ in the conventional sense is just taking chaos and ordering it into something useful — right?”

“Right.”

“Good. So it logically follows that everyone would have there own way of ordering it, right?” “I suppose.”

“So all someone would have to do would be reverse that process in order to completely destroy someone’s magic.”

“Okay. How do I do that?”

“I have no idea,” Jenny admitted and Courtney had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes again. Still, she felt as though progress was being made. She continued to talk to Jenny, alone on the second floor of the library. All the while, Courtney mused about how nice it must be to have complete control over how you look. Their conversation topics began to mutate and shift as talk always tends to. Until, finally, Courtney landed on the question that she had not wanted to have answered.

“So, are you and Nate a thing?” They were the only two in the library, but following the question it seemed louder than it had before. No one spoke, until Courtney said, “You don’t have to answer,” a few seconds later.

“Honestly, kid, I have no idea,” Jenny mused. She reached towards her notebook to grab her pen and noticed, again, what had been worrying her for a long time. Her hand moved swiftly and with purpose, grabbing her pen, but her eyes never left Courtney. It was subtle, but it was there; almost indiscernible but definite and true. As Jenny grabbed her pen, Courtney jumped, ever so slightly, in her seat. Just a flinch, nothing more, but, as Jenny had decided, nothing less, either. It was a flinch she recognized all too well. A badge of honor worn by the toughest and the saddest, the most dejected and upset. Courtney wore hers in her flinch and, if one looked closely enough (as Jenny unfortunately did), her cheek. “I know a lot of heroes,” Jenny finally began, “who have nervous tells that they’d fought one too many fights. For example, I knew a fighter once who would blink his eyes too fast. You see, in a fight, you hardly have time to blink, so he’d gotten in the habit of making sure his eyes were as wet as possible before a fight. A glass falls of a table, he starts blinking. A heckler hollers at him on the street, he starts blinking. A pretty girl talks to him, he starts blinking. It’s why I asked him about it,” she tried to fake a laugh, but couldn’t. Courtney was looking at her nervously. She had not noticed her unconscious flinch, but she was smart enough to see where this was going. What’s my tell and what do I say? she asked herself as Jenny continued. “Mine is that I bite my lip when I’m nervous. As a spy, I used to get myself in a lot of trouble whenever I spoke without thinking, so, as a reminder to shut up and think, I started biting my lip. Lo and behold, it seems to have, unfortunately, caught on.” Courtney kept staring at her. Courtney had large eyes, Jenny noticed. They were very beautiful, if not a little sad, like a cat, who’s shiny coat was ruined by the rain. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Courtney?”

Courtney, knowing she was about to break, felt, to her own surprise, a sudden surge of anger. No, the thought ran through her head, I don’t want to tell you anything, you bitch. Why don’t you go screw Nate? She blinked away the thought until another one, equally unsatisfying, jammed itself in there: Of course I need to tell someone, idiot, but why would it be you? You don’t have any fucking problems, you perfect, pristine, prissy princess. Oh? Nate’s leaving and you’re one of the only people who can stop him? Better give him a good screw before he leaves! And then pretend to care — yeah. She deeply inhaled as she felt her eyes beginning to water, either from rage or sadness she was unsure, but the thoughts continued to grow in her mind like a fire consuming itself to grow taller and taller until it reached the ends of her hairs and needed to get out. The library was suddenly feeling colder, Jenny noticed, but Courtney did not as the air began to slowly move faster around them. Shut the fuck up, Jenny, she decided she would say. Then opened her mouth and said, “No,” softly and quietly as the rising storm fell. “No, Jenny, I’m good. I think I’ve had enough for today, I’ll try and learn some stuff and I’ll let you know if we should meet up again. Okay?”

“Okay, kid. If there’s every anything you need, I’m here.”

“Can you-” Courtney began before she could stop herself, “Can you bring Nate back?”

“Here, Court, let me walk you home.”

The two climbed down the tall stairs of the library, out the wooden doors, down the concrete steps, and out the gates. Courtney held her left arm with her right as they walked, which Jenny noticed. Jenny smiled, standing tall as they walked, which Courtney noticed. Jenny’s blue shirt blew in the wind, and so did the small frills of Courtney’s navy dress. Courtney looked up at Jenny, then to her feet. She was wearing sandals after all. Courtney’s heels clicked against the sidewalk, and she imagined the sound to be the squeaking of her old, rubber boots. She played with the goggles around her neck — Nate’s tell, she realized — and then placed them in her purse. They did not say a word.

