#PLEASE DO NOT TAKE UP YOUR PITCHFORKS FOR AT LEAST A COUPLE MORE DAYS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

words-writ-in-starlight · 3 years

Text

day 4: "do you trust me?"

(part one)

There are logistics to consider, when it comes to publicly executing a wizard. It’s a show of assurance from the Dynasty, to have him killed under the eyes of all Rosohna, to prove their strength, but also a risk. It looks unprofessional for a captured traitor to make a last stand within feet of the axe, even if all he achieves is going out in a blaze of glory rather than a quick drop of steel.

Steps have been taken to avoid this eventuality. Essek’s hands are shackled behind his back, forced into gloves with steel wires running through the fingers and palms to prevent even the smallest gesture. Between the cloth between his teeth and the metal muzzle holding his jaw tightly closed, he’s no closer to speaking a spell than he is to walking on the sun. Every fiber of his plain prisoner’s shirt and pants has been searched, twice, to ensure that he has nothing on him that might conceivably be used for casting.

Essek has seen this before, although rarely. It was not a surprise, when the appointed day arrived and his guards brought the restraints. Yet it feels unreal, as everything since his trial has felt unreal. As everything since Jester’s message has felt unreal. A dream, unspooling before him, outside his control.

There is a kind of ease to it, that Essek has never experienced before. There is nothing left for him to do. He made his attempt to run, and he failed. He said his words of defense at his trial, and they were not enough. And now, they will use the same techniques that he helped to perfect to drag him to the block and kill him for his treason, his callous disregard for all the lives lost in the war. All neat and tidy, and all he has to do is let the current carry him forward to the inevitable end.

He tells himself, as the gloves are locked onto his hands, that this is one of the better possible outcomes, and he even believes it. His friends, his family—they are not here. Jester has done as she agreed, giving him time to resolve the situation, and hasn’t messaged him since his trial. The Nein are well outside the possible radius of destruction that Essek has caused, in his arrogance and carelessness. He knows his actions will reflect poorly on Den Thelyss, but he hopes that Verin might escape with a mere demotion, as unscathed as anyone could hope to be, protected by Essek’s full, willing confession.

It’s worth it, to pay for their lives with his own.

Essek believes this. He believes it with his whole heart.

The gloves keep his hands from shaking.

Two guards, a goliath with her arms tattooed so densely she looks scaled and a burly half-orc with skin nearly as grey as the stone walls, haul him to his feet in his cell and push him forward. They hold him up by main force when he stumbles and he would otherwise take a head-first fall into the stone. Nonetheless, his pride prickles and burns when the half-orc yanks him upright after his latest near-fall, grip hard on the collar of Essek’s shirt, and snorts a laugh.

“Can’t believe he’s the fucking traitor,” the half-orc says over Essek’s head, drawling the words in a tone full of vindictive amusement that Essek has become regrettably familiar with, lately. “Fucker can’t even walk in a straight line. Can you, Shadowhand?” He gives Essek a sharp cuff on the shoulder to punctuate the insult, and it’s only because Essek has a sense of how this goes by now that he manages to anticipate the blow and stay on his feet.

The goliath laughs, a rolling rumble of thunder as she checks Essek hard with her hip, sending Essek into the corner of the next corridor hard enough that he’d have a bruise, if he lived long enough for it to show up.

“You’re telling me,” the goliath says. “Goddamn, wizards are useless once you get ‘em quiet, huh? Up this way next, what is this, your first time down here?”

“You’ve got to do a pretty good job, but yeah, pretty much just decorative once you shut ‘em up.” The half-orc grabs the cuff holding Essek’s hands together and tugs to indicate the next corridor, ignoring the way it forces Essek up onto his toes against the pain in his shoulders. “I just got in from Jigow,” he continues, as if Essek isn’t even there. “Y’know how it is, they were looking to cover y’all’s staffing problems since this bastard’s confession did a real number on things. Anywhere good to get a drink around here?”

“Thought you looked new,” the goliath said. “You trying to get lucky, new guy?”

“Hey, miss every shot you don’t take,” the half-orc said, sly, angling a glance up at her. “How’s my progress?”

“Depends on how much you spend on those drinks. Hold him, I’ll get the gate.”

The half-orc’s hands close firmly around the tops of Essek’s arms, holding him in place as the goliath strides ahead. In front of her—in front of Essek—is the great gate to the courtyard, and beyond it he can hear the roar of a crowd, bloodthirsty and victorious.

He can picture it. He’s put people here himself, attended executions for treason. The flagstones, smooth and dark beneath the crowd of witnesses. The stone dias with the Bright Queen’s throne, the chairs beside her for close advisors and other nobility. His mother might have been there, if he hadn’t so recently destroyed the reputation of Den Thelyss. And at the center, where all could see, the stairs, and the platform, and the block, and the axe.

The goliath is at the door, and the lock clatters, metal-on-metal.

Under cover of the noise, the half-orc lowers his head and speaks into Essek’s ear, no longer the careless drawl, but quick, clipped words in a familiar accent.

“I don’t have time to explain,” the half-orc murmurs in Fjord’s voice, so quiet that Essek would think it was a hallucination if he couldn’t feel the air move against his skin. “We have a plan. Do you trust me?”

Essek’s first response isn’t relief. It’s not even shock. It is pure, undiluted, blazing rage, that, after all this, these fucking morons are here. It hits him so hard that his skin burns with it, his vision spotting black at the edges, lips twisting against his gag. All at once, for the first time in a week, Essek is awake, jarred back to the present by the fury pounding through his veins. He can feel the air rushing into his throat, the hammering of his heart against his ribs, every fiber of his coarse prisoner’s clothing and every imperfection of the stone under his bare feet.

Fortunately, Essek has been a traitor in the heart of the Dynasty for too long to let it slow him down, and he nods, once, minutely.

“Okay,” Fjord breathes. “She’s going to open that door. When I yell, make a run for it.”

Once upon a time, Essek would have spent valuable time thinking about how astronomically terrible that plan is, but prolonged exposure to the Mighty Nein teaches a person to accept the reality of a plan being terrible right away and move on to thinking about managing the terrible plan quickly. And—

Even if it was the worst conceivable plan, even if it was—well, make a run for it, when there’s a sword-wielding goliath between him and the outside, which is entirely populated by guards, magic users, and a crowd that wants him dead—even then, Essek can’t imagine turning down the offer. It’s not exactly a port in a storm, but it’s something.

Essek is twenty paces from his own death, and even if this plan just ends with him having a friend at his side while he dies, it’s already better than dying alone. He never claimed to have entirely cured himself of selfishness.

And besides, Essek reassures himself as the goliath shoulders open the door. If this gets Fjord killed too, Essek will just have to find a way to drag himself back from death and throttle the entire Nein on principle. Stranger things have happened.

The door creaks open, and Fjord’s hands loosen, just slightly, and Essek runs.

“Fucker!” Fjord roars behind him, sounding breathless—pained? It buys Essek a bare moment to close the distance to the gate, and then dart around the goliath’s side as she starts to turn. “He’s using magic! Stop him!”

The goliath snarls, and Essek puts on a reckless burst of speed. Her hand shoots out and grabs his shirt, but Essek is moving too quickly. The fabric cuts into him as it rips, and then he’s stumbling into the courtyard.

He doesn’t get any further. His luck doesn’t hold up to a second blow from the goliath, and she slams a fist into his chest so hard he hears ribs crack. He’s shoved backward, toward the door, with a helpless, strangled shout of pain that draws every eye.

He’s caught from behind, a fist in his tangled white hair, and he hears a whisper of “Trust me.”

And then Fjord’s hand, unremarkable guard’s sword in his grip, comes down, and cuts Essek’s throat.

#whumptober 2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#critical role #mighty nein #fic #essek thelyss #major character death #SPEAKING OF WHICH #THERE'S A THIRD SECTION COMING UP #PLEASE DO NOT TAKE UP YOUR PITCHFORKS FOR AT LEAST A COUPLE MORE DAYS #THANK YOU FOR NOT MURDERING THIS HUMBLE AUTHOR #this takes place broadly post-canon but otherwise i have done exactly zero Thinking about it

252 notes · View notes

cakejots · 3 years

Text

this is us trying, Chapter 7 - The Aid

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

21. Roommates

The journey to Marinette’s house was a short one, it was no wonder she appeared so quickly earlier on. They went past the Dupain-Cheng Bakery and within a minute, they landed on her balcony.

Lady Rouge? Rena Bug? Rena bug sounded more consistent with her other unifications but he still didn’t know. Marinette slid open her balcony door and stepped in, but Chat didn’t follow. When she realised he had yet to come in, she went to the balcony door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure?” He glimpsed at her. “I don’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I’m not okay with it,” she rolled her eyes. “And don’t worry, you’re not imposing at all!”

Chat still stood rooted at the balcony.

“You… We can treat it as though we’re roommates?” She tried. “You can sleep on the bed while I sleep on the mattress.”

“Actually, I should sleep on the mattress and you on the bed. I don’t want to intrude on the place where you need your beauty sleep.”

She sighed. “If I agree to that, will you come in?”

He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll sleep in my bed.”

Once he entered, they de-transformed, and Marinette’s stomach growled.

Her arms flew to her abdomen and her cheeks turned pink. “Aha, I haven’t had breakfast…”

“Let me make it for you!” Adrien jumped on the chance.

“Adrien, all I have to do is to spread the butter and jam on the bread,” she chuckled.

“I know. But please,” he activated his kitten eyes, “that’s the least I can do for you.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Alright, alright.”

He beamed. “And for your drink?”

“Tea, please.”

“Coming right up!” He started to move, but stopped soon after. “Uhh, I might need you to show me the way to everything.”

Marinette laughed. Such a dork.

After they had fun making their breakfast together and feeding each other, Marinette went into her room to get something while Adrien stayed in the living room to browse his public social account. He understood that he couldn’t run from the scandal for long. He needed to know what the public was saying so that he could come up with a suitable statement to address it.

“Chaton, you need some time off from that.” He jumped when her voice appeared so suddenly beside his ear as she planted herself next to him. “So put that away and join me!”

“What are you doing?”

“Designing!” She held up her sketchbook. “What do you think?”

Adrien took the sketchbook from her and focused on the sketch she had drawn. It was a long and elegant A-Line dress with lace-patterned sleek long sleeves.

He smiled teasingly. “Is my lady aspiring to be a fashion designer?”

She nodded, anticipation for his opinion clear in her eyes.

“It’s really classy!” He raised an eyebrow, then wiggled both. “Are you making this for a future date with me?”

She flushed. “I-I know you have something to comment about the dress, tell me!”

He laughed. “Well, it’s perfect the way it is. But since you asked, you can always go sleeveless as well.”

Her eyes sparkled at his comment, a smirk growing on her lips. She flipped a page on the sketchbook still in his hands to show the same dress. But this time, the sleeves are gone, exactly what he had suggested just moments ago.

Adrien’s smile faltered for a second before coming back wider and prouder. “You sure you’re not a fashion designer yet?”

She scratched the back of her head. “I really wanted to intern at Gabriel…”

“Oh.”

“But no worries!” She clapped her hands to disperse the gloomy atmosphere. “Having the model of a fashion powerhouse compliment my designs? It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“With skills like these, it won’t be long until someone picks you.” He held her hand and rubbed his thumb on the back of it. “Do you have a portfolio? Can you show them to me?”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed. “Can my day get any better?”

They spent the rest of the day admiring her impressive collection of designs.

The yawn that came from Marinette halted whatever they were doing.

“S-Sorry,” she covered her mouth, cheeks reddened. “I woke up earlier than usual today, so I think I’m turning in right now. D-Do you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiled.

She stood to get the mattress but Adrien held her arm. “Actually, is… is it okay if w-we sleep together on your bed?”

Her eyes shone and she squatted down to his level to booped his nose. “Of course, mon Chaton.” She grabbed his hands and led him to the toilet before going to her room.

She jumped into her bed and moved in to give him space. Marinette looked at him expectantly as he stopped at her door. She raised her arms to entice him into her embrace, and it worked. Adrien walked towards her bed and snaked his arms around her waist as he got on, pulling her body flush against his.

“Ahhh,” she melted into him. “Your heat is very welcome right now”

“Did you invite me just to be your personal heater?”

“Maaaybe,” she smirked.

He pulled away and gaped at her, mock-offended. “How dare you.”

She cackled and chased after his heat. “Adrieeen! Don’t do this to meee, come back here!”

Marinette managed to pull him back, her arms caged his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, effectively trapping him.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, arms encircling her once again and he kissed her nose. “Goodnight, Marinette.”

Her cheeks burn at the sweet gesture. “Goodnight, Adrien.”

22. Heal

Adrien awoke from his slumber, alarmed that he’s in an unfamiliar room, until he recalled that he was staying over at Marinette’s. He checked his side, and there she was still sleeping as soundly as he remembered just a few days prior.

Marinette wasn’t clinging onto him as tightly as she was last night, but she’s still snuggled up in his personal space. He doesn’t mind that all at, he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her towards him. Her hand and leg were draped lazily across his waist and leg, and her head was on his chest, rising and falling in accordance to his breathing.

It wasn’t a dream.

She’s by his side.

And he still has the scandal to deal with.

Adrien ran his hand down his face to wipe away any sleepiness before he grabbed his phone from the shelves above him, and concluded Marinette is a pretty heavy sleeper. He shifted quite a bit searching for his phone but she didn’t stir at all. After finding a comfortable position, he went online and browsed through.

There’s the side that’s all rainbowy, sparkles, and flowers. The side that supports his decisions, saying how adorable they are as a couple and calls for the media and harassers to stop their digging and let him be happy.

And then there’s the mob and haters, holding their pitchforks and axes and spreading false rumours, negativity, and hate about their relationship. Demanding them to break up, else they’d boycott him.

He has been in the eyes of the media all his life, he has learnt how to filter out the noises pretty well. He can’t please everyone. They’re all unique with their own taste and preferences. He understood that much. Which was why he really didn’t care if people boycotted him. If they really supported him, they would’ve wished him happiness.

What he really couldn’t stand were the nasty remarks they'd made of Marinette. He knew it was going to come, but to read about them with his own eyes made his blood boil.

How dare they call her these abhorrent names. They are just vomiting words that didn’t describe Marinette at all. Golddigger? Slut? Whore? He was so disgusted that people could scope to that level. She’s the sweetest person he’s ever met and was pretty sure no one could come close to her level. She’s Ladybug! Protector of Paris and people love her. And as soon as she shows up in a different form, she gets hated on? He was never one to be bothered by haters’ opinions, but they are directed at Marinette, the love of his life. He can’t let this slide! This shouldn’t even be happening. Why are humans so ugly? What—

“Adrien?”

Her groggy voice snapped him out of his onslaught of the haters, and he directed his attention to her on his chest.

Those blue eyes were staring at him so intently, and it made him self-conscious. But it also made him finally realise that his heart rate was accelerating and he was inhaling quick and shallow breaths. He was also gripping her shoulder stiffly.

He released his hold immediately.

Shit. Were those what disturbed her beauty sleep?

“Good morning, my lady!” He tried his best to sound as cheery as possible, to hide the fact that he was doing something she had disapproved of earlier on.

“What are you checking on your phone?” Fuck.

“Uhh—”

He wasn’t able to explain because Marinette had pushed herself from his chest to stop beside his head to have a better look.

Adrien could hear his own pulse in his head, and it was amplified by the silence that nestled itself within the room. She must be furious.

“Adrien,” her voice sounded deafening. “I would prefer it if you step back from social media and heal from what you experienced just yesterday.” She frowned and turned towards him. “Is there a reason why you refuse to stop browsing it?”

He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Adrien didn’t know why he was so afraid of Marinette finding out, maybe he was scared of disappointing her, but her reactions showed that he has nothing to worry about. He supposed he did owe her an explanation for it.

“I… I hoped to get a general understanding of the public’s view on the matter,” his hand reached for hers and his thumb shyly caressed the back of her hand. “So that the statement that I eventually have to release can address them accordingly.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she still didn’t like the idea though. “But could you take more time off first? Or at least, we view them together?”

As much as Adrien admires Marinette’s commitment to solving issues, he truly didn’t want her to be reading those revolting comments about herself. “You really don’t want to see how distasteful they can be.”

“Haters gonna hate,” she shrugged. “I’ve dealt with that in school before. Besides, I don’t believe in liars. ”

Adrien’s eyes widened like saucers. “There were people who hated you?”

“Of course. I’m pretty sure they still do. I know I can’t please everyone,” she petted his head. “So don’t worry your pretty head about how I’ll take them. It’s us against the world, remember?”

“As always.” He smiled teasingly and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her cheek. “And you think I’m pretty.”

“Hush.”

23. Guilt

It’s been a few days since Adrien arrived at her home.

A few days since he had a taste of the potential life he might have with Marinette in the future.

A few days since pictures of them were invasively taken on the night of their reveal and sold to the biggest gossip magazine in Paris.

Adrien still has yet to do anything to address the issue. He had taken Marinette’s wishes to heart and took time off of social media to properly rejuvenate from the traumatic experience he went through in the Agreste mansion. She was right, he himself went through the intense rage he didn’t know he was capable of after reading about the offensive things some members of the public had said about her.

Marinette’s presence was very warm and welcoming. She had made the healing process much faster than if he had been dealing with it all alone.

But it still didn’t ease the guilt that has been eating at him ever since. Adrien knew he had to deal with the media when Shadowmoth’s identity became public knowledge. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t want the reveal to happen right after the final battle. He didn’t want his lady to be caught up in the mess. And to think that all her waiting had been for naught just because he slipped up on the night of their reveal.

He felt like utter shit.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

She was taken aback by the sudden apology. They were currently snuggling on her sofa, Marinette toying with his hair and Adrien lying on top of her chest, arms around her waist, listening to her heartbeat and enjoying the sensation her fingers brought. Nothing about the current situation they were in warranted a need for an apology from his end.

“Adrien, what do you mean?”

He looked at her. “I know how much you value your privacy. I practically put your face out for the world to see.”

Marinette frowned at this. “No, no you didn’t. Why would you say that? You took extra precautions for us to meet up, remember? Who walks in empty parks at 3 am in the morning? Literally no one! So—“

“But think about it, Marinette,” he cut her. “If I didn’t insist on walking you home in our civilian forms, if I had just chosen another date for the reve—”

“Are you saying you regret the way the reveal went?”

“No!” Adrien was flabbergasted that she even came to that conclusion. “Of course not! I would never! It has brought me so much joy to finally know who you are.”

He squeezed her waist. “But I can’t help but think all this mess could’ve been avoided if only I was more careful.”

When Marinette didn’t reply, he took it as she was waiting for him to elaborate further.

“I was so blinded by what I wanted at that moment that I created this mess. I caused you to be in harm's way.” He averted his gaze as tears started to form in his eyes. “The media was one of the reasons why I held off the reveal. I didn’t want the media’s eyes on you. And now, all the time you’ve spent patiently waiting for the reveal has been for nothing, all because of what I did. I was so selfish in my approach. I’m so sorry.”

Marinette held his face in her hands and wiped away the tears. “But you made it right straight away, didn’t you?”

Adrien snapped back to her. “H-Huh?”

“You asked me to transform and leave the area as soon as you realised something was wrong, didn’t you?” She smiled gently and caressed his cheeks.

He said nothing to reject her deduction. She shouldn’t be giving him those looks when he had ruined her life.

His eyes widened as she planted a kiss on his forehead. “You’re selfish, Adrien. But not in the way you think you are. The fact that you're guilty of your actions makes you aware and sensitive to the ones around you.”

She moved to stroke his hair. “You’re empathetic towards others, that’s far from being selfish.”

Her actions were so simple. Yet, her eyes, voice, and touch all soothed him to no end.

Marinette held his cheeks again and pressed her lips to his nose. “Have you actually forgotten that you’re Chat Noir, Protector of Paris? You're the reason why Paris is safe now.”

She pecked his left cheek. “It's not selfish to want something you desire, when giving is all you’ve been doing all this while.”

And then the other. “So Adrien, you don’t need to apologise for exposing me to the media. I don’t blame you for that. At all. Because you’ve done nothing wrong. But I do hope you forgive yourself for being selfish.”

He leaned towards her hand and rubbed his face against them. Her assurance means everything to him.

Marinette regarded him, and added one last sentence to solidify her speech. “I would say I’m selfish too, I refused to let you go when you clearly needed some time and space to yourself.”

“You're not selfish, my lady” he immediately jumped to deny any allegations she made against herself. “Your presence really helped me.”

“Then apply these to yourself too, Chaton. You being selfish made me really happy,” she flashed a pleasant and tender smile to him. Her hand travelled into his hair again and played with them. “I finally got to know who the love of my life is. It's what I’ve wanted for 6 years. So your selfishness has made me really blissful. I think I would’ve been more offended if you weren’t selfish,” she giggled.

Adrien was about to melt into a puddle of goo if she continued throwing those looks at him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, hoping to convey his gratitude through his eyes and gesture. “I was heading towards a negative headspace, and I apologise for that. Thanks for pulling me back.”

She smiled, and he knew that it had. “I forgive you, and you're welcome. Treat yourself nicer, Adrien. It's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Adrien lifted himself off of her and moved to rub his nose on hers admiringly before his lips landed on hers, pouring all of his love and adoration for her into that kiss.

#ladynoirjuly2021 #ladynoirjuly #ladynoir #mesfics #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mlb fanfic #chat noir #ladybug #alternate universe #light angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #this is us trying

14 notes · View notes

allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

Series Masterlist

His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man.

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide.

So he ran.

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower.

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over.

"Get in!"

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?"

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom.

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night.

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least."

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago.

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually.

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony.

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Pete! Six!"

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes.

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director"

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?"

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house"

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too.

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him.

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!"

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?"

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers.

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could.

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's"

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you.

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning.

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze.

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened.

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat.

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder.

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before.

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl.

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics.

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?"

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader fanfic #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tom.holland x reader fanfic #tom holland imagine

1K notes · View notes

chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Five Times Nandor Tried and Failed to Make a New Vampire, and One Time He Succeeded - Guillermo x Nandor fic (one-shot)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Journey into Nandor’s past and discover the real reason he’s been so hesitant to turn Guillermo all these years...

A/N: I hope you enjoy this small offering!! If you like and comment that would make me a very happy little writer creature.

Warnings: Crack, Fluff, Smut, mentions of concubines in Nandor’s human past, Blood drinking...obviously

---

“Truth be told, I’m not feeling my usual plucky, intrepid self.”

Nandor bares his fangs in a nervous smile. He’s sitting stiffly on the chaise in his crypt, fiddling with his rings as the documentary people question him about tonight’s...big event.

The vampire lifts his eyes to the ceiling and exhales before continuing, “It’s just--and I don’t like talking about this, but Guillermo says I need to work on expressing my...feelings--it’s just that in the past I might not always have been... entirely successful in making new vampires.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence during which Nandor casually picks at some lint on his sleeve.

“I mean, there was my nineteenth wife…”

---

Andrakis

Nandor languished in the empty halls of his palace for a week after his thirty-seven wives left. But at a certain point there comes a time to stop moping and start acting. Plus he’d eaten all of the servants and he was a little alarmed by the crowd of peasants outside armed with pitchforks and torches.

So, his new vampiric form was a little problematic. He was now homeless, wifeless and--worst of all--horseless. Driven from his land, Nandor was forced to take refuge from the lethal light of day in whatever haphazard way he could. He snuck into wine cellars. He broke into catacombs. And, most shamefully, he even buried himself in the earth when no other shelter was available. But at least his new state gave him the means to solve one of his problems.

There was no reason that Nandor should have to walk the night alone. He thought he remembered enough of what transpired on the battlefield to be able to turn someone else into a vampire. And as soon as the thought occurred to him he knew there was only one person with whom he wished to share this cursed gift.

Andrakis . His favorite wife. She was sweet and young, with a magnificent ample backside that Nandor loved to squeeze and slap. She had not yet bore him any children but perhaps that was for the best. No messy loose ends for her to leave behind. He knew she would agree for she, alone among his wives, had wept sorrowfully as they rode away.

Nandor used his new vampiric senses to find her. It took months, but eventually he tracked her back to her family home along the Euphrates. He walked through lands scorched and ruined by his own army and he thought about the first time he laid eyes on Andrakis. As he recalled, the town was on fire and his men were pillaging the wealthy houses for gold and jewels. They were also rounding up the attractive, young citizens for...reasons. Nandor took one look at his sweet Andrakis and said, “No! That one is for me and me only!”

So romantic.

He could have kept her as his concubine, but Nandor was infatuated with her sweet, soft spoken ways and her delicious round thighs. He gave her jewels and furs and when he finally returned from the campaign he made her one of his wives. All Nandor’s wives loved him, of course, because if they didn’t he would have their heads chopped off. But it was different with Andrakis. She seemed to truly care. She fretted when he went into battle, insisting that she be the one to help him don his armor. She cried real tears and begged him to be safe and return to her. It really moved him. Also, again, she had a fantastic ass.

The night he, at last, found her, Nandor floated up to her window, scratching at the wooden shutters and calling to her softly.

“My sweet Andrakis! It is I, your husband, Nandor the Relentless! I’ve come to assert my claim on you, cherished one! Do you...want to, maybe, come to the window now and let me inside?”

With his heightened abilities, he could hear her soft gasp and the rustle of fabric as she pushed back her bed coverings and slowly approached the window. Nandor heard her heart racing, the thundering gush of blood flowing through her veins and her trembling breath. He opened his mouth and his eyes rolled back with pleasure as he caught the smell of her blood just on the other side of those thin planks of wood.

“Time to open up, sweet one!” Nandor singsonged, placing his hand on the shutter as if he could reach through and grab her.

“Is it really you, my husband?” Her voice was as soft and sweet as he remembered.

“It is really, really me, Andrakis!”

She unlatched the window and Nandor beamed at the sight of her pretty, round face. That may have been a mistake--he kept forgetting about the fangs--the poor woman took a quick step back and brought her hands to her chest in shock.

“Oh, my Nandi! What has happened to you?” her eyes widened and she took a cautious step toward the window, peeking out over the sill, “You are flying, dear one!”

“Isn’t it great?!” Nandor laughed, kicking his legs out merrily and doing a little twirl. “I thought you might want to join me. You know...with the flying and the eternal life and the--ehm--blood drinking.”

She started to shake her head before he even finished and Nandor’s smile faltered. He rushed back to the window sill and placed his hands there, just on the outside edge of the invisible barrier protecting the home’s occupants.

“Andrakis...I am so lonely. And...and there is no one to help me with my armor or give me a massage when my head hurts. I think you liked being my wife, didn’t you?”

The woman’s eyes flood with tears and she comes even closer, leaning onto the window sill and reaching out a shaking hand to press against his bearded cheek.

“I love you, Nandi! And I am honored to be your wife, always. I will not take another husband, but… Nandor, I am frightened!”

“My honey,” Nandor crooned, laying his forehead against hers as she leaned out the window, “There is nothing to fear. I will protect you forever if you will stay by side.”

---

“...and then I ate her.”

Nandor held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders, “What are you going to do? These things happen, right? No! I was very upset about it for the next eighty years or so. She trusted me to take care of her and I fucking ate her!”

Nandor stares into space for a long moment. He’s had eight centuries to get over the loss of his favorite wife so it’s not grief that shows on his pinched face. It looks more like apprehension and self-doubt. The crew asks a muffled question and he starts as if they’ve woken him from a daydream.

“No...no I do not think I would ever recover if I were to lose control with my Guillermo,” his hands clench into fists on his knees. “I will not lose control.”

There’s more silence and one of the crew members suggests cutting the interview when Nandor continues as if he hasn’t heard them, “Guillermo is strong. He’s a cool, vampire killer guy now. He will be alright. He...he has to be alright.”

---

“Nadja?” Nandor stands at the threshold to her and Laszlo’s crypt, anxiously plucking his fingers in the air. “May I speak with you about something in private? In the fancy room?”

Nadja is braiding her dolly’s hair. There’s something really creepy about that thing that Nandor can’t quite put his finger on. Like it’s always watching him. Yeesh . Nadja rolls her eyes and snaps, “Can’t we talk in here? I’m going to tell Laszlo whatever pig-brained scheme you’re wanting to talk about anyway…”

Nandor glances at Laszlo, hunched over and diddling the keys of his organ with a shit-eating grin, “That’s true, old chap. There are no secrets between me and my sweet mamtam…”

Laszlo winks smarmily and Nandor rolls his eyes, “Please, Nadja! It is just a formality!”

She shrieks in aggravation, accidentally yanking the doll’s hair and then cooing apologetically at the thing. Nandor grimaces uncomfortably.

“Fine, you stupid ostrich. But this better be quick!”

Once he’s properly secured the curtain and made sure to check for eavesdroppers, Nandor lays it out for Nadja. He speaks haltingly and without meeting her eyes.

“So...you see, now that Guillermo and I are...are...more than master and familiar, I am wanting to make him a vampire. But you may have noticed that my past attempts in this area have been a little shaky…”

“Shaky! I think you mean totally fucked up the rotten asshole! Don’t forget you told me all about Babsy the Brainscrambled!”

---

Babaius

Babaius was a little guy he met a couple hundred years after the whole thing with Andrakis. He was a Wallachian painter’s apprentice and he had agreed to do a gratis portrait of Nandor for the practice. The portrait was flat and middling, but what did you want? It was the 16th century and the cool Renaissance shit hadn’t exactly reached the backwoods of Eastern Europe quite yet. More important was the fact that this cute painter guy had managed to ingratiate himself with the apex predator he had unwittingly invited into his home.

Originally, Nandor’s plan was to kill him once the portrait was complete. But the longer he sat there, staring back at the man as he worked with that cute little half-smirk on his face, the longer Nandor had to appreciate his form. Babaius was not as curvy and sensuous as Andrakis. He was taller and leaner. But his lips were pleasantly plump and his fingers long and elegant. Again, Nandor felt the weight of eternal loneliness and he began to wonder.

This time he made sure to feed beforehand. When he arrived at the human’s rooms he found him looking more excited than Nandor had ever seen him.

“It’s complete!” he gushed, grabbing Nandor’s hand and pulling him over to the easel. “Come see!”

Nandor stared at the clumsy, dour-faced rendering of himself and smiled politely. Is this really what I look like? Why is my head so small?

He felt the weight of Babaius’s hopeful eyes on him and schooled his voice into false praise, “Wow! It’s...so...wow! You sure used a lot of...orange on my face, didn’t you? Bold choice…”

“I’m so pleased that you like it, Nandor,” the human’s voice was slightly breathless and he looked up through his lashes coquettishly. Ah ha!

“Yes, well, now that that’s done…” Nandor swept Babaius’s long hair off his shoulder and plucked at the collar of his thin shirt. “Perhaps we could discuss other things…”

“ Oh, yes! ” Babaius trilled, launching himself into Nandor’s arms and frantically dropping kisses on his neck, chin and jaw. “I thought ...but I wasn’t certain… but yes, Nandor! Yes!”

Nandor wrapped his arms around the man’s back and laughed a little at just how easy this was going to be. No mistakes this time. He was completely and totally in control.

---

“Alright, Najda! I get it! I know you have to give them more than just one drop of blood now, okay?”

Nadja nods somberly, “That poor man. Could not even remember his own name after you turned him. What happened to him again?”

“I ripped off his head,” Nandor snaps, sinking into the couch cushions in a sulk. “It was the humane thing to do.”

Nadja squints her eyes trying to remember something, “But wasn’t there someone else after…?”

Nandor’s lips thin into a narrow line and he crosses his arms over his chest with a huff of annoyance, “I suppose you mean Aggy the Shrieker?”

---

Agnes

Agnes was something called a Quaker, which meant that she did not go about wearing a crucifix. She was also highly susceptible to hypnosis. Nandor didn’t think this had anything to do with her Quaking, it was just a nice bonus. She’d served him well for a number of years, procuring a very fine assortment of virgins for him night after night. The good lady was entirely ignorant to the fact that it was she who drew these young innocents to their doom. Nandor erased her memories each time before sending her away. She would hem and cluck along with the other Friends when news of a disappearance reached her ears.

After a few decades, Nandor noticed that her face was starting to turn wrinkly and her movements were not as swift as they once were. The prospect of finding another familiar with a brain as soft and accepting as Agnes’s was a wearying thought. Enough so that he considered, once again, trying his hand at creating a new vampire.

This time it was a sure thing. Agnes appeared at his doorstep that night, like always. At her side was a fresh-faced boy whose blood positively shouted his innocence. Delicious . Nandor would feed first. Then he would just do a quick refresher of Agnes’s hypnosis so that the poor lady did not have a fright once she saw Nandor’s blood stained face. And then a quick nip and plenty of blood. Voila! A new wrinkly-faced vampire baby is born.

The plan was faultless.

---

“And no hypnosis! Alright. Seems nit-picky, but fine!” Nandor grumbles. He seems suddenly to remember that Nadja is helping him and his voice softens, “ Please, Nadja . No more walking on memory street. Just tell me what to do so that I do not hurt Guillermo. I cannot stand the thought of him becoming a shrieker .”

“Nandor, you beautiful giant baby,” Nadja’s face gentles into genuine sympathy. “I’m going to tell you just what to do. Even you won’t be able to mess this up.”

And she does. She tells him how to listen to his human’s heart and count the seconds in between beats, waiting until just the right moment to finish drinking. She advises him to prepare his blood ahead of time, decanting it into a vial or mug. He should not count on Guillermo being conscious enough to suckle from his wrist as he’d originally intended. Pour the blood down his throat if he has to. Once he drinks the blood the transition will begin, but Nandor’s work is not done. He must procure for his new vampire the most succulent of virgin feasts. He must care for him during the sickness. He must watch over him and make sure that the baby vampire does not do anything silly like run out into the sunlight or drink a gallon of holy water.

“You must be resolved and sure in your actions!” Nadja finally says, casting a skeptical glance at the immortal warrior. “You think you can handle all that?”

Nandor sits there looking shell shocked for a moment before twitching his mouth into a forced smile and holding up two thumbs.

“OK-A!”

---

On his way back to his crypt Nandor glances into the camera and leans in conspiratorially.

“She does not even know about Roger the Rocker or Benjy…” he whispers, his lips folding into an embarrassed frown.

---

Roger

During the 1970s Nandor went through a brief but intense love affair with punk rock. Disco would soon supplant the vampire’s fixation on studded leather and the Sex Pistols, but for a few fleeting years he was, truly, insufferable.

“ Fucking goats’ balls ! Nandor! We are trying to have a blood feast in here! Will you turn off that unholy screeching!?” Nadja shouted, blood dripping down her chin as she drew back from the pathetically mewling woman sandwiched between herself and her husband.

Laszlo reared back with a lecherous grin on his bloody lips, “Did I hear you mention something about unholy screeching, my sweet dimplebottom?”

“ Oh, Laszlo! ” Nadja giggled, leaning over the dying victim to latch onto her lover’s mouth.

Nandor slammed the door to his crypt and rolled his eyes, “Don’t mind them, Roger. They’re just a couple of sell-out perverts who don’t understand ay-narchy and non-conformationism.”

Roger was a young human man with spiked green hair and a studded leather vest. He was the coolest familiar Nandor had ever had. He was also an alcoholic and a heavy drug user and half the time he didn’t even do what Nandor asked of him. But once he explained about “the man” and toppling “the system”...well, Nandor still didn’t get it but he was impressed! He felt that Roger would bring a certain rebellious youth to their cohort that might give them a cutting edge in these modern times.

The problem was that Nandor had never tried drug blood before. It didn’t hit him until Roger was half-drained but then the world spun off its axis. Nandor ripped his face away from Roger’s savaged neck, stumbling backward and falling down hard on his ass. The vampire exploded into a fit of giggles as the familiar twitched limply on the floor beside him.

“Roger! I am ball tripping!” Nandor laughed, turning his head to look at his friend, “Whoopsie! Almost forgot! Time for a little drinky, Roger…”

Nandor tore into his own wrist, ripping a jagged wound open with his fangs and smearing the gore over Roger’s lips and chin.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Nandor cackled, falling back down and letting his wrist fall limp against the human’s mouth. He started singing softly under his breath, “Ayyyynarchy and the U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”

In the end Nandor was so high he went to his slumber completely forgetting about the moaning, half-turned man on the floor of his crypt. He woke the next night to find Roger wandering around the front lawn, sun-burned and hideously deformed. He also had no memory of who Nandor was or anything at all about his human life.

Nandor wouldn’t see him again until decades later when he caught the skeevy creep trying to take a bite out of Guillermo at the Sassy Cat Club. Nandor was so spooked to see the evidence of his past failure standing next to his most cherished human companion that he...perhaps handled the incident in a less-than-totally-gallant manner.

---

Benjy

Benjy...to be honest, Nandor isn’t entirely sure what came of the old clunker. He turned him and dumped him. Maybe not his finest moment but...Nandor had other things on his mind at the time…

---

Guillermo

The moment that Guillermo flew to their rescue at the Nouveau Théâtre des Vampires, Nandor felt something shift inside his chest. It was an actual physical sensation like a key turning in a lock. How many years had he spent building moats, walls and fortresses between himself and his handsome, caring, devoted, achingly good familiar in order to protect his sweet innocence from the poison that was Nandor the Relentless? And all along he’d been underestimating him! Nandor watched Guillermo twirl, kick, punch and stake his way through a theater full of angry vampires. In the end he stood alone on a mountain of conquered enemies, covered in blood and heaving with the adrenaline of battle.

Nandor had never been more aroused.

He was silent and brooding on the drive home. He sat in the passenger seat and kept flicking his eyes in Guillermo’s direction, hoping to catch his gaze. But his ex-familiar kept his eyes fixed on the road, his face a storm cloud of some scary-looking emotion that Nandor couldn’t name. The vampire felt unease crawl up his spine. Was he planning to leave again as soon as he dropped them off at the house?

Nandor cringed in embarrassment as he watched the look of disappointment cross Guillermo’s features at the sight of the wrecked foyer. Dead bodies littered the floor, candle wax and blood stained every surface. He was overcome with shame and humiliation that they had made such a mess of the home Guillermo had toiled to maintain for eleven years.

Guillermo stood awkwardly in the front doorway, not quite inside and not quite outside, hovering on the threshold of their home. It was their home , wasn’t it? Nandor’s eyes flicked to the sad, dirty mattress in the cupboard beneath the stairs and he silently cursed himself. It’s possible he may not have made this quite a happy home for Guillermo.

“I’ll just...go now…” Guillermo’s voice was soft and uncertain again, as if he hadn’t just committed a bad ass massacre.

“No!” the word strangled from Nandor’s throat and he lurched forward, raising his hand to stop the human. For a split second he was completely unguarded and the raw desperation in his voice and on his face froze Guillermo in his tracks. Then Nandor’s eyes shifted to his fellow vampires, feeling the weight of their stares and he continued in a closer approximation to his usual haughty authority, “I would speak with you a moment. In private.”

Once the door to his crypt clicked shut Nandor rounded on Guillermo, taking him by the shoulders and pressing him into the heavy wooden door. He loomed over the human for a moment, fangs bared, breathing raggedly as he scented him. Guillermo’s intoxicating, virginal aroma was mixed with the tang of his enemies’ blood. The irresistible fragrance threatened to overcome the vampire and he let out a pitiful mewling cry as he pressed even closer. Nandor’s forehead thunked against the door and his body was flush with Guillermo’s. Now he would know . The hard, bulging evidence of Nandor’s arousal was pressed into the human’s soft thigh-- unmistakable . Nandor keened a sob and his body went boneless as he fell to his knees in supplication before the human.

“Guillermo, please!” Nandor sobbed.

Guillermo stood as if paralyzed, staring back at his former master with shocked, wide eyes. Nandor felt broken, like one of those colorful donkeys split open and pouring out his guts. He did not exactly know what it was he wanted. Everything about this moment was highly uncomfortable. For one thing, the floor was very hard and hurty on his knees. For another thing, his erection was straining painfully in his pants. Also, he was realizing for the first time in his long, long life that there existed a person whom Nandor loved more than himself. And he was desperately, mortally afraid that Guillermo would leave him again.

“What is it, master?” Guillermo flinched at the slip up but he pressed on, his eyes burning with earnest intensity. “What do you want?”

Nandor had known the answer to this question for eleven years. He knew it the first time he laid eyes on the sweet, plump mortal working the panini press at Panera Bread. He knew it the first time Guillermo graced him with his smile after Nandor showed him his fangs. He knew it when Guillermo came to live with them, hauling his rolly luggage case up the front steps and shaking with nerves and excitement. He knew it when he spent hours crafting his familiar’s sweet face from glitter. He knew it when Guillermo cried, silently begging Nandor to give him a reason to stay. He’d known it in a thousand different ways for a thousand different reasons and he’d keep knowing it for a thousand years, long after the flicker of Guillermo’s short human life extinguished.

“You,” Nandor’s voice was a broken whisper. “I want you, Guillermo.”

The air expelled from Guillermo’s lungs in a shaky gasp as he fell to his knees as well. He took the vampire’s face in his warm little hands and Nandor had to remind himself that those were hands capable of plunging a wooden stake through his heart. The very thought sent another wave of lust through him.

Guillermo’s lips trembled and his eyes flooded with tears as he spoke, “If you’re just saying that to manipulate me…”

Nandor grabbed Guillermo’s wrists, circling them with his long fingers, keeping him from removing his hands from Nandor’s face.

“No, Guillermo. I--I have not been a good master to you…” Nandor gulped, fighting years of careful control in order to get the words out. “I’ve lied to you many, many times. Made you think that you were just a servant to me. I thought that I was protecting us both. But...really I was hurting you. When you left me I...I…”

Nandor’s voice trailed off and Guillermo allowed it, not wanting to push his fragile vampire too far.

“If we’re going to do this, I need to know. I need to know what exactly you want from me, Nandor. Because I know what I want. I’ve known for eleven... fucking years,” Guillermo’s voice hardens toward the end and Nandor feels himself go weak. His little Guillermo...so forceful and strong!

Suddenly the human was leaning in and brushing his lips over Nandor’s. It was the barest, gentlest hint of a kiss but it felt like a live wire touching his skin. Nandor’s eyes drifted closed and he saw stars as Guillermo pushed his tongue between his lips and plundered his mouth. Oh, why had he forced them to wait so long for this?

Guillermo pulled back, the combination of his blushing cheeks and the splatter of blood along his jaw was a powerful image. Nandor whined, following Guillermo’s movement and pecking kisses to the man’s mouth.

“Nandor, wait! Stop!” There was mirth in Guillermo’s eyes but a fragile uncertainty as well. “I need you to tell me this is what you want. That I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and find you pretending this never happened. Things have to change if we’re...if we’re going to do this.”

Nandor nodded frantically, pawing at his human’s face as unmanly tears spilled from his eyes and rolled into the whiskers of his beard.

“Yes! Please! I want this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re brave and strong and cool and beautiful and I lo--” Nandor’s mouth snapped shut and his dark eyes widened in fear at the words that almost slipped out. But when he took in his human’s guarded yet hopeful expression he growled and forced them out. “I love you, Guillermo.”

Guillermo choked on a sob and his face crumbled rather alarmingly.

“I love you so fucking much you stupid asshole,” he replied.

Nandor scowled, “Hey! There’s no need for all that!”

But before he could work himself up to being truly affronted, Guillermo launched himself at him, knocking Nandor over backwards and attacking his face with his mouth.

“Things are going to change,” Guillermo repeated between open-mouthed kisses along Nandor’s bearded jaw.

“Yes!”

“I’m not gonna dig graves for you anymore or polish your boots!”

“...Alright.”

“And,” Guillermo ripped open the fly of Nandor’s trousers, eliciting a delighted howl from the vampire, “you’re going to make me a vampire.”

---

“So tonight is the night!” Nandor injects false levity into his voice as he strides down the hallway carrying a stack of towels on one arm. The camera shakes as the crew follows behind him.

“I’ve made all of the arrangements! We have a juicy virgin in the cell…”

The camera peaks into a dimly lit closet where a young man is bound and gagged. Across his forehead giant block letters spell out: “DO NOT EAT! GUILLERMO’S VIRGIN FEAST!”

“I’ve decanted plenty of my blood…”

Nandor holds up a mason jar filled with thick, dark crimson liquid as he mounts the stairs.

“I’ve got the towels and Guillermo has a first aid box ready…”

He finally arrives at the door to the big, blue bedroom and turns around to face the camera with an apologetic smile.

“ Vampires only! ” He slams the door in their faces.

Once the door closes behind him Nandor lets out a long breath and his head falls back to hit the wood with a loud thunk. He lets the facade drop for just a second and the cloying anxiety and terror of what he is about to do rises to the surface. Then Guillermo looks up at him from where he’s sitting up on his big new bed and Nandor forces a cheery smile.

“Who’s ready for their unholy transformation?!” he warbles, shaking the jar of blood in his hand.

Guillermo grins, coming over to stand before him in all his warm, soft, human grandeur. Nandor drops his head and plucks at the sleeve of his ex-familiar’s thick, stripy sweater. He hopes that Guillermo will not think himself too cool to wear such garments once he is a vampire. He’s grown to love Guillermo’s simple human clothes.

“Nandor…” Guillermo takes the jar and the towels from him, setting them down on his bureau next to the collection of wooden stakes and crucifixes. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m scared too.”

The vampire lets out a breath and tugs his human into his chest, wrapping him in a fierce, suffocating hug. He lets his cheek rest on top of Guillermo’s dear head. Guillermo clings to the front of Nandor’s long tunic, pressing his face into the rich, embroidered fabric and wetting it with his tears.