#menace #witch #magic #wizard #sci-fi #fiction #wind #poetry #insecure #soul #beauty #books #library #aesthetic #read #writers #readme

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descendingfrost · 8 years

Note

Vilkas or Farkas?

Prisoner

She joined whatever guilds would pay her enough to survive, and that chipped away at whatever good heart she may have had hidden away. Already donned in thieves guild light armour, cursed mace and a bounty in most of the northern coast of Skyrim, she eventually stumbles across the companions. Outside of Whiterun, she halts her steed to watch the group of warriors orchestrate the giant kill. When it is over, she approaches–cats were by trade, very curious creatures. The first one she talks to is a nord named Farkas, who explains who they are and how long he and Vilkas had been there–‘pups,’ the term struck her as endearing. His humble, ‘I’m not the smartest, but I fight for honor and my nord heart’ struck her as strange. She didn’t understand it. Surely a man who would risk an easy death under the toe of a giant would have motivation in septems. Gold and jade and diamonds were the way of the world–that was a fact. But it struck her as strange, so very strange–he struck her as strange. With nothing else to sate this khajiit’s curiosity but answers themselves, she follows the Companions to their mead hall.

As with most of her physical prowess, she soon appealed to Kodlak. A fool, she thought, an old fool. Surrounded by mead a rumbling fire did have a certain…charm? though. And so, she began to integrate herself. The khajiit, Prisoner, began to join Farkas in the yard, testing heavy armour, taking extra jobs from him: she was curious for the first time. For honor, hm? Tch. Honor doesn’t kill emperors. But regardless, she showed him the ways of not charging into draugr infested rooms, laying traps for stronger enemies, laying in wait, being clever. And in repayment, he taught her how to fight for something other than herself.

The first time he asked if she was looking for marriage, she nearly dropped mehunes razor and ended up fleeing the room, claws clutching Mara’s Amulet in panic and surprise. The second time, she nearly fell off Shadowmere. The third time he asked her how she wasn’t married to someone yet, Cicero, her only relic of an old life of survival, laughed at her in a way that wasn’t entirely mad. The laughter of the other Companions was worse. Perhaps there would have been a fourth time, but before the opportunity to tease (tease? what frivolous children’s banter. Still, it filled her with a rocking, unfamiliar warmth) her again arose, she had been asked to join the circle.

Joining the circle. Receiving the Beast Blood. It changed her in a way she hadn’t in a season–since the harvest summers ago when she had joined them. Ahh, the beast blood, toughest transformation since Farkas himself, brought back the so easy slide down the slope to killing. It was black need, primal and strong. The assassin thief in her began to show itself again, killing became meaningless–in fact, for the first time in her existence, it felt good. And Aela understands that, so she stays with her and avoids Whiterun entirely.

Because–because there’s a pressure there that she has never experienced. A terrible feeling in her chest that won’t go away no matter how many times she turns to the Beast when sneaking proves to not be an option. Cicero notices her edge but remains the humble servant when she allows him to follow, only cackling in a dual wielding frenzy of dragon bone daggers. For several moon cycles, she hunts through the forests, occasionally a cat, more often a craven beast whose howls weren’t altogether sane.

There was an occasion in which she visits her home in Whiterun, Breezehome. The night is dark, raining in the sad glow of guard lanterns as she limps back, exhausted from the simmering blood she called upon outside the gates. She stills–he is waiting for her under Adrianna Aveneti’s smithy, fur armor sodden and cold, hair limp around his bright eyes. They stare at each other for moments, rain blanketing her wet and bloodied fur.

She killed the emperor of Skyrim two years ago, plucked Azuras star out of the void by pickpocketing a poison into crazed Myrla’s pocket. And yet–and yet–for all the good that did her; she is too scared to move in front of this Nord–this one honourable man.