“It’ll be okay,” Guillermo comforts Nandor, his voice trembling with emotion. In the short weeks since the incident at the theater and since their relationship took such a sharp turn in the right direction, Guillermo has been shocked and pleasantly surprised to find how dramatically the dynamic between them has changed. Guillermo isn’t just Nandor’s equal now. He’s his touchstone, his protector, and his deeply cherished lover.

“You don’t know that, Guillermo,” Nandor sniffles. “What if I brainscramble you like I did to Ba...Baba...Bambie?”

“Babaius?” Guillermo prompts, pulling back from the embrace enough to lock eyes with the weepy vampire. Nandor has told him his whole sorry history of failures and abominations. It was Guillermo’s idea for Nandor to seek out Nadja’s guidance. And though he’s nervous and frightened about his transition...there is no one else in the world from whom Guillermo would accept this gift. “You won’t scramble my brains, Nandor. I trust you.”

The soft cry that Nandor makes at those words cuts to Guillermo’s soul.

Nandor sniffs and attempts to pull himself back together. He speaks confidently, as if his words are an incantation that will somehow conjure success, “Well, of course you trust me, Guillermo. I’m a very strong, cool vampire. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to make another vampire when a freaky pervert like Nadja is doing it all over the place.”

Guillermo snorts and pulls Nandor in for another quick squeeze before drawing away toward the bed, “Should we…?”

“Yes...oh! Wait!” Nandor grabs the towels off the bureau, hissing when he accidentally grazes a crucifix with his hand. He hurries forward and starts laying them down on top of Guillermo’s thick comforter. “I don’t want your nice, new bed to get ruined.”

Guillermo smiles warmly as he watches his ex-master’s efforts.

“Well...it’s not like I’ll be sleeping on it anymore after tonight…” he murmurs, causing Nandor to think about the shiny new coffin sitting next to his downstairs.

Nandor shrugs, “No...but we might--you know--do other things on the bed still…”

He smooths his hands over the towels and retrieves the jaw of blood, placing it within easy reach on the nightstand before climbing onto the bed and stretching out in an unintentional come-hither pose. Nandor’s soft, long locks fall over his shoulders and his big, dark eyes look up at Guillermo with longing and terror. He pats the spot beside him on the bed.

Guillermo clambors up after him, stretching out at his side and letting his head fall into the mountain of pillows that Nandor had insisted on purchasing for him after their...reconciliation. He smiles shyly and looks up at the vampire, his cheeks turning bright red.

“Is it alright if we...do some of those ‘ other things ’ first?” he asks, dancing his fingers over Nandor’s tunic. “You know...my last time as a h-human?”

The stutter in Guillermo’s voice interrupts Nandor’s contented perusal of his human’s delicious body and he meets the man’s eyes. Guillermo’s cheeks are irresistibly red and his lips are parted slightly with lust. But his eyebrows are all crinkled and there are still some tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Nandor can’t really relate to Guillermo’s fear. When he was turned he was in the middle of dying on the field of battle. He didn’t have a clue what was happening when the strange vampire descended upon him. What would it feel like to go into it knowingly? To place his life in the hands of the one that he loved knowing there was a chance that things might go terribly wrong?

Guillermo is incredibly brave.

“Yes, my Guillermo,” Nandor cries, leaning in and pressing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. “Anything you want.”

They take their time with the kiss, lips and tongues sliding and probing as they clumsily undress each other. By the time they’re both naked the floor of Guillermo’s bedroom is littered with discarded items of clothing and the towels on the bed are askew. Guillermo throws his leg over Nandor’s thick waist and straddles the man, their aching erections rubbing together as he leans down to trail kisses across Nandor’s hairy chest.

Nandor throws his head back in the pillows, his hair tangling as he writhes underneath Guillermo. He will miss the feeling of his human’s impossible warmth. The way his kisses seem to sear a blazing path over Nandor’s cold skin. The way his silky smooth rod pulses with molten heat. The feeling of plunging inside Guillermo’s fiery, grasping tightness. Nandor curses himself, yet again, for not allowing them both to have this sooner.

Guillermo’s hips rise and fall as he strokes himself against Nandor. The air between them grows humid with their breath and the room fills with the sounds of whimpers and moans. Guillermo places a hand on Nandor’s chest for balance and he leans over to his nightstand to grab the small bottle of lube sitting there.

He holds it aloft and says, as if reading Nandor’s mind, “Do you want to feel me one last time before…?”

Nandor’s lips split into a grin and he grabs the tube from his human’s hand, nodding fervently as he drips the liquid onto his fingers. He’s careful and gentle with his Guillermo, mindful of how new this still is for him. He reaches between his delicious thighs and slides his wet fingers around until he finds what he’s looking for, pressing gently and then more firmly as Guillermo opens up for him.

Guillermo’s breath escapes him and he presses down on Nandor’s fingers with a wanton cry, riding him needily. Once he’s ready, Nandor pours out more liquid, slicking his cock and grasping Guillermo’s hips to move him into position.

“Are you ready, Guillermo?” he asks and the words take on an added meaning with the knowledge of what’s to come hovering in the air between them.

Guillermo senses Nandor’s seriousness in the moment and he meets his eyes, smiling softly before replying, “Yes, Nandor. I’m ready. Really .”

The sex is a revelation and a comfort. Falling into Guillermo is like coming home. It’s like finally finding the place he was always meant to be. Even 700 years ago when Nandor was a ruler in his prime, he never felt this level of peace and belonging. He watches his beautiful, strong, brave human fall apart on top of him. They take turns setting the pace. Guillermo bounces frantically in Nandor’s lap until the vampire grabs his hips and holds him still so he can thrust upward, slowly and tenderly. He penetrates deep until Guillermo is near tears and the human’s poor erection is leaking copiously onto Nandor’s soft belly.

Nandor finally releases his hold on Guillermo’s hips and wraps his hand around his erection, pumping up and down quickly as he bounces the man on his own cock.

“I’m close, Guillermo,” he whispers, stroking the human rapidly to edge him along. “Come with me. Please!”

They fall over the precipice together, panting and clinging as their bodies quake with the intensity of their love making. Guillermo collapses on Nandor’s chest and the vampire wraps his arms around him automatically, soothingly running his palms down his lover’s sweaty back as he twitches and catches his breath.

“You’re getting very good at that, Guillermo,” Nandor murmurs with a hint of teasing in his voice.

Guillermo snorts, “Yeah, I think you’ve almost got the hang of it, too, Nandor.”

Nandor laughs and smacks his behind playfully, “Do not be thinking that just because you’re going to be a vampire you can start being so cheeky with me! I’m still seven hundred and twenty-eight years older than you, mortal.”

Guillermo grins and hums in response, pillowing his head into Nandor’s broad chest with a contented sigh.

After a little while, Nandor shifts Guillermo off of him and lays him down on the bed with a gentle reverence. He picks up one of the towels and uses it to carefully clean him, dabbing between his legs and swiping over his soft stomach. Nandor takes his time, his face turning dark and serious as he contemplates what comes next.

When he’s finally finished he says, almost shyly, “There’s just one more thing I want to do first…”

Nandor stretches out at Guillermo’s side and rests his head over the human’s chest, directly over his beating heart. His hair fans out over Guillermo’s flushed skin and the human brings his fingers up to toy with it as Nandor listens.

Thump...thump...thump…

How many nights has Nandor awoken in his coffin, still gripped by the horror of a half-remembered nightmare and listened for that comforting sound to lull him back to sleep? How often has he heard that steady rhythm interrupted when Nandor did something that particularly stirred his familiar’s illicit attraction? How many thousands of beats has he taken for granted over the years? Soon that steady tattoo will cease forever. Nandor feels panic grip him but he reminds himself that things will be different this time. Guillermo will come back to him as he always does.

He does not feel ready but the hours are ticking away and he’d like to finish this well before dawn. Nandor shuffles up the bed, leaning on an elbow and letting his hair cascade down around Guillermo’s face. He brushes his thumb over his lips, caresses his jaw line and the ridge of his brow. He’s memorizing the way his beloved looks right now, flushed with life.

“Guillermo, I want you to know that even if I do scramble your brains--which I won’t!--but even if I do, I will take care of you forever,” Nandor says, his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll never abandon you or rip off your head. That’s a promise.”

Guillermo should scoff or snort or roll his eyes but instead he sobs and beams up at Nandor as he answers, “I know, baby. I’ll never leave you or rip off your head either. I promise.”

Nandor nods and his dark eyes shift to focus on the crook of Guillermo’s neck. His skin is still slicked with the cooling sweat of their coupling and Nandor can see his pulse jumping in his throat. He opens his mouth in a hungry leer and his fangs elongate slightly.

“This will hurt, Guillermo,” his voice is dark and menacing, but also mournful. “I am sorry.”

He snakes a hand behind Guillermo’s neck and cradles his head to the side as he lowers his mouth to his vulnerable throat. He hovers there for a moment and marvels at the way his lover’s body surrenders so sweetly to him. Guillermo is soft and loose in his arms, the perfect victim. Nandor banishes that word from his mind. Guillermo, sweet, sensitive, competent, strong, scary, loving, powerful Guillermo. He is not a victim. He plunges his fangs into his human’s soft neck and takes from him the sweetest gift Guillermo has ever given.

Nandor’s terror and anxiety melt away as the blood pours over his tongue and down his throat. He has always known that Guillermo would taste delicious but this is ridiculous. He tastes like the joy of riding John over an open plain, he tastes like the excitement of watching the Dream Team do battle on the basketball court, and, most of all, he tastes like Guillermo. Like fuzzy knit hats and secret smiles and quiet evenings playing chess. Like longing and hunger and wistful pain. Like strength and desire and the thrill of conquest. Nandor drinks deeply, memorizing the flavor as his lover goes more and more limp in his arms.

He listens, once more, to the beating of that heart, just as Nadja said to do. He waits like Guillermo used to do, listening to the pops while he was making his corn kernel snack in the multiwave machine. Once the rhythm begins to slow Nandor pulls back, licking his lips and scrambling for the jar of blood on the nightstand.

He gathers Guillermo into his arms and the human moans low in his throat. Nandor feels unadulterated joy at the sound. He is still here . But when he looks down at his human’s pale, ashen face, a sob tears free from his throat. His lustrous, brilliant Guillermo diminished to such a drab reflection… Nandor mentally slaps himself and unscrews the jar, bringing it to Guillermo’s pale lips.

“Time for your snack now, Guillermo,” Nandor’s voice shakes. He strokes his fingers through the human’s curly hair as he lifts his head and begins to tip the contents of the jar into his open mouth.

Nothing happens for a small eternity. Nandor watches the blood pool in his lover’s mouth and spill out the sides of his lips with a feeling of increasing helplessness.

“Guillermo? Can you still hear me? It’s time to start drinking so you can become a cool vampire just like me and your friend, Armand…”

Guillermo’s eyes are closed and his body is unnaturally still.

“Please drink, Guillermo! I’m going to be very cross with you if you do not!”

His skin looks waxy and he feels heavier in Nandor’s arms. The vampire tugs him further into his lap and clutches him to his chest, tears falling onto the eerily calm face.

“Guillermo, you said you wouldn’t leave me again, please! ”

Guillermo swallows. Nandor watches with a giant, goofy grin on his face as the man’s throat bobs and the blood disappears from his mouth. He brings the jar back up to his lips and continues to hand feed him, taking comfort in the way Guillermo’s lips purse as he drinks down the vampire’s life-giving blood.

“That’s it, my cherished one,” Nandor says, slipping into endearments he used several lifetimes ago. “Drink, sweet honey. And don’t ever fucking scare me like that again !”

Guillermo snorts as he drains the dredges from the jar, blood bubbles forming on his lips as they curve into a smile. Nandor watches, his eyes wide and wondering, as Guillermo’s eyes flutter open and he feels a sense of intense relief when he recognizes that smile as the same one he fell in love with eleven years ago. Only...you know...with the fangs and the blood stains…

---

“So, I’d say it was a marked success!” Nandor shouts into the camera a few nights later. “Of course, there was a lot of vomiting and achy-pains in the beginning...but once that passed and he drank some human blood everything was OK-A! Isn’t that right, Guillermo?”

The camera zooms out to include Guillermo in the shot. He’s sitting next to Nandor on the chaise, their hands clasped together between them. His skin tone is very much the same although without the lively blush that used to grace his cheeks. He’s noticeably in tact, no pointed ears or deformities and seemingly in full possession of his brains.

He smiles and the camera zooms in on his newly minted fangs.

“ A-OK , Nandor,” he corrects in an affectionate tone. He leans over and kisses the immortal warrior on the cheek.

Nandor, still unused to public displays of affection, smiles nervously and answers with a roll of his eyes, “As I said, Guillermo!”

#nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandermo #nandor x guillermo fanfic #wwdits #wwdits fanfic #smut

109 notes · View notes

naivesilver · 3 years

Text

@bewilderedmoth FINE. Fine. Since today is a Monday and therefore a day much more suited for a vitriolic commentary on terrible insects, I shall fulfill your request and the anon’s. I’m warning everyone in the premises, though - this is a “no fucks given” list, so it may get ugly at any time. Also, as usual, this is only for things that I’ve already watched, so if you know of some cricket horror and don’t see it mentioned, assume I’ve yet to get to that specific adaptation.

Alright then! To the barricades!

1) Disney’s Pinocchio (1940)

The first of his genre. Look at this asshole - he’s literally the last creature I’d entrust my child to. The fact Pinocchio had to spend his first couple days of life with this guy shadowing his every step is mind-boggling, and it’s made even worse by the fact that the Blue Fairy put him in charge of another man’s kid, as though she had the right to make that choice.

(I won’t fall for the desire of dunking on the Fairy more, as this is a Cricket list, but believe me, the temptation is there. It always is.)

As Disney sidekicks go, he’s one of the worst. He’s not funny, and despite having literally ONE job he manages to fail spectacularly at it. He’s snappish at Pinocchio, he abandons his charge about two hours into the new day, he spends a much longer time flirting with female-presenting inanimate objects/animals/supernatural beings than doing any actual childrearing. He should have been forgotten the instant the movie left the theaters, but instead Disney made him one of his main mascots, giving him the role of storyteller or ghost or whatever the fuck they need him to do at the time. So not only is he single-handedly responsible for every other entry in this list, I keep finding him everywhere I turn my eyes to. A knock-off version of his Ghost of Christmas Past self was in the new Ducktales, too, so my friend freenklin (who already has had to endure many of my complaints) received some VERY disappointed scream-texts as I was liveblogging my watch.

Just...no. Get him out of my sight.

(Also Ewan McGregor is bound to voice him in the live action and like??? Excuse me??? Are we supposed to not make Obi Wan jokes??? Will he abandon his young padawan Pinocchio to the evil Strombolitroopers???)

2) Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night (1987)

This movie is at the bottom of my Pinocchio adaptation ranking, and boy, does it deserve the dishonor. The story is a weird mixture of adaptation and sequel, approximately a tenth of the characters actually appear in the book, and I can’t forgive them for ruining what could have been the coolest concept ever (Pinocchio as a pawn in a fight of good vs evil) into this disgrace of a cartoon.

As for the Cricket, in this case he’s not even a cricket. He’s a glowworm, and he’s a goddamn puppet too, to whom the Fairy gave life. I wonder, is the entirety of her job just...transforming people’s creations into sentient beings so that they can lead others to a honest life? Tell me, ma’am, do you want to breathe life into my disappointing Powerpoint presentations too, so that they might bully me into graduating?

Anyway, if you’re wondering what purpose Gee Willikers (sigh) serves, the answer is NONE. Pinocchio gets rid of him at least twice (good for him) and as easily as drinking a glass of water, he’s a burden to the (admittedly cooler) additional characters, like the aviator bee, and not only is he ugly as fuck, but also so annoying every time he gets a chance to speak that it’s a miracle he wasn’t cut out in post-production.

In short, disgusting. If he entered my home I’d swat him with a flycatcher until he leaves.

3) Pinocchio (2009)

This is essentially Disney’s Jiminy Cricket, but female, anthropomorphic, and with a passion for books instead of pretty ladies or ladies-adjacent objects. Mind you, a sapphic Cricket would perhaps have saved more than one adaptation, this one included, but I’m glad they skipped that part altogether. This miniseries has enough issues as it is.

I’m sorry, she’s just too annoying. Luciana Littizzetto can be funny, but in small doses, otherwise her jokes start to become repetitive. Two hours straight - and yes, it’s that much, because SOMEONE decided to follow Disney’s footsteps a little too well - are too long even for the strongest of hearts. Plus, none of the characters’ costumes are very flattering, accurate or well-made (except for Lampwick 💖), but hers just might take the cake. It looks like a mixture between a teenager’s first attempt at steampunk fashion and a Mardi Gras costume lifted from the discarded items’ bin at a cheap store. Takes you out of the fantasy more than anything else.

4) Roberto Benigni’s Pinocchio (2002)

I’ve talked at length of the weirdness of this movie, but all in all it’s a pretty accurate transposition of the story, from the dialogue to the scenery.

Except for him.

The Cricket in this case does appear in the scenes belonging to him, but ALSO in a long and extremely useless sequence where he tries to find Pinocchio in the Land of Toys and gets kicked around by literally everyone present. Don’t get me wrong, that’s something I would have liked to do as well, but it was totally unnecessary, and it gave nothing to the overall story. This movie still holds the record as the most expensive Italian movie ever made, so wouldn’t it have been better for everybody to skip that part entirely? Not only it would have saved them some money, but also it would have saved me from seeing this guy for an additional fifteen minutes on my screen.

Still, pretty tame compared to some of the others. Could have been worse.

5) Once Upon A Time (2011)

I debated long and hard before making this choice, and I’m not putting him in with a light heart, but before you come at me with pitchforks, please listen.

I like Archie, okay! He’s a fun character, the human side of his backstory was great and gave him a lot of depth and inner turmoil, and the concept of Jiminy Cricket being a therapist is amazing and hilarious. But he’s kind of a shit therapist, whose actions aren’t always what you’d expect from someone who’s supposed to be a conscience and a guide. And despite the show giving us the impression that he and Pinocchio had the same adventures as in the Disney movie (which doesn’t exactly endear him to me - if it wasn’t for his later character development he’d already be Lil Nas X-ing his way down to the bottom of my list), he and August never interacted on screen after the First Curse broke. Not once. And if there’s someone who needs therapy and support, that’s August Wayne Booth.

Yes, I did say at some point that I’d like to fix this in a fic. I’ll write it when I don’t have like eight projects on my table at the same time.

Finally, two scenes settled the matter for me: one, him pontificating at Snow about her trying to do everything on her own, without even pretending to help her set up the stroller she was struggling with at that very moment. I work with kids every day, I know exactly what she’s going through. Shut your mouth and open the damn stroller, Archie.

And two...That one fucking scene where he’s jumping out of Snow White’s cleavage. Honestly, what the fuck??? I wouldn’t even have remembered it if Libby hadn’t reminded me, so I suppose my brain tried to remove the traumatic memory before it caused any further damage, but it exists, and I’m still wondering why. What exactly was the deal with the writers, when they made that choice? I want a glass of what they were having, because by God, does it sound like a trip-inducing cocktail.

Aaaand we’re done! Remember, this is all part of my personal opinion, and I’m not to be taken seriously even on the best of days. Plus, my favorite cricket-esque character, aside from the book-accurate ones, is Gina from Piccolino no Bouken, who is a duck, a sassy little bastard and no closer to Collodi’s canon than any of these fuckers. So yes, when it comes to choices dictated by the heart, I am an hypocrite. Au revoir!

#the amount of time I spent of this is not comparable to the lampwick post #but it's still A LotTM for a cricket rant #meme gif included #pinocchio

9 notes · View notes

villainousshakespeare · 4 years

Text

Clippings A Loki One Shot

A year or so ago I started reading Sucker’s Luck, the brilliant story by @wrathkitty, and we were messaging about Loki pranking the Avengers with newspaper and magazine articles. I always had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to do something with it, so this is the result of that! Just some silly fun!

Loki/Reader

Rated T - Kissing, flirting, silliness, fluff, obnoxious Loki, bored Loki

Summary: You are the head of PR for the Avengers. Normally you love your job, but a series of pranks has you scrambling to recover. At last it occurs to you who the culprit must be - a certain God of Mischief living just a few flights down.

It had started simply enough. Tony had stumbled into his office one morning in Stark Tower, hung over (naturally) and grumpy as hell (as goes without saying). He banged into the corner of his desk, cursing the piece of furniture for existing, and an avalanche of treacherously stacked mail flurried down around him.

He hadn't looked at any of it for over three weeks. He and Pepper were "on a break" and she was working exclusively from the California office. As a result, nothing was where it was supposed to be. It was unfortunate, but you had told the temp assigned to his mail that it was better that way. Should she touch or misplace the wrong thing, it would be far worse than if she simply let it lie where it came in. People knew well enough to direct the important things to his department heads, including yourself in public relations.

As he stared sourly at the pile of paper littering his floor, Tony's eyes were drawn to a copy of Time Magazine. There on the cover, in bright red and gold, was his picture in his suit, face plate open to reveal his handsome mug. The banner read "(IRON)Man of the Year!"

Or at any rate that was what it was supposed to say. You had spoken at length to the publisher to ensure that it was the banner. Unfortunately, on closer examination that made his head pound as though a certain Thunder God was using it for hammer practice, the words had been altered to read "(IDIOT)Man of the Year!" In addition to the change in text, devil horns had been inked onto his helmet, a long tail was curling out from behind him, complete with pointed end, and he held a pitchfork in his hand. For a final insult, the artist had blacked out three of his teeth.

Half an hour later, he had stormed into your office a few floors below.

"Alright," he said, slapping the offending magazine down on your desk as you quickly hung up your call and gave him your attention. "I can take a joke. So one of my subordinates wanted to be clever, did they? I suppose I might have said or done something in the past to have deserved it."

"Oh dear," you tried not to laugh as you stared at the cover. "Do you know who it was?"

"No, I don't," he growled, throwing another copy with the same alterations onto your work space, "because they are All. Like. This!"

One by one he slammed a stack of magazines in front of you, each one displaying the altered text and image of him.

"I examined it, and it seems to be the original ink, not an alteration after printing," he ground out. "I assume, of course, that this was not the copy you approved? Because if it was, I am grossly overpaying you."

"It is not what I agreed to," you hastened to assure him. "Maybe it was a saboteur on the print floor. Someone from Hammer Tech maybe? Or, not to get all personal here, maybe an ex-girlfriend?"

"I don't know," he snapped, glaring at the desiccated image. "All I know is I want them pulled. All of them. Now!"

"Of course," you agreed at once.

It was not as easy as you might have hoped. It seemed every copy had been printed with the alteration. Worse than that, there were posters and billboards all over New York where Tony could see them, as well as in other cities, and all had somehow been created with the offensive graphic. It was a nightmare getting them pulled, and by the time you did the television media had already picked up on them.

A week later, it was Steve and Bucky's turn. You knew something was up when you entered the Avenger's Tower and saw the lobby festooned with hundreds of bouquets of flowers. Curious about the preponderance of blossoms, you had plucked a card from one and choked back your laughter as you read.

"To Steve and Bucky," it said in a loopy script, "congratulations on making it official. You are a lovely couple."

Oh dear, you thought. This could not be good.

When you reached your office, your assistant was waiting for you, a newspaper in her hand.

"Um, boss," she said with a worried tone of voice, "have your looked at the Times today?"

"No," you felt a wave of dread flow over you. "Why?"

"I put a copy on your desk," she said instead of answering directly.

Warily, you picked up the paper open to the Wedding Section of the Weekend Times. There, right in the center of the page above the fold, was a picture of Captain America and his friend The Winter Soldier. Underneath the article read:

"Steve Rogers And James (Bucky) Barnes are delighted to announce their engagement. The two have been secretly a couple since before the invention of the color television, but decided to finally go public. Says Rogers, 'I got tired of him trying to keep his options open. If he wants all this, he better put a ring on it!' A date has yet to be set, but the couple are hoping for a June wedding. In lieu of gifts, please make donations to your local AARP."

The fact that a church had been booked and a florist and caterer engaged made it even harder to unravel all of the headaches that went with that particular prank. Steve was mortified by the announcement, insisting to anyone who would listen that he was more than happy with the status of his relationship with his oldest friend. Oddly, Bucky didn't seem particularly bothered by it, but did give Steve some searching looks after word of the article made its way around the building.

You received the Thor article yourself, two weeks later. You had been lulled into a state of false security as things calmed down in Avenger's world. You should have known better. An envelope addressed to the public relations depart had of course ended up on your desk. Inside, a clipping from page 6 was stuck inside a note card. Looking at the card, you found an elegant, bold hand had written "For Thor" on the card.

The article was not good. It appeared that Dr. Jane Foster had been seen out and about in London with a wealthy, outrageously good looking scientist. The two looked quite close as they sat sipping cocktails under the stars in the picture, her hand clasped in his. A red marker had been used to draw a large heart around the image, and in the margins of the article were written such commentary as "Oh dear, is she cheating?", "Good for her!", "Looks like someone is trading up!" and, most cuttingly, "Is someone's hammer bigger than a certain God's? Inquiring minds want to know!"

"Oh, good God!" you groaned, lowering your head to the desk, dreading the thought of sharing the offensive paper with Thor. Briefly, you thought of hiding it from the blond Asgardian, but you thought better of it. Though you had no way of knowing for sure, you would bet money that, just as with the Time Magazine cover, every copy of the story was similarly compromised. Someone was bound to see it and say something to Thor. As director of the Avenger's public relations, it was best to come from you.

It just made no sense! Tony you could understand. You loved the man, but even he had to admit that he had made his share of enemies in his life. Hell, half of the Avenger's work seemed to be neutralizing people that he had offended at one time or another to the extent of turning them into super villains! Steve, Bucky, and Thor, however, were all likeable, inoffensive men. Who could possibly want to make mischief for any of them?

Mischief. Your head shot up and your eyes narrowed. It couldn't be. Could it? The more you thought about it, one name screamed itself into your brain, to the point where you couldn't understand why you hadn't thought of it before. It was so bloody obvious!

With grim determination you rose from your desk and tromped your way to the elevator, punching in one of the residential floors when it arrived. The call, it seemed, was coming from inside the house.

When you got to the door, you knocked hard and tapped your toe impatiently as you waited for a response. You knew he was there, of course. He was not allowed to go anywhere else, at least not unless escorted by his brother, and you knew for a fact that Thor was off world at the moment. Just when you were considering going to get reinforcements, a lazy, bored sounding voice called from within, inviting you to come in.

Bracing yourself for what was sure to be a confrontation, you opened the door and let yourself into the rooms of Loki, prince of Asgard and "guest" of SHIELD. If guest could be used to describe a God held against their will in an impregnable tower containing numerous enhanced individuals intent on seeing that he stayed where they could keep a constant eye on him.

The room was decorated in golds and greens, all lush and comfortable looking. Bookshelves lined the walls, and additional stacks of books littered the floor and table. Loki himself lay on a couch on the far side of the room, one arm behind his head, the other held a large volume that he seemed completely engrossed in. He did not so much as look in your direction as you stood on the door step, unsure how to begin.

"If you're looking for Thor," he said in a lazy drawl, not bothering to look up, "you might try next door."

"Thor is off world and you know it," you snapped, fighting down your agitation.

No one in your life had ever made you as anxious al Loki did on a good day. The man... the God was a public relations nightmare! He was the living definition of "loose canon", libel to say or do anything without warning. You supposed it came with his job description, but it did not make your life any easier. The fact that he was stupidly handsome and cuttingly witty just insured that any chance the press got to cover him was leaped at.

"I said you could try, I didn't say you would find him," Loki smirked, still looking at his book. He read for a few more moments before seeming to come to a stopping place, marking it with a bookmark, and finally, finally raising his eyes to you. "Ah, director! How nice of you to visit!"

"This isn't a social call, Loki," you said with very little grace.

"Well, that is a shame," he purred, sitting up and smoothing out his soft green tunic that veed to show just a teasing glimpse of his chest. "I get so few visitors, and those I do are not nearly so pleasing to converse with, or to look at for that matter."

You felt your eyes narrow as you stared at him, trying to tell if he was mocking you or not. You knew that he could lie as easily as breath, but you could not suppress the small, niggling hope that he meant it. It galled you to know end, but you could not quite rid yourself of an asinine crush on the God. Pulling yourself together, you tried to recover your initial irritation.

"The pranks, Loki," you told him in a severe voice, "they end. Now."

"What pranks?" he asked innocently, one eyebrow arching.

"You know damn well what pranks, Loki! The Time Magazine cover. The wedding announcement. And now the article with Dr. Foster."

"Ooh, what has my brother's favorite mortal done now?" he asked, seeming for all the world like he was legitimately curious.

"So you are saying you are not responsible for altering the articles?" you demanded.

"Director, how on this blasted realm would I be responsible for anything?" he asked reasonably. "I am confined by this infernal bracelet on my ankle to this suite of rooms, only allowed out when my hulking mass of a brother chooses to take pity on me."

"You have magic," you said tentatively.

"Yes, once again confined by this device they force me to wear. I don't know why you need me to tell you this, Director. You yourself spoke most eloquently on the television about me. What was the quote now? Let me see...'We owe Prince Loki an apology. Far from being the mastermind behind the Attack on New York, he did everything in his considerable powers to prevent it. Were it not for his double agent machinations, the loss of life would be catastrophic. He is, in my eyes, a hero. None the less, the Asgardian Prince, realizing that tensions are running high in the aftermath of the incident, has graciously agreed to certain precautions, including a device to curtail his magic for the duration of his stay.'"

It was word for word the statement you had made on behalf of the Avengers and SHIELD months ago. That fact that Loki remembered it, and had altered his voice somehow to mimic your cadence and tone, rendered you momentarily speechless. As you struggled for response, a wicked grin spread across his face.

"I did so love to hear you defending me that way, my dear. Tell me, do you really consider me a hero?" his voice was smooth as honey as he rose from the couch and moved toward you, unconscious grace in his every movement.

"It is my job to put a good spin on things," you said, sounding lame to your own ears.

"So, then you don't find me gracious? Or even just a touch heroic?" he purred, now very much intruding on your personal space. "You don't think I have considerable powers?"

"Of course you have powers," you gulped, feeling your pulse race as he leaned his forearm on the wall next to your head. "It's why I am convinced that you altered those articles."

"Ah yes, the articles," he said as though he had forgotten all about them, as he grinned down at you from far too close.

"Yes. The articles. It's why I am here," you reminded both of you, wondering how to describe the smell that surrounded him other than delicious.

"If that is the case, then why ever would I stop? If I were to be the one creating them. You presence here in my rooms is the most enjoyment I've had in months."

"Why?" you blurted out, hating yourself the moment the word left your lips.

"I like you," he said simply. "You don't shy away from me when I so much as look at you. You don't moralize at me. You don't pity me."

"Pity you?" your voice squeaked upward. "You're a gorgeous, princely god with super powers! In what universe would you be pitied?"

"I am a captive, gorgeous, princely god," he corrected, eyes sparkling as he held yours. "One hated by the Midgardians, cast out by both birth and adopted parents, suffered at best by my host jailers. Many might pity me. But not you. You see me as something else."

"I see you as a pr nightmare!" you grumbled, unable to look away from him. "The amount of chaos you cause for my office with your little jokes is more than even Stark, and I didn't think that was possible."

"Oh, I am sorry," he said, sounding anything but. "You could have avoided it, you know."

"How?" you demanded, swallowing as he leaned in even more.

"By coming to visit sooner. I thought I was going to have to get Banner's friend accepted to the Bronx Zoo before you finally showed up here."

"You did this on purpose?" you gasped. "To see me?"

"I'm not saying I did do it," he hedged, eyes glittering with amusement, "but if I did, that would certainly be one of two very good reasons to do so."

"And the other?" you asked, just to have something to say while your mind processed the information.

"It was funny," he laughed, breath ghosting across your neck and making you shiver.

Against your will, you suddenly laughed as well. The picture of Tony, the announcement for Steve and Bucky, the comments on Jane and Thor, now that you weren't in the throes of putting out the fires they had caused, you could see clearly the hilarity of his silly pranks. It felt good to let down your professional demeanor and giggle like a teenager over the outrage they had caused.

"Did the jests truly make your job too difficult," he asked, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear and making your mouth go dry.

"I handled it," you said, voice distressingly unstable.

"I have no doubt. You are good at your job. I watch you on the box whenever you appear before the moronic press. You make even my brother sound as though he knows what he is doing."

"Thor is sweet," you protested weakly.

"Thor is an idiot," he said, though not without a trace of affection. "You are not. I find it a rare treat."

"Thank you," your voice was little more than a whisper.

"If the pranks, as you called them, were to stop," he said, eyes lowering to look at your lips, "and you had more free time on your hands, do you think you might spend so of it with me? Say, for dinner?"

"I... I could probably manage that," you said. "If you would like."

"I would very much like," he murmured. "May I, Director?"

Not needing him to clarify, you gave a small nod of your head. As soon as that brief sign of consent had been given, Loki lowered his lips to yours in a kiss that was gentle and tentative, not at all what you had been expecting. He pulled back after a few moments, the taste of his lips lingering against yours, and you gazed up at him with glazed eyes.

"Tonight then?" you asked, not caring if you sounded desperate.

"Tonight would be fine," he smiled at you, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. "I will look forward to it greatly.

"I should get back to work then," you sighed, not wanting to leave but knowing you had a deadline. "There's an interview on now that I need to monitor."

"Very well," Loki sounded resigned, but still walked you gallantly the two feet to the door. "I shall see you later then."

You smiled goofily at him, not believing you had a date with the god of mischief, when suddenly Loki's eyes snapped up to the television in the corner.

"The interview," Loki said, improbably appearing just behind you. "It is with Director Fury?"

"Yes. Why?"

Wordlessly Loki snapped his fingers and the television began playing. On the screen, a buttoned down news anchor was doing his best not to break as Nick Fury expounded on the benefits of the Avengers Initiative. It would have been an intimidating speech were it not for the message flashing in bright green lights across his eyepatch. "I'm Nick Fury, Bitch!" was the least obscene of the bunch. Slowly you closed your eyes and shook your head.

"Perhaps we should move dinner until tomorrow," he said with evident disappointment.

"Is this all" you asked, feeling impending doom.

"I promise," his voice was warring between amusement and chastisement. "I had forgotten about this one until now. I mean, if I was responsible."

"Dinner better be damn good," you sighed.

"I promise you, pet," he said, smiling smugly, "dinner will be worth it."

"In that case," you bit your bottom lip. "I will go clean up this mess and see you tomorrow."

Loki raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, letting his tongue just ever so slightly graze against your skin. It was enough to set you tingling to your toes.

"I live in anticipation," he told you.

"Loki," you said, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Remember, I control the press. You do something like this again, I will make sure that everyone knows how devoted you are to Thor, and what a soft, sentimental soul you have."

"You wouldn't!" he gasped, horrified.

"Try me Mischief," you smiled, feeling at last a bit more like yourself.

"Oh, I knew I was right about you," he smiled in admiration. "My dear, we are going to have so much fun."

Turning slowly, you sauntered to the elevator. All in all, it had been a good day.

@arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @frostbitten-written @hopelessromanticspoonie @hiddlesholic @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @redfoxwritesstuff @shiningloki @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @yespolkadotkitty @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy

#Loki #Loki/reader #Loki/you #Loki is bored #Obnoxious Trickster God #Fluff #Silliness #Pranks #Tony Stark #Thor #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #fan fic #Avengers Fic #loki fic #Kissing #Flirting #Post Avengers Assemble

58 notes · View notes

greaterlandscapes · 3 years

Text

My Dean Blunt Rotation aka High Fidelity Left A Bad Taste in My Mouth

For the past 2 to 3 months, my listening habits were teetering to an end; mostly via burnout by spontaneously listening to local artists daily and less likely of a musical discovery drought, whereas my interests of a certain artist or genre hasn't found its, sort of, "eureka", moment per se. I've been feeling less enthusiastic over the things i listen to since my friends have gradually lost their flare when it comes to discovering/exploring untapped parts of the music realm. Thus, in return, my enthusiasm not being reciprocated. It leaves an empty feeling from someone who has been yearning social interaction, may it be media being latched on the topic - it's a feeling that's been guilt-tripping me ever since I was stranded in the other end of the metro. I feel closed off, exposed to the crippling loneliness the lockdown has punished us: a defacto solitary confinement in a national level. Our act of staying online is also an act of staying alive outside.

To be fair though, it's a valid move to not boomerang compliments/gripes over an art you haven't consumed due to someone's autonomy. Your able body being to consume the art you wish to finish with free time is a luxury in of itself. The art is then failed to serve its purpose to reach its goal: You have squiggly lines heading straight to oblivion rather than swirling in the earlobes of a wandering cyber nomad. We, eventually, need to find something that could help us exit, rather than escape, from capital. We, in return, do not shut ourselves from the outside. Instead, we then tend to avoid the stress of protocols and outdoor fascism; Not avoid the indoor liberalism that is eating us alive and online. It's a capital punishment we never knew we signed up for ever since the onslaught of the virus and the state. Art for art's sake is nonexistent now, always has been, it seizes to ever since we went inside. Feeding off of a holographic meatloaf coming from a glowing screen. We have a real-life Karen acting as a nightlight in our rooms.

The COVID lockdown made us listen to music — both for better, for worse. For one, it made us pass most days. You could say the same for any sort of media: film, mixed media art, or whatever pre-Covid activity that sprung up during our time in isolation. For music, however, there was an uptick of new listeners that made others Wheel-of-Fortune the fuck out of their music discoveries in sites like RateYourMusic, Bandcamp, or even Sophie's Floorboard. We've continued to expand and became more open change of opinions and be less of a jackass towards someone else's opinions. On second thought, our opinions have been catalogued, leaving more notes than actual footprints of our previous listens. Our new discoveries made new bands and re-emerging bands, bands who faded to obscurity, crawl back in the surface with newfound interest from younger listeners (ie Panchiko, Jai Paul, and Dean Blunt) and this glowing, previously unseen and unexpected overwhelming support from fans of departed artists (ie SOPHIE, MF DOOM)

For the other, we've hogged gratuitous amounts of media, resulting into losing our primary direction as to how we want to consume our media based on the preconceived notions of what we want in our art. There is goodness in becoming directionless when you think about it, but there comes a cost to our identity as music listeners. Instead, we end up widening our tangents, falling in endless rabbit holes, having zero chances to emerge from the surface. In fact, i refuse to call it a "rabbit hole" instead i'd rather call it a "pipeline" of sorts — transitioning casual music fans into a full on, different, unique versions of themselves that would define them when laws and protocols have eased in the outside world. Our act of staying online has either made most of us break our character or enliven our past selves. The music pipeline is now more apparent, stretching the norms of what was once alienated by a silent majority, but now accepted as an acceptable form of expression. The more music we are exposed to has made casual listeners stranged out or react in ways that our personality have betrayed us or deemed not as acceptable to them. Still, not changing anything that was prominent pre-pandemic. Liberal cop behavior is stronger, now more dangerous than it ever was once perceived by the outside world.

HIGH FIDELITY? NO, THANK YOU.

Imagine a situation inside of a record, pre-pandemic of course, where you do not feel like lifting a record out from the shelf, instead, you window shop just for the sake of windowshopping. Capital and media made us think that going to record shops is a semi-productive activity. The age of discovery has died ever since High Fidelity romanticized and normalized the incelage of horny record diggers. Does this movie age well, yeah sure it does, for old 90s nerds at least. But did it translate well over in the past 20 or more years of events and tragedies that unfolded in pre-9/11 America? No it didn't. It was an age of free expression, only liberals would dream of whenever they take a sip of Guinness beer in their favorite dive bar.

Mind you, over a couple of months ago, it was my only chance in seeing why this movie was the talk of the town back when it was released. There's music, yeah, and attractive leading leadies, yeah, it has everything a 90s kid would love to salivate and drop their gonads over while they watch this movie. I obviously did not live to see the movie on opening day but i could imagine the scent that came out of that movie theater with attendees donning windbreakers and The Who shirts with popcorn dressing stains on their plastic cups. If there was a Filipino counterpart to this movie, i'd bet corporate champions Eraserheads and Rivermaya would soundtrack their music over and have either Tado or have Boy 2 Quizon, but i sense it to age like milk more than it could age like fine wine due to the senseless jokes one can execute in a Cubao or Cartimar record store.

John Cusack is obviously the incel in question here: a damaged, vengeful ex who constantly fails to live his partner's expectations and weaponizes his personality over the situations that has nothing to do with his interests. I spent the entire time being absolutely disgusted over the spineless responses of John Cusack's leading character. The movie then treads on flashbacks with John Cusack's failed relationships and what he could do to move on from each and one of them. If i could stand a SONA for 3 hours then I can't stand John Cusack being the dull entry point to incel, making more reasons why you should hate record store clerks who don't give an iota of shits to someone's inviting rapport. High Fidelity is opium for massive music circle jerks who can't take a single breathe of fresh air or a single quota of touching grass. There's more targeting weak and inferior guys and hot women who dump dumb overconfident dudebros more than the actual "music recs" in the entire movie. The more I think about this movie, the more I realize how our personality is in line towards Dick, the record store being unmercifully dunked on by the movie's two leading characters. He's an angel in the world of cynical bastards, witnessing both demons pitchforking record store customers in the ass while they're purchasing the latest Sonic Youth album.

youtube

I believe that Jack Black, the dark horse of High Fidelity, has a pleasing personality more than an irritating demeanor due to this behavior in the record store. In fact, outside of the record store, Jack Black doesn't seem to take the business is your pleasure act pretty seriously. Unlike John Cusack's character he brought his obsession over involving a record in an important memory/point of his life. There is so much stuff that has happened outside of the record store, so much for Rolling Stone and NME being the bible of music at the time, endlessly christening and shilling artists that believe to become the second coming of the Beatles. The music references here however are treated as fluff than it is a mechanism that would drive the senseless plot forward. If anything, there are events pointed out in the event that doesn't have anything to do with the life of the characters.

If anything, this movie did a great job at capturing the feeling of music bros being dumped on the wayside by a mature set of characters and how their current conditions aren't perfumed by the studios' liking of having to Cinderella story the shit out of a bunch of normal record store owners. The reality is in the reaction of one's social capital being invaded and we're here to witness how those reactions panned out in 2021. This is a villainous depiction of music nerds being the salt of the earth, the bane of all media discussion, still reflective of the insufferable salt of cyberspace found in music forums like 4chan and RYM. High Fidelity is a pipeline of 90s musicology, a dreaded fever dream of an owner waiting for the decade to end, trends ossifying and re-emerged by the hands of nostalgia-savvy individuals. It was, at its time, every music-movie nerd's excuse equivalent of Scott Pilgrim VS. The World. There are memories worth remembering and cherishing, and this movie isn't one of them.

DEAN BLUNT, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

youtube

In the past two weeks I've been fancying myself into sitting down and listening to different projects from the ever elusive, UK-based sound artist Dean Blunt. The first time i chanced upon his music wasn't too long ago - albeit a recent one in the time of COVID - was when I randomly stumbled upon his records at a Spotify recommendations section under John Maus (yeah lol i know the implications whenever his name is mentioned) - but then i was enamored by his online presence so quickly I put everything down and dedicated an hour or two researching about this man's music.

Other than the fact that his album "The Redeemer" wasn't the best record to start off in journeying through his discography: ending up disgusted and borderline bored even and I was more likely to lambast this record's aimless, pretentious art-pop inflections. By the end of the day, it was a preference long solidified by his undying fanbase. According to his hardcore fans, the music isn't really music, evaluating it as a free form of sound art, rather than sticking to a structured and conventional cues; the genre is nullified by most analysts of the arts. The growing interest of the general public towards Dean Blunt's pranks and antics have long appealed to my tastes as a chaotic neutral individual. Pranks that are well executed to piss off UK gallery connoisseurs and entertain ironic attendees who'd shit on the art piece rather than participate in it.

More of the resources I've found about Dean Blunt online: numerous aliases and collaborations that lasted around almost 2 decades. The most notable of all them, at least for my money, are either Hype Williams, a duo consisting of Dean and frequent collaborator Inga Copeland, and Babyfather, an art performance parodizing the pirate radio culture in the UK. I have not delved enough in Blunt's body of work to evaluate everything and what i could synthesize from it. For now, I enjoyed it as a form of entertainment. Well, color me impressed because Dean Blunt isn't clowning around, he, in fact, makes blissful and transcendental music from left to right.

youtube

Dean Blunt was the only few artists that made me want to binge on their discography. His movements in his music has attracted this pesky listener who thinks that being mysterious is a plus. I mean, look at me who thinks The Paul Institute, Panchiko, and Burial are the greatest artists that have walked the face of the earth.

The most I've enjoyed from Dean Blunt's discography are his mixtapes and collaborations: preferably his Soul Fire and ZUSHI, both of which were packaged as B-sides or supplemental releases rather than major releases such as the Babyfather project or the Black Metal releases. His knack for blurring the lines between genres still fascinate me as of this writing, and it continues to amaze me how he doesn't seize to compromise his art, he's here to prove a point and it sells quite well despite the lack of direction in his music. Blunt's music has more aggressive and hazy texture than the hollow, wide, soulless structure of art-pop/hypnagogic pop released today. He creates terrains from the rubble of his country's current shortcomings. The music overlaps the actual intentions with abstract concepts, becoming deconstructed down the line. In Babyfather, noise music coincides with Blunt's amateurish rapping. In Black Metal, Blunt isolates himself along with the assisted skeletal guitar playing. Both projects throwing all tropes in a vaccum alongside Blunt, who he himself would sought to become a personification of a musical void.