He stares at her, appearing to see through the dragonscale helm she has never taken off in front of a single person, the one she gained while killing an unsuspecting Orc outside of riften. His eyes are not unkind, saying something in them that makes her tail twitch anxiously and her bloodied chest squeeze. He claims he isn’t smart, that he had the strength of Ysgramor and his brother is the one with his smarts. But he smiles at her through the thunder, lightening echoing light off of his armor, and, eyeing the amulet he had seen so many times, gently says: “An amulet of Mara? You’re not married then?“

Something explodes in her chest then, so much more intense than the injuries she sustained at the watchtower hours before dragging herself back through the city gates. Her chest heaves, something settling into place-her Beast Blood needing something other than blood for the first time. But in this moment, her knees buckle under her, and she is lost to the void, collapsing on the street in pooling blood. She thinks she can hear his voice around her, but it all goes black.

It is a week when she awakens, injuries mostly mended thanks to the howling blood that streams through her veins. She is in her bunk in Jorvaskar, bandaged and clean. Quickly, her claws jerk upwards, then breathing in relief to find the Dragonscale mask still fitted to her face. She looks around, hesitant slit eyes shooting to every suspicious shadow creeping from the candle light. Gold clad hoop piercings jangling, her ear swivel, hearing the thudding footsteps of someone descending the stairs. Light on the heel, fluid to the toes, small scuff from the left leg from an old ankle injury of years past… Assessing the walk nearing her door only gave her seven seconds of anxiety before Farkas enters the room. She has never said much, preferring to listen to the secrets, plots, gossip of other people with heavy pockets and even shorter lives, but his expression rips something out of her.“What is it?” She falters as his expression, clouded in a way she had never seen before but rips her pounding heart to shreds to see it. His eyes, bright against the blackened skin of his weathered face, finally meet hers.

“Skjor.. He’s missing. Aela went to find him but…” He pauses, a frustrated but helpless growl–a sound she appreciates in the recesses of her mind for later– coming from him. “The Silver Bloods, they’re up to something. Vilkas explained it to me but…” He finally looks at her, seeing her through the helm as no one else could, gives a wry smile. “He’s the smart one. Will you meet with him?“

She watches him for a second, cat eyes fixating on the nervous tap of his toe, knowing there were things they needed to discuss, understanding it wasn’t the time. Silently, she nods. It was always a better option, remaining silent.

Except, the creeping feeling was gnawing at her chest again, bearable this time but begging to be let loose. Her words, far and few in between–since the days as a cub, abandoned outside of Markarth, tossed from a carriage from the port and before Astrid had found her with a glass dagger in her claws as a shadow stalker juvenile–came tumbling out as he was nearly to the stairs, returning to the hall: ”–Will you accompany me?“ It feels like her lungs couldn’t fill.

The last time she had traveled with him was months ago, with warm glances and the feeling of companionship she had only ever craved from him. Her meaning in this moment was not lost on him if his small, kind smile was any indication. Sparing her a moment to bask in the warmth of it, he gently deferred: “Aela wants to meet with you this time. But see me when you return with Skjor.”

It took half the day and a sparring session with Vilkas to assure Aela and Kodlak that she was fit to travel. It was with a small nod and a more telling twitching tail that she bid farewell to the companions and those eyes–blue blue–that always saw too much.

With Aela at her side, the crossing of Whiterun into the Pale was quiet. A terrible bad omen gut feeling settled in her abdomen–the same that she had felt when hunting a certain Dunmer Nightingale with a traitor at her side, or scampering out of the false Emperor’s dinner chamber and into the arms of the Pentus Oculatus–but she dared not to share a word with the agitated Huntress: her haunches were clearly on edge as well. The perimeter of Gallows Rock was easy to clear: a Dremora lord, his master assassin thief, and the archer made quick work of the Silver Hand outside. Inside, the place was locked up, noted by Aela while passing the gates. The foreboding feeling didn’t leave the cat as they descended deeper into the encampment, passing the hung, skinned bodies of nameless werewolves.

Nothing could compare to the broken roar Aela produced as Skjor’s carcass remained unmoving at the Silver Hand chief’s feet. It reminded her of the wail Veronica Vicci’s new husband made when her body was crushed under the gargoyle statue at their wedding. The dead Silver Hand reminded her of a ghost of that feeling as they stood above the broken form of their fellow Companion, dead and bloody and cold–so so so still, why was Skjor so still?–And Aela’s voice sent her back to Whiterun, to her waiting Companions as she stayed with the fallen Companion.