(Excerpt from the Babyfather album review in TinyMixtapes)

Dean Blunt is an entity that wishes to become one person, but no, this isn't a figure in a specific art form; this isn't Banksy, this isn't Bob Ong, this is made by one person, clearly it is if you listen closely, and it's been entrancing me ever since his presence was felt on the horizons of the internet. Dean Blunt, what the actual fuck.

#dean blunt #high fidelity #music #film #music review #2021 #hype williams #Youtube

6 notes · View notes

bethhxrmon · 4 years

Text

do flowers exist at night? -chapter four

Chapter Four: Attempts in Babysitting

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC

Chapter Summary: After Steve’s failed attempt to get Nancy back, he and Annie have much larger problems on their plate brought to their attention by none other than Dustin Henderson.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Swearing, inaccurate dialogue

A/N: We’re really getting into season 2 territory! It’s kinda difficult to figure out how to divide these chapters, but I figured it out. If you enjoyed this, please let me know, I absolutely love getting feedback! If this is you need the other parts of this series, you can find them here.

~*~*~*~

Annie was quick to step out of the car to find out what was going on. Though, whatever the kid’s name was, she was quick to recognize him. It was hard to not remember the curly hair and that hat.

"Woah, what's going on here?" she asked, running up to Steve and the kid.

The curly haired kid huffed, "Why do you have some random chick here with you?"

"Hey, I’ve got a name! Hold up, you're the asshole who told me my house was haunted!" she exclaimed.

He ignored the comment, "Come on, Steve, I need the bat! We gotta go now!"

With that, the kid proceeded to continue yelling about how they needed to leave as he rushed into the passenger seat of the car. Annie scoffed, rolling her eyes as she was forced to take the backseat. The nerve of this child truly astonished her.

"Wait, what's going on, Dustin?" Steve asked as he drove off.

The kid took a deep breath, "I think I found a baby Demogorgan and I accidentally kept it as a pet."

"A what now?" Annie asked, interjecting, "Does anyone wanna explain what just happened?"

Steve sighed, "Annie, meet Dustin. Dustin, meet Annie. She's dealing with something that I think might be the Upside Down."

"Wait, that's what you call it? Why, though?" she asked.

Her comment was ignored as Dustin continued to go on about some monster that he didn't expect. Whatever was going on was now completely beyond her. It seemed Steve was taken aback as well. Maybe having two inter-dimensional issues in one day was a bit on the unbelievable side. What was more unbelievable was that she was older than this kid and she had to sit in the middle of the backseat so she could sit up closer to hear what was going on over the music Steve was playing.

Dustin glared at her, "Steve, she can't know this stuff."

"She's a part of this stuff. I can't take her home. We'll just go see what you're talking about and go from there," Steve insisted.

What was eating this kid was beyond her. Instead, she just wanted to know what was really going on. Something which she only had the vaguest idea of. Neither guy seemed keen on elaborating about what they were dealing with. That only left her with a sick feeling in her stomach.

Annie huffed, "Hey, it's me, the girl who's involved all this stuff. Are you guys gonna elaborate on what the hell 'this stuff' is supposed to mean? Or am I just supposed to sit back here and shut up?"

"Would that be too hard for you to do?" Dustin asked.

"Hey, can you two get along for five minutes? Where're we going?" Steve asked, looking over at Dustin.

"You've got the nail bat on you?"

"Yeah, in the trunk, always have."

"Why the fuck do you have a nail bat in your trunk?!" Annie exclaimed.

Steve sighed, "Yes, I've got a nail bat in my trunk. That's not the point. Where am I driving?"

"My house. It's in the cellar."

"And you're sure that... that this thing isn't just a lizard?"

"Yes, Steve, I'm sure it's not a lizard."

"But how do you know?"

"Because it grew and I caught it eating my cat!" Dustin yelled.

Steve stayed quiet for a few moments, "Oh... oh, yeah, yep, okay."

The remainder of the drive stayed completely silent aside from the music playing in the background. Most likely due to Steve not knowing what to say next and because Annie wasn't sure what to do with most of the information in front of her. What kind of monsters just appeared and grew and ate cats? Were those the things crawling over her earlier that day? She tried to not wonder too much despite wishing someone would spell out what was going on to her.

Since it was the middle of autumn, the sky was starting to darken earlier and earlier. By the time the three of them made it to Dustin's, it was pretty dark outside. Steve parked in the driveway and the three of them got out. They were first led to the doors of the cellar which were locked shut.

"I swear if this is some Halloween prank..." Steve warned, clutching the bat in his hands.

Dustin shook his head, "It's not."

"Wait!" Steve stopped himself from banging on the door to turn to Annie, "Why don't I get a nail bat or something?"

Steve shrugged, "You really think you can take it?"

"Well, if you get eaten alive, I don't wanna be next," she retorted, crossing her arms.

He sighed, "Okay, Dustin, get her something from your shed."

The kid came back a couple moments later with a pitchfork. Annie took it, holding it and trying to gauge its weight and how she could use it. This couldn't be too different from the stage combat class she took a couple of years before. Well, aside from the fact that if she screwed up she would wind up dead.

"I can work with this," she said, holding it almost like she would a broadsword.

Steve went ahead and unlocked the cellar door and opened it, his movements hesitant as he did so. The door was open and Annie clutched the handle of her pitchfork, her grip tight. She was unsure of what to expect, but she was mentally preparing herself for anything.

Nothing. There was only the dark stairway that led down to the cellar. Dustin was more than happy to let Steve go down first. Annie followed close behind Steve. While she didn't want to admit she almost tried to hide behind him, she did just that.

Only, when the pair got down, there was still nothing. No monster to speak of. She looked around, almost prepared for something to burst out of the wall and attack them like the kool-aid man. Steve picked up something gross and slimy from the ground.

Annie slowly walked toward a massive hole in the wall, "Um... do you think that's always been there?"

"Holy shit," Steve murmured before rushing back to the bottom of the stairs, asking for Dustin to come down.

Once Dustin was down with the pair, they were able to come to the conclusion that Dart had dug out of the cellar. As tempted as Annie was, the guys didn't let her go into the tunnels herself. Though, it seemed that those things had to lead somewhere. Maybe it was best to not find out. Nothing good could possibly come out of wherever it led.

Unsure of the next move, Dustin ran in to tell his mom that he was spending the night with one of his friends. Surely with putting their heads together, the three of them could come up with something. That was the hope as the three of them piled back into Steve's car. Dustin somehow managed to snag shotgun from Annie yet again. How she was losing to some annoying middle schooler was beyond her.

Soon enough, the three of them were sprawled about Steve's living room. Dustin laid across the couch while Annie managed to snag the recliner which left Steve on the floor. None of them had it in themselves to actually eat dinner.

"Well, we know they like blood," Steve suggested, "Maybe if we got some raw meat or something? That would draw them in, right?"

Dustin rolled his eyes, "I'm telling you, some nougat would be the way to go."

"Maybe for whatever creepy relationship you had with Dart, but there's more than one. We know that. If blood worked before, that's probably the best way to go," Annie said, her knees tucked up to her chest.

The conversation went around in circles for forever. At least, until they decided on going to the butcher's first thing in the morning. Hopefully, Dustin would be able to get to some of his friends involved. Not that Annie was sure how a bunch of thirteen-year-olds were going to help, but this was their only option given that the sheriff was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, Dustin wound up conking out on the couch. That left just Annie and Steve to their own devices. It was silent for a good while. After the last few months, Annie wasn't sure if she really liked the quiet all that much. And in the new setting, even with Erik roaming around the house, she couldn't help feeling like the whole place was disquieting.

She was the first to break the silence, "I'm sorry you didn't get to talk to Nancy."

"It's um... it's whatever, I'll get to it eventually. We've gotten back from worse," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry you had to deal with all this. You know, if this is too much for you-"

"I'm stopping you right there," Annie said softly, "You're not going through this alone, okay? And no, Dustin doesn't count. He's smart, but he's pretty much a child."

Steve shook his head, "I'm serious, this is serious shit. It's like... could get you killed level of serious."

"All the more reason to stick around. Steve, you're my only friend in this shitty town. Now, I'm not gonna say I know how to actually fight with a monster, but I know how to use that pitchfork. Just trust me on this," she said, slipping down from the recliner to sit next to Steve against the coffee table.

He let out a small sigh, "You're sure?"

"Well, knowing the context of all this would be nice."

"Okay... you've heard of Will Byers, right?"

A long while later and Annie knew all the events that took place in Hawkins just a year prior. How Will Byers vanished into an alternate dimension and almost died. More importantly, Steve's involvement and how he obviously blamed himself for a death that had nothing to do with him. All of it leading up to the truth behind what happened on Halloween. The fact that Nancy tried to make him feel culpable made her blood boil. Whether she was drunk or not, Annie wasn’t sure how Steve was so forgiving.

She frowned, crossing her arms, "It's not your fault, you know."

"What's not?"

"Everything with Barb. It's not your fault that she was at a party you kind of invited her to. And it's not your fault that she left either. More importantly, it's not your fault that she died that way. You did nothing wrong, Steve. A monster did that, a monster you couldn't have possibly known about. Nancy's wrong about all that."

"What if she isn't?"

Annie turned to face Steve properly, "She is. Sure, maybe you were a dick a year ago, but that's not a crime. Your douchebaggery had nothing to do with Barb dying. I'm sure you never wanted her dead."

"No, never... fuck I just... I feel awful about it, but I couldn't tell anyone. I'm sure you won't be able to tell anyone after this is over either," he replied.

She let out a small yawn, "That's fine, but it's not like you're in this alone now."

"Yeah, I guess not. You should get some sleep though..."

It took almost no time for Annie to pass out. The events of the day were exhausting in their own oddly cruel way. She had nothing to do other than pass out. Though, she suddenly snapped awake right as the sun was starting to come up. It took her a moment to realize she fell asleep on Steve's shoulder. Not wanting any remarks from Dustin, she carefully made her way over to the recliner again.

This time when she woke up, it was because Dustin was shaking her awake. They had to get up and get started on their plan.

Steve groaned as he got up from where he sat, "Can you give us five more minutes?"

All Dustin gave them time for was a sorry excuse of a granola bar for breakfast and a few minutes to get ready. He didn't even give time for them to change clothes. So Annie spent her time brushing her hair and teeth. The nerve of this kid was more than likely going to be the death of her.

Dustin finally got a hold of his friend Lucas as the three of them grabbed the things they needed. The guys decided to throw the meat around and Annie was carrying her weapon and the gasoline.

Asking the butcher for a bunch of raw beef had been something Annie thought would derail the plan. However, they were given exactly what they needed without question. It made her wonder what else the guy had to give out to people.

She walked right behind Steve and Dustin as they tossed the meat along the train tracks. This was supposed to lead to the junkyard. Then, there was supposed to be a bus that they could reinforce so they could safely light Dart on fire. Whether that would actually work or not was beyond her. However, it was the one plan that all three of them were able to agree on.

Dustin was going on more about Dart since Steve asked. A story that was pretty much beyond both her and Steve. It was more lost on her since she woke up to those things crawling all over her. The last thing on her mind was keeping one for a pet. They were disgustingly slimy.

"So... you kept this thing to impress a girl?" Steve asked.

Dustin shrugged, "I guess."

"And what made you think that would work?"

"It's a new species, an inter-dimensional slug! It's awesome, who wouldn't be impressed by that?"

Steve sighed as he tossed another piece of meat on the ground, "Kid, I hate to break it to you, but that's not how you impress girls."

"Yeah, well we don't all have your hair," Dustin said.

Annie let out a laugh, knowing for a fact Steve spent more time on his hair than she did on hers that morning. In all fairness, there was something to be said for that. He looked good. Then again, he always had. The girls in her classes would not stop talking about that.

Steve rolled his eyes, "It's not about the hair. The trick with girls is just acting like you don't care."

"That's the shittiest idea I've heard in the last day," Annie remarked.

Ignoring the response he got, Steve went into how there would be a sexual electricity and that there were two types of girls. The kind who liked to have something fast and intense. Then, there were the girls who liked it when the guy went slow and stealthy. Like a ninja. Annie listened as the two of them talked, and she kept her shut when Dustin asked about Nancy. Although, there were plenty of things she had to say about that. Especially when Steve claimed Nancy was different.

Except, she wasn't different. Not really. And in all fairness, Annie wasn't sure that she was all that different from Nancy when it would come down to it. She wasn't all that different from most girls. Sure, maybe not every girl read at the rate she currently did, but she wouldn't be reading that much if she actually had someone to talk to. The point was, Nancy was just as much like the other girls at the school as she was. That would take too much to explain, though, so she kept her mouth shut.

Steve looked at Dustin, "Hold on, you're not falling in love with this girl are you?"

"What? No," he replied.

"Okay, good," he nodded, "'Cause she's only gonna break your heart and you're way too young for that shit."

"You know, giving shitty advice because your love life's going downhill isn't going to do anyone any good," Annie said, unable to keep her mouth shut, "Sorry... but if you really wanna be with a girl, you have to find out what she likes and what you guys have in common. If a girl plays some stupid game of pretending to not care, it's not worth it."

Steve glared at her, "And you know so much about this stuff?"

"Um yeah, believe it or not I've had some experience. Plus, I'm a girl. Kinda makes my advice better by default since I know how girls actually work."

There was a pause between all of them. Annie knew she shouldn't have said anything about Nancy. It wasn't fair, but the advice Steve was giving was awful. That was how guys tried to treat her in the past and it always ended up hurting her more than it ever hurt the guy. She wasn't about to go into that, though. No one needed to know.

"Farbergé," Steve finally said.

"What?"

"Fabergé organics, that's what I use," he said, tossing another piece of meat, "And when your hair's damp. Not wet, damp."

"Damp."

"You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray. Now, you tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass, you're dead" he said before looking back at Annie, "That goes for you too, Hardwick."

Annie laughed, "You use the same stuff that my mom does. Not that it's bad or anything, it's cute, actually."

"Farrah Fawcett?" Dustin asked, shaking his head.

Steve shrugged, "I mean, she's hot."

After what felt like forever and a few different conversations later, the trio were in front of the junkyard. It was sunny, but Annie could already feel the breeze starting to bite through her green flannel. She hadn't thought to bring her jacket when she had been rushing to leave the house.

Steve took off his glasses, "This will work... Yeah, this will work just fine. Nice job, Henderson."

While Steve and Dustin put the last of the beef in a pile, a boy biked up with a girl on the back. With how the kids all looked at each other, Annie couldn't help thinking that this was the girl Dustin had been talking about.

They were arguing about the girl knowing about all this. That was when Lucas pointed to Annie.

"You told some random chick!" Lucas exclaimed.

"I didn't! Steve did!" Dustin yelled.

Annie waved her arms, "Hey, I'm literally right here. And for your information, I'm just as involved in this as everyone else. Give me a break."

The boys were more intent on arguing than helping to fortify the bus. Instead of worrying about them, Annie went over to a piece of metal that the redhead girl was trying to pick up.

"Here, let me help you out," Annie said, bending down to make it a bit easier.

The girl gave a small smile, "Thanks... um are you in on this prank?"

Annie helped to get the metal against the bus, "I wish it were a prank. Kinda hard to think that when I woke up and these slug things were crawling all over me yesterday."

"What?"

"Yeah, I guess they're from some other dimension and my house is kinda flip flopping dimensions or whatever," Annie sighed as they got another slab of metal to board up the windows of the bus.

Max shook her head, "I don't get why you're trying so hard... hey, you're kinda new here right?"

"Um... yeah, unfortunately. Why?"

"Nothing... just, heard about you or whatever. Being new kinda sucks."

Annie laughed, "I'll drink to that."

"So are your only friends really that Harrington guy and Dustin?"

"Pretty much."

Within a couple hours, Max and Annie wouldn't stop talking as they got the bus ready. There wasn't much time for conversation seeing as the sun was going down earlier and earlier every day, but the two of them were getting a lot done. So once Dustin and Lucas finally decided to help, the sun was going to start heading down soon.

By the time it was sunset, the gasoline was poured and they were all in the bus. Lucas had decided to scout the area, keeping an eye out for Dart. Wherever that monster could possibly be.

After an outburst between Dustin and Max, she left to go on the roof with Lucas. Annie watched as Steve played with his lighter and she also messed with the pocket knife she had in the pocket of her overalls.

"Hold up, you had that the whole time?" Steve asked.

Annie shrugged, "Yeah, why? You think I could use just this against some... glorified Audrey II?"

"Wait a what?"

"Audrey II? You know, Little Shop of Horrors, the musical?" she asked, "You know, 'little shop, little shop of horrors, little shop, little shop...' huh guess it’s just me."

Both Steve and Dustin stared at her.

"You guys need to get out more."

That was when Lucas screamed about the monster. Annie, Steve, and Dustin were all pressed against each other as they all tried to get a look. Sure enough, there it was. She didn't even know how to describe it as the thing walked around the pile of meat.

Steve shook his head, "It's not taking the bait. Why isn't it taking the bait?"

"Maybe it smells the gasoline?" Annie suggested.

He sighed, "Or maybe it's just tired of cow."

Annie's eyes widened as he went to pick up the bat.

"Wait, what're you doing?" Annie and Dustin asked at the same time.

Steve sighed, tossing the lighter to Annie, "Just light it up when the time's right and keep the kids safe."

Then, Steve turned and went out of the bus. There was no way there was just one of those things. That was too good to be true. Annie shook her head.

"'Keep the kids safe' my ass," Annie muttered before putting the lighter in Dustin's hands, "You got this, okay?"

Annie grabbed the pitchfork and slipped out of the bus quietly. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and her throat felt tight. What was she doing? This was dangerous and could easily get her killed, but she didn't care. Lucas started shouting about another one of the monsters and Annie rushed towards it, going to fight them off.

Steve and Annie were surrounded in no time, and Dustin was screaming for them to get back in. Everything was such a blur of lunging and stabbing that Steve had to tug her towards the bus.

There wasn't much for Annie to comprehend other than that she was sure she stabbed some of those monsters as Steve pulled her back into the bus. He was screaming something, and she was sure it was because she followed him out when he didn't want her to, but she didn't listen. Even when back in the safety of the bus, there wasn't a chance to say anything.

The monsters were trying to get into the bus and for a moment she could only watch in horror. Annie couldn't tell if she was screaming or if that was one of the kids.

"Annie, get it, do something!" Steve yelled before she stabbed at another one of the monsters trying to get in through the windows.

Steve threw a sheet of metal at the door to keep them out. It was quiet for a moment, but then there were thumps coming from the top of the bus. Annie's blood ran cold as she realized there was a way in through the top. They were done for. There were far too many monsters for just her and Steve to take care of.

Max was near the opening at the roof of the bus. Right as the monster appeared and opened its mouth in an odd venus flytrap way, she and Steve ran in front of the kids. This was it. Getting in front of the kids was going to be in vain, Annie knew that. She was sure Steve was aware too. That didn't stop him from yelling in the screaming creature's face.

All of a sudden, there wasn't any screaming. The monster's mouth closed and its head turned up towards the sky. Then, it turned around and left with the rest of the monsters. Annie let out a deep breath, realizing that they weren't dead yet.

"Do you think Steve scared it off?" Lucas asked as all of them slowly filed out of the bus.

Steve stepped out into the night, shaking his head, "No... no way, they're going somewhere."

Unsure of where that place was, all of them tried to follow anyway. The kids were a little bit in front, leaving Annie with only Steve to talk to. That was, if she could manage to comprehend what she just went through.

"So... are we really about to take these kids with us?" Annie asked.

He shrugged, "I guess. If we didn't, they would just follow us. These kids are persistent little shits. It's better they have someone to protect them."

"Because we did such a great job?"

"Hey, we did our best and you know it," he insisted.

The conversation didn't go any further because Dustin and Lucas were starting to argue. Steve didn't help by only confirming that Dustin did keep Dart.

Annie rolled her eyes, "If you guys don't get your shit together, then we're all going home right now, get it?!"

A shrieking in the distance stopped all of them from saying anything more. For a moment, Annie thought she screwed all of them over, but nothing came. They ended up following the noise out to a clearing. The monsters were going to the lab. A place Annie only knew about due to Steve telling her the night before.

It was a long walk, one where none of them really said anything. If nothing else, because they all knew that nothing good could come of all this. She was leading these kids into something more dangerous than she could even understand. How Steve was doing it without hesitation was beyond her. Maybe he wasn't thinking. It seemed like he was almost on autopilot the whole time.

They were soon getting closer to the lab and Annie heard someone calling out to them. Much to her surprise, it was none other than Nancy and Jonathan.

"Steve?" they both asked before Nancy looked at Annie, "Who're you?"

"Um I'm Annie," she replied, clutching onto her pitchfork.

There wasn't a whole lot of time for introductions as the lab seemed to be overrun with those monsters just as thought. It meant there wasn't even a chance for Annie to feel sorry for Steve as she started to put together Nancy's lack of jealousy and the way she looked at Jonathan. Especially when she was being thrown into a police cruiser minutes later.

Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be added!): @dungeons-and-demodogs @ilovebucketbarnes @jxnehxpper

#steve harrington #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x original character #stranger things x oc #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst #dfean?

13 notes · View notes

fortunatelylori · 5 years

Note

Love your analyses. (You are to Sanditon what jbuffyangel was to Arrow.) Question about 1x03, When Sidney asks Charlotte for “feedback,” her first question is why didn’t he help Tom more. When Sidney says it wasn’t fair. he’d done all he could, she says, ”Have you?” Did she inadvertently contribute to the demise of her own relationship? Sidney is a loyal brother, but he’s also already in love with Charlotte and, whether he realizes it or not, wants her approval.

Before we get started on the ask, I would like to thank everyone who has sent me messages or asks over the past few days. I really appreciate your guys’ interest in my blog and Sanditon opinions and it’s immensely satisfying to me to play a part in the growth of the very new Sanditon fandom.

I have many Sanditon related projects in the works at the moment, namely a new fanfic one shot that should be uploaded in the next couple of days, a very exciting meta that I think you’ll all love and I need to get started on my Christmas fic if I am to finish by the middle of December as I have announced. All of that in addition to my and Mrs. @kitten1618x ‘s Sanditioncreative blog which will be hosting the first Sanditon Christmas event this year.

All of this is to say that I might not be answering your questions as quickly as I would otherwise. If that happens, please don’t get discouraged! I will answer ALL asks eventually, whenever I find the time to work on them. To that end, I would also kindly ask all of you to please send your asks solely to my ask me anything inbox because if you send it via replies or private message, they will end up getting lost and I will forget to answer them.

Hope this works for everyone! Let’s get to the ask …

Oh, nonnie … I’m pretty sure you had no idea what you were getting yourself into when you sent this ask but strap in … because the time has finally come to talk about …

Tom THE WORST Parker

Leaving aside the torch and pitchfork party we’ve all thrown for Tom, I do think we should take a moment and give Kris Marshall a shout out for an outstanding job playing this character. Look at the desperation in his eyes, the strained smile, the implied pressure he is applying on his target (Sidney as per 90% of the time). He even does that annoying calling people over with your hand as if they were your dog thing that drives me nuts!