Killing was manageable, not messy. Clean. Uncomplicated. And there was a process. Kill, then septums. Easy. And stealing! Stealing was easy. A lift of cloth here, a gold silver necklace there. But staring at the Companions of Jorvaskar, watching them spar in the yard, break a piece of bread while arguing–‘are or mace’–I could kill you before you drew” –“would you like to test that?”–she wishes to stay in the shadows of the Underforge forever. Where nothing can touch you, see you–oh blue sees her (always sees her) in the shadows and she is pinned from across the yard. The strum through her says to flee–flee!–Skjor is deaddeaddead and those blue blue see her and then, then they know and there was anger–Revenge to the Silver Hand!–, shooting the messenger, and she had to get out of there before this ice in her cracked because that blue was bluer and she wanted to hold him together.

But…

Holding the Gaulder amulet closer to her heart, she turns and leaves.

Aela’s fury is what she clings to. Taking out the Silver Blood’s camps make the Beast Blood sing. Blue blue blue eyes remind her of her failure, her complete inability to bring back Skijor. Even the Amulet of Mara slips into the side pocket of her armour, feel heavier than she ever remembered it being. Blood trickling from the cursed mace in her right, a gleaming razor in her left, fills her with a more vulnerable feeling than she’s ever experienced. What sort of feeling was this?

It was a time in which the was no returning to the city.

When it was not Aela, it was her faithful jester, never leaving her side. Singing of the murder of the fair maid, Nelly, was nearly comforting when she didn’t give into the moments of howling blood in her ears. She avoided Jorvaskar for weeks, attending only the small vigil held for their fallen brother, with Black-Briar mugs spilling dark all over the wooden tables and brothers and sisters singing to lutes and drums, stories of Skijor the Proud, the mercenary who found his way to the hall to bring honour to the Companions. Aela was quiet, slipping into the darkened sky early. Tovar circled, singing and jovial with the rest. Vilkas filled the night with stories of the brave warrior’s life, battles, his greatest moments. Her breath caught beneath the blueblueblue as he steps to her side by the hearth, his brother’s voice lulling the warriors into a concentrated silence. But her attention did not stray from Farkas at her side.

Accepting the mug of mead, she nodded her thanks, downing a long breath of fire and honey down her throat, before watching the liquid embers of warm colours glimmer across his armour from the corner of sharp eyes.

Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault, breathe, breathe now. She fills her lungs and takes another long gulp of something not nearly as strong as her own throbbing guilt. They are silent together, side by side, murmurings and cheers and stories and the crackling fire and Kodiak’s laughter and it’s bittersweet and suffocating. And those–beautiful–blueblueblue watch her when the empty mug is placed on the hearth and the cat turns, the goddess of love’s amulet secretly tucked away against her side: Her throat is bare but for the Gauldor gold, reforged and glittering in the fire light.

And those blue understand, a new sadness adding to the melancholy since herfaultherfault. She hears the question in them, the only reason one ever takes off their sign for matrimony: ‘So you’re married now?’ She hears it even though he doesn’t utter a word, and she lowers her masked face.

She leaves soon after, joining Aela for another hunt, the lie chasing her out of Whiterun and the nord who was better off because of it.

Kodlak is the only reason she returns to the city, the Cloud District leaving an unfamiliar feeling after the months of absence. When he sent for her, the thought to ignore the Harbinger altogether did cross her mind. But the man was kind–a fool, but, a kind fool–and had seen something of menial value in a dirty assassin thief, so she owed him that much. She doesn’t see the melancholy blue upon her return, but Vilkas has his smart gaze filled with her and she quietly descends the stairs to meet Kodlak. She isn’t altogether shocked he knows of her and Aela’s mission to completely wipe out the Silver Bloods–a mere fool could have smelled the stench of blood in the air and know whose claws had brandished it. And Kodlak Whitemane was no fool. It was, however, shocking when his request filled her: remove the Beast Blood that sings too loudly to not consume all in white hot rage. She can’t understand these nords and their gods and the Sovengard that he hopes will await him. The very concept made her hackles rise in the most ironic way: for a cat who had at least six daedric princes vying for her eternal soul while, in the end, The Void would claim her. Sithis would always have the last laugh. But respect for the aging man ran deeper than her skepticism and she eventually nods her acceptance. After all, Hagravens were simple killings when one knew how to sneak around their destructive flames. She leaves Whiterun without incident or encounter.