Fortunatelylori: Put the hand away, Tom, unless you want me to cut it off! Arghhh!!!

Now, you might rightly ask why we’re going to talk about Tom when your ask is about Charlotte and how she might have ended up sabotaging herself.

The thing to keep in mind is that Charlotte Heywood is our entry point into Sanditon. We are being introduced to this world and these characters through her eyes. So we are inclined to take her opinion on everything that is occurring as gospel. However, we should remember a few things about Charlotte: despite having excellent instincts and insight into people, she is still very much a young, inexperienced girl who has lived a very sheltered life. In addition to that, she is very kind hearted and a true romantic.

All of that makes her prone to having better opinions of people than she should at times. For example, she thinks Otis is “a good man who made one terrible mistake” because she doesn’t truly grasp the seriousness of his gambling addiction and because she feels that if he truly loves Georgiana then he can’t really be bad.

Her opinion of Tom is similar to that. Tom is, if not a nice man (he isn’t but we’ll get to that), he’s at the very least a pleasant one and that outward ease and friendliness makes her empathize with him.

On the other hand, her major issue with Sidney is her inability to figure him out and his desire to keep people at arm’s length:

Charlotte: You are determined to remain an outlier. God forbid you give something of yourself!

Sidney: Please do not presume to know my mind, Miss Heywood!

Charlotte: How can anyone know your mind? You take great pains to remain unknowable.

Again and again, she reproaches him for not being more involved with Georgiana, for not helping Tom, for trying to separate himself from those around him. And while there is truth to what she’s telling him, it also reveals that Charlotte can be easily taken in by people who display affection and/or involvement towards others, even if the cost of that is very steep.

She judges Sidney harshly for not behaving that way, while allowing Otis and Tom to get away with their bad behavior because they do involve themselves in people’s lives and give “proof” of caring and thus make Charlotte think they are inherently good people. However, what she fails to see is the selfish reasons behind those characters’ actions.

I did reblog a gif set of Charlotte telling Sidney to help Tom more and made the joke that she shot herself in the foot. But that was me joking and noting the dramatic irony that the writing employs.

The serious interpretation of Charlotte’s line isn’t that she unknowingly acted towards the demise of her own love story but rather that she completely misunderstood the dynamic of the Tom/Sidney relationship.

In her mind, it was Sidney who held all the power in his relationship with his brother, as the younger, more handsome, more successful sibling to the put upon and fate tested idealist Tom. As such, Sidney’s “refusal” to help him seemed petty and cruel to sweet angel Charlotte who is utterly fascinated by what Tom is doing in Sanditon

And by and large I think the viewers have also bought into that image of Tom and Sidney.

But I would like to propose a different interpretation:

There is no reason to assume that Sidney wasn’t helping Tom prior to Charlotte calling him on it. Why else would he have dragged Crowe and Babbington to the ball in episode 1? Why else was he getting his liver smashed in, boxing for their entertainment or playing at cards in the hotel restaurant? Why else would Tom talk about Sidney “profiting” from the success of Sandition if Sidney had not already invested in his brother’s project?

The problem isn’t that Sidney isn’t helping him. The problem is that Tom has an endless list of things he needs help with:

Sidney: At least this time I leave knowing you are in good heart. A new physician, a new regatta to plan. All is well with Tom Parker.

Tom: So it would seem … Oh, I say … I’m … I just wonder if while you’re in London you could stop by the bank for me and see if they might consider extending …

First he needs help attracting fashionable people to Sanditon. Sidney provides them. However, as he points out, there isn’t enough entertainment in Sanditon to make it worth their stay. I would suggest that’s Tom’s fault, not Sidney’s.

On that note, remember what Eliza said during the regatta:

Eliza: At the last regatta I attended, they raced Arab stallions. The one before that featured 18 clippers in full sail. But for sheer exhilaration what could compare to a sand castle competition?

Leaving aside that this is Eliza and we all hate her, what does this tell you about Tom and his understanding of his clientele? Because it seems to me he wants Sanditon to be the Regency’s version of Monaco while offering the quaint entertainment of whatever seaside resort your granny goes to.

He then reveals that he has financial troubles and needs money and eventually sends Sidney hat in hand to beg the banks for a loan. Sidney doesn’t want to do it at first because he knows there’s no point to it but because Charlotte made him feel guilty, he relents. The result is what he already knew: no more credit for Tom. This is Tom’s reaction:

Tom: No, no! That is not possible! Clearly you forgot to explain about the regatta. We are soon to be the most popular resort on the South Coast. Did you even mention Dr. Fuchs?

Sidney: Tom, I spoke to 3 different banks, at lenght. Not one of them is willing to extend your credit any further.

Tom: What do you suggest I do now, Sidney? What exactly do I do now?

Look at that violent, desperate reaction! That’s what emotional blackmail looks like. And that, my friends, is abuse. Because in one fell swoop Tom has not only put the blame on Sidney for something that is out of his control (Sidney can’t force the bank to give Tom money) but also put the eventual consequences Tom will face squarely on Sidney’s shoulders.

Also Tom decides to go buy necklaces for his wife instead of paying his workers. When they argue with him at the cricket match, he walks away in a fit, leaving Sidney, and Charlotte, to clean up the mess. It’s also up to Sidney to resolve the workers’ problems by “loaning” Tom the money to pay them. I’ve put loan between “” because one has to be truly naïve to think Tom would have ever paid that loan back.

I would suggest that Tom is an irresponsible, selfish man and a terrible businessman who doesn’t need help. What he needs is a business partner that will control his terrible decision making and handle all of the business aspects of Sanditon while Tom scribbles away at his architecture plans (plans that I suspect were mostly created by James Stringer and that Tom is taking credit for).

And on some level, I think, Sidney knows that as well, which is why he fights Tom’s desire to involve him in the running of Sanditon at every turn:

Sidney: I’m sorry but I have done everything you’ve asked of me, Tom. I’m not your keeper. I will gladly own my mistakes but I cannot own yours.

Oh, you sweet summer child …

I don’t think it’s Sidney’s dream to manage a seaside resort, not is it his responsibility. His brother is an adult who should be held accountable for his own actions. However, at the rate this story is going, running Sanditon while Tom gets all the credit for its success is exactly what Sidney will end up doing.

His reluctance to get more sucked into Tom’s schemes in the beginning, I think, has less to do with Sidney being a bad person or an outlier and more to do with knowing that once he relents, there will be no end to Tom’s demands on him and he will end up being his keeper for all eternity.

Episode 8 also reveals something very interesting about the entire Parker family: they are all enablers of Tom’s bullshit. Arthur is the first to offer up his inheritance on a silver platter, Diana refuses to let him blame himself and Mary is ready with a love declaration the moment Tom shades one crocodile tear.

Despite being the hardest one to crack out of all of them, Sidney is ultimately one more enabler to Tom. He hops on the first carriage to London and gives up his life in order to spare Tom prison time.

From where I’m sitting, the dynamic of these 2 brothers is the complete opposite from what Charlotte estimated. It is Tom that holds all the power and he and Sidney are involved in a toxic relationship that has been going on long before Charlotte ever met either one of them. Perhaps it started the moment Tom paid Sidney’s debts before he sailed to Antigua. Perhaps it started long before that.

However, I don’t think Charlotte’s intervention in episode 3 influenced Sidney’s final decision. What ultimately sealed the deal on that was the emotional blackmail Tom has been inflicting on Sidney for years, Tom’s expectation that everyone in his life do everything to service him and his family’s compliance with those wishes and, not least of it, Sidney’s lack of selflove that allowed him to prioritize his brother’s temporary stint in prison (he could have worked to pay off Tom’s debts over time; there’s no law that says Tom had to be in prison forever) over his own permanent misery.

I’m not sure this was the turn you were expecting my answer to take but I hope you found it useful nonetheless.

#sanditon #sidney parker #tom parker #charlotte heywood #my meta

152 notes · View notes

moon-yeongjun · 4 years

Text

Chuseok || Mu Jun

Summary: On Chuseok, the Baes and Moons gather as is tradition and a secret is revealed...

@baenxietydad

JUN:

Chuseok.

Normally, Jun loved Chuseok. It was the one holiday that Jun could always afford to come home for with no guilt, to enjoy Eomma’s cooking and play games with his siblings. Last year’s Chuseok he had to spend it with Tiffany’s family and missed his own in the very fibre of his bones. He called Eomma and talked to her for two hours, nearly crying a few times, but of course, holding it all in. He had been looking forward to this Chuseok, then. Even though Abeoji would not be here...there would still be food and games and the Baes would come over like they always did--and Korean would flow, and the house would smell like egg batter, and he’d be...home.

But this year Chuseok came on the heel of Jun’s greatest shame. All the rich, delicious delicacies of Chuseok, the gifts, he didn’t deserve any of it. He woke up and wanted to walk out into the fields-- banish himself if Eomma wouldn’t.

He couldn’t, though. Tradition was tradition, town scandal or not. Eomma found him feeding the chickens and gave him his to-do list for the day, mentioning the Baes would be over before noon.

So here he was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. Onions actually. They burned his eyes, making him sniffle and turn bright red. He looked up from the cutting board as he tried furiously to blink the onion-stench from his eyes when he heard a knock.

Ah, it was Mu-yeol hyung, sent in here by Eomma no doubt.

“It’s the onions!” Jun declared instead of hello, sensitive about the tear that rolled down his cheek. “Aiya, come here and take over, I need a break.”

MARLIN:

Mu-yeol clicked his tongue like he was admonishing Jun and quickly took over chopping the onions. Aiya, you’d think humans would evolve and immunity to the gasses onions give off considering they use them in cooking regularly.

“Fun fact-” the ‘about fairies’ bit was silent “-onions don’t bother us. Evolution was kinder to us.”

He gestured to the counter with some shavings of veggie peels on it. “Scoop those into the trashcan before noonim yells at us both.”

Yells was used liberally here, as Eun-jung was more likely to go ‘omo, boys what a mess!’ and quietly do the spot cleaning herself while Jun insisted they were ‘about to do it, eomma!’

“Yah, you really took something out on the onions, didn’t you?”

JUN:

Jun rolled his eyes at his hyung, though it was a good-natured kind of gesture (for Jun, at least). Of course fairies were unaffected by onions. You know, sometimes he wouldn’t mind so much being something like a fairy. It seemed idyllic from where he stood-- a kind community, lots of holding hands, one specific thing to do, even if that was, eh...garbage-talent! Or something. But anyway.

He obeyed his hyung and put the food waste into the food waste bucket, since he would add it to the Moon’s compost pile later. Then he moved to the drawer to pull out another knife. He’d go for the mushrooms, eh.

“Ah, just getting warmed up, hyung,” Jun said almost cheerfully. With a snort he took his place next to Mu-yeol and put the mushroom’s on another cutting board. “It’s election season. Plenty to be upset about, eh.” He began his furious chopping again.

Yes, the election was what got Jun worked up. Nothing else!

MARLIN:

“The election? Oh.” Mu-yeol nodded slowly.

He almost forgot about that seeing as he never cared enough before last year. His son of course had only been going to human school for a year so it was just last year he cared enough to vote. If he recalled correctly he’d voted for Hades Acheron.

This year? He didn’t even know what seats were going to be open or who all was running yet. Of course that had yet to be announced but he imagined townsfolk had heard gossip of who may run.

“Are you looking to run?” He asked Jun, an eyebrow quirking up.

JUN:

“Ha!” Jun barked at his hyung’s ridiculous question.

Honestly, he could laugh even harder than that.

Jun, see, never had political aspirations. Politics were a bastard’s business-- necessary evil, yes, but not for him. Before his market was attacked though, he had hoped to help Al McWiggin with a campaign. Now? He wasn’t sure. It might be too dangerous. His store was targeted already. What if Swynlake went after his family next? What if Tae-yah was harassed at school? Jun fretted over these questions, and cursed himself for even caring in the first place--for ever wanting to make Swynlake better.

Why did he care about Swynlake when Swynlake did not care about him?

“Please, don’t you know we’re public enemy number one right now?” Jun said bitterly as he swept his mushrooms into the boiling pot. He reached for the carrots next. “I run, I get chased out of town with pitchforks.”

MARLIN:

“No? No, I didn’t hear. Who could be mad at your mother?” Mu-yeol wrinkled his nose in disbelief. Eun-jung was the kindest, most loving person. “Or is it you? You can be...abrasive.”

As Jun’s hyung, he can say something so brutally honest.

“Of course, part of that is our culture. We're blunt people. What makes you think people are so angry with you?”

Being in the Hollow, he hadn’t heard of the vandalism.

JUN:

He scoffed again.

Was it a good thing that his hyung was clueless? Maybe, maybe not. Mu-yeol didn’t really count when it came to Swynlake. He avoided the town unless he was 1. Working; 2. Watching his son dance; or 3. Picking up Korean-specific groceries from the Moon Market. He had not come by recently and so he did not see the RACIST accusation nor did he go on Twitter or read the newspaper. Maybe it was a good thing talk did not reach the noisy dance halls of Pixie’s then? Or Jun should not count his luck.

He began to furiously chop the carrots.

“The store was attacked, hyung. A girl--she hated my petitions against vampires--against vampires, you know, the one many people signed! And so she vandalized the Market!” Jun brandished the knife very unsafely as his anger grew. “She said I was racist! I’m not racist, eh, I just don’t like vampires. You don’t like vampires!” Jabbed the knife toward Mu-yeol. “But I’m not racist. But no, now everyone is saying that we are unfriendly to Magicks and some are saying they won’t shop at our store-- but we are not, eh, we’ve never--we serve anyone who comes in, vampire, werewolf, fairy, sorcerer, we have never turned away a customer--all because I just wanted to make Swynlake safe against dark magic, dark magic, not all magic-- so I’ve ruined my entire fami--ah!”

He hissed and his hand jerked away. He’d sliced into his skin with the knife as tears had blurred into his eyes once more. At least now he could blame such tears on the pain. Jun spat a very explicit Korean curse as he made to move over to the sink.

MARLIN:

Now, Mu-yeol was about to tell Jun it would be okay but then he had to go and damn near slice his hand off and that kicked him right into healing fairy mode. Jun swore and Mu-yeol followed him to the sink and turned it on so the water would rinse the cut.

“Hey, hey, sh it’s okay. Don’t think about it.” Mu-yeol said gently. “I’ll fix it, give me your hand.

With her bare hand - which was not human medical practice - Mu-yeol took Jun’s hand in his and waved his other hand over the cut which in one motion stopped the bleeding. To seal the cut however he had to rest his other hand on top of Jun’s until it felt like they held sunbeams in their hands, complete with a little golden glimmer.

He pulled his hands away, still covered in Jun’s blood, and nodded to the hand. “Good as new.”

And with a flick of his wrists so that his palms faced up Jun’s blood disappeared from his hands. “And clean.”

JUN:

“Daebak.”

Jun did not say this.

He’d grumbled the entire time Mu-yeol tended his gash, tears stinging in his eyes. He had not heard the kitchen door open. He did not see Eomma enter. Only now he heard her soft exclamation. Jun jerked his head to see her holding freshly picked cucumbers from Appa’s garden. She had obviously brought them for Mu-yeol and Jun.

She had also, obviously, seen Mu-yeol perform magic.

“Eomma,” Jun blurted and instinctively stepped in front of Mu-yeol as if he could hide--

Eun-jung blinked several times and then scurried toward them. “Aiya, already using both our cutting boards! Where am I supposed to cut these, hmm?”

Jun blinked. He glanced at Mu-yeol--

Eun-jung pushed her way between them. “Junnie, the gim please.”

“Eomma…”

“Stop standing there with your mouth open, you’ll eat a fly,” Eomma huffed. She looked at Mu-yeol. “Does this kid have rice stuffed in his ears? What?” A pause. “Are we still pretending I don’t know?”

MARLIN:

Mu-yeol stood there frozen like an ice block as his eyes flitted between Jun and Eun-jung. He used magic. He used magic on Jun (to help him!) and she didn’t even flinch. Apart from a soft exclamation of sur— no, not even surprise. She’d sounded impressed. Amazed? But not surprised.

And most importantly she didn’t seem angry.

“I— what. Wait, what.” Mu-yeol finally stammered, looking at Jun as if to ask if he knew she knew.

“You knew?” He asked quietly, barely above a whisper. “And you don’t care? For how long?”

JUN:

Jun watched his mother sigh, then smile gently at Mu-yeol.

They had a rule in their household, very vague as to apply to many things. The rule was this: don’t talk about it. It could mean the recurring billywig blight that kept attacking their lettuce. It had meant Abeoji’s cancer. It definitely meant the many strange clients the Moon Market served, ‘strange’ applying to couples like Simba and Berlioz and to fairies like Mu-yeol. While these things were not altogether strange to Jun, he understood his parents’ stubborn silence as a conditional acceptance, for Swynlake had been what Abeoji could afford, and now that they were here-- it was home, flaws and all. They must respect those flaws.

At least, that’s what Jun thought. Now? He felt like he’d just sliced his whole thumb off, even though the pain had vanished. What the hell was going on, eh?!

“Oh, I don’t know!” Eun-jung said as she shrugged and laughed, though something in her sweet eyes remained sad. “Nam-minnie would always lose his hats, running around the store! You two aren’t so clever as you think. But you never said anything; I didn’t think you wanted us to know. It isn’t our business.” She shrugged a second time as she skinned the cucumber down.

“You’re okay with it?!” Jun blurted.

Eun-jung shot him a glare. “Eh, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because!”

“They’re the Baes! What was I going to do, stop talking to them?” And though Jun knew she did not mean to, his Eomma blushed and looked back at her cucumbers, sucking her teeth as though Jun was ridiculous.

But--he understood at once. It was like he had always thought, the same reason why Jun had never said anything, following the rule of the Moon household to the strictest letter. The last thing he had wanted to do was take away one of Eomma’s friends. She hadn’t wanted to lose Mu-yeol, either.

“Didn’t I tell you to get the gim?”

Jun made a face. “Eommmaaaaaa.”

MARLIN:

Eun-jung knew.

Either she’d always known or she came to know and it didn’t matter to her, because she still invited them over for Chuseok; she still let Nemo sleep over with Tae; she still gently scolded Mu-yeol for telling Nemo to always help with dishes when he sleeps over.

Had it not been for his being well-versed in Korean human culture, where showing the emotions he wanted to display now was frowned upon, he might have burst into tears and hugged her. He still almost did.

“Tae eomma…” he said quietly — of course getting back to chopping onions because Chuseok meals waited for no touching revelation — “And you...don’t have any questions? It’s okay if you do. I owe you that much for intending to lie.”

JUN:

Eomma went quiet for a moment, but her hands didn’t stop. The knife banged against the cutting board as she sliced up the cucumbers, her movements quick and even. Jun watched, but those hands did not hesitate. Eomma did not seem to be uncomfortable either-- just focused on her task. Though he would be the first to admit that there was more he didn’t know about his parents. After all, he hadn’t known this! He’d foolishly kept a secret he didn’t need to keep. All this time, thinking he was protecting the Moons-- yah, what good was his gesture now?

Though he wondered. About Abeoji. What about Abeoji?

Eomma glanced at Jun first, probably sensing the loudness of such thoughts, but then smiled at Mu-yeol.

“Eh, only if you want to share. I’ve lived in this town too long, I know such things are sensitive. It’s best to be polite.”

Jun’s cheeks heated, hearing the lecture for him in it.

“Though--” she paused again, dropping her eyes. She tried to sound casual. “Can all fairies do that? What you did for Junnie? Is that why you look so young?”

MARLIN:

That was the one thing about Korean human culture that really, truly, clashed with fairy culture. The whole ‘don’t ask about anything’ thing. He gave her permission, with his previous statement, and was incredibly thankful she did bite the bait, if only nibbled at it.

He chuckled low in his throat and got back to cutting vegetables, albeit slowly, before Eun-jung scolded him for just being a decoration in her kitchen.

“Not all fairies, only fairies like me. We’re all born with what we call Talents, and that’s our magic. Mine is healing, just like my youngest brother and one of my grandfathers. My parents were - are, they’re still alive - a Scout talent and Pixie Dust talent. Which means my father helps protect the Hollow, and my mother harvests and maintains the pixie dust supply for the whole Hollow. I look so young because once we hit about twenty-five we age slower than humans; a fairy’s lifespan is generally 150-200 years. Our Hollow Queen or King lives for centuries. My father is 103 and my mother is 75.”

Mu-yeol awkwardly cleared his throat. “Sorry. That was probably a lot.”

JUN:

Yah, talk about overexplaining. Though Jun only thought that because he was so used to underexplaining-- to excuses and hand-waving and looking the other direction. All such things became habits and habits were hard to break, even when there was no reason to keep them now. He saw the same behavior in his Eomma-- as she blinked and looked uncertain as to react to any of that.

He wondered if she was thinking about Abeoji.

Jun was thinking about Abeoji.

Jun was thinking about how he had begged Mu-yeol to do something, and Mu-yeol said that he could not. It was hopeless, of course it was, and it was not Mu-yeol’s fault, but bitterness filled Jun anyway as his hyung spoke of living so long after healing Jun’s hand like it was nothing. Why did some creatures get such blessings when humans were forced to labor for the mere handful of years? Abeoji had only been sixty-one. Sixty-one. And he was gone.

After a brief pause, Eomma nodded as though no such pause occurred. “Ahhh, I know about talents, of course. I did not know they weren’t all-- I though it was all in nature and we could get you to help our tomatoes grow.” Her eyes twinkled, all in jest. “But healing, yah, that’s very important. You must be so respected.”

MARLIN:

Mu-yeol had already unloaded on Jun how very much not respected the Baes were in the Hollow, so he wasn’t sure how to answer Eun-jung.

“At the clinic I am.” He didn’t lie because that was true.

This was Eun-jung’s first Chuseok without her husband. He wouldn’t depress her by telling her about why outside of the clinic he and Nemo were a little...not everyone’s favorite.

“Talents are unpredictable. None of my siblings have the same as my parents. But, Nemo is the same as his mother was. It just depends. On what, I’m not sure.”

JUN:

Jun was still watching his eomma as if she might transform in a moment-- turn from the sweet woman he knew that she was into the woman who ripped the covers off the bed and started shouting at her children if they stayed asleep for too long.

But of course Eomma didn’t. Why would she yell at Mu-yeol? There was no reason to yell at Mu-yeol. They were very different people, his eomma and his hyung, and yet it seemed there was enough similar between them that they both wanted-- to be kind to each other, to forgive each other for the things they might disagree on.

It made Jun’s heart felt so soft and tender. He rubbed at his chest. Maybe it was just heartburn.

“Ooooooh, I see. Well, that’s children for you anyway. Junnie takes after Appa, doesn’t he?” she smiled at Jun and turned Jun’s whole face red.

Jun sucked his teeth as if he were disagreeing.

“Who knows why they do? Eh, Junnie, start rolling these.”

Jun had no choice to come forward to arrange the gimbap.

Eomma turned to face Mu-yeol then-- and her face looked much more serious. “Mu-yeol ssi, I do hope… I think-- I am sorry,” she finally settled on. She bowed her head slightly. “If you felt that our family would not welcome yours if we knew about your heritage. I think, when we were younger… Yoon-seok and I, there was a lot we didn’t know how to talk about. There’s still so much. But I hope you will still feel safe here.”

#mu jun #eun jung #YESSS this is well over a month and a half late #but what are u going to do eh #para #hey i love the baes and the moons so much

2 notes · View notes

commanderadorkable · 3 years

Photo

I'm finally sitting down to write my fic! I wasn't tagged by anyone but I'm sharing anyway. This was the *second* scene I wrote for the story. I'm still working out major plots and stuffs.

I don't know who to tag as everyone I know has posted their wips already. 🤣 It’s under the cut cause apparently I’m wordy.

I walked up to Cullen’s office door and lightly knocked. I don’t know why I still knock. He’s asked me about three hundred times to not bother...it still seems rude though.

To just walk into someone’s office slash bedroom without knocking?

I felt even worse since it was well past dinner and I didn’t want to wake him if he had managed to go to bed early.

“Come in.” I heard Cullen say muffled through the door. I opened the door and walked in to find Cullen sitting at his desk, trying to shave by candle light. He was hunched over in front of a small mirror. On either side of the mirror were multiple candles for light. It still didn’t seem like enough light to shave by. And from how low the candles were burning, it seemed he had been at this for awhile.

He wasn’t in his usual attire, which was kind of surprising. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen this man without his furry mane...and that included in game cutscenes.

Tonight he just wore a plain linen shirt and, I assumed, plain trousers. He could be pantsless for all I knew.

Ooooh. Stop it, brain! “Oof. That can’t be easy. Why don’t you do that in the morning? You'd have more natural light when the sun comes up” I asked looking at him.

The razor paused on his cheek and he looked up at me. Surprise and possibly excitement flicked across his face. But just as quickly his face returned to his perpetually exhausted look. Laying the razor down he let out a long sigh and spoke. “The Ambassador informed me at dinner this evening that the Advisors had an early meeting with some nobles that I needed to attend. I wouldn’t have the time between running drills and getting to the meeting.”

I could hear his voice dripping with disdain when he mentioned the nobles and it made me smile. I placed my hands on my hips and walked towards his desk. As I got closer I saw that he was bleeding in quite a few spots. He moved to continue shaving and I saw that his hands were shaking quite a bit.

That would explain all the nicks. Poor man.

“I don’t know what Thedosian propriety law this would break, but would you like some help?” I asked him, hopefully.

He chuckled and stared at me for a moment. Likely contemplating what kind of scandal this may cause if someone were to walk in to catch us. Resigned he said, “I’m sure you would do a much finer job than I could at present.”

I came around to his side of the desk and took stock of what had been done. There were more cuts than what I previously saw and frowned at him.

"I may take away your straight razor privileges, good ser."

I'm fairly certain the Commander just rolled his eyes at me.

I absentmindedly traced my finger across his cheek taking inventory.

I turned and grabbed the clean washcloth from his desk. I started to dab at the cuts to help staunch some of the worst bleeding.

Then I remembered that I had some fancy new healing magic!

Man, this will never get old. Thanks, Thedas!

“Do you mind if I use some magic to heal these?” I asked, pointing to the little blood spots.

He waved his hand, “Go ahead.”

I hovered my right hand over the right side of his chin and cheek. I concentrated on healing the small cuts I saw. The faint blue light coming from my hand was always unnerving, but I ignored it and focused on what I was doing. I was extra careful to avoid the scar on his lip. I definitely didn’t want that to disappear.

Moving my hand as each one disappeared, I continued to move upwards until I reached his temple.

More than once our eyes met and I'd lose my concentration.

Mental note to start training with Solas more.

When I got him all patched up, I grabbed his razor and moved around his chair to his left side. It seemed the straight razors in Thedas weren’t too terribly different than back home. I was silently thankful the few times Derek asked me to help him shave with a straight razor.

I frowned at the memory.

I gently tilted Cullen’s head over to the right so I could see his neck and face better. He closed his eyes and allowed his shoulders to relax.

I noticed his pulse in his neck quicken when I touched him. Mine mirrored his and I had to take a couple steadying breaths.

I groaned internally and tried to distract myself from THAT train of thought.

“Are your withdrawals getting worse?” I asked gently.

Without moving he answered, “Unfortunately, yes. First it starts with the headaches then the nausea. Then usually by the end of the day my hands are shaking too badly to be of much use. If Josephine hadn’t informed me of this meeting, I wouldn’t have bothered with this.”

He gestured to his face with a wave of his hand.

I nodded, not knowing what to say. Then I realized his eyes were still closed.

“Ah. Makes sense.” I continued to work methodically over his neck and face. Taking the razor from his neck over his jaw and up his cheek.

Being this close to him was unnerving. It’s one thing to sit close during a chess game...there’s the board between us to make it seem not so intimate.

But shaving him as I was, afforded me the opportunity to really study his face. How often do I get to stare at his face and not get caught? I smiled like a little girl with her first crush.

I could see the bags under his eye from the lack of sleep. The poor man probably only slept a few hours each night. Then managed to run an entire army to save the world. I don’t know how he did it. I turned into a diva if I didn't get at least 6 hours of sleep.

I could see the wrinkles in his forehead from his perma scowl. I would imagine running on no sleep would make everything seem like a nuisance. Coupled with the constant headaches and nausea. I could see how people found him intimidating to be around. I’d probably be counted among them if I didn’t know how...soft he could be when he let the Commander façade down.

I could also see the scar on his lip that seemed to pull his mouth into smirk every once in a while. I always wondered how he had gotten that scar. He didn’t have it in Kirkwall...or at least wasn’t portrayed as having the scar prior to the rebellion. Maybe I’ll ask him about it one day.

But touching his neck and face… having my face mere inches away from his...watching his pulse go erratic every time I moved my hand...hear his breathing hitch...

Baby Jesus, have mercy on my soul.

I had to stop thinking this way. We were friends...nothing more. We couldn’t be more. I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing for the Inquisitor anyway. Plus, Arry and I are out of here at the first chance we get. We just had to figure out how to get home...bah.

Did I really want to leave? Even more, did Arry want to leave? I hadn't specifically asked her...and she had been spending quite a bit more time with Rylen lately.

Ugh, dammit.

I continued to work slowly. I absolutely didn’t want to be the one responsible for marring this pretty face. I’m pretty sure the fan club that he had amassed at his morning drill sessions would come for me. Pitchforks and all.

As I continued, I could feel his face and neck heating up. I imagined he was starting to blush, but the light was too dim to see it.

When I finally finished with the razor, I wiped it off on the cloth laying on his desk and folded the razor back up and laid it gently next to the mirror. I grabbed another clean cloth to remove the remaining shaving cream left behind on his face, pleased to see that I hadn’t nicked him at all.

I studied him for just a moment longer. His breathing had grown steady and I was reasonably sure he was on the verge of falling asleep.

“Cullen”, I whispered and nudged him gently on the shoulder.

His eyes popped open and he looked like he forgot what was going on. “All done.” I smiled at him.

I stood back a couple steps while he tilted his neck from side to side to stretch it out and examined my handy work in the small mirror before him. “I must say, Lady Elaine, I’m rather impressed.” His lip quirked as he looked back up at me.

I snorted “I couldn’t very well let you cut up that pretty face before a big meeting with the nobles. How would that make the Inquisition look? Hm?”

Fuck me, did I just say that?!

He, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Or at least didn’t let on that he noticed.

“Fair point.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me ‘Lady’?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Likely about as many times as I will have to ask you to stop knocking on my door and just come in.” Cullen deadpanned.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “...touché, Rutherford.”

He chuckled and stood to start clearing off his desk. I saw he was in fact not pantsless at all and wearing a pair of plain leather trousers with only his socks on. “Elaine, did you need me for something?”

“What? Oh, uh, it's nothing actually.” I shrugged.

“Ah.” He looked a little disappointed.

The silence was uncomfortable. Probably because I was making it so. I’d never been one for silence. Plus the fact that I had just been TOUCHING HIS FACE… Internally I screamed.

“Well, I should get goin’ and leave you to it. G’night, Cullen.” I turned towards the door to leave. I had made it across his office and my hand on the handle when he called out to me.

“Elaine.”

“Hm?” “Do you...do you by chance have any more of that salve you gave me before? For the headaches... What do you call it...the Ice and Hot salve?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck. I laughed. “Icy Hot? Yes, I’d be happy to make more for you tomorrow and bring it to our game.”

“Perfect” He smiled at me then. Jesus H Roosevelt Christ...if I wasn’t careful I’d immolate on the spot.

I cleared my throat, “G’night, Cullen.” “Goodnight, Lady Elaine”

I stuck my tongue out at him and turned to leave his office.

#my ocs #mgit #modern girls in thedas #yes they are sisters #cullen rutherford #cullen #commander cullen #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fic #all the fluff #two dorks in love #modern girl in thedas #WIP Wednesday #work in progress

1 note · View note

5lazarus · 4 years

Text

Anders in Autumn, Ch. 13

based off of n.13 of @cozy-autumn-prompts! read on AO3 here. Anders in Autumn, Ch. 13: Fenris and Anders prepare to return to Kirkwall, and for whatever might come next.

Merrill sends a letter with Varric’s messenger. Messere Pounce-the-Second is fine, the two apprentices made it out okay, Samsom drank all the lyrium he left in the clinic, and no one has died yet. Varric has paid the guards off, the bosses off, and reached a compromise with the strikers. Only two people have died, and only a couple have been maimed for life. The dockworkers have won their demands. Those injured will be paid their pensions. The messenger also brings two fine Free Marches Rangers, for them to ride into town. Varric’s got a foot in the horseflesh market now. They are free advertising to his munificence. The Dalish left the house without saying goodbye, and took half the kitchen implements and an apple sapling with them. Fenris says it wasn’t personal. Imladris has never been good at goodbyes, and Mahanon has always been a magpie. Anders is slightly offended, and irritated besides. It is hard to make dinner when Mahanon took all the best pans, and he thought they would have at least tried to recruit him. “No,” Fenris says. “You’re doing good work in Kirkwall. For now.” “Not enough,” Anders says.

“We’ll be home soon.” Fenris takes a bite from the one loaf of bread the Dalish left them. They’ll be able to subsist the day’s journey back to Kirkwall on apples, but still: they could have left some of the dried pork. Anders smiles at him uncertainly and reaches for his hand. He crept into his bed last night and they fell asleep together, that was it, and that was fine. Iit is fine, but he worries. Whatever is growing between them is still so fragile, and Anders worries that his luck will run out. Mages don’t get to fall in love and have a domestic routine. The whole situation is revolutionary, and he does not want Kirkwall to steal it from him. “Merrill says my cat is fine,” Anders says instead. “And she didn’t burn down the clinic, and no one’s run her out of town with pitchfork.” “Yet,” Fenris says. Anders snorts, and Fenris takes his hand in both of his. The tenderness sits between them. He’s happy. He does not want to leave, not yet, but he must. He always has to, he always has to move on. Fear wracks him and he draws back. This was all a moment of weakness. Fenris won’t want to take back up with him when they return home. The reality of their situation is too clear. He hates mages, or at least disdains mages, and hates mages who deal with demons. Justice isn’t a demon though Anders fears that he’ll make a demon out of him, but Merrill always says that it’s less about the Andrastian binary of good and evil and more about sacrifice. He isn’t like Merrill though. He believes in good. Anders looks at Fenris, ashamed. Does he know that? That he believes in good? Fenris looks askance. “Is something the matter?” He reaches for his hand again, and Anders closes his eyes. He likes the calluses of his hands “Are you comfortable?” Anders rushes. “Am I what?” “Comfortable,” Anders says, “with this. Continuing when we return to Kirkwall. With taking up with your local abomination. I thought you hated Justice. He isn’t going away. He’s a part of me. Magic is who I am. As much as the fight for freedom is. And I--I’m not like Merrill, I don’t condone blood magic, and I don’t go looking for spirits to pester. But this is what I am. I’m a mage. And if you’re not comfortable with this, it isn’t right for either of us to play at domesticity and pretend as if we’re not mutually opposed. Because we’re not. I don’t want to live in a world where the Imperium exists, and I’m going to change it.” Fenris takes that quietly. He brushes his thumb over Anders’ hand, a gesture so gentle it brings him to the brink of tears. He has lived his life on the edge of a precipice, from the Harrowing to his fugitive years, from the Wardens to Kirkwall, and now the wind is at his back and threatening to push him over. Anders almost says, say something. Please. Even if it’s you being an ass. I’ll take that over the silence. It’s unbearable, and he gets up and walks to the door. He wraps himself in Mahariel’s shawl. Hand on the door handle, Anders does not let himself look back. Outside the air is crisp and the constellations over the apple trees are bright. Anders walks to the orchard and lies down, arms crossed over his head, and watches the stars careen overhead. They were brighter at Weisshaupt. He really ought to have looked for his mother when Mahariel took him there. He sighs: but you can’t go home again. Everything is so fleeting, every bit of happiness. He wonders what it would be like to return home and hear his name called again. Perhaps his mother is dead: then his name is too, then. At least that is something the Chantry had not taken from him. He has kept it entirely to himself. Beyond the sky is the Brethren of the Air. That melancholy is Justice’s, Anders recognizes. The world is not as it should be. It can be righted. He can do it. He will do it. Not all mages are like the magisterium, and the magisterium will not last. Anders closes his eyes, brings his hands to his face, and sighs. He is not Danarius. He is not Merrill. He has not succumbed to temptation. He has kept Justice whole, even though there is no justice in the streets of Kirkwall--no. Merrill wrote that the dockworkers won. For once, something right, and he was part of that. He has healed the hurt and killed the killers. What does that make him? Right, for once, no matter what Fenris thinks. He opens his eyes and start. Fenris is staring down at him, eyes and tattoos glowing in the dark. “Maker’s breath, man!” Anders yelps. He scrambles upright, back against the tree. Fenris squats next to him. He moves as silently as a wraith, and glows blue like one too. Anders has always liked shiny things. Gloomily he thinks, maybe that’s why I like him. “Yes,” Fenris says. “What?” Anders has no idea what he is referring too. The night is cold, and he shivers and clutches the shawl closer around him. He likes the clothes Varric gave him but he misses his robes. “Yes,” Fenris says. “I am comfortable. With this. With a mage.” He pauses, and amends himself. “With a mage such as you.” Anders is silent. His brain has shorted out. He gnaws at his lip as Fenris slides next to him. He rests his head on his shoulder. “You know my life is for the mages’ freedom. For breaking the Circle. For liberation.” “As mine is to break the yoke of Tevinter slavery, yes.” Fenris kisses his head, and Anders blossoms at the touch. “As you said. These aren’t mutually opposed. I want you to know that I admire how you fight. For your people. For our friends. For people you barely know. Though I must admit that I am frightened of Justice and the power you wield. It is hard for me. But my sister is a mage. I remember...I need you to understand. This--I need time. I need this to be slow. I do not know what will happen to us in Kirkwall, but I am not used to...intimacy. With a mage or not. And I am not sure--I had another name, once. And I am trying to learn what that meant to me. I cannot give you everything. I need some time for myself.” Anders looks up at him. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, Fenris. Are you saying you want me or not? I’m not asking you to marry me. Maker knows that’s illegal anyway.” He cannot help the anger creeping into his voice. It should not be illegal for mages to set up households. He should not have to look at what Mahanon and Imladris have and envy. It should be his right. He pulls himself up. The night is sweet and heavy with the smell of apples. There are a few more they have to pick in the morning, before they return to Kirkwall. “I will never pressure you into anything you don’t want.” He is insulted now. He has been as gentle as he can. He wants him, of course he does, but he is not a monster. He would never force someone to deal with him if they did not want to. He has had enough unwanted advances in his life, he would never do that. Fenris should know that. He should trust him that far, at least. He is not a monster. Fenris blinks. “No! I do want you.” Even in the darkness he can see him blushing. “I want this. This intimacy. But I need to take this slowly. I have known you a long time, Anders. I would like this to last.” Anders leans in to kiss him. Fenris runs his fingers through his hair. It is unthinkable that he has this tenderness. He is sitting under an apple tree, kissing a beautiful man, in a crisp autumn night as the stars blaze overhead and revolution broils in the streets of Kirkwall. In the Circle he never dared dream of this. Even in the Wardens he could not see this kind of peace, letting a crotchety elf from Tevinter make him tender. He undulates against him. He feels like he is melting. He has always fallen in love too easily. They break from the kiss and Anders rests his head against him. He says sadly, “I’m not sure how much time we’ll have. Things are getting worse in Kirkwall. And Varric can’t pay off the guards forever. If Meredith calls for the Right of Annulment, I’m going to burn that city down, Fenris. Cullen wants to make us all Tranquil. I won’t let them. I’ll bathe the city in blood if I have to, but I’m not going to let them fucking kill me and get away with it. Rip out my brain and sell me back to the Chantry. Do you understand? The Tranquil you see, selling trinkets for the Chanters’ Board, those are my friends. Were my friends. I can’t let that happen again.” Anger tears at him again. Karl deserved better. Karl deserved freedom. Karl deserved this sort of love, nuzzling under an apple orchard. Fenris says, “Do you think I will let them? Let alone my feelings for you--I know what they do to the Tranquil. I’ve seen Samson begging in the street. I know how the Blind Men get their wares. I know how many Tranquil pass through their hands.” He looks at him squarely, and Anders forces himself to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I did not escape Tevinter to stand idly by in the wake of such injustice. Magic is dangerous. We agree on that. But imprisoning people for life? Ripping families apart? Destroying people’s minds? No. Tevinter has chattel, Orlais has serfs, but in the Free Marches, you have the refugees and the Tranquil. I know a slave when I see one.” Maker he’s gorgeous, righteous in the pale moonlight. Anders swallows. “If you talk like that, I’ll fall in love with you,” he tells him. Fenris laughs. “Come to the community meetings in the alienage. My speeches are nothing compared to the hahren. And you never heard Mahanon speak. He could talk the dead into marching again.” He had not been able to hear the elf speak--Anders was too busy worrying to properly enjoy the action, before everything went to hell. He smiles wryly. He has always hated rallies. He can never hear the speakers, and staying so long in one place gave the guards time to prepare. He misses the sizzling fights with the other liberati from the Circle so much his heart clenches. He kisses Fenris: not alone for now, not alone right now at least. This tenderness exists. Anders says, “Have you ever read my manifesto? We’re going to try distributing it next month--it was supposed to be this month, but then, well, we had to leave town.” Fenris stills as Anders’s hands creep into his hair. The man’s even tense in his scalp. He strokes him gently. He can get him to unwind. “Mm,” Fenris manages. “Read it to me. When we get back.” When they get back: Kirkwall is sitting glittering down the mountain, hugging the bay, surrounded by those statues of tortured slaves. It’s horrible. There is so much work to be done. He needs to finalize edits, he needs to coordinate with the printer, he needs to find the liaison to that elf publication called Fen’Harel’s Teeth, someone called Slow Arrow wrote him and said they would publish a copy. Anxiety stirs up his heart beat. The Carta doesn’t like them trying to circumvent their printers, and there’s only one Carta clan who isn’t charging a legion’s worth of enchanted helmets, and they’re at war with the Thieves’ Guild right now. It can never be easy. No one can ever get alone. He should know. He’s the most obstinate out of all of them. “Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks. “I’m getting cold.” Fenris’ expression is almost unreadable in the moonlight. The wind stirs the applewood. The harvest is ending soon. Anders wishes he were a painter, to commit this to something more immortal than his memory, that he could enchant the smell of the woods and Fenris’ own earthier scent, the sound of the wind and his heart, and the crisp cold cutting away doubt. Justice says, a bit doubtfully, there is a way, but you wouldn’t be very good at it. Stick to your words. Justice is very judgemental. He snorts. Fenris says gingerly, “Are you talking to yourself?” “Justice thinks I would be a terrible painter,” Anders says, shaking his head. He detaches himself from him and pulls himself up. He offers Fenris a hand. Fenris takes it. Anders smiles and smooths Fenris’ hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. “He says I should use my words to tell you how beautiful you are. The way your eyes shine in the light, the set of your jaw…” Fenris says drily, “You certainly aren’t a poet. Try again.” They walk back to the house hand-in-hand, setting into bed. Fenris reads a little by candlelight as Anders combs his hair, frowning at the page. It is the first time they have decided to stay in the same bed together, rather than Anders just slipping in when it gets too cold. Anders hopes it is not the last. He cocoons himself in the blankets as Fenris traces the lines at the end of the page. Fenris looks down at him and snorts. “I’m cold,” Anders says petulantly. He thinks, you could warm me up. Fenris closes the book and snuffs the candle. He tugs at his blankets, so Anders loosens the wrap to let Fenris pull him in. Eventually they fall asleep, and Anders is smiling when he wakes up to Fenris looking at him wondrously. The tenderness in his eyes is so raw it hurts.

#co-zautumn #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #fanfic #da2 #fenders #fenris/anders #anders/fenris #anders #fenris #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus #dragon age fanfic

1 note · View note

ladyboltontoyou · 5 years

Text

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Hope

Ask: Hi! Will you please write a oneshot in which Arthur thinks he could never love again until he meets this woman he thinks is literally perfect? She's the definition of a southern belle, she lives on her own in a small house with some farm animals. He keeps finding excuses to come visit her, all the while filled with confusion, doubt, denial, etc?

Warning: Cursing, cringe amounts of fluff

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: I switched the P.O.V’s up a little bit so this is different than my other works. Please let me know if there are any mistakes.

Love? Sure. Arthur loved a lot of people. He loved Sadie, she was like his sister. John, like he was his little brother. Dutch, Hosea, Javier, he loved them all. They were his family.

“You know what I mean, Arthur. Not platonic love.” Mary-Beth nudged Arthur’s shoulder as they rode the cart into Rhodes. “There’s no one you want to marry? You don’t have dreams of marrying someone? Havin’ kids and settling down?”

Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, I just don’t think about that stuff anymore. With the life I live, I don’t think I’ll find something like that.”

“That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.” She sighed.

Well, that made him feel no better about his situation. Ever since the other Mary he found it hard to have any kind of hope. Even if she did want to be with him it would be hard since he was in such a serious gang.

This was why he hated thinking about stuff like this. It always soured his mood and made him feel hopeless. He preferred pretending romantic love didn't exist. He was happy enough with his makeshift family. He didn’t need a wife.

That’s what he told himself.

“Arthur, slow down!” Mary-Beth grabbed his arm and yanked it back, pulling the horses to a stop. “You bout ran her over!”

Arthur saw a young woman carrying a few large tools, walking along the side of the road A rake, a shovel, and a pitchfork. She was struggling to carry them all and when Arthur stopped beside her she lost her grip, causing them to all spill out of her arms.

“You need a lift, ma’am?” He called out as he watched her fumble to pick up the tools from the grass.