Septems always call, sometimes louder than other times, and Delvin’s latest assignment sends her all the way to the City of Stone. It will be another quarter moon until Shadowmere returns to the realm of living after his temporary demise at the hands of an Ancient Dragon. And so, she walks alongside a jester during the night, clinging to the hills of Markarth. It takes weeks and, though a part of her feels bad her movements do not benefit the old man in Whiterun, survival comes first for her. And old habits die hardest. Pockets lined with shiny, glittering commandeered gold, she passes the Markarth stables, sending word to the guild in Riften she would be back at the end of the month: She had a personal matter to attend to.

The Glenmoril Coven was easy work. With a silent but merry jester at her back, weapons poisoned with Lotus Extract and shrouded boots, she was close enough to reach around the fathered, withered neck to rip her razor across the screaming throat. The witches in the main chamber were easily slain, Cicero cackling in his dance as she used the razor to bleed the head before tucking it in the crate by the jester’s feet. She was not one to favor taking heads at trophies, it was far too messy. Packing the crate with sturdy leather to keep the skull from shifting, the two assassins left the cave, walking the roads at night to avoid additional detection.

The Reach’s warm autumn air brought a melancholy with it that she had not expected: for time passes quickly with her jester singing her songs and the forest speaking through creeks, birds, falling leaves. Skjor had been killed while snow yet lingered in Whiterun. A shiver tremored through her sleek summer fur, claws ghosting over the love amulet hidden inside her armor, where it had been since the warm months the previous year. With a breath of resolve: there it will remain as a promise that never was, but always had been. For her to know. And her alone. As it was meant to be.

It was during the late dusk, under the pale violet moon that she smelled it. Pausing in her steps so absolutely, her companion apologized and asked to kill something at her back after stumbling away, the khajiit lifted her helm covered head and breathed in deeply, tail twitching. Ah.. Silver Bloods. South wind. Gaze sharpening, she stilled. Why would they be in the south..? Their encampments are to the north– ….Cicero screamed out after her as she barreled through brush, rushing towards the south, towards Whiterun.

Scent of blood, silver, and panic dominated the whole of Whiterun. The Cloud District was chaos. She is claws and teeth, barely clinging to her form by the time Aela has called her name above a slain Silver Hand on the steps of Jorvaskar. The howling, panting blood crows–too many people, too many fearful beating pulses, too little blood in her claws–Aela’s hand touches her shoulder and she is watching her shield sister, watching the words from her mouth as she can’t hear over her own pulse–”go inside,” and she is gone.

Entry to the hall has her jester jovial; Entry to the hall has her in shatters. Blueblueblue beautiful nord man is hurt and her soul tumbles to her feet in the ice fear, all encompassing oh Sithis please please give him back–do not take him divines please no no nononono. He is under her healing hands before she realizes herself as blue seeing–seeing her–eyes see throb her and she is lost.

Farkas does not trust magic and she avoided using it in their time together back when they were in crypts and gallows so so long ago now. When she was curious, empty, and he was brave, true. When he made her true. When she wanted to be true. When protecting him and fighting for him, with him, was the world she craved, needed, above any septem, any trinket, any Beast Blood, above it all. He sees it too, she realizes, and she nearly rips her claws away, the magic still lingering in warmth under her gloves–but his huge hand has hers before she can flee. The melancholy blue stays on her as he stands, so much taller than her–was he always so large?

He doesn’t release her and she doesn’t run. Her ears are thrumming with a white hot racing pulse and she wonders if she has ever been touched by another person in such a gentle way.

A call of a similar voice draws their attention from across the hall and she feels her insides drop out as Vilkas cradles a broken, aged Nord who is too too too still and she doesn’t see anything else, only the ghost smile of a now bloodied face who wanted to join his men in Sovengard, who asked of her, a now last wish–promisedpromisedpromised and myfaultmyfaultmyfault spun in her head–while the grip tightened the second she began to tug. “Not this time,” she hears him murmur, blue glittering with unshed grief–but determined as his unwavering hand remained.

Slowly, her vision cleared at the corners, forced to stare upon the additional face she failedfailedfailed. But the warmth of another kept her grounded to the nord who was better off letting her run out that door. But he didn’t.

To be continued in the Harbinger Arc.

#skyrim #prisoner #ask #farkas #the companions #skyrim fanfiction #khajiit #frost talks #personal

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sueboohscorner · 7 years

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#TheWalkingDead Season 8 Episode 9 'Honor' In-Depth Recap Plus Questions

Sunday, February 25th, 2018

CORAL?!?

*WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS EXPLICIT DETAIL FROM SUNDAY NIGHT'S EPISODE "HONOR." IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT, TURN BACK NOW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!*

Oh. My. God. Sunday's episode of The Walking Dead marked a new death in the series' death list; our very own Carl Grimes. Our beloved one-eyed hero was bitten in episode 6 of the eighth season and took his own life at the end of the mid-season premiere. Many fans, including myself, were not looking forward to the episode because we knew what was coming. But, it was inevitable. R.I.P Carl Grimes. You will be missed.

Episode 9 of 'Honor' began with another premonition of Santa Rick and an older Judith running up to Jerry. Then, it comes back to Rick and Michonne digging (presumably Carl's grave). Carl flashes back to the walker tangle. The walker is seen taking a chunk out of Carl's abdomen. Then, it shows the buildup to Carl's reveal, spending time with Judith, writing everyone notes, rescuing Siddiq and sneaking him inside and Carl changing and dressing his wound. Then, Carl visits Tobin at the gates. He hands Carl a note from Michonne that reads; I had to see it for myself. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye first. Will be back soon. Michonne. Then, it shows him preparing the sewer for a hide-out and a cot for him when he's too weak to stand. He then shares a Big Cat with Siddiq. Morgan scouts the Sanctuary. He watches as the walkers begin to die and pile up, creating a trail. Then, they shoot at Morgan. He heads out and diverts a pack of walkers back as five or so Saviors appear. Gavin's group is seen heading towards the Kingdom. Morgan appears from within the treeline and follows.

When the commercials end, a walker is seen tangled up in Carol's wire trap. Henry kills the walker as Carol advises the Kingdom people of where to hide. Henry wants to tag along, but she refused him. She leaves. Carl is in bad shape. He's pale, sweating and visibly in distress. Rick is speechless, and Michonne is crying. Carl tells Rick 'It's alright.' He admits that he didn't know if Rick was going to make it back 'before.' He pulls out the stack of letters and hands them to Michonne. Carl tells Rick about Siddiq. Twice, Carl tells Rick "I got bit."

Gavin is talking to Ezekiel when the second set of commercials end. He tells him that Negan's going to kill him. Ezekiel says he freed his people, so what is done to him he is okay with. Gavin says he liked Ezekiel. Gavin blames Rick. Ezekiel says he made a choice he could live with. He tells Gavin to do the same. Morgan sneaks in at this point. Carol then appears behind him. They strategize. Rick and Michonne put Carl on the cot. Siddiq gives Rick a few meds to Rick to help Carl through. Rick guesses he's a doctor. Then, he asks Carl if he knew. Carl says he knew Siddiq wouldn't make it to Alexandria alone. Michonne jumps up and charges Dwight. She orders him to make it stop. Then, she breaks down and somewhat begs him to make it stop. Rosita says their best bet is to get everyone to The Hilltop. Dwight says to ride it out, then leave. Daryl then says "All is us, together. We'll be their worst damn nightmare."

Carol and Morgan sneak around, ambushing and assassinating the stragglers. Gavin's men load up supplies. Gavin asks the king "Is it gonna go bad, Ezekiel?" Ezekiel says it'll be fashioned to his start. Carl dishes on Michonne for leaving. She laughs and says she isn't the one dying. He says she looks great. He also says that 'it' needs to stop. Dwight's guess about the mayhem lightening up comes true. Daryl and Rick exchange a glance. Carol and Morgan get closer. He advances and ignores her. He mows them down, and Carol only gets one. They gather guns. Gavin tries to accommodate The King's ride. Gavin radios his men but gets no response. This worries him. He and his men rush away with Ezekiel while Carol and Morgan close in.