***

You had gone to town to pick up a shovel from the general store, but the cashier ended up talking you into buying a pitchfork and a rake. You had only meant to get the shovel so you didn’t bother taking your horse, you needed to talk a walk anyways. The weather was beautiful and the sun was shining, why not enjoy it before it got too hot?

Now here you are, trying to balance all three large tools without looking like an idiot. And it didn’t help that a couple on a wagon almost ran you over.

“You need a lift, ma’am?”

You looked up from your fallen tools and squinted against the afternoon sun, adjusting your straw hat. “It would be nice, I didn’t come prepared to be carrying all this.” You laughed nervously and picked your shovel back up. “Can I just toss these in the back?”

“Sure can!” The woman smiled, patting the empty wagon behind them.

“There might be a little blood in there though, we just sold some game to the butcher down in Rhodes.” The man warned as you threw the shovel in the cart.

“Oh, that’s no problem!” You waved them off and threw the rest of the tools in the back. “I live by myself on my parent’s old farm, I do a lot of work so I’m not worried about a little blood.”

The couple exchanged an impressed look but you brushed it off, it probably wasn’t often they met a woman who wasn’t scared of blood and who owned and single-handedly managed her own farm. It was impressive, well, at least it was to them.

“Where do you live?” The man asked as walked around the cart to get in. “You don’t need to sit in the back, there’s enough room up here.”

The woman jumped down as if something bit her. “Let me help you up here.”

Little did you know, she was doing this on purpose in the hopes of more conversation between you and Arthur. She hated the idea of Arthur not finding the woman he deserved since she knew he was such a good man. He deserved the world and more.

“Thank you!” You smiled as she helped you into shotgun. When she climbed on behind you, you noticed how good she smelt. It was a lot like the gardenia perfume they sold in the Rhodes general store. “Anyways, I live a little while up the road. I was silly not to bring my horse but the weather was so nice I wanted to take a walk. Didn’t expect to buy such an armful, but you know those silver tongued salesman.”

“I sure do.” The man sighed and gave the horses a whip.

“How rude of us not to introduce ourselves!” Mary-Beth laughed as the cart started moving. “I’m M-” She stopped and paused for a second as if she forgot her own name. “Elizabeth. And this is my friend Andrew.”

“Wonderful to meet you both! It’s so nice of you two to pick me up! It would be a long walk home.” You wiped the sweat off your forehead with your handkerchief and leaned back against the cart seats.

The whole ride Elizabeth, who insisted you called her Beth, bragged about her friend Andrew. She talked about he was skilled in almost every profession, and would be a wonderful farm hand if you were ever looking for help.

Which, in fact, you were. So you took her up on the offer and he acted glad for the job, even though he hadn’t said a single thing when you and Beth were discussing it. It was as if he had no say in it at all, which was hilarious to you.

***

Arthur didn’t want to admit it to Mary-Beth but giving you a ride was the best decision he’d ever made. He knew her whole plan was exactly that, to find him someone to fall in love with, so he planned on doing the exact opposite.

But goddamn, it was so hard.

The first day he started helping out around your farm he caught himself staring at you five times. Five times! The first was when you were showing him around your horse stables. The wind was blowing just right and hit you in that perfect, dramatic way. That was the first time he noticed how beautiful you were. And after that, he just couldn’t stop.

The second time he was watching you carry hay bales around. He caught himself because you had dropped one, causing you to topple over it and fall into the grass on the other side. He went to help you but by the time he got to your side you were already standing up and picking the thing back up again.

The third was over lunch. You were both sitting together eating homemade chicken, rice and mixed vegetables with seasoning. When he looked up to compliment you on your food he just had to stare. His lips parted to say something but no words came out, he was helplessly hypnotized by how damn adorable you looked. Your cheeks were red from working, your skin had the slightest bit of sweat on it, and your lips were red and swollen from the spices in the vegetables. He remembered you made a remark about too much jalapeno juice, saying it was silly to use that much juice when it was so warm outside.

The fourth was when he was feeding your chickens. He stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead and noticed you leaning out the window in your house, sipping on a beer and watching the sun set. The golden glow hit you perfectly. He found himself wondering, how can someone be so effortlessly beautiful and adorable at the same time? It would be different if you were trying to look attractive, but you weren't at all. It was all pure, effortless, it came to you so naturally.

The last time was when you were paying him for the day. You were fumbling in your desk to get out the proper amount of money for the day, twenty dollars. You had laughed nervously when you couldn’t find the correct amount of money and brushed your hair out of your face, successfully capturing Arthur’s stare once again.

***

“Sorry, I’m not as organized as I should be.” You tried to ease your own awkwardness as you counted your money. “Is twenty enough?” You asked and looked at your new farmhand.

It took him a second to respond. “Oh, no, twenty? I didn’t do that much, ma’am.”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N).” He smiled at your reminder and scratched the back of his neck. “But really, I only deserve ten.”

You laughed at that and closed your desk drawer. “No, you’re taking twenty. If I have to slip the extra money in your satchel when you leave, you’re taking twenty.”

He smiled wider at that and you felt your heart swell at his expression. You knew damn well you had formed a crush on him, there was no denying that. The first time you even looked at him you felt your heart skip a beat. Not only was he drop dead gorgeous, he was a good man as well. And a hard worker.

“Alright… fine. But that just means I’ll be workin’ harder tomorrow.” He took the money from your hand and started walking to the front door.

“Then I’ll pay you even more!” You crossed your arms as you watched him open the door.

He turned around, standing in the open door with a smirk on his face. “I guess I’ll just work harder the next day.” He said before tipping his hat and leaving.

***

For a few weeks, Arthur was in complete denial about his feelings for you. Which was pretty hard to keep up, considering every time he saw you he fell more and more in love. Everything about you was just so perfect to him. You were sweet, generous, selfless, you had guts, more guts than a lot of men he knew. You were funny and you had the same sense of humor as him. Even though he felt guilty about taking so much money from you, the fact that you paid so well only made him love you more.

And not to mention the mutual trust. It was obvious the both of you had so much trust in each other, which made him feel awful. He had told you his real name the second day he worked for you, explaining there were a few rich men that didn’t like him so he usually used an alias. But the fact that he trusted you enough to give you his real name made the feelings for both of you so much stronger.

Three weeks in and he had told you he was in a gang. You took it surprisingly well, saying your father had been in a gang before he settled down with your mother. You said if everyone else in the gang was as good as Arthur then you didn’t care one bit. He told you a few of them were, but some were a little rough around the edges. You simply replied that was good enough for you.

After two months of working for you, Arthur came to terms with the fact that he was smitten. He stopped denying it to himself, he even told Mary-Beth about the whole ordeal and thanked her for her small role in the whole situation. For a while he regretted that because she wouldn’t stop pestering him with questions, saying your relationship would make such a good love story.

The whole thing was mutual, thankfully, you were head over heels as well. You wrote about him all the time in your journal, wrote to your friends in Valentine about him, even found yourself dreaming about him. It was all perfect until the man who held your heart almost gave you a panic attack.

***

“(Y/N), could we talk?”

You looked up from the letter in your hands and smiled, seeing Arthur standing in front of you. “Of course, sit down. I was just reading a letter from my friend Jolene.”

Arthur sat down as you folded the letter, taking off his hat and setting it down on the table between you.

“I’m not good with words, not when it comes to you.” He started with his eyes locked on your folded letter.

“Oh, no.” You whispered under your breath, feeling your heart drop. That sounded bad. Did it, though? You had no idea. When it came to Arthur you were so in love that the thought of losing him scared the daylights out of you. So any sign of negativity in your mind meant that he was leaving and you’d never see him again. It was only because neither one of you had done anything about the obvious feelings. You knew he felt something for you and you damn well knew you felt something for him, but since you hadn’t talked about it a lot of things were still in gray.

“I’m not sure what I’m trying to say or do here.” He put his arms on the table and began picking at his nails, his eyes still lowered. “I guess, uh…” He trailed off and sighed before rubbing his face, laughing nervously. “Jesus, woman. You’ve got me so tied up I can’t figure out how to say I love you.”

Your heart stopped and your lungs froze. Did he really just say that? Did he say what you’d been praying he’d say every night since the day you met him?

You could see his jaw clench when he realized what he said and his eyes quickly darted up to meet yours, searching for a reaction. In that moment they had never looked so blue and so kind. His lips never so tempting. His hair never so soft.

He had never looked so perfect than he did when he confessed his love to you.

In an effort to calm your racing heart you placed your palm over your chest. “You just said it perfectly fine, Arthur.”

The look of relief that took place on his face was enough to make you weep. You both stood from your seats at the same time and rounded the table to embrace each other in one of the warmest hugs either of you had ever experienced.

For the both of you, that hug felt like it only lasted a few seconds before you parted to kiss, when in reality you had lost track of time and were in each others arms for a solid minute.

His lips were just as you imagined, soft, plump, and they tasted like the apple pie you had both shared after dinner with a small hint of expensive cigar smoke. You could kiss him forever. God knows you both wanted to.

When you finally parted to catch your breath you were met with a sweet smile.

“The day I met you I had just finished thinking about how I’ll never find something like this. Only a few month ago I thought I’d end up… jesus. I’ll be honest with you, (Y/N), this is one of the scariest things I’ve ever been through. I’ve been through a lot, things I don’t even wanna speak of again. I’ve lost the people closest to me more than once. Damnit, I don’t know what I’m getting at here, but-”

You cut him off with another kiss, running your fingers through his soft hair. When you parted you gave him an understanding smile. “I think I know what you’re saying. It’s okay. You ain’t gotta worry about losing me. I can take care of myself.”

It was a small assurance, but he was still grateful for it.

“And since I didn’t say it before, I love you too, Arthur. I really do.”

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #rdr2 imagines #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fluff #rdr2 fluff #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagines #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fluff #myfanfic #request

299 notes · View notes

treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 15: The Perfect Plan

Donna and Stephen; he'd gone through a lot of trouble to learn those names. He'd spent many nights spying on Jiminy Cricket and his new friend Geppetto, only to find that for once in their miserable lives Myrna and Martin had been telling the truth about the names of the "new puppets for the show." Fate worked in mysterious ways. At first, he'd lamented the loss of Martin and Myrna under his thumb, they weren't much, but at least he'd know what he was getting with the pair of them. Donna and Stephen were an unknown factor. The first time he'd made them human to assess their worth, he'd realized he was in luck. They were a young couple, so young their faces born little trace of stress or deceit. They were clean, baby-faced, and that made them easier to trust than Myrna and Martin. Though they had been good at playing the role of invalid and elderly, Donna and Stephen were welcoming, warm, and kind. They had faces that made it easy for others to have sympathy for, and trust with just a glance. And they were perfect for the job he had in mind.

In the two months since Granny's rejection, he'd learned that she was not the only werewolf in town, just the only one who didn't know or accept who she was. The Lucas Clan was a family of ten children, all of them wolves. He'd learned that every month at the full moon they left their home to go on a "hunting trip", which really meant they abandoned their home to go romp about the woods together. Happy as their little family trips seemed for them, it served a purpose for him, the small barn on their property was left unattended.

The potion that had turned Donna and Stephen into his puppets had ensured that none of their personality remained. And once he had their hearts in his hand and whispered instructions to them before placing them back in their chests, they were helpless but to do exactly as he told them to do. Stephen had one job in this, Donna had another.

Granny, he'd learned, made a living for her mother by selling pies that she made, breads as well. Every morning she took them into town hot and fresh in her little basket and stayed until they were all sold. She had a very unique strategy at the end of the day to be sure they all sold. She peddled food outside other places of business and only swore to leave when the pies were gone. The longer it took, the more of a nuisance she became. Eventually, the store owners bought her out just to make sure she'd leave.

On the final night of the full moon, he'd sent Donna into town with a horse, shapeshifted from a mouse he'd found in his castle, a cart, and a thick, heavy chain in the back. She left the cart in the square, and when Granny began to show, she pulled the chain out, only to struggle to push it back in again. He watched from the trees, underneath a heavy cloak that blocked his scent and hid most of his face. He blended in. Donna did not.

"Oh! Oh, please! Help me! Could you please help me?! Help!" Predictably, Granny, who was on her last pie of the day and just so happened to be standing outside the same store, put down her basket and came to her aid. The blessing of werewolves was that they retained certain abilities even in their human form, and he watched as Granny hefted the chain with ease. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" Donna choked out as she put her hand to her chest and tried to catch her breath. "Boy…you're strong!"

"What's the chain for?" Granny questioned, ignoring her praise and looking it over in the back. He'd chosen that chain for that very reason. If she was serious about chaining herself up, he was about to find out.

"Oh, you know…this and that," Donna answered. My husband and I just moved here and we're still getting the house done."

"Why isn't he helping you?"

"Oh, he's off at work like everyone else. Men! It seems to be all the men in this town do: work!"

"Well, tonight is the night of the full moon so, actually, later, all the men will be-"

"Hunting!" Donna provided quickly. "Oh, we know, someone already told us! Can you believe it?!" Donna shook her head and put her hand on her hip. "That poor creature. I just…I feel so bad for that poor wolf. They've labeled it a beast but it just doesn't seem fair. I think half the reason it gets so riled up during the full moon is because everyone goes after it with torches and pitchforks. I mean, if you were just minding your own business and someone started chasing you, wouldn't you get a little miffed?"

"Right…" Granny muttered. Her eyes had gone dark, blurred, sort of. She appeared distant as Donna spoke, and it was exactly what he wanted. That was exactly what he'd prepared Donna for after her sympathies were made known.

"You know…I know I don't know you very well, we've…we've only just met, but you look like you could use someone to talk to?" she offered with the friendly, innocent smile he was positive Myrna could never have pulled off.

Granny's eyes focused once more, first on the chain in the back and then on the woman before her. "Oh, no, that's just…that's just how I look," she dismissed.

"Are you sure?" Donna pressed in a warm tone. "I'm a really good listener, and you did help me with this chain. We could go back to my place!" she suggested with excitement. "Maybe you could teach me how to make one of those pies, and we'll tell each other all our secrets!"

Granny gave a small snort but didn't share the same look of enthusiasm Donna did. He was worried, this had to work, it was the last night of the full moon, they couldn't keep coming up with ideas. He summoned his magic and found the magical connection that pulsed from him to Donna.

"Press harder!" he snarled under his breath.

"Oh, please!" she begged immediately. "You're the first friendly face I've met since coming here, and I haven't really had anyone to talk to myself. My husband and I live so far from town."

"Yeah, well, everyone lives far from town out here."

"Yes, I've noticed," she muttered with a wilt in her voice. "Please, I'd be glad for the company. And you know, you've sold all but one pie. We could split it! Come with me?"

Granny cast a predictable look at the mid-afternoon sky, and a few minutes later, she nodded.

That was part of the plan, but Donna's job wasn't done yet. He followed them home, but this time he stayed high up in the firm branches of the trees where he could watch their progress, and his scent would be truly distant from Granny. It was going to be a long day; he knew that much. To the average person, it might appear that he'd accomplished his goal simply by getting Granny to go with Donna, but he wasn't a simple person. He was the Dark One, and he'd already judged that Granny wasn't the type to disclose her secret to a stranger on their first meeting, no matter how sympathetic or friendly she was. No, Donna's job of kindness was only half the job, the other half was endurance. For from now until the sunset, Donna was not to leave Granny's side, no matter if she begged, yelled, screamed, hit, or ran. Ultimately it wasn't out of trust that Granny would tell her the secret; it would be out of fear.

Once they arrived at the empty Lucus house and went inside, he lounged amidst the branches and attuned his other senses to what was happening inside that house. He watched as Donna carefully shut the curtains to the outside world one by one so that she couldn't see out and as smoke began to rise from the chimney. He heard a basic conversation about how long they'd lived there, lies about how Donna and Stephen had bought the house, what they were doing to decorate it. He heard descriptions of the townspeople, stories about Granny's mother and grandmother, he even had Donna question her about the scars on her arm. Granny answered with a sad version of the story she'd told him about her brothers and father, and then…it began.

Suddenly he heard Granny's heart begin to race. She realized how late it was; she'd lost track of time, she had to go!

"No, wait…I'll take you back on the cart. Surely you can't walk home in the dark. There are wolves out!" Donna stressed as Granny stormed out of the home.

"No!" she argued sharply, "I've lived here my whole life. I'll be fine, you needn't worry."

"Your word doesn't prevent it! And…I can't. I can't let you walk back by yourself. I'll walk with you."

"No! No, you can't!" Granny insisted, finally turning around to face her. If not for his perfect eyesight, it would have been difficult to see them in the dying light, the woman must have known that.

"Why can't I?"

"You just, you can't!" he watched as Granny began to jog away. But Donna, helpless against his wishes, jogged along beside her.

"What I can't do is let you go out there by yourself! Not this late, not with wolves and a hunting party out there!"

"Stop! You don't understand; you can't be around me right now, it's dangerous!"

"Dangerous? I've just spent the afternoon with you, what's dangerous?"

The woman was on edge, very aware of the path the moon was taking, and with his magic he created a howl that rose up in some distant place in the forest that made the young women stop in their tracks. She looked around with wide, terrified eyes. It was too late. And now her eyes fell on the cart by the door still weighed down by the heavy chain that Granny had helped lift. It was a perfect temptation. Just as he'd planned.

"Donna…I need your help!" she exclaimed suddenly, reaching out to take her hands.

"Yes, of course, anything, you need only ask."

"I need you to do something for me that's going to sound crazy, no questions asked."

Donna swallowed as if nervous, but the flicker of kindness never went out in her eyes. She was, in many ways, the perfect puppet. "Ask," she urged.

"I need you to take that chain you got at the market and chain me up inside your barn, make sure all the animals are out and don't come back until morning. No questions asked, can you do it?"

"Are…are you sure?"

"Yes! Can you do it?"

Of course, she could. It was the plan all along. If Granny found anything suspicious about the easy agreement, then she didn't mention it as the women hulled the chain into the barn together. A few minutes later only Donna emerged holding the key she'd used to lock her away. She closed the door behind her and locked it. Task complete, her shoulders instantly straightened, the kindness in her eyes evaporated into blankness, and the personality he'd given her faded. She walked with unnatural precision back to the house to await her next orders. Her job was done, and marvelously so, but he he'd worry about turning her back into a doll later because Stephen's job was only just beginning.

He'd sent him to work in the fields that day, to chop wood as Alexandra's husband would and then instructed him to join the hunt for the wolf for a very specific purpose.

"Hey, did you hear that?" he questioned, pulling Jethero to the side of the group. When he found the group, there were perhaps twenty of them, and they were going in the wrong direction. But he wasn't worried Stephen had his orders.

"Hear what?" Jethero asked, looking annoyed.

"That howl…hey, listen…I hear they are offering twelve shillings to anyone who can kill this wolf!"

That caught his attention. "Twelve shillings…I've never heard that before…who are you? I've never seen you before."

"I'm new here, just got into town today actually. But I've been hunting since I was six so when I heard about the search party, I knew I had to leave my wife at home and help. It's my duty, you know." In the treetops above, Rumpelstiltskin let out a small snort. Stephen did play his role well, though he had to admit that the bow and arrow he'd given him to hold certainly helped him look the part, especially next to the others who held only heavy branches for bludgeoning and pitchforks. Jethero seemed impressed. "So, when was the last time anyone killed one of these things?"

Jerthero shrugged. "Never, it's eluded us for years."

Stephen let out a sigh and shook his head. "They're going the wrong direction…"

"Okay…well then let's tell them and-"

"No!" he hissed before pulling Jethero to the side, away from the rest of the group blindly trampling through the forest. "We tell the group, and we have to split those shillings with everyone, we'll be lucky to keep two pence for ourselves, but…if we go together…" Stephen breathed before looking him over first with skepticism, then with judgment. The look he gave afterward suggested that Jethero was lacking but would do for the task at hand, and by the look on his face, it seemed like Jethero read that look as easily as if he'd said it. "Listen, I'm new here, I don't know this forest, but I bet you do. Help me capture this creature and make sure I don't get lost along the way, and we'll split the reward money, fifty-fifty."

Stephen straightened the quiver of arrows on his back before offering his hand to Jethero. There was a pause that he hadn't counted on, he figured a lowlife like Jethero would be pleased to take up such a deal without a second thought, but he did think about it for a few moments before he finally put his hand in Stephen's they shook with a nod.

"Fifty-fifty…" he agreed. Some people would do anything for money.

He followed them as they went in the opposite direction of the group, who didn't even seem to notice they were gone, only instead of hiding in the trees, he walked a fair distance behind them, darting behind trees whenever he got a moment. Unlike the women who were chatty, the men were quieter but strategic. As they wandered, Jethero provided the little bit of intel he could about where they were, who the property belonged to, what they were hearing, and Stephen provided an appropriate amount of bull shit regarding what he really didn't know about hunting a werewolf. All he did know was that they were nearing the property they were supposed to be at, and he knew it without Jethero having to say "we're right at the edge of the Lucas property, poor goat farmers, I think they sell milk and make cheese at the market, but I haven't seen them the last few days, and they never go on this hunt with us. They're reclusive and sort of-"

"Shh!" Stephen finally hissed as they made their way to the edge of the treeline so that the barn and house were both in sight. He was thankful that Granny was silent inside that barn, it hadn't dawned on him until this moment he should have put a silencing charm over it.

"What?"

"Hush!" Stephen insisted. "Stop moving!" With perfect fluidity, he reached over his shoulder, drew out an arrow, and notched it as Jethero stopped and watched him with scared eyes. Stephen remained vigilant, looking about, or at least appearing to look about and listen to everything. "I think…maybe…it's behind us…" he finally whispered.

"What?!"

"Shh!"

Rumpelstiltskin smirked as he stepped forward onto a branch he saw lying on the ground and deliberately let it snap. Jethero jumped. He looked over his shoulder and began to whimper when his pathetic human eyes turned up only darkness.

"When I give the word, run as fast as you can to the nearest shelter, don't look back, don't do anything until I come for you, am I clear?"

Jethero nodded quickly, his entire body trembling. Miserable, adulterating cur.

"On the count of three. One…two…three…go! Run!" Stephen cried as the pair of them took off in the direction of the Lucas barn. Stephen ran with him for a bit, until Jethero broke through the treeline. "That barn! There! Go!" he had Stephen shout, then, just because he could Rumple waved his arm and Stephen dropped to the ground with his quiver and bow, only now, Stephen was only a puppet of wood again. It was an easy disappearing act, but simple enough that when Jethero got to the door and looked back for Stephen, he was terrified to see him gone. He made a small noise of fear as he lifted the lock, opened the barn door, and quickly closed it behind him. Only then did Rumpelstiltskin emerge from the shadows and cast a new spell over the entrance to ensure that it was well and truly locked.

He smiled as a feeling of satisfaction passed over him. One monster had taken refuge from another in a barn without knowing the real terror was inside. It was a plan well executed.

He'd barely had time to smile with pride before the screaming began.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #rumpelstiltskin #Granny #werewolf #fanfic #ouat

1 note · View note