A red wide-eyed Rick is seen. Then, he is seen in the premonition with Judith. They walk up to Eugene. Then, Michonne and Rick are seen burying something. He sits with carl while he says goodbye to Judith. The Saviors have left. Rick says Carl won't make it to Hilltop. They both decide to stay. He tells Judith to 'Be good for Michonne and Dad. Sometimes kids have to show parents the way.' He gives her the Sheriff's Hat. He tells her "Before mom died, she said that I was going to beat this world. I didn't. But you will. I know you will." As Rick pulls her away, she starts to weep. Daryl takes her and tells Carl "You saved everyone. That's on you." Daryl walks off with Judith. Siddiq tells him "you were helping me honor my mom. You brought me here. You gave me a chance. I know I can never repay you, but I can honor you. I can prove that your death wasn't for nothing." Carl smiles and says "Congratulations. You're stuck with us."

Gavin and Co take Ezekiel to the auditorium. He hits Ezekiel. Gavin says it's too late, Ezekiel dies, and he lives. Then, there's an explosion at the doorway. Morgan and Carol fire. Later, Morgan gets into a fist fight and tears a man's guts from his body. Ezekiel finds a gun and Gavin runs. Morgan pursues. Michonne and Rick hold Carl, wiping the sweat away. She asks if he's okay. He tells her that he doesn't want her to be sad or mad. He wants her to be strong for Rick, Judith and herself. He doesn't want her to carry his death. Then, he says "My best friend, Michonne." She cries, smiles and replies "You're mine, too." The candle blows out AMD Rick says he needs help with getting Carl to ground level.

Gavin goes through a maze. Morgan stalks. Michonne and Rick carry a limp Carl through a crispy Alexandria to the church. Morgan sets Gavin up and finds him hiding. Rick lays Carl down. He thanks Rick for making him who he became. "Back at the prison, when we were attacked, there was a kid, a little older than me. He had a gun. He was starting to put it down, and I shot him. I just shot him." Morgan taunts Gavin. He pleads his case, saying they can't beat Negan. Rick tells Carl "No, what happened, what you lost, what you had to do, you were just a boy." Carl tells Rick "And you saw what it did, how easy it got." Morgan stands Gavin up. Carl says Rick brought everyone in and they lived together. He says he did it so he could become what he was now. "It's alright. It still is. You can be like that again." Ezekiel doesn't want Gavin dead. Rick says he can't be who he was. Carl says killing them all won't happen. Carol tells Morgan he doesn't want to kill him, but Morgan says he has to. As he does to kill him, a hole appears in Gavin's throat. When he drops, Henry is seen. "I know you can't see it yet, how could we? But, I have. You have a beard; it's bigger. Greyer. Michonne's happy, Judith's happy. She's older, listening to songs that I used to. Before. Alexandria is bigger, new houses, crops, people working, everybody living to help everybody else live. If you can still be who you were, that's how it could be." Carl explains. Rick tells him "Carl; it was all for you. Right from the beginning. Back in Atlanta, the farm. Everything I did was for you. Then, at the prison, it was for you and Judith. It still is. It's going to be. Nothing, nothing is gonna change that." He tells Rick that he wants it for him and Rick promises to Carl that he's going to make it real. Carl and Michonne exchange a glance.

After the final commercial break ends, Ezekiel tells Henry that it's okay. Carol gets on him. Ezekiel de-escalates the situation. Rick apologizes for not protecting him. After all, it's a father's job. "Love, it's just love," Carl says. He deploys his gun. He wants to go out on his own terms while he still can. Rick doesn't want him to, but he succumbs to it. Carl and a wet-eyed Michonne say their final "I love you's" as well as Carl and Rick. Rick repeats "I'll make it real." In the next scene, Rick and Michonne are standing g outside of the church for a moment when a single gunshot is heard. Their heads are hung. They bury Carl in the Alexandria graveyard. Judith is seen walking up to a man gardening tomatoes. Wait, Negan?!? They're all pleased to see one another. Then, Rick is seen sitting up against a tree staring at the stained glass. He has a bloody hand.

My God was this a compelling and sorrowful episode. I am utterly shocked by everything that went down. Were you surprised to find out everything that happened? Did you expect everything? What do you think will happen next? How will this affect the show as a whole? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, be safe everyone.

Rest In Peace, Carl Grimes. Chandler Riggs, you will miss.

Editor: Joeleen Gatlin

